Bride by Kyle Alexander Romines

Author:Kyle Alexander Romines [Romines, Kyle Alexander]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781974146338
Published: 2017-12-24T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

The light was dying outside as I emerged from the place that was once my home. The shack was now little more than a hollow shell, like the husk of a once-towering tree that had withered and died in the cold. I did not look back.

I told myself that I felt nothing, that I was no longer human. Only one was true. My body shuddered involuntarily at how close I had come to releasing my pent-up anger on my mother. Had some remnant of Justine’s kindness stayed my hand, or was it something else? My eyes burned, but I would not permit myself to shed any more tears for what had been. I had come too far to show weakness now.

Be strong, I told myself, fighting down my emotions. Ahead, the harbor loomed across the lake, where the last light of the sun lingered on the still waters. The ships rocked peacefully where they were docked under the towering mountains. I stopped and lingered there for a moment, watching the scene until a calm settled over me.

I was just about to start on the road that would take me back to the tavern when I saw him.

Victor.

My eyes would have known the form of my creator anywhere, even over the considerable distance. Victor wore a waistcoat and cravat, along with a pair of dark trousers. His black hair, once wild and unruly, had been cropped short, concealing much of the gray at the sides.

A lump formed in my throat. How I once longed for this moment, and yet, confronted at last by the prospect of our reunion, I remained where I stood, watching. So many times I had wondered where he was, if he had been arrested for Henry’s death, or if he had simply abandoned me. Now here he was in one of the city’s poorest neighborhoods as if nothing had ever happened. Had he even attempted to search for me?

Victor was in the midst of a modest number of peasants afflicted with the pox. It was impossible to hear what was said, though it was clear they were suffering. As I looked on, Victor went to each of them in turn, injecting something into their arms through a syringe. Some of the villagers took note from afar but did not approach, regarding him with suspicion, while others still thanked him for his help. When he had gone to each of the villagers, Victor made a few scribbles in a journal before returning the syringe and the vials he had used to his satchel. He departed as night set in around us, and I followed him in the dusk, unnoticed.

A carriage waited for him in the town square. “Take me home,” he said to the driver, and he disappeared inside without another word. My gaze fell on the far-away castle visible in the moonlight, and I went on foot in pursuit. The carriage outpaced me within seconds and soon faded down the trail, but it hardly mattered. I knew where it was headed.

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