The silence of Valendris Manor was not a lack of sound; it was a physical weight, woven from the same heavy, cream-colored silk as the curtains that never opened.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The grandfather clock in the hallway was the only thing allowed to have a heartbeat in this room. I lay perfectly still on my back, my fingers interlaced over my stomach, staring at the intricate plaster molding of the ceiling. If I breathed too deeply, the metal would bite. If I shifted too quickly, the lace would tear.
Creak.
The door opened. Precise. Measured. I didn't need to turn my head to know it was Elara.
"Good morning, Mistress Isyra," she whispered. Her voice was like a wilted petal, soft and devoid of any real life.
"Good morning, Elara," I replied. My own voice felt like a stranger's—polished, hollow, and hauntingly polite.
I sat up slowly, the silk sheets sliding off my skin with a faint shhh-shhh sound. And there it was. Against the pale, porcelain skin of my chest, the Valendris Heart sat heavy and cold. It was a padlock of ancient, tarnished gold, etched with runes that seemed to squirm if you looked at them too long. It was physically fused to my sternum, a permanent, metal reminder that my heart was not my own to give, nor my own to feel.
Clink.
The small chain that connected the lock to the delicate collar around my neck chimed as I moved toward the vanity.
"The Mistress Seraphina expects you in the sunroom for tea in twenty minutes," Elara said, her hands moving with practiced efficiency as she began to unroll the first layer of my morning corset. "She noted that your posture was… relaxed during yesterday's recital. We must tighten the laces today."
I looked at my reflection. The girl in the mirror was beautiful. Ethereally so. But her eyes were like frozen lakes—pretty to look at, but god help you if you tried to swim in them.
"Tighten them, then," I said.
Whoosh. Tug. Snap.
The stays of the corset pulled taut, forcing my ribs into a narrow, painful V. I gasped, a sharp, involuntary sound that made the padlock on my chest thrum with a low, warning vibration. Don't feel the pain, the lock seemed to whisper. Numb it. Hide it.
"Is it too tight, Mistress?" Elara asked, her eyes darting to the padlock.
"It is exactly as it should be," I lied. The lock grew cold against my skin, chilling the bone beneath.
Once the layers of lace, silk, and crinoline were piled onto my frame, I was led down the hallway. My footsteps were silent on the thick Persian rugs. Every window we passed was draped in heavy velvet. Not a single sliver of the morning sun was allowed to touch the floorboards. To the Valendris family, the sun was a vulgar thing—uncontrolled, hot, and revealing.
The sunroom was a misnomer. It was a room filled with artificial glow-lamps and mirrors designed to bounce my own image back at me from every angle. Aunt Seraphina sat at the head of the low table, her silver hair pulled back so tightly it seemed to tug at the corners of her eyes.
Clink-clink.
She was stirring her tea. The silver spoon hitting the porcelain was the loudest thing in the world.
"Sit, Isyra," Seraphina commanded without looking up. "You look peaked. Did you allow yourself to dream again?"
I sat, the heavy skirts of my dress settling around me like a funeral shroud. "I don't remember my dreams, Aunt."
"Good. Dreams are the breeding ground for dissent. They lead to 'wanting.' And 'wanting' is a luxury your bloodline cannot afford." She finally looked up, her gaze snapping to the padlock visible through the sheer lace of my bodice. "The runes look dull. Are you suppressing your temper, child? Or are you simply becoming hollow?"
"I am whatever you need me to be," I said, the words tasting like ash.
"You are a vessel," she corrected sharply. "A dam against a flood that would drown this entire province if you ever let a single spark of passion catch fire."
Suddenly, a loud THUD echoed from the front of the manor.
It wasn't a controlled sound. It wasn't a Valendris sound. It was heavy, messy, and vibrating with the energy of the outside world.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Someone was hammering on the massive oak front doors. My heart—the real one, buried beneath the gold—gave a sudden, violent throb.
Vrrrrrr.
The padlock on my chest didn't just vibrate this time; it burned. A searing, white-hot heat bloomed where the metal touched my skin. I gasped, clutching my chest, my breath hitching in a way that wasn't allowed.
"What is that?" I whispered, my vision blurring.
Seraphina stood so abruptly her chair screeched against the marble. "Elara! Secure the inner bolts! Who dares disturb the sanctuary at this hour?"
The heavy doors groaned. I could hear the muffled voice of a man—deep, resonant, and carrying a tone of authority that didn't care for velvet curtains.
"I have the Archives Permit!" the voice boomed, the sound vibrating through the floorboards and up through the soles of my feet. "Kaelen Thorne, by order of the Royal Cartography Guild. Open this door before I find a way to unhinge it!"
Kaelen.
The name felt like a match struck in a dark room. The padlock on my chest let out a sharp, metallic ping, a sound of structural stress. A drop of blood began to seep from the edge where the gold met my skin, staining the white lace of my dress a brilliant, forbidden crimson.
"Isyra! Control yourself!" Seraphina hissed, her face pale with a terror I had never seen before. "Close your eyes! Do not think of the sound! Do not think of him!"
But I couldn't. For the first time in nineteen years, the "curtains" in my mind were twitching. I looked toward the hallway, toward the source of that raw, booming voice. The heat in my chest was no longer just a burn; it was a pulse.
The front locks turned with a heavy thwack-clack.
The air in the room suddenly changed. A draft of cold, fresh, pine-scented wind swept under the sunroom door—the smell of the wild, the smell of dirt, the smell of life.
I looked down at the padlock. A tiny, hairline fracture had appeared across the central rune.
"Oh, fuck," I whispered, the curse word feeling like a jagged diamond on my tongue.
The door to the sunroom burst open.
To be continued...