Chapter 106 Nymphaea's entries
On this summer day of eighteen hundred
I exit the cold marbles of my quarters
To seek the Lilies,
The pale lilies, the royal lilies,
Lilies lifted towards the skies like eternal candles
O lilies, my lilies
White as the world’s first dawn
White as the secret only the soul understands
White as subjects reborn without sounds
I yawned, my eyelids heavy as lead, blinking back tears of fatigue as I continued down the texts, tracing the letters with my finger.
I walk among the blooming lilies
And each lily bowed its head.
Not as subjects before their queen
But as old companions who recognize me
The wind carried the perfumes of them
Lilies of grace, of mourning, of memory
I believe I sense something of myself in them
As though my breath has long since mingled with them.
Lilies do not truly die;
They lie beneath the earth
Return in spring
Whiter, prouder and more silent
If I should fall
My name scatter like petals in the wind
Lay me among the lilies
For I know now
What is buried is never trapped
Perhaps in another country,
Under another sky
Among other lilies
I shall find my footsteps again.
My fatigue seemed suspicious. Or was it?
Perhaps a few hours of sleep by the pool could not make up for all the chaos that has been the past few days.
I slid into the nook I had shared with Mordaine the first day he brought me here, my hand subconsciously moving to caress where his hot lips had burned against mine of this very table.
Shaking the fatigue and daydream away, I looked back at the texts, feeling a humbling in my bones.
It was obvious now why Mordaine loved this woman. Still loved her and couldn't let her go even after so many years.
Her choice of words, her careful handwriting. She was intelligent.
Romanticizing lilies the way she did. At the same time, it wasn't all romance.
This entry held a subtext, one I could feel in my bones but not quite see. It was that moment I realized I could barely keep my eyes open.
Fatigue sat heavy in my bones like a ton of weight, pulling me down. I leaned my head on the desk, still stubbornly scanning the text with half-closed eyes and lingering on a line that suddenly seemed to stand out.
White as subjects reborn without sounds.
My eyes finally closed, and I was pulled under to the space beneath consciousness, clutching to the thought of a French queen, her husband and his lovers who I wished were also my lovers.
In my dreams, I saw the Firstborns, those faceless shadows who took great enjoyment in criticizing me, terrorizing me.
And suddenly, awareness seemed to envelope my skin. I startled awake, finding silver eyes boring into mine.
“Hi.”
Mordaine apparently had been watching me sleep, squatting by the desk and just staring.
I repeated his salutation, “Hi,” with a shy smile at the informality of it all.
“You slept here, pet?” His hand came up to tenderly brush my hair backward.
I blinked.
“It’s 5: 00 AM,” his fingers continued to move through my hair, as his eyes fell on the diary still laying open in front of me.
My heart stopped. “I’m…”
“Why are you sorry, Lys?” He finally pulled away, meeting my gaze again. “I gave you permission to go to this place, no?”
“Yes sir.”
I sat up then, turned to the bigger book and flipped it open. I was keenly aware of his eyes on me, watching me without blinking.
My heart was thudding as I traced the image of this woman who seemed to love lilies so much she scribbled a poem about them, fed life to something so trivial.
“Is there something you want to tell me?”
My head jerked sideways. “What?”
“Is there something you want to tell me?” he repeated. I blinked, watching his eyes go from me to the diary and then back to me again.
“Oh.” I moved my hand to caress the edges of the page. “I think you should stop hiding this.” My voice came out a breathless whisper, struggling to hold his gaze. “The way she expressed herself here… I translated just a portion of it and,” My cheeks were flaming hot, my heart rate climbing with every word. “It's immersive and there is probably a subtext.”
My fingers were still caressing the pages, my cheeks on fire now because I was rambling while he was quiet, blank faced, staring right in my eyes.
“I think you should have it translated, and share it somewhere…”
“I’ll not share my wife with the world.”
“Oh,” my fingers froze on the page, blinking repeatedly from fright. His hand shot out immediately and clutched mine.
“My angst was not directed at you.” He let out a deep exhale and then gestured with his head for me to move further in the nook.
I did and he settled beside me.
Those silly butterflies took flight in my belly at his nearness, the toasty heat from his body that seemed to hug me even with the inches separating us, at how thick his thighs looked, stretching his pants, at the way he stared at me with undivided attention.
“My pet,” the deep bass said, silver eyes steady on mine. “I have some questions and I need you to respond honestly.”
I licked my lips hurriedly and then gave him a nod.
He took his hat off and set it on the table beside me.
“Finn…”
My stomach lurched. My shoulders visibly shivered, and Mordaine took in all these reactions with an arched eyebrow.
Then he placed his hand on my arm and started to stroke. My nipples immediately turned to buttons.
I had on a bikini from where I swam last night, with the cashmere blanket they gifted me wound around my waist. Now, I wish I had wrapped it around my chest instead.
“Finn told you met a taxi driver. He could not remember what the man said, but claimed you would.”
I stared at him for a second, “Nice couple. Now if you’d be a little more courageous and less pouty, she could be yours this lifetime.” I quoted verbatim.
That night, I had shelved the thought away as the ravings of an old drunk.
But since the dinner last night, I had found myself thinking more about him, those words. And then what Aribella had told me on Bellwitch street.
Mordaine was quiet now, his eyes still on mine. “Lys.”
My jaw hung. He almost never called me by name.