Chapter 38 Night Holds Dangerous Secrets
Silence had fallen once more… The forest had reclaimed its deceptive calm. Abélie, armed with her stick, was walking very fast. She was hyperventilating and trembling with fear. But her eyes kept darting toward the wound. Oscar, noticing her glances, reassured her.
"It doesn't hurt, and it isn't serious." She did not seem convinced but said nothing. After a few minutes of silence, she finally whispered.
"What on earth do you think that was?" Oscar, lips pressed tight, took a few seconds to answer. He did not have the words.
"I don't know. Some fellow, perhaps a mad old man or a drug addict."
"Lost in a forest forbidden to the townspeople??? I don't think that was human!"
He hesitated. "To be honest… I don't think it was human either." Oscar fell silent.
They both knew that nothing they could have imagined right then would have made the slightest sense. They were still in shock. Oscar had put his arm around Abélie's shoulders to be able to protect her if needed. As for her, she had made it her mission to support him. They walked on like that, arm in arm. The young lord forced himself to stay calm, for panic could lead to death, but his senses on high alert jumped at every twig that snapped beneath their feet. Abélie was murmuring prayers to gods she did not venerate nearly often enough.
In that sombre atmosphere, they pressed forward blindly, hoping to find their way back.
After so much adrenaline, they took a moment to catch their breath, all the same. Oscar hesitated, wondering whether presenting themselves to the guards might not be simpler – especially for Abélie's sake. The poor girl was trembling.
But when he met her gaze, it had hardened, and before he could suggest anything, she shook her head.
"I can see it in your eyes — there is no need to alert anyone. We must return discreetly."
"Are you sure? The guards could offer greater protection, and…"
"My Lord, I need only you in my life right now." Oscar did not know whether she had suddenly become stubborn or whether facing the duchess – for she would inevitably be informed if they alerted the guards – frightened her more than she cared to admit.
They climbed back over the crumbled ramparts and slipped into the night. The streets were silent at this hour. Almost as silent as on the way there, save for a dog whimpering in a dark alleyway. Abélie, still in shock, pointed the dog out to Oscar.
"That's Randolf's dog — he lives with Ruth now, but from what she tells me, he wanders alone every night, as though searching for his master."
Oscar observed the dog: an old, weary animal with dull yellowish fur and drooping ears. Its whimpers pierced the silence. Oscar tried to approach, but the dog did not react; it was staring fixedly toward the forest they had crossed just minutes earlier.
"I shall get to the bottom of the mystery of this forest, but I think we have had quite enough fright for one evening," he remarked wryly, his arm still bleeding. The comment wrested a bitter smile from Abélie, who nodded — but before she could reply, a sound drew their attention.
Not as dragging as those in the forest had been, they nonetheless heard footsteps heading in their direction. Several sets of them, even. Instinctively, Oscar pushed Abélie into the alleyway and pressed himself against the wall, the young woman at his back. In the darkness of the alley, they were nearly invisible, but neither dared breathe. The footsteps drew closer—unmistakably boots striking the cobblestones with a sharp, dry rhythm.
Had Oscar not known better, he might have taken them for a militia; the steps were heavy and organised with an almost military precision. But the town of Mulberry had no official patrols… unless the duchess had lied to him.
It would not be the first thing about which she had concealed part of the truth from him.
As he lost himself in his thoughts, the sound of boots drew inexorably closer. And there, lit by a single streetlamp, Abélie and Oscar watched a group of individuals pass — individuals whose sheer build was difficult even to imagine.
All clad in a midnight-blue cape adorned with dozens of vivid magenta eyes, the group appeared to have a leader, followed by his underlings packed tightly in ranks of two. Not one of them spoke. Their very presence stirred a deep unease, and Oscar felt his hand inexorably drawn toward the hilt of his sword.
One of the figures slowed for the briefest instant, its eyes — of which only their glow could be made out — piercing the darkness of the alleyway.
Tense.
Silent.
Abélie pressed herself a little further against the wall, the damp seeping into her clothes. Oscar heard his heart hammering in his temples for what felt like far too many seconds.
But the gaze lasted only an instant. The figure had not even broken stride. And, as quickly as they had appeared, the group vanished into the street. It took several more minutes before Oscar and Abélie finally brought themselves to move. They exchanged a glance, but neither could truly say what they had just witnessed.
And so they chose to say nothing.