Birch trees knitted a canopy beneath a black sky without a star. Snow fell in thick blossoms, Mercy's feet sank into the drifts gathering in the forest. She passed under the archway of birches into the wood. Strangely, she noted how little the cold bothered her despite the fact that she only wore her night gown.
Despite the lack of moon and other heavenly bodies, the snow reflected light that had no visible source. The unearthly glow filled the air and showed Mercy her way through the wood. Her senses muddled, she assumed she was still dreaming. She was certain there was no wintry forest secreted in her sitting room, no matter how romantic Hurtfew Abbey appeared.
A wolf howled and Mercy halted. She wrapped her arms around her torso and squinted in the faint light, dread filling her heart at the sound of panting animal breath and hoof beats in the snow. A flash of white screamed across the dark landscape, a white stag bleeding from it's haunches as it struggled against the wind. Dark shapes loped after it, their snouts tasting the blood in the air. One paused and turned in Mercy's direction.
True fear struck her to the core as it moved towards where she stood. Large paws padded through the snow, keen intelligence not of a common beast gleaming in it's eyes. Mercy blinked, willing herself to awaken but nothing changed. The wolf cocked it's head to the side then lowered itself to the snow. Gnashing it's bloodied teeth, the wolf leaped towards her only to be impaled by a silver lance as it hissed through the air. The animal fell at her feet, it's breath coming out in soggy gasps, pink bubbling around it's mouth.
A man strode out of the darkness, his silver breastplate gleaming and oxblood cape trembling around his shoulders. He removed his helm, yellow hair in a long silken fall around his face. His eyes were black pits as he stared down at the animal and shook his head. Bracing the near dead body with a boot, he retrieved the weapon.
"I have given you ample warning about threatening guests in my realm," he chided as though he spoke to a child.
Mercy realized he spoke to the wolf and not to her. She winced as he stomped down on the base of the animal's skull and it stopped breathing. After wiping the gore from the lance on the ground, the oxblood prince turned his attention on her.
"I am glad to find you safe, my lady," he said with a charming smile. Removing his cape, he tucked it around her shoulders, his fingers like cold marble.
He held out his hand and tentatively she took it. The violence she had witnessed was forgotten and the forest was not the ominous place that it had been earlier. Up ahead, she heard the sigh of a calm ocean. Lights flickered through the grove like those burning in windows, beckoning weary travelers with their warmth. It put to mind cozy hearths and hot spiced wine.
"I confess, I did not think to bring you here so soon but circumstances are accelerating at such a pace, I was inclined to spirit you to my realm," he said as they walked towards the lights.
"Is the place I see in the distance, is that your home?"
"It is. And I hope someday you may call it your home as well."
Mercy had grown used to his untoward replies so did not acknowledge his comment. "Why am I here right now?"
"I am holding a ball tonight. I told you I wanted to do so and invite you as guest of honor." He smirked in her direction as they trod onto an overgrown path. The jagged shadow of a crumbling castle loomed into view. "I thought whisking you away in the night would exempt you from having to answer any questions from your unfeeling guardian, the odious man."
Mercy wasn't sure if they walked the rest of the way or were transported by the icy wind to the front hall of the castle. The prince lifted a hand and a line of sconces lit themselves down the echoing hall. He led her towards the eerie screech of a flute and string duet. A ballroom opened up before them with shadows of guests that she could not clearly perceive in the low candlelight. They swept in rotating circles, they figures flowing like dark water. Again, the dread rose up in her heart.
"I fear I am not dressed for such an occasion, sir," she said taking her hand from him.
"But, my lady, you are more than appropriately attired."
She glanced over at him. The prince stood in his rich, oxblood dinner coat, the cravat at his throat smartly tied and his milkweed hair bound in a neat queue at his neck. Except for his inhuman beauty, Mercy swore he could have been mistaken for any fashionable gentleman of London society.
Peering past his shoulder towards a smoky mirror than hung on an ivy encrusted wall, she studied her reflection. Her nightgown was gone, replaced by an iridescent gown cut in the popular empire waist style. The beaded fabric could have been sewn from frost, the fringe along the sleeves and neckline more like ice than French lace. Her single braid that Sarah had done earlier hung over her shoulder, the red satin ribbon like a blood stain in the snow. Her fingers trailed along the curled bow and she recoiled, horror of where she stood and what she had witnessed gripping her heart.
The prince's hand grasped hers and she blinked into his handsome countenance. "It hurts me to see you so reviled in that house, that guardian of yours is more like a jailer, uncomely and cruel. There is no love for you at Hurtfew Abbey, is there?"
Mercy wet her lips and her heart stopped racing. "Well, Mr. Norrell is not exactly-"
"Kind." The prince cradled her hand. "My poor Miss Savage, how ill you are treated. And the servants to manhandle and debase you with their looks of dark intent, surely you are terrified to dwell in such a place."
Mercy's mind swirled. Perhaps Mr. Norrell was not the attentive father-figure she had once hoped to find in him but he wasn't cruel. Simply detached. And the servants with looks of dark intent, she knew he meant Childermass but she had never felt threatened by the man.
"Tell me, are you safe there, my lady," the prince persisted, bracing his hand against her neck. "Or you do believe you may be happier here with me in Untold-Blessings?"
The conflict within her swelled as the music reached a pitch. She was not particularly happy at Hurtfew Abbey but she wasn't ill treated. Or perhaps she was. Perhaps the thoughts crowding her head were true. Childermass was a villain with ill intentions like a ominous figure from a novel by Mrs. Radcliffe. Norrell was a heartless master who had stolen her father's works from her and now held her captive. Here with the prince in his cruel kingdom was the only place she could be truly loved and cherished.
"Tell me why I am here," she breathed.
The prince gently moved her towards the mirror. The reflection cleared to show her old bedchamber in their house in Jamaica. The small form of a child was fast asleep on a large bed while two men watched from the doorway. Edward Savage nervously cleaned his spectacles on his shirt, the strand of white hair over his ear. The other figure extended an elegant finger towards the child. A brown strand of hair peeking over the edge of the blanket curled white as snow.
"Your father struck a deal the night of your mother's death," the prince said. "He had to compensate for her loss. He had already bargained away half her life to me in return for saving her while she birthed you. You have been bound to me since you were four years old."
In stunned silence, her fingers moved of their own accord up to her braid, the red satin hair ribbon crumpling between them. Her mind cleared and she saw the abbey in the mirror's reflection. The maze-like passages, the sandstone kitchen hearth, the library. The prince took a step backwards, releasing his hold on her. The eerie music faded.
"I will return for what I am owed," he promised but Mercy did not look at him.
The vision in the mirror swept down the servants quarters and turned into an unfamiliar bedroom. A fire burned in the hearth, a wealth of books by the bed. It looked like the finer quarters of a butler or housekeeper. A person was slumped in a chair by the fire wearing muddy boots and shuffling a deck of tattered cards in his hands. A black patched coat hung over the back of the chair.
Mercy took a deep breath of the dusty air tinged with pipe smoke, her nightgown rustling around her legs as she took a mincing step forward. The room swayed as Childermass rose from his seat in surprise.
"Miss Savage?"
"Childermass," Mercy said calmly before she collapsed.