Beatrice was in a small boat. A boat that was the exact length and width as her body. It felt closer to a coffin. She only knew it was a boat because of the gentle rocking of the waves.
She knew, almost immediately, that she was dreaming. She cursed her gods. It took her days to recover from their damned dreams.
But for now, Beatrice was in a boat. A rowboat to be exact.
She sat up, her head throbbing in time with her heartbeat. She was in the middle of an ocean. The world around her was covered in thick fog. She couldn't see the sky through it. She laughed. Even in her dreams she couldn't be out in the sun.
She leaned over the boat's edge. The ocean was black. A deep dark black. The water seemed thicker than water, almost like blood. She pressed her hand against the water, it gripped to her fingers when she pulled her hand back up.
Beatrice sighed and laid back down in the boat. She waved her arm through the thick fog, cutting a path through it.
For a dream sent by the gods, she was getting pretty bored.
She couldn't find meaning in any of it. Maybe there wasn't any. Maybe her gods just wanted to torture her.
She ghosted her hand across the water's skin. Except this time something grabbed at her. It pulled her from the boat, deeper and deeper into the thick water. She could not find the source of what was pulling her in, perhaps it was the water itself. Perhaps it was her gods.
Just as she was about to run out of breath, she bursted to the surface. But it wasn't the surface, it was the bottom of the ocean.
There she saw her mother.
Beatrice tore out of sleep.
She was covered in a thin layer of sweat. When she stretched, her back stung, reminding her of what had happened. Through her nightdress she could see three terrible lash marks creeping up her back.
She raked her hands through her sweaty hair.
Her mother. Was something about to happen to her?
She thanked the gods for their warning and cursed them once more for how vaguely they delivered it.
She snatched her veil from the vanity, not even bothering to change into proper clothes.
Usually during this time, her mother would be in the library with Torin.
She could hear voices somewhere within the library. She could instantly identify her mother's but the other was a low deep rumble. It sounded familiar but she couldn't place a face to it.
Beatrice strained her ears in an attempt to catch at least some small snippet of the conversation. And then the door opened.
Her demon appeared.
"What are you doing here?" Her voice came out harsher than she meant it to, but she couldn't help her suspicions after their exchange in the chapel.
Her heart screamed in her chest when his eyes met hers. She held her breath, without realizing she was holding her breath. Then her mother called for her.
It was as if she was being shaken awake from a trance. She brushed past her demon, who was starting to look more and more like a human every day. His skin grazed her as she passed. There were fireworks underneath her skin. The gods in her head screamed for him. They screamed to be near him. They screamed to run away.
Beatrice no longer knew what she felt.
"Why did you call for him, alma?"
Her mother shrugged, stroking Beatrice's hair. "I was curious. It's not everyday a foreigner comes to the monastery."
"Does the holy father know about him?"
Echo gave a sharp smile. "I'm sure he knows now."
Gi touched the back of Beatrice's neck as she passed. A gesture of apology. Beatrice watched her go after the demon that had just left.
What was their relationship? Beatrice knew for a fact they weren't lovers, so why were they so close?
"Don't look so sour," Echo touched the crease between Beatrice's eyebrows. "He's just a man."
"A man that we can't trust," Torin added.
"Torin," Echo chided. Torin only shrugged in response.
Beatrice sighed. "He's right. No one knows where he's from. Except maybe Gi."
Echo tucked a lock of hair behind Beatrice's ear. A gesture that was meant to be comforting, but Beatrice couldn't find any comfort in it. She knew immediately just from the gesture. Echo had touched the demon. And she had seen something.
And she was hiding it.
"You can trust Gi."
Beatrice frowned. "How do you know this?"
Echo smiled. "A mother just knows."
Beatrice clenched her fist. Between her mother, Gi, and that demon, it seemed everyone knew something that Beatrice didn't. Something that Beatrice should know. She hated it being hidden from her, as if they were trying to protect her. As if she was some fragile thing that couldn't handle knowing something.
Beatrice sighed. She walked out of the library without a word, ignoring Torin's shouts behind her.
She rolled her shoulders. She felt a small trickle of blood run down her back.
"Beatrice," a deep, familiar voice came from behind her.
Only one other person other than her mother had ever called her by that name. She tried to turn, but a firm hand held her in place. A gentle hand lifted the veil from her back. Her nightgown didn't have a back.
She inhaled sharply.
His hand ghosted the marks.
She turned. He looked pained, as if he was the one that was whipped.
"Who did that to you?" he swallowed hard.
"Were you waiting for me?" she ignored his question.
"Beatrice," he gripped her arm tightly, but with a careful hand. Enough to stop her from walking away, but not enough to hurt. "Who did that to you?"
"Who do you think?"
The pain in his eyes flared to anger. "I'll kill him."
"You won't."
"I will."
Beatrice almost believed him. She shook her head. He would have to be a fool to try to attack the archbishop. And she never named him directly.
Her demon brought the hand gripping her arm to her cheek and Beatrice felt her skin flare.
"You know, you always call me by my name, yet I don't even know yours."
Her demon smiled. Beatrice was sure his smile could light up the sun. She closed her eyes. It hurt to look at the sun.
"Ilya."
"Ilya," she repeated his name slowly. She liked the way it felt in her mouth. "Ilya."
"Yes?"
"Ilya."
His hand fell from her cheek, wrapping around her shoulders. He lowered his forehead to her shoulder. "You will be the death of me."
Beatrice laughed. That should be her line. Perhaps they would be the end of each other.
His hand ran up and down her arm, raising goosebumps in its wake. Suddenly, Beatrice became acutely aware of her situation. She was still wearing her nightdress, which was thin and not much coverage. She pulled away from him.
"I need to change."
Ilya grinned wickedly. "Must you?"
She flushed, the heat rising all the way up to her ears. "Of course I do. I can't let people see me like this…" she lowered her voice. "Especially with a man that's not my husband."
Ilya frowned at the mention of Ephraim. Beatrice let out a shaky exhale. She knew she should stay away from Ilya. The two of them could never be friends, there would always be some sort of tension between them. And she couldn't allow that to happen. She was married. She was a loyal person.
But she felt regret when her hand released hers. She wouldn't like a future without his smile.
"Don't avoid me anymore," Ilya begged.
Beatrice chewed her lip. 'Refuse,' she commanded herself. 'Walk away and never look back.'
"I'll come back," she found her mouth saying, despite her head. "Wait for me in my sitting room."
Ilya grinned his sunlight grin and gave her hand a quick squeeze before releasing her.
She put her hands to her cheeks to calm the flames. He really would be the death of her. She could see it in her eyes. There was no longer any escape.