Dark Diary (32 page)

“What happened?” Matthaya asked, his gaze chasing a few of the pens as they tumbled across the hardwood
flooring. “What’s wrong?” He stepped closer to the table and bent
over to lift it back up to where it had been. He wiped his sleeved forearm across the wood.

“What is it, Kathera?”

I crossed my arms in my chair.

An eyebrow rose and Matthaya’s lips curled into a partial grimace he tried to hide. He disappeared from sight for a moment as he bent down to pick the loose pens up from around the room.

I watched in silence as he patiently lifted color after color
from the floor and rolled them into a level bunch in his hands, no pen sitting taller than another. He patted them even with
his free hand and then retrieved the velvet box from a
few feet away. He set the box down in front of me and placed
the pens back inside, sliding them one-by-one into the tiny impressions along the inside of the box.

He had astounding patience.

He pulled out the chair beside me and sat down. His fingers traced the length of one of my crossed arms.

“Talk to me, Kathera,” he said, his eyes piercing mine, imploring me to answer him no matter what I was feeling. “Please, my love.” His expression softened against me as his fingers did the same.

“I can’t do it anymore!” I said, stamping a foot down beneath the
table. “I can’t…”

“You can’t do what?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know.

I felt so empty… so completely lost. It had never been so difficult and the struggle left me feeling pathetic.

“Draw…”

Matthaya’s head dropped and he appeared to be mourning my artistic loss.

“It’s exactly as I had feared it would be,” he said, breaking the silence. “In all art, there is passion,” he clarified, pressing the lid of the box closed. “And there is no passion in what we are.” He slid the box of pens across the table and tipped it onto its side, letting his fingers drift across the soft velvet for a moment.

“But I
want
to do this,” I said, closing my eyes to help clear my mind. “I want to get back into drawing. I want to work with others who want my art—who need me to share my visions with them.” I reached past Matthaya for the box, and as my fingers stretched to grasp it, he stopped me with a flattened hand.

“Then you’re going to need more than your own pure will to do
this,” he said, his eyes met mine and I had no choice but to concede.

My eyebrows furrowed and I tipped my face in question. He was full of riddles. Would I
ever
understand him?

He pushed the box from my reach and then gazed warmly
back at me.

“Come with me,” he said, turning over his hand and inviting me to take it. “I’ll show you.”

I smiled.

The simple act of his taking my hand—his gentle fingers cupping my own and his thumb caressing the back of my mine—put me at ease.

We walked downstairs from the library and down the hall until we entered our bedroom. Near the foot of the bed, Matthaya released my hand and fixed his eyes on a section of the flooring below us. He bent down, flipped the old rectangular rug over—folding it onto itself—and then whacked one of the floorboards with his palm. The board popped up on one corner and he wrapped his fingers around the edge so he could pry it up from the floor and set it aside. My curiosity had me eagerly peeking over his shoulder.

What secrets had he hidden just beneath my nose?

He stood and held a small blackish box tightly within his fingers.

“Sit down, Kathera.” He motioned to the bed and I did as
he had asked.

With poise, he knelt before me and lifted the box into view.

“I owe you many things, my love, and an explanation is surely one of them.” His hands trembled as I took the box from them. It was cool, like metal. Tiny studs lined the four corners and a small, simple latch held it closed.

“Maybe this will help you understand me.” He tried to smile. “Maybe… it will help you understand
us.
”

I had no idea what he meant, or what the box held, but I knew it was nothing like what Derek had left for me the day he had been murdered.

Still, I was afraid.

Whatever was inside was light as feathers and hollow sounding. The box made no noise as I shuffled it between hands.

I wedged my thumbnail carefully up underneath the silver-colored latch and lifted it. The box lid opened. A tiny plume of black powdery dust drifted from my fingers. My nose wrinkled as I squinted in disbelief.

Ash?

Matthaya waited apprehensively, still on one knee, searching
for a change in my expression.

“Look closer…” he said, nudging me gently.

My fingers sunk into the tiny ocean of gray and black.
The ash was thick as sand. Sprinkled throughout, there were
fragments of blackened pieces with barely legible ink letters written across them.

They had been actual letters… once.

“My God, Matthaya.” I sifted a small handful through my fingers. “How many letters were in here?”

“Dozens. Probably more. It was how I coped with my feelings
for you then.” He stared intently at the box. “I couldn’t let anyone see them, but I
had
to write them to you, even if it meant destroying them soon after.”

I rubbed my fingertips together and marveled at what
history I must have been touching. Matthaya was much deeper and
more passionate than I could have imagined, but he had been forced to bottle it up inside throughout his entire love affair with Kathryn. He was devoted and faithful even though his stature in the household did not allow him to be.

A smile curled at the corner of my mouth and I reached out to caress his face. I gasped as I unwittingly painted a soft black smudge across his cheek. A faint chuckle escaped him, lightening the mood. I rested a little deeper into the mattress and made the smudge a bit lighter with a wipe of the back of my hand.

“There’s more,” he said, motioning again toward the box.

I shook the box delicately and the yellowed edge of a
folded up note surfaced through the ash. I pinched it between
my fingers and slid it from the box. It felt heavier than it should have been and there was a bulge in the center of the folds. It was so old and discolored that I feared unfolding it might damage it.

“May I?” I set the box aside and cupped the note protectively in my fingers.

“Please do.” He nodded.

I used both hands to peel the folds apart. The first was
the stiffest, requiring a gentle tug to separate the aged creases from one another. The second fold was easier, but my nerves
caught up in my throat, as I feared tearing the letter. A few painstaking movements later, the last fold came into view. I could already make out a set of sentences
exquisitely written in dark ink and the tiny bulge in the note was all I
had left to reveal.

The final fold came undone and a heavy, gold ring
slipped from out of the letter. A gorgeous green light shimmered across the bridge of my nose as I tilted the ring into view. It was deep antique gold, weighty and intricate. The sides of the thick band were covered in curves of elegantly carved dragons and six prongs securely held a large cushion-cut emerald in their grasp. Light glittered through the massive gemstone.

I closed my fingers around the ring.

“What is this?” I asked, feeling the cool, solid gold band press into my palm.

“Read the note and you’ll understand,” he said, touching my closed hand softly.

A nervous feeling coiled around my stomach as I returned
my gaze to the delicately hand-written strokes of his
penmanship. The faded calligraphy was still legible but aged and
brownish in color.

“My light:

Forgive me for all that I have not said. There is reason behind my distance and I pray that for the sake of our love for one another, you can understand. I realize
that this life has not granted us the freedom we long for, but I have found a way to change that.

It hurts me to let go of something so precious, but letting go of you would be like giving in to death himself.
It is a sacrifice I have decided upon for the future of our romance as my heart cannot go on without you anymore.

I am sorry I did not share with you this secret before,
but it is all I have left of who I was.

Now I am part of you, and with this, we can be free.

I will love you, always… like the sun.”

The weight of his words made my heart sink. He had been so
young when he had written the letter. It must have been very painful for him to keep it with him all these years.

But, what was he going to sacrifice?

And then, the coldness of the ring in my hand brought me
back.

“Where did you get this?” I asked, unfolding my fingers.

“My…” He hesitated, mustering the courage to explain. “My mother…”

I gasped.

“My mother gave it to me the day I was taken away from her.” Matthaya took the band from my palm. “She told me
to protect it with my life. She told me it was part of who I was.”
He slid the ring onto his right ring finger and scowled at how loosely it fit. He moved it over to his middle finger and his lips thinned. “It was worth a fortune, even then. But it was all I had left of them—of me. And I hesitated to give it up.”

He clenched his fingers.

“I could have changed things for us… I could have—”

“
Matthaya.” I embraced his hands with mine. “There is no use
regretting the past. You can’t change things now. Hating
yourself over a decision you made centuries ago is pointless.”

I pried his fingers from the fist they had formed and then thoughtfully polished the emerald stone with my thumb
. “Be thankful you still have this.
This
is who you are.
It’s all we have now.” My words replayed in my mind instantly
and I repeated myself. “It’s all
we
have, Matthaya, of who
we
are.” I smiled.

“I should have given the letter to you then,” he scoffed, “but I was a coward. At least I could have left knowing I had told you the truth.”

“Matthaya, I’m yours now,” I said, folding the love letter
back into its original shape. I tucked it carefully into the ashes
and closed the box lid. He immediately went to remove the ring from his finger.

I stopped him.

“No.” I set the box aside and pressed my fingers against his hand. “Keep it with you always. And stop apologizing for
what you do have. I know how much you loved Kathryn then
and I know how much you love me now. Stop grieving, my love.”

He stood from the floor and took a seat beside me on the
bed. His shy gaze came up to meet mine and his beautiful green eyes studied me intently. There must have been over a dozen soft shades of color within his eyes. They were enchanting—still.

I leaned forward to kiss his lips and our eyes closed in unison. It felt nice knowing his trust in me had grown.

“I can deal with this life,” I whispered, planting a kiss against his cheek. “But I want you to help me.”

He fidgeted briefly with his ring, and then nodded and took me into his arms.

“I’ll stop grieving… if you do.” A small breath of his tickled my ear.

I nuzzled my face against his chest and sunk deeper into his
embrace. His chin rested against the back of my head and the darkness within me began to fade. He was telling the truth.

He was… letting go of the past.

I SAT DOWN AT THE
desk and looked at the piece. It was something I hadn’t seen before: a vivid, life-like expression framed by waves of glossy hair and baring a grin with exaggerated fangs. It was dark, lined heavily with thick black ink and the shadows were shaded roughly with jagged pen strokes. Her lines were clean and crisp and the coloring of the creature’s crimson eyes was magnificent. She possessed so much talent with a pen.

“Well?” Kathera said in a small voice as she crept up behind me and rested her hands on my shoulders. Her half-cocked smile was hopeful and imploring.

I shuffled the drawing into a stack of others and then fanned the entire set of pages out in front of me across the table. They were unique and new—every one of them—differing not only from one another in subject, but also in design and style from anything I had seen in her previous
work. Though the colors she used were mostly shades of gray and red, there was a subtleness in the undertones which
had been absent in her past work.

She was apprehensive about my opinion and her nerves perked up my senses. I knew how hard she had worked on her new drawings and it meant the world to her to know w
hat I
really
thought. She wanted approval from me, but she
wanted the truth, too, even if it broke her heart to hear it.