Chapter 118: The Sound of Returning Steps
The morning after her dream, Eva awoke to the hush of heavy skies. Rain had passed through in the night, leaving the Ainsley's estate washed and shining, as if the world had been wrung clean. In her half - sleep, she thought she heard footsteps — soft ones, deliberate — moving along the east wing. But when she stirred, Seraphina was still there beside her, curled like a ribbon around the quiet.
"Maman?" she murmured into the pillow.
Seraphina's arm tightened. "Not yet, little moonbeam. Go back to sleep."
But Eva could not. The ache in her chest, that wanting ache, had returned. Evelyn had been gone for weeks now, and though her letters came — tender things scented faintly of fig and ink — they weren't the same as her voice, her hands, the way she tucked Eva's hair behind her ear with a mother's care and the faintest guilt.
That morning, she refused breakfast. She curled on the window seat instead, draped in one of Seraphina's cardigans, listening to the patter of wind - chimed droplets as they slid down glass. Her sketchbook lay unopened beside her. She did not want to draw.
Vivienne found her there and said nothing at first. She sat beside her quietly, folding her hands in her lap, the two of them staring out into the garden where the roses drooped, saturated with rain.
"Sometimes I think the world remembers when she's gone," Eva said finally. "Like it holds its breath."
Vivienne's voice was gentle. "And sometimes it rains because it knows she'll return."
Eva pressed her forehead to the window. "When?"
"Soon."
Eva shook her head. "You always say that."
Vivienne sighed, and her silence felt like a wound.
"She's trying to fix things, you know," she said at last. "For you. For all of us."
"I didn't ask her to fix anything."
"No," Vivienne murmured, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "But love makes people brave. And foolish. And very, very tired."
Eva leaned into her. "Then tell her to come be tired here."
Vivienne kissed her temple. "I will."
That afternoon, a rare thing happened: Seraphina asked Eva if she wanted to spar.
"Not training," she clarified. "Just dueling. Just us."
Eva's eyes lit up. "Yes!"
They dressed in light gear and made their way to the small indoor court. Seraphina set the ground rules gently. "First to five. No pressure. Just rhythm."
Eva bowed solemnly before they began. She always did.
The match was like a dance — half memory, half improvisation. Eva's style had grown more fluid with Seraphina's influence — less concerned with textbook form and more with intuition, breath, balance. She lost the first two points, but the next three she earned in a flurry of perfectly timed feints.
At the fourth, she drew back, panting and grinning, sweat clinging to her brow.
Seraphina lowered her foil. "Do you want to stop?"
"No," Eva said. "I want to win."
Their blades kissed once more. Eva lunged, deflected, then twisted mid - turn — just as Seraphina had taught her — and caught her lightly across the shoulder.
"Five," she whispered, breathless.
Seraphina smiled, proud and unthreatened. "You learn fast."
"I learn you," Eva said, cheeks pink. "That's how I win."
Afterward, Seraphina wrapped her in a towel and guided her back to the library, where they sat side by side on the floor near the fireplace. Eva traced constellations on the rug with one finger.
"Will you stay forever?" she asked suddenly.
Seraphina looked at her. "Do you want me to?"
Eva nodded.
"I'll stay as long as I can," Seraphina said. "Longer, if I can help it."
Eva bit her lip. "Even when Adrian comes?"
Seraphina stiffened faintly. "You know about that?"
"Mère - auntie Vivienne told me. Said he's… interested."
Seraphina was quiet for a moment. "He's not a danger to you." "Not yet".
"But he wants me."
"Lots of people will want you. Because they see your light."
"Do you?"
Seraphina took her hand. "I see your soul."
Eva leaned her head on her shoulder. "Then stay."
And Seraphina, whisper-soft, answered: "I will."
*****
The next few days passed like a quiet storm. Rain became sun, sun became mist. Letters arrived. Reginald's latest dispatch included a new training schedule, harsh and fluctuating, but Vivienne softened the blow by tearing up half the timetable and saying, "He's not here, and I am."
Eva laughed, grateful, and hugged her around the waist.
Evelyn's letters arrived, too, but they were shorter now. A sentence here, a note there. "Soon," she wrote once. And nothing more.
Eva clutched that paper to her chest and whispered, "Soon is too far."
It was on the fourth evening — twilight fading, candles flickering — that Eva began to write. Not a letter, not a poem, but something strange. A script, almost. A play.
"Starring: Me," she wrote, "and Ina. In the roles of Hero and Light. Scene: A tower, and a rescue. Theme: We choose each other."
She worked into the night, eyes burning, mind clear.
When Vivienne peeked in to check on her, she found her asleep at the desk, cheek nestled against the parchment, quill still in hand.
She read the first few lines and smiled.
"She's beginning to write her future," Vivienne murmured.
One morning, about a week before Evelyn's return, Eva was invited to tea with the Langford matriarch — an infrequent, weighty invitation. Seraphina's grandmother, Lady Odette Langford, rarely summoned anyone without reason. She was old - world, formal, and frightfully elegant, with a mind as sharp as her pearls were real.
Eva arrived in a elegant dress, her hair braided into a crown by Mère's careful hands. Seraphina walked her to the threshold, then paused.
"You don't have to impress her," she whispered.
Eva nodded. "But I want her to know. That I'm not afraid."
Inside, Lady Odette sat beside a lace - draped tea table, motioning to the seat across from her.
"You're Evangeline "Eva" Claire Ainsley," she said, not asked