Bloodlines forever
Stretching through the land
And those of us
Who were made to leave
Venice
Since her conversation with Sarah, they had heard no more from Lucrezia. Winter had sat with the girl every waking minute, waiting, hoping. She’d even asked Conte Vendramin if she could sleep in the room too, in case Lucrezia had a message for them in the middle of the night. The count had agreed and ordered a wrought-iron bed to be brought in for Winter.
Now she lay awake, listening to Lucrezia’s frantic whispering and watching the grey Adriatic Sea from the window. She couldn’t stop thinking of Niall. Never before in all fifty years of her life – Elementals age very slowly – had she felt that way for anyone. Since the Midnights had tried to take her life, horrified by her hybrid nature, her trust in human beings had been shaken to the point that she’d preferred the company of seals. During her long exile from Islay, she’d been content with the seals for companions, and the occasional conversation with islanders, who were curious about her but reserved enough not to pry. She had a passionate nature, and a few young men had drifted in and out of her life. But, her desire for freedom had always been stronger than her need for love. She’d seen her mother lose her heart to Winter’s Elemental father, but then settle down with Hugh Shaw in a loving, loyal marriage that had healed her after the loss of Winter’s father. Winter could not accept anything less.
That was why when she returned to Islay and settled in the whitewashed cottage that had been her parents’, she had no plans to let anyone in her life. She was happy managing her time on land and her time in the sea with the seals.
And then Sarah Midnight had arrived, and with her Niall Flynn, and everything had changed. She thought the Irish boy would have been a joyous interlude in her solitary life, that she would let him love her but not get too close, but she had fallen for him.
After fifty years, life had surprised Winter, given her so much happiness and then taken it away. But it was not in her nature to despair. She was always drawn to the light, to joy, just like she could see that Sarah was drawn to sorrow. Lying in her bed in Venice beside the sleeping girl, awake and listening to Lucrezia’s whispering, Winter’s heart was full of hope. She would not cry, she would not despair, until she was sure she had reason for it.
Winter freed her arm from the sheets, and extended it towards Lucrezia. She felt for the girl’s hand until she found her cold, thin fingers, and held it. It might have been her imagination, but she had the distinct impression that Lucrezia squeezed her hand ever so slightly back.
She closed her eyes and let herself drift to sleep.