Ysanne

They washed the rest of the clothes in silence, and then draped them around the room to dry.

Ysanne brought in more wood and stacked it by the fireplace, and unpacked her trunk, folding her clothes and putting them in one corner, along with her combs and sponges, her makeup and jewellery, and three small daggers, all under Edmond's curious gaze.

She wasn't sure why she had been so open with him.

It went against the basic rules of vampire survival, and yet she hadn't been able to help herself.

It wasn't easy to always live a lie, to pretend to be human when she hadn't been in so long, and out here, away from civilisation, it was if that weight had dropped away and she could be herself.

Maybe she would come to regret her honesty, but Edmond hadn't run from her yet.

But that didn't mean she was ready to tell him everything.

It didn't mean she would ever be ready.

She thought of the little apple tree she'd left outside the front door. The only reason she'd come here in the first place was to plant that tree. She'd guessed that she would stay a few days, or even a few weeks, but she honestly hadn't thought about much beyond the tree, and now she couldn't even bring herself to plant it. It would feel like a final goodbye.

She wasn't ready.

Edmond swayed suddenly, his face pale.

"What's wrong?" said Ysanne, rushing to his side.

He blinked, swallowed, and took a shuddering breath. "Nothing. I just . . ."

Understanding sank in. The poor boy was skin and bones – when was the last time he'd eaten? She'd drunk his blood last night, weakening him even more, but it hadn't occurred to her that he needed food, too.

Silently, she cursed her own stupidity.

It had been so long since she'd needed real food that she sometimes forgot humans did still need it.

"You need to eat," she said.

Edmond hopefully eyed her trunk, but there was nothing in there for him.

Ysanne cursed herself again. She should have brought that damn horse back here and killed it to feed Edmond.

"Stay here. I'll go and find food," she said.

Edmond started to protest, and she fixed him with a stern look.

"I am not discussing this with you. Stay here and keep the fire going," she said.

Edmond wisely fell silent.

Ysanne went into the hallway where she stripped off her remaining petticoats, replacing them with a pair of breeches and a loose shirt, sliding her feet into soft leather boots, and tying her hair back with a strip torn from the ruins of her dress. She did enjoy the fashions of the day – the dresses and jewellery and coiffed hairstyles – but sometimes the simple comfort of menswear was preferable.

Outside, it was snowing again, and Ysanne took a moment to tip her head back, letting the cold flakes collect on her skin like tiny crystals. Snow could be lethal, but it was so beautiful too, transforming the countryside into a fairyland of glittering white.

Then she remembered Edmond.

There was little point saving him from the cold last night, only to let him starve to death now.

She set out into the snow.

Always remember, Ysanne, that there will be times when it is not safe to feed from humans. We may have the superior strength, but they have the numbers. Do not underestimate them. There may come a point when you will have to hunt animals to survive.

Agnes's words rolled around in Ysanne's head as she ploughed through the knee-deep snow.

Agnes had been right.

There had been times in Ysanne's long life when trying to feed from humans was more risk than it was worth, and then she had been forced to turn to animal blood. It couldn't sustain her the way human blood did, but sometimes vampires had no choice.

Agnes had taken her out to the countryside to learn how to hunt, until Ysanne had become a proficient killer of the small and furry. But it had been a long time since she'd been in that position, and she couldn't pretend that her skills weren't . . . rusty.

She paused, thinking.

It would be hard enough for her to quickly hunt something down in normal circumstances, and the bitter weather made it so much worse. But somewhere out here was her other horse.

How far could it have gone?

With any luck, it had given up running once it had lost sight of her, and she could track it through the snow.

Ysanne changed course, heading, once more, for her abandoned carriage.

When she got there, she debated hauling the frozen carcass of the dead horse back, but even with the roaring fire, it would take too long to thaw the beast out.

Edmond didn't have that kind of time.

But hunting something else down might take even longer.

Ysanne dithered, torn.

"What should I do?" she whispered, and she didn't know if she was asking Julien or Agnes, or any of the other ghosts in her heart.

But of course there was no one to answer.

Ysanne bit her lip. The frozen horse wasn't going anywhere. She could come back for that if she couldn't find anything fresh in the next few minutes, but maybe it was better to try catching the other horse first.

It wasn't hard to track it, even for someone who hadn't done it in so long.

The horse's hooves had kicked up great sprays of snow, and left deep imprints in all that thick white, and it wasn't long until the space between prints grew smaller. Ysanne hoped that meant the animal had slowed to a walk.

After a mile or so, she stopped and sniffed the air. The distinct odour of horse hung heavy – even a human could have smelled it.

Off to her left was a sorry looking copse, the trees all huddled together as if that would shield them from the weather, and Ysanne headed that way, following her nose.

A shape moved behind the copse, and Ysanne froze, one foot raised to take another step. The horse emerged, the tattered ends of the traces still trailing from its harness. It huffed out a steamy breath, then stopped dead when it saw her.

"Easy now," Ysanne murmured.

She inched forward, and the horse inched back.

Ysanne bit back a curse. "Do not make me chase you," she warned.

The horse put its ears back, staring at her.

She moved forward another step, and then another, until she was almost within reach of it. She reached out, and the horse abruptly skittered backwards.

"Stupid beast," she snarled under her breath, clenching her fists.

She was angrier with herself than she was with the horse – after all, she could hardly blame it for wanting to survive. If she had remembered Agnes's lessons, this might have been easy, but she had become arrogant and complacent. It had been so long since she had needed to feed from animals that she had foolishly forgotten what Agnes taught her, just when she needed it.

Ysanne closed her eyes and tried to quell her anger.

She thought of Julien, of that soft smile he had just for her, the way he would kiss her eyelids and tell her she was the most beautiful woman in the world. She thought of his endless understanding, his patience and gentleness, the fact that she had become a better woman for being with him.

If he was here now, he would have laughed and kissed her, and reminded her to be patient. He would have had faith in her, even as she doubted herself. He would tell her to try again, to keep trying.

Ysanne opened her eyes. For just a moment, she was sure she could feel the phantom imprint of his arms still around her, then the world shifted into focus and the memory was gone.

Julien was gone.

Edmond was still here, and he needed her.

Ysanne fixed a steely eye on the horse standing a few feet away, watching her.

"I am going to kill you," she told it. "I would like it to be a clean and easy death, for you as much as me, but if you wish to make it hard, then so be it."

The horse snorted, steamy breath curling on the air.

Ysanne didn't move for several long moments, as still as the trees themselves, and gradually, gradually, the horse lowered its defences. It put its head to the ground, nosing at the snow, looking for the grass buried all the way down.

Still, Ysanne didn't move.

She waited for the horse to take a step towards her, then another, watching her suspiciously every now and then.

Then the wind blew, making the trees in the copse creak and groan, and the horse swung its head in that direction, ears swivelling. Ysanne seized her chance.

She lunged forward, grabbing the harness with both hands. The horse squealed and tried to rear, but Ysanne yanked hard on the reins, pulling the horse off its feet and sending its big body crashing into the snow. It squealed again, legs kicking, and Ysanne snapped its spine with one well-placed blow. The horse went limp.

Ysanne patted its neck. "I wish there had been another way," she murmured.

When she dragged the horse home, she was surprised to find Edmond cleaning away the dust and cobwebs with rags torn from her ruined dress.

He gave her a slightly sheepish look. "I hope you don't mind," he said.

Ysanne wasn't sure what to say.

Edmond's expression faded. "I'm sorry if I've overstepped my boundaries, but it seems like this house means a lot to you, and it's not . . ." He trailed off and gestured around them, at the filth that choked the floors, corners, and ceiling.

Something fluttered in Ysanne's heart.

He was trying to do something nice for her.

Edmond swallowed. "I'll stop if you –"

"No." It came out sharper than she intended, and he flinched a little.

"No," she said again, softer. "This is very much appreciated, thank you."

Edmond offered a tentative smile. His gaze went past her, to the dead horse slumped in the hallway, and his eyes widened.

"Oh," was all he said.

He followed Ysanne as she dragged the horse through to the kitchen and laid it out on the floor. It would need to be carved up before they could cook it, and Ysanne's knives were sharp enough for the job, but Ysanne had no idea how to proceed. Vampires only needed to drink blood to survive, they didn't need to prepare their food, and Ysanne was somehow disconcerted to realise that she had absolutely no idea what she was doing.

Edmond seemed to realise it too. He smiled at her again, but it was more confident this time. "We need to skin it first. The pelt will be useful," he said.

Ysanne nodded as if she had any idea how to do that, but Edmond wasn't fooled.

"May I?" he said, and she realised he was holding one of her knives.

She inclined her head as graciously as she could, as if she was allowing him to do this, rather than admitting she was completely clueless about such matters.

Edmond made short work of such a large animal, briskly skinning it and carving up the meat. Some of it would be smoked and cured, some of it frozen outside so they could thaw it later.

It occurred to Ysanne, as blood and thicker things slopped over the kitchen floor, that they really should have done this outside, but it was too late now.

"So you were human once?" Edmond said, as he worked.

"A long time ago, yes." Ysanne leaned against the wall to watch him.

"You had a family, like any other?"

"I had a mother and a father, if that's what you mean."

He paused, halfway through sawing through a thick string of sinew. "No siblings?"

"None that survived childhood."

"Your parents must have doted on you."

Ysanne gave a short laugh, and Edmond paused again, surprised by the bitter sound.

"My parents . . ." Ysanne shook her head. "My parents wanted a son to carry on their precious family name. Every time my mother birthed a boy, my father was ecstatic, thinking he finally had his longed-for heir. And every time the boys died young, he looked at me like it was somehow my fault. I have no doubt that he would gladly have exchanged my life for one of theirs if he could. In some way he blamed me for surviving, for being stronger than my brothers."

"I'm sorry," Edmond said.

Ysanne shrugged a little. "I grew used to it. Eventually my parents were too old to have children, and realised that I was the best they were going to get. If they couldn't have a son of their own, they could at least ensure their daughter made a good match in marriage."

"And did you?" Edmond asked, cracking the horse's ribs with the hilt of the knife.

"His name was Richart," Ysanne said, after a long pause. "He was a good match, and more importantly, he was a good man. He knew, when I accepted his proposal, that I did not love him – at least, not in the way that he loved me – but he was quietly confident that I would grow to. He never forced my hand, or pressured me to say things I did not feel, and maybe I would have reciprocated his feelings one day."

If she'd had the chance.

"Why did you marry him if you didn't love him?" Edmond asked.

Ysanne laughed again. "As I said, my responsibility was to make a good match in marriage. Love had nothing to do with it. But I did love him, in my own way. He was a dear friend. I genuinely enjoyed his company, and I believed that we would be happy together. I would rather have that marriage than one to a man I didn't even like, and he was the only one of my suitors for whom I felt any affection."

Ysanne indicated the walls around them. "This house was his once. He built it for me before our wedding. It would be our little retreat, he said, somewhere we could bring our children when we had them."

She fell silent, remembering the empty little beds upstairs. They had never been filled and now they were gone, smashed into firewood and reduced to ash.

Edmond smiled, small and sad. "I used to think that I would build a house for my wife, but I never dreamed of anything like this."

"You're married?" Ysanne said, and as soon as she said it, she saw the grief in Edmond's eyes.

He shook his head. "Her name was Lucy. She lived in the same village as me, and we had planned to wed. But then the plague came. It ripped through the village, and left so many writhing and bleeding in its wake. I escaped it. Lucy did not."

"I'm sorry," Ysanne said. "Did you love her?"

Edmond sat back on his heels, bloodied knife in one hand. "Yes, I did. We had hoped to marry when summer came, but she didn't live long enough to see it. Instead of our planned wedding, she ended that summer in a mass grave, along with more than half the village." He stabbed savagely at the horse. "Including my mother, my brother, and my two sisters."

Ysanne winced.

Life could be so very cruel and capricious.

"I left the village after that," Edmond continued. "There was nothing there for me anymore, and I was afraid the plague would return for those of us who had survived."

"Where did you go?" Ysanne asked.

Edmond spread his bloodstained hands. "Anywhere I could, as long it was away from any cities, towns, or villages. I thought I had a better chance of escaping the plague if I was alone."

"Is that why you were out last night?"

"I've been travelling the length and breadth of this country for the last two years, and I've lived through both winters. I thought I could do the same again."

"But this winter is unusually hard," Ysanne said.

Edmond nodded.

Ysanne studied him as he bent over his grisly work.

Like her, he was a wanderer, a lost soul cut adrift from the world. Like her, he carried a heart full of grief and heavy memories.

Edmond paused again, and gave her a surprisingly perceptive stare.

"You didn't love Richart, but his loss still hurt you," he said.

"The same as the death of any dear friend would," Ysanne said.

"But he's not who you're really grieving for, is he?"

Ysanne pressed her lips together, staring back at the human boy who seemed to be able to see right through her.

"No, he's not," she said, and turned away. "But I don't wish to discuss that now."