Daughter of the Song Read online

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Thank you for Reading

  About the Author

  Daughter

  of the Song:

  Unholy Magic Saga

  Book 1

  Copyright © 2019 by Eliza Tilton

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval without permission in writing from the author.

  Cover art by Cover Reveal Designs

  Edited by Krystal Dehaba

  Interior fleurons by Pablo Luis Gómez Hernández

  www.elizatilton.com

  Give feedback on the book at:

  [email protected]

  Twitter: @elizatilton

  First Edition

  Printed in the U.S.A

  We shall sleep, but not forever,

  There will be a glorious dawn,

  We shall meet, to part, no, never,

  On the resurrection morn!

  Chapter 1

  Arabella

  Every scar on my body served as a reminder of pain. The raised skin around my wrists and the jagged symbols etched into my torso all terrifying reflections of that night in June. The cool water washed over the pain, and for a moment, I floated in the serene pool, weightless, away from the horrors of my past.

  Father and Edgard didn’t like me going anywhere alone, but I needed time. I needed to breathe without the watchful eyes of my family. Swimming was the release I desperately desired.

  With smooth strokes, I glided through the pool, gazing at the waterfall crashing from above. The breeze brought the salty air to my nose. This piece of heaven, carved out from the side of the cliffs by the sea, was my safe place. A haven close to home but quiet and secluded.

  Closing my eyes, I sang into the sunlight. Warm rays caressed my face, igniting the melody within my chest. Every note burst with emotion until the hollow ache faded. The birds by the sycamore chirped in perfect harmony.

  Rufus barked alongside me. I laughed at his out-of-tune attempt, and then the old mastiff sniffed the air before going to investigate a very ghastly gorse bush. The pretty golden-yellow buds were all but covered in spider webs. The one haunting image in my tiny paradise.

  But even spiders deserved a place of rest.

  I swam across the pond, enjoying the warm afternoon. When the sun moved just a hair to the west, I dragged myself away from the waters and began to wring out my garments.

  While I twisted the fabric between my fingers, the cobwebbed gorse bush moved. There was a whole cluster of the bushes, but the spiders only seemed to have covered the huge one nearest a tree. The bush shook, and an old fear dug into my skin, lighting my scars aflame with a harrowing sensation.

  “Rufus, come now. Time to go.”

  I called for my dearest friend, my furry guardian, but he didn’t respond.

  Fear clawed my neck, dragging spindly fingers across my back, taunting me, whispering horrors into my once-beautiful day. Fear not, for the Lord is with me. I recited the scripture Father had taught me, searching for strength.

  It could be an animal.

  It could be Rufus.

  It could be something else.

  “Rufus?” I called louder, creeping forward, begging him to appear.

  A low growl sounded from behind the bush.

  Danger. Run. Father said I should always run.

  But I couldn’t leave Rufus, not him.

  I grabbed a fist-sized rock and held it high, ready to clobber whatever lurked on the other side, and then jumped forward.

  Rufus was sitting on a boy . . . pinning him to the ground.

  He glanced up with eyes too piercing to look at and grinned. “Sorry, m’lady, didn’t mean to pry, but could you call your dog off?”

  “I’d rather not. What are you doing here?”

  “I come here to sketch.” He wiggled a piece of charcoal in his hand, which explained the black streak running across his angelic face.

  “Wait . . . I know you. You’re the boy at the post who’s always staring at me.”

  “I don’t stare. I’m an artist. I look at everybody.” His gaze roamed over me, and heat rose to my cheeks. I lowered the rock and covered my chest, realizing that I only wore my linens.

  “You need to leave. Immediately!” I dashed away and ran to grab my dress.

  “It’s a tad difficult with your dog sitting on my chest. How much does he weigh?”

  Rufus growled, and the boy squeaked. Rufus appeared much more intimidating than his bark. The precious beast had never attacked a thing.

  Once clothed, I whistled, calling Rufus to my side. I leaned over and scratched that perfect spot on his shaggy belly until his furry foot thumped.

  “I am sorry.” The boy shuffled closer with a folded paper clutched to his chest with one hand while he pushed back his top hat with the other. “Name’s Leo, and you?”

  “Arabella.”

  “That’s a lovely name.”

  We stood on opposite sides of Rufus, watching one another. I’d seen Leo plenty of times while at port, but we never spoke, mostly because he kept to himself and our families didn’t interact. No matter what he claimed to be doing today, it was awfully peculiar for him to be hiding behind the bushes.

  “What were you drawing?”

  His cheeks flushed red. “Nothing important. A few sketches.” He stammered over the words and gripped the paper tighter.

  “Show me.”

  “I’m not that good.”

  Whether he had a true artistic ability or not didn’t matter. I wanted to see what he’d drawn while peeping. “Poppycock.”

  I narrowed my gaze at his widened eyes.

  “Ladies shouldn’t use such bold language.” He stumbled backward as I stepped forward.

  “And boys should not be hiding in the bushes, sneaking glances at girls in their underthings!” I poked his chest with my finger.

  “I . . .” Leo stuttered as Rufus bumped into his leg, clearly coming to my defense.

  “Arabella!”

  My overprotective brother’s voice boomed in the distance, reminding me of the prison I lived in. Didn’t he understand I needed to breathe? I surveyed the surroundings for a hiding place. I’d deal with Leo later.

  “Let’s see Edgard get his knickers wet.” I sprinted toward the back of the waterfall, searching for an alcove to hide in. “Come, Rufus.”

  The shaggy dog chased after me, followed by my peeper. Better the boy hide with me. I had no time to explain why I didn’t want to be found and why he should absolutely lie to my brother. If Edgard discovered me here, it would be another safe haven stolen. No matter where I ran off to, he always seemed to track me.

 
“Where are you going? Who is that?” Leo whispered beside me, hopping over the slippery rocks with expert agility.

  “My brother, and he can’t find me.”

  “Arabella!”

  Edgard’s voice sounded closer this time. Part of me felt guilty for running from him, especially after what happened in London. He worried because he cared and feared for not just my safety, but my life. One of the occultists who’d kidnapped me escaped from my father’s wrath and, since that dreadful day thirteen months ago, had never been found.

  My foot slipped on a rock, and I waved my arms in a circle, trying to steady myself. Leo grabbed my arm and pulled me up and over the last few boulders and into the hidden cave behind the waterfall. For a lad lanky and shy like him, he had a strong and true grip, distant, like it couldn’t be from this peculiar boy.

  Rushing water cascaded on the left of us, drowning out the calls of my brother. To the right, an uneasy breeze filled the darkness. We stood closer, me two heads shorter than him. I turned from Leo, inching toward the dark. The soft flow of wind carried a voice too faint to decipher the words. Leo pulled me back to the light and shook his head.

  I wanted to ask about the noise, but I feared my brother’s unearthly hearing would catch us speaking. I mouthed “what” and pointed.

  I’d seen fear in men. It tainted the eyes, reflecting a despair that ran through their blood to crucify their soul. I saw the same dread in Father’s eyes when he found me in the occultists’ inner chamber bound and ready to be sacrificed. Fear could break a man in a way nothing else could.

  What could have Leo so terrified?

  We waited a few more minutes, until I no longer heard Edgard searching. I peeked out of the cave and then slowly walked out over the rocks, Leo holding my arm.

  Once we were on the grass, I asked, “What’s in the cave?”

  Leo took off his hat, and his chocolate-brown hair fell forward. He clutched the accessory to his chest as if the simple garment granted him courage to speak. “There are rumors ghosts haunt the caves and mines in these parts. It’s best you keep your distance.”

  “Ghosts?” I laughed. “That’s ridiculous. Ghosts aren’t real.”

  “Think what you will, but people seen things here.”

  “The only ghosts that exist are cruel men with even crueler intentions.”

  Leo met my annoyed gaze, held it. “Cruel men give you those scars?”

  Annoyance whirled to sadness, and I instantly covered my arms. “That’s none of your business.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “Tell me, Leo. Do you believe in ghosts?”

  The olive tone of his cheeks faded, leaving him pale as bone. “We should get going, almost sunset.”

  Sunset. The hour of my pain. When the rest of the world basked in the beauty of the sun, I hid in the safety of my home. That was why Edgard searched for me. I had lost track of time, and he knew what would happen if I didn’t make it home before those orange rays cascaded across the sky.

  “You’re right,” I said. “I’ve had enough excitement for today.”

  Leo put his hat on, tipped a goodbye, and dashed past the gorse bushes out onto the green rolling hills.

  I whistled, calling Rufus to my side. As we walked, I noticed a beige, crumbled object lying on the grass. I picked the paper up and carefully unfolded it.

  On the paper, roughly drawn and smeared, was a portrait of me, sketched with such scratch marks it made me both beautiful and haunting. Instead of me wading in the water or lying on the grass, he sketched my face shrouded in a cloud of night.

  A chill ran through me.

  I couldn’t help but wonder if Leo had seen the ghost inside me.

  Or something else.

  Chapter 2

  Arabella

  Momma tapped away at the white-and-black keys, her fingers stroking a melody my voice dared to match. Sweet notes left my lips and drifted on the summer air. Father sat in the settee, drinking rosemary peach tea and reading a paper. Every so often, his head tilted up and he’d wink at me. Since the first day I sang a hymn, he’d always been enchanted with my voice, proclaiming no one could match my key in all of Europe.

  One day I hoped to sing in the theater. While I didn’t like the idea of being put on display, there was nothing quite like losing myself in a musical. I wanted to bring that joy to everyone. The kind of joy that gripped the soul and made the listeners feel the words, not just hear them.

  In another year, we would move back to London. The queen allowed my father and Edgard to take this year reprieve from her guard to let me heal and give Father time to study the tomes found in the occultists’ hall. Those tomes held more than just ancient knowledge. They would reveal the true origins of the cult—if Father could decipher the key to read them.

  I released one final vibrato before ending the lesson.

  “Well done,” Mother said.

  “Yes, our little bird is becoming quiet the songstress.” Father set his paper on the table and walked over to me. He placed his hands on my shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze. “Do you know you glow when you sing? Bright like the sun.”

  Smiling, I gazed at our reflection in the mirror across from us. Father and I didn’t look much alike, him with dark hair and me with strawberry strands and too many freckles to count, but our eyes . . . our eyes matched in everything from the light-blue color to intensity.

  “I don’t know if I glow,” I replied. “But it does feel good.”

  He pecked my cheek and then left the sitting room. With my lesson done, I had the afternoon to myself. We had lived in this town for months, and I still hadn’t made any friends.

  “I’m going to freshen up,” Mother said as she stood and smoothed out her skirt. “We have tea at the Fiscals’ at noon.”

  The Fiscals always put out these delicious cucumber sandwiches with dill. My stomach grumbled just thinking of the delightful squares, but Mother never let me have more than two. Two was never enough of anything.

  “I have to meet Edgard in town.” Father kissed Mother goodbye. “Enjoy your day, ladies.” He winked at me before leaving the parlor.

  Rufus lay on the sunflower-yellow rug, snoring while lounging in the sunlight from the open windows. Mother would be awhile. Our maid, Nan, would be assisting Mother into corset after corset until she looked her very best.

  I scratched my side, relieved she didn’t force me into a tight bodice today. The pearly-pink lace dress I wore hung just above my ankles. Corsets weren’t my favorite clothing item, but I loved the lace dresses Mother bought me. Delicate. Fragile. Innocent. Sometimes, when I forgot about my past, I watched my reflection in the mirror, remembering how my innocence matched my attire completely. Pure. But while I was still pure in a lady sense, the scars on my body burned with defilement.

  Father said our bodies were a temple. We were to keep them clean.

  I could never scrub away the memory of those men carving into my skin with their jeweled blades.

  A breeze blew in through the window, swaying the ivory curtains by the large oil painting hanging by the fireplace. A beautiful portrait of the cliffs by the sea with a white stallion neighing at the wind.

  I grabbed hold of the wooden mantel to see the splotches of paint better and felt something click under my thumb. The mantle swung inward, and I jumped back, startled at the sight of a hidden passageway. “What’s this?”

  Just inside the passageway hung an old lantern on a hook. I reached out and took the light. I checked to make sure there was oil and used one of the long matches from a nearby shelf to light it. With the lantern lit, I peered ahead into the darkness.

  I wonder where this goes . . .

  Curiosity killed many things, but it had never gotten me into trouble. In fact, I’d learned a great deal from investigations. We knew very little about the previous ow
ners of the home, except that the merchant’s wife had vanished and out of despair, the man disappeared, leaving everything behind. Father discovered the abandoned home while searching for a peaceful place for us to retire for the year.

  With a cautious step, I crept into the wooden passage, eager to discover the secrets that lay ahead. A grating noise screeched from behind me as the floor vibrated.

  “No!” I turned and dashed back, missing the door by a hair. The mantel closed into place. I ran my fingers along the crease, searching for a switch or divet to open the door. Nothing.

  I held the lantern high in front of me. “Well, someone built this. There must be an exit.”

  With my dress hiked up in one hand, lantern in the other, I walked down the steps into the mysterious hallway. Wooden boards surrounded the makeshift corridor. The soft-yellow light from the lamp illuminated the emptiness surrounding me. A rat scurried alongside the wall, accompanied by the slow drip-drop of water.

  By the time I counted to three hundred and twenty-six steps, I knew I was in trouble. The passageway continued winding its way farther away from home with no alternate exit in sight. In another thirty minutes, Mother would be heading into the parlor and not see me. She’d be angry, assuming I’d run off again and debate on whether to tell Father of my disappearance.

  If she told Father, he’d panic and have Edgard out searching.

  It wasn’t that Mother wasn’t afraid for me. She understood my nomadic nature and how I couldn’t be away from the sun on a cloudless day or stuck doing lessons when the birds were flocking to the garden. She’d never done more than sternly talk to me about responsibility.

  She’d assume I ran off to explore.

  How wrong Mother would be.

  Out of all the times I wished she’d worry, today was one of them.

  The light flickered, illuminating the change in the walls. Blackrock replaced the wooden paneling. I crinkled my nose as the air thickened with mold and decay, and then I sneezed.

  An odd scent tainted the air. I sniffed, trying to decipher the putrid smell. Sulfur?

  Fear tickled my neck, lighting my desire to flee. No one knew I had left the house or about the hidden passageway connected to our home. I took a steadying breath to collect my thoughts and think of a solution.