Acton had always put too much faith in luck.
It was the same part of his blood and his history that gave him a sailor’s fear of superstition. Three was always a good sign, he liked his birds and candles and cups in threes, but when he shuffled his deck and the first thing he drew was a Queen of Spades he knew the evening would be bad. Probably it had something to do with his need for an excuse when things went wrong; that way nothing was ever truly his fault.
All that to say, maybe it was luck that saw them meet. Certainly he was glad the night had taken this turn, despite his first wash of unease, despite the way when he caught her out of his peripheral vision she was still a stranger, an entity he couldn’t quite understand.
What he could understand was her smile, and the look in her eyes (not that third one, blessedly hidden by her forelock, for the moment, and not watching whatever part of him couldn’t stand to be seen), and the press of her against him. The wind couldn’t shiver between them and her grin matched his like a mirror and when she stepped away Acton followed her at once.
And they could have left it like that, quiet under the moonlight, both grinning with their skins of flame and soot —
But Acton has always had to have the last word. “Lead on then, daughter mine,” he said, and it was full and warm as sunlight in his mouth, heavy as gold, a feeling that could swallow the world. It was the closest he’d likely ever come to I love you. “Show me the sunrise.”
@
these violent delights have violent ends
