The Thunder That Shook the Storm
The rain grew fiercer and fiercer.
On this pitch-black night, the color drained from Matilda’s face as she stood at the window.
“Has the master gone to bed?”
Richard, still in the main-hall lobby, asked as he double-checked that the last window was properly locked.
“Yes… I suppose.”
The words came out hesitant, lacking true certainty. It was only natural. With rain lashing down, no one dared enter the master’s room—not even the closest.
“As soon as he returned he asked for bathwater. That was all he said.”
“I see.”
Richard spoke with the same untroubled calm he always wore. He had always been steady, and he knew that worry never fixed problems.
“Have you warned Miss Vivienne?”
Richard sounded worried for the same reason Matilda did. The maid gave a soft sigh.
“…She told me to lock the door and sleep. I checked it myself before I left.”
“She didn’t give you more details?”
“No. The master does not like it spoken of.”
That was the part that sat uneasy in Matilda’s chest, yet she had served the Larson household for decades. She could not abandon the gentle young woman who needed protection, not even now.
On nights when the flood poured, only a handful of the estate’s servants knew what truly happened on the fourth floor of the main building. Even for Vivienne, some truths could not be told.
“Vivi has never once gotten up after sleeping. I gave her the herb tea that helps you sleep. She must be deep asleep.”
Matilda spoke as if soothing herself, explaining Vivienne’s gentle nature. And if the master overheard, it would not matter. He locked himself away from the world the moment the thunder rolled.
“I hope the rain stops soon.”
Richard nodded lightly and watched the rain-streaked glass.
Nights like this always felt endless.
* * *
In the dark bedroom, Vivienne could not find rest. She had napped too much in the afternoon and fretted about tomorrow. The herb tea Matilda had given her only sent her into light dozing before she woke again.
Hugging her knees while staring out the window had become habit. The rain was so heavy that even an arm’s length ahead was invisible. Only thick, wavy stains marred the glass, trembling in the downpour.
Tap-tap-tap. The rain drummed relentlessly against the windows. She had never heard such loud, clear rain inside the sea.
Kian had come back but had not seen him. The carriage had arrived long ago. He had said he came late. Matilda’s face when she passed the news had carried shadows.
*Could something have happened to him?*
The question rose, yet she sensed he did not wish her to know.
Matilda had insisted she lock the door and sleep. At bedtime Theodore could not guard her, so the rule was always followed. Tonight it felt different, more urgent.
*It’s silly. Just rest.*
Vivienne lay back and pulled the blanket higher. Starting tomorrow she would serve him again. She had prepared a bundle of fresh magazines for him, ribbons perfect, and the heels of her feet had healed enough to show. The roses he loved were piled high in a vase by the bed. The bedroom would smell like the glass greenhouse when he sat at the low table and drank tea. She would rise early, even if she had slept until noon and caused trouble. The shame made her want to kick the blanket away with her feet.
She squeezed her eyes shut, drew a long breath, and let it out. Tomorrow she would tell him everything she had remembered during the week. She was sure she had nothing left to forget.
So please, sleep.
She pulled the blanket over herself when—
Crash! A thunderclap split the night. Lightning flashed through the window, and she jolted even though she knew it was thunder. What a wretched night.
*Crack!*
Every hair on her body stood on end.
This sound was nothing like thunder.
It was a shattering crash, heavier than anything a servant’s broken plate had ever made.
The blood drained from her face. She sat bolt upright, eyes wide, scanning the room. Nothing here. Then the bad feeling slammed into her.
*No… not him. Not Kian.*
Only two rooms existed on the fourth floor of the main building. If something broke here, it could only be his bedroom.
*What do I do?*
Her heart raced. She could not stay still, could not lie down. Driven by instinct, she slipped out barefoot, in nothing but her nightgown, and hurried down the dark corridor.
Kian’s door was at the end. Again and again came the sound of something striking and shattering. A man’s scream—his voice—poured from inside.
“Kian. Are you there? Kian!”
No answer. She twisted the doorknob wildly; it was locked tight.
She did not know where the courage came from. All she knew was she had to save him.
Vivienne stepped back, then threw her whole body against the door. She struck it again and again, but the wood would not give.
She ran back to her own room, snatched up a stool, and brought it back. Then she smashed it against the lock—boom! After several blows the iron ring finally snapped off.
The bedroom was a wreck. Toppled furniture. A vase shattered into pieces and scattered roses. The floor was littered.
On the bed, something small and trembling was curled inside the blanket. She lifted the cover carefully. Inside, soaked in sweat and shaking violently, was a man.
Kian.
He looked utterly lost. He wore a robe, as if he had just stepped out of the bath, his hair still damp. Or perhaps the sweat made him look that way; his whole body glistened with moisture.
What should she do? Call for help?
Her mind went white.
She tried to rise from the bed, but a firm hand closed around her wrist.
“I-I’ll call someone.”
The words would not come out at once. Her jaw trembled with fear.
The hand gripping her wrist was burning hot and shaking like a leaf. Even so, the grip was desperate.
“D-don’t… don’t.”
The voice was forced, raw. Her heart sank. He had always seemed so steady and strong; this fractured him.
Yes. He had locked the door. He did not want anyone to see him like this.
“I won’t call. I’ll stay and know. So don’t worry.”
Vivienne stroked his hair gently even as she trembled, whispering over and over.
“You… go away.”
“Kian….”
“Don’t… leave me!”
In an instant he flipped her. His hand seized the nape of her neck. Kian’s eyes were wild, pupils dilated, bloodshot and rolling. His breath was ragged, yet she shook her head.
“I-I’m sorry… cough… I can’t… think straight.”
She begged, tears streaming. His strength finally ebbed, and he collapsed over her.
His ragged breathing filled her ears. Breathing itself seemed too much effort. The heart pressed against hers hammered like a wild thing. He kept shaking his head as if the heat were devouring him.
Vivienne barely escaped his arms and rushed to the bathroom. She soaked a towel in cool water.
She remembered that when Matilda had cared for her, she had wiped her body with wet cloths for three days straight. The woman had said it was to bring the fever down.
It was frightening. She might wake and do something terrible. But she had to cool his fever.
She hurried back to the bed with the cloth. In swift, frantic motions she dampened his straight forehead, flushed cheeks, and huddled neck.
Tap-tap-tap. The rain outside had grown louder, waves of it roaring like an ominous chorus. Kian groaned continuously, clutching his ears. Every thunderclap made his tremors worse.
He feared the storm.
Vivienne set the cloth aside and quickly drew the curtains across the windows. The rain lessened, but one curtain was not enough.
She returned to the bed and pulled him into her arms, whispering against his ear.
“It’s all right. I’m here.”
“Don’t be afraid.”
“It will be all right.”
She repeated the words like a chant, yet Kian only curled tighter, lost in his own world.
What could she do? How could she calm him?
Instinctively, Vivienne began to sing.