I shake my head and slip into the hall. After this song, it will be time for supper, so I should probably check the dinner table one last time—
Something catches my attention, a soft sound coming from one of the staircases that leads to the upper bedrooms. My first reaction is a spike of panic. If a guest goes exploring and sees the state of some of the unattended rooms…the gossip that could spread regarding Mr. Rochester’s secret frugality could be detrimental in securing Imogen’s opinion of his wealth.
But my second reaction has me moving from panic to pain, for the closer I get, the more I’m certain the sound is of whimpering. Crying. On quiet feet, I climb the stairs until I see a small shape silhouetted against the dim light from the hall above. As I draw near, the figure lifts its head and I recognize Micah. I all but run up the remaining steps and sit at his side, throwing an arm over his heaving shoulders.
Guilt swarms my stomach as he leans closer to me, his whimpers growing stronger. The children should be in bed by now. Could the music be keeping him awake? Or is he upset that he isn’t participating? All residents were invited to both the dance and the dinner, but almost all chose to keep to themselves and take their meals in the kitchen as the food becomes ready.
“What’s wrong, Micah?” I whisper.
“It’s my mother,” he says, voice trembling. “I can’t remember what she looks like. I can’t remember her at all.”
My heart sinks as I recall what Blackbeard and Gray told me about the poor children being abandoned by their mothers when the curse was laid. I pull him closer, and he wraps his arms around my middle. “I’m so sorry. It’s been so long since you’ve seen her, hasn’t it?”
“But the memory was there just this morning. It’s the only one I have left from…from before. And now it’s gone.”
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. Could this be the curse at work? I know children rarely maintain their earliest memories, but the way he describes the loss of this one chills me to the bone.
He lifts his head and stares at me through tear-glazed eyes. “What will happen if the curse isn’t broken? Who will I be when my memories are all gone? I won’t remember I even had a mother. I won’t remember you, or why I’m at this stupid house, or what bread tastes like. I won’t remember anything at all!”
I hush him, stroking his hair until he lays his head back against me. The front of my gown becomes sodden from his tears, but I don’t care, especially when tears of my own stream down my cheeks to meet his. A deep ache throbs in my heart as I hold and rock the boy, feel him cling to me like I’m the last real thing in the world. When he calms and rubs his eyes, I offer to walk him back to his room. He accepts, and we walk side by side, solemn and silent.
As we continue down the hall, my mind swarms with terrible thoughts. I’ve considered the ramifications of the curse before, imagining what would happen if left unbroken—time catching up to Elliot, Blackbeard, Gray, and the rest of the pack, resulting in skin that grows sallow and wrinkled in a span of a minute, shriveling until it falls off their bones. However, after learning the children would be spared from sudden death, given their younger years, their loss of memories never horrified me the way it does now.
With every step I take with Micah at my side, my resolve hardens, grows firmer, brighter. We are breaking this damn curse. If I could simply hold a knife to Imogen’s throat and force her to say the words, make the sacrifice, I would. Considering it must be made of her own free will, I’ll have to ease off the knife play, but still…I’m speaking to her tonight if it’s the last thing I do.
Micah opens the door to his room, revealing a large space with four narrow beds. I’m surprised to find it so neat and well-kept and wonder what it looked like before I forced the manor’s residents to adopt cleaning duties. Three of the beds are occupied with small bodies, filling the room with the sound of their soft breathing. I bend down to bring myself eye to eye with Micah and place my hands on his shoulders. “It’s going to be all right, Micah.”
His lower lip trembles and he wraps his arms around my waist. I stroke his back until he reluctantly pulls away. “Will you sit by my bed until I fall asleep?”
I know I should get back downstairs and make sure supper is going well, but…this feels more important right now. “Of course.”
He gives me a sad smile, then climbs into his bed. I tuck the blankets around him and settle onto the floor, resting my elbows on his mattress. A tender feeling wraps itself around my heart as I watch the boy fall asleep. I’ve never considered myself a maternal woman, never craved the joys of motherhood—not even before I swore off matrimony. But as I watch the rise and fall of Micah’s chest, sounds of puppy-like whimpers coming from the dreaming children in the room, I think I understand how it must feel to care for someone small and vulnerable. Though I’ve known these little creatures for less than a month, they’ve found their way into my affections.
One of the children stirs, then slowly rolls to the side, facing me. It’s the little girl. She appears to be a year or two younger than Micah. In human years, at least. She blinks at me a few times, and I give her a gentle smile, hoping my presence won’t startle her. Then she sits up and frowns at me.
With slow, cautious steps, I make my way to her side. “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” I whisper. “Micah had trouble sleeping, so I kept him company so he could fall back to sleep.”
She cocks her head to the side, then gives a small nod and begins to lie back down. Like with Micah, I tuck the blankets around her. “The king already did that,” she says with words slow and sleepy.
“Oh.” My heart leaps in my chest. “Does he…do that often?”
“Every night. I guess you can do it again though. I like my blankets cozy like that.”
I finish tucking her in and am about to leave when her eyes lock on mine, a hint of panic in them. “Do you want me to stay until you fall asleep?”
She nods. “The king always does. He tells us stories too. About wolves and mountains.”
“I’ll stay,” I say and sit at the edge of her bed.
She closes her eyes, pulling the blankets up to her chin. A few seconds later, they flash back open and she lifts her head. “Can I have a name?”
“A name?”
Her gaze darts to Micah. “You gave him one. I want one too. The king calls me Tiny and I think I’d like a different one better.”
I feel a pinch of regret. When I first gave Micah a name, it was to win his favor, secure him as a potential ally against my captor. But now it seems out of taste to rename the king’s household with human names. Then again, it isn’t so much renaming them, but giving them something aside from a shorthand title.
“Please,” she says. “It isn’t fair he gets one.”
