“Have you been down here all night?”
I glance at the candle, but it’s no more than an iron holder with a puckered crease of wax. Not even a hint of a wick remains.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I whisper.
His head tilts the way it had last night when he’d been possessed by that demon. So similar I have to search his eyes for escaped tendrils coming from the sockets.
There are none. Only the familiar, soft silver
“I thought I told you to wake me.” He moves out of the stream of light to stand before me. “Did you go to that room?”
Lie.
But why?I ask the smoky hiss in my head. Marcus isn’t my father or husband. He can only be so cross with me. I’m a grown woman fully capable of my own choices.
“No,” I lie.
Though I don’t know why.
His hand lifts and he lightly touches my cheek. Brushes at the lingering streaks of my tears.
“Let’s take a shower then see if Mrs. Pym has your breakfast.”
I let him take me back up. My empty candle holder is placed on a table we pass.
“Do you want to go to your room for clothes? Mrs. Pym tidied it.”
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
He doesn’t press but leads us back to his room.
There’s no conversation as he follows the same routine as the day before.
Washing me.
Dressing me.
Feeding me.
And the whole time, I let my mind drift. It rolls back like the tide returning to the ocean. It takes me to all the memories I’ve collected over the years. The seconds captured behind closed eyelids. Each one burns so clear it’s like I’m reliving each one for the first time. Blissfully lost.
“Lenora?”
My eyes snapped open to the sharp spear of light beaming down from the endless blue sky. The attack had me throwing up a hand to shield my retinas.
Above me, a dominating force of amusement and annoyance, Ames narrowed his eyes in mock exasperation.
“Care to explain why you’re sitting out here with no hat … again?”
He had such a strange bug up his butt about this topic. Even while mildly entertained, I was in no mood for his nonsense. I was also grown enough to understand my own limits where the sun was concerned.
“Don’t start,” I warned him, pushing to my feet and dusting filthy hands across my skirts. “If I want to be out here, roasting in the sun, I will.”
The amusement remained, but there was an edge to his smile as he took a step towards me.
“It’s not good for you,” he countered.
“What’s not good for me is being nagged at by you, Ames Usher.”
