Keep it together. We only have to do two hours at a time. It will be fine. Get it done.
I approached. Silas offered a hand, which was promptly ignored as I organized the reins in my taut fingers.
He stepped up and took his seat next to me. I flinched when he disturbed my leg again.
Some of the girls crowded in the shadow of the door, Phoebe in full light, waving gingerly.
It was not often I left my girls alone, and it admittedly filled me with dread, enough to make me feel lightheaded. It gave me some solace knowing Phoebe was there, but not as much as I would like.
The draft lunged forward, unsticking the wheels from the rigid snow.
I was really doing this, leaving them.
I wouldn’t make it fifteen minutes without becoming nauseous if I let the thought settle.
Over my shoulder, I saw Phoebe. The small, receding image of a pink figure standing on the doorstep, watching wistfully like a widow on her peak.
They will be fine, I preached inside my head,they all will be fine.
As we made our way out of town, the buildings and houses became fewer and fewer before they were replaced by trees and an endless path. While the journey started off silent, I didn’t find it as awkward—I would rather he not talk, anyway.
The morning air was fresh and clean. The cold worked some magic that numbed the throbbing in my leg and hand, though the reins rubbing between my fingers would be unpleasant after a while.
“Will you ignore me for the next hour and a half or will you grace me with conversation?” Silas spoke in my ear, his words hot as he spoke against my neck.
“I am not in the mood.”
“What about a quid pro quo?”
“Ah, yes. Your favorite.”
“Ourfavorite.”
“Fine, shoot.”
“Why did you poison your father?” Silas’s words rang in my ears like tinnitus.
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Is it not true?”
“It was an accident.”
“I thought poisoning his assistantwasthe accident.”
“It was thesameaccident.” My voice wavered; I was grateful he couldn’t fully see my face. “I didn’t know they would drink together. I should have poured the wine myself, offered it while he was separated from my father. Lured him somewhere...”
Based on Silas’s lack of a retort, I sensed he almost regretted his question.
“What about your parents?” I cleared my throat. “Last time I saw your father, I must have been but sixteen,” I changed the subject.
Silas became rigid at the mention, adjusting in his seat beside me. “You have to be more specific.”
“What was your mother like?”
“I wouldn’t know.” His voice was stoic, entirely too steady to shield himself from any emotional labor. “She was a blonde.”
“Very insightful,” I muttered. “What about your father?”
