The housekeeper frowns, taking a step back. “I apologize,” she says, her accent sharp. “I thought you did not wish to be disturbed.”
Mikhail. Oh my God…
If he was roughed up by my father’s brutes before, right now, he looks empty, as if his soul is hanging on to his body by a single thread. It shouldn’t hurt, and I shouldn’t care, but I can’t stop the broken, ugly feeling pounding beneath my breastbone.
“W-What have they done to him?”
I approach his bedside with timid steps, taking in the new damage to his neck, arms, and face. Deep stripes, red and swollen, lead me to believe he was whipped, and God knows what they used on him. Chains?
“Nothing I didn’t deserve,” he mutters. His eyes crack open, and I’m hit with the most beautiful green color I’ve ever seen. Bright. Lively. Proof he’s still in there, that he could will his body back to power if he chose.
I don’t think as I bring my hand to his forehead, feeling the burn of fever simmer under his skin while his gaze burns through me. I don’t even know why I’m touching him, or where this instinct came from.
“Has a doctor seen him? How long has he been like this?” I ask Svetlana, dipping into that well of anger again. Thisisn’t right. Hasn’t he just done his family a big favor through whatever deal he made with my father? Why are they treating him like this?
“Leave,” Mikhail says. A flicker of disappointment sparks through me, but when I remove my hand from his forehead, he catches my wrist. “Not you. You stay. Stay with me.”
My body instantly obeys, and I haul myself up on the sheets, kneeling next to him.
“You’re burning up. You need medicine. A hospital?—”
“I’m fine,” he protests, a subtle smile sketching in the corner of his dry lips. “Tell me, how have you been? Found any warmth after all?”
How haveIbeen? The question takes me aback, and suddenly, instead of yelling at him for everything, I feel the need to be the one who comforts him.
Just until he gets better, I tell myself.If he dies, I’m really left with no one around here.
“Not as bad as you, apparently,” I say. “Your room is warm, but I still hate it.”
His eyes flutter closed, the faint smirk on his face never fading. “Good. Hold on to that feeling. It’s better than being numb. Been there.”
“Why did they hurt you? Was it because of me?”
“Mmm. Careful,Lastochka. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you’re starting to care.”
I huff out a breath. “Don’t kid yourself. The only reason I’m staying is to repay my debt.”
“Debt?”
“You helped with my panic attack that night. It was a mistake to come to you, but nonetheless, I came. So whatever you think I owe you, I’m settling the balance today.”
A low chuckle. “In that case, you should know there’s only one currency I will accept.”
I get up, fighting the heat creeping into my cheeks, aware of his hooded gaze watching my every movement.
“You’ll take what I goddamn give you, and you’ll thank me for it.”
With that, I exit his room and step into the hallway. I’ll have to go downstairs, likely to the other wing, too, where the people who did this to him—hisPakhan—are said to reside. Unease creeps into my bones, but I keep on walking.
I go past rain-streaked windows, the house quietly humming. The air smells of distant wet earth and polished wood, and once I descend the staircase, I’m met with a view I didn’t really register when I arrived.
The foyer is massive, decorated in the same sumptuous style as Mikhail’s bedroom—mybedroom—with lush chandeliers, mirrors with intricate carvings, and furniture that looks heavy and authentic. Dreary and beautifully melancholic. Nothing like the sun-drenchedpalazzoI grew up in.
The sound of heels clacking against the floor stops me in my tracks. It’s the old housekeeper who greeted us the night we arrived. She didn’t seem too pleased to see either of us, I remember, and if she’s anything like Svetlana, I’d rather just find my way through this maze without her.
I duck to the right, keeping close to the walls, quickening my pace until, finally, the space opens into another living area, where the shadows of flames stretch across the floor surrounding a fireplace. A door is kept ajar in the distance, and before I know it, I’m peering through the small crack to see inside.
“Cecilia?” Victoria asks, looking up from the book in her lap. “You came down.”
