“Anything else?” Ava asks him.
Osheen looks at me again, his eyes pleading in the magelight. “Durvla, I truly am sorry for everything. I understand if you won’t forgive me, but please believe that I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you or Taig. I will spend the rest of my life trying to find a way to make it up to you.”
My hands shake, but from anger or the effort it’s taking to keep my tears at bay, I’m not sure. I look to Tiernan, who nods—truth—but he still seems incredulous.
“He has valuable information we can use,” says Sloan.
Ava nods in agreement, though she doesn’t seem happy about it. Her lips press into a firm line for a moment, then she looks at me almost apologetically. Turning to Sloan, she asks, “Can he ride with you?”
Sloan nods, and my chest lurches. I turn on my heel and hurry away from everyone. I keep walking until I’m as far away as I can be while still keeping them in sight. Then I turn my back on them, letting the tears fall. I give myself a few moments to feel this reopened wound before I draw in a few deep breaths, steel my resolve, and return to the group to continue on our journey. This time with Osheen—our prisoner, so to speak—in tow.
Chapter 27
I stare across the table,repulsed by my own husband as he noisily eats a slice of crusty bread with honey and butter. Butter mingles with his stubble, and each smacking sound of his lips raises my gorge more. Was he always this disgusting?
He glances up from his food, his eyes questioning. Grabbing a napkin to wipe his mouth, he asks, “Is breakfast not to your liking, wife?”
“It is.” A closed-mouthed smile follows my hasty bite. I’m certain there’s nothing wrong with the food, but the honey tastes bitter and the butter like grease. I force myself to chew and swallow before immediately drinking my entire glass of milk.
I pull my pocket watch from my dress and peer at the time. “I should get going,” I say, pushing my chair back to stand. My shift in the bindery doesn’t begin for another hour or so, but he doesn’t know my schedule.
As I walk past Gruffud, he grasps my wrist, tugging me to him. “No kiss for your husband?”
Swallowing, I turn and lean down to press my lips to his. His fingers tangle in my hair as he holds me captive for annoyingly longer than necessary before letting me go.
I grab my satchel from the bedchamber and head downstairs to ask Sage to call for a carriage. My heart warms at the thought of seeing Neris again while being wrapped in the familiarity of working among the books.
Ten minutes later, the carriage barely pulls up in front of Mother’s house before Neris runs out. She crushes me in a hug, and when she steps back, her eyes are assessing as they sweep from my head to my toes. Tears well in my eyes, my throat aching from the fight to keep them at bay.
“Oh Winnie,” she says tenderly. “Let’s get inside. There are books that require painting. Your favorite, right?”
I nod though she doesn’t need the answer. Sometimes I think she knows me better than I know myself.
She links her elbow with mine, and we hurry down the walkway together. But as soon as I step into the house, I’m flocked by Mother and Arionna.
“My daughter,” says Mother in a strangely airy tone. She places her hands on my shoulders as Neris had. “How are you faring? Are you treating him well? Keeping him satisfied? Are you getting enough nourishment? You look a little pallid.” She puts her hands on my cheeks a tad too roughly.
I step out from her grasp. “I’m eating just fine. Everything is wonderful. I have to get to work.”
The entrance to the mudroom feels too far away as I rush to it with Neris right behind me. Yet by the time I’m downstairs, greeted by the scent of leather in the bindery, Neris is nowhere to be seen. She arrives several moments later with a porcelain plate balanced on her palm. There’s an assortment of pastries on it, and for once, the sweet smell does nothing to tempt me. “Your mother says to bring these for you.”
I arch my brows.
“She’s overjoyed with the possibility of getting a grandchild.”
“A grand—” My words are cut off by the realization. “No.” I hold my hand to my stomach. “She’s mistaken.”
Neris sets the plate aside. “How are you certain? Are you doing anything to prevent it?”
I sigh and approach the workstation where my paints are waiting along with a stack of books. “I’ve been taking a fertility suppressant.”
Surprise ghosts over her face as she sets her spectacles on her nose.
“I didn’t tell you because I hadn’t quite decided on using it yet, but I am.” I pick up a sleeve of parchment with a list of names written on it.
A smirk on her lips, Neris moves toward her workstation. “Good on you, Winnie.”
For a while there’s silence while I read through the list of designs required for each book and Neris begins checking books for imperfections before stacking them into a crate. When she speaks again, it startles me for multiple reasons.
