The Crown had their villain and my fate was sealed by the mysterious bottle that had found its way into my apothecary.
I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth groaned. Was there no one in this realm who thought I might be innocent?
Did I do it? No. Did I miss him? No.
My marriage to Hollis Ashford wasn’t unique. It was one of convenience. A means to wealth. To reputational ascension. It hadn’t been the great love I’d hoped for, and while that disappointed me, I hadn’t felt murderous toward my late husband.
If she had to ask, there was a piece of her that believed the swirl of gossip around Hollis’ death and my alleged involvement. Also, being newly armed with the knowledge that my own death was imminent meant these moments shouldn’t be frittered away with unnecessary small talk or useless pleading to believe in my innocence.
My heart hardened to match my stone enclosure. “Is there anything else?”
Cova’s words were pointed arrows seeking weak spots in my mental armor. “You know your options. Consider them.” As if my reluctance to refute the accusations—be it royal decree or the ruthless rumor mill—made everything she’d heard true, and it disgusted her.
I blinked slowly, looking to the ground then back up at my sister. “I’d prefer if you didn’t attend.”
Her head shook softly, as if missing the scheduled beheading of hersister was an abhorrent suggestion. Relinquishing myself to the Hive wouldn’t erase all of my accused wrongdoings, but it would be seen as a contribution rather than selfishly going to the axe. Abstaining from attending would result in an equally applied title of cowardice for my sister.
She would be there. In the name of societal duties and familial reputation. “The children and I will be in attendance. To set a good example. To begin to repair…”
Her words turned to liquid in my ears while my heart plummeted into my feet. A ferocious chill washed over me, and cold beads of sweat broke out on my brow and neck.
I knew she was angry with me. She never missed a chance to remind me of all the ways I’d brought enough shame on this family. It was a wonder there was anything left to our name after I’d tarnished hundreds of years of strategic marriage and breeding. But bringing her children—my child—to witness my gruesome end…that was unforgivable.
I pleaded with a clumsy tongue, “Cova. No. Spare them.Spare me.”
“If you don’t want us to witness your death, you can opt for another fate. The choice is yours.” With those final words from my sister, the slot in the door shut, leaving me alone in the darkening room. Soon, the nearly full moon would pass through my window, and in less than a day, regardless of the end I chose, an end would come.
And the world would be rid of Reyva Bergmont.
Sorceress whore.
Slave.
Meal.
Chapter 2
Echoes
Sleep was impossible under the weight of Cova’s words. There was nothing left to do but wait. For the sun to rise and set again. For my death.
Pacing did nothing to quell my shaking hands. After an hour, I laid down to rest my throbbing feet. Needling hay poked through my blankets as I stared blankly at the dark ceiling. The stale stench of the keep coated my deep inhale. The tang of the iron mixed with lingering, putrid excrements shared my quarters like we were prisoners in this room together.
I let my eyes fall shut, trying to calm my body, but my mind knew no such rest as it raced from memory to memory. Vivid scenes from my formative years replayed themselves in no particular order.
Practicing writing my letters with my tutor by the lake at our family manor. Learning to ride and getting scolded by my mother for ruining countless dresses. Burning my fingers from sneaking sweet loaves from the kitchen with Cova, my unwilling co-conspirator. Discovering the fluttering feeling that would erupt in my chest when I noticed the apprentice stablehand, Beau, glancing at me. Mother’s funeral service. The months of hiding my growing bump and Lydia’s birth splitting me in half. Sending my daughter away to live with Cova and her wealthy husband. My tempered indifference after learning I was betrothed to Hollis Ashford, Lord of Merchants. The elegant calligraphy on wedding invitations donning my new surname.
Lady Reyva Ashford.
I was Hollis’ second wife. The first had passed during labor and I’d always known I was a disappointing replacement.
I was his consolation prize, and he was mine.
In those early days of marriage, Hollis loved showing me off to his privileged peers. His new, pretty, young bride. I met anyone who was anyone all across the continent of Atoris. From the warm shores of Bromport to the bustling streets of Illica. There were countless dinner parties where tidbits of gossip were exchanged like currency over expensive southern wine.
We were the picture of happiness—in public at least—for our first year of marriage, but after our second anniversary and no pregnancy to show for our efforts, our social circles turned on us. Hollis couldn’t take the glances and gossip. Men are so fragile.
What was natural for me was irregular for other women. My late cycle would nurture a false hope of pregnancy, only to be dashed by bloodstained sheets. My continued failure to conceive led to raised voices and broken furniture. Hollis’ displeasure compounded each month until I could depend on his disappointment sending him into clamorous fits that justified leaving me unattended at the estate until his temper cooled.
