And now…they’re stained with death.
“No!” Frantically, I scrub my palms against the bedcovers, desperate to erase what happened, but nothing changes.
I’m still a murderer!
My stomach heaves, and I scramble to the chamber pot, retching until nothing remains but bitter bile.
I stumble back to the bed and collapse onto the mattress.
This isn’t who I am. I’m not a murderer, but Aleksander is.
He reached inside me and twisted my magic into something ugly, something cruel.
What else will he make me do?
I stumble to the window, pushing it open to gulp in the cool night air. Stars speckle the sky, and the full moon shimmers with unwavering light.
How can the world remain so beautiful when such ugliness exists?
A shiver runs down my spine as I sink to the floor, draw my knees to my chest, and rest my forehead against them.
Count, Annora.
Just count.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
It doesn’t help. I doubt anything can.
A sob shudders through me, and I bury my face deeper, wishing I could disappear.
How did it come to this?
I press my palms against my temples, as if I could squeeze out the memories, but they persist.
Desperate for relief, I return to the bed, lie on my back, and stare blankly at the ceiling. Seconds stretch into minutes, minutes into hours, and eventually, dawn’s first light creeps across the sky, casting a pale glow through the window.
A new day arrives…
I close my eyes, not ready to face it.
Perhaps I never will be.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Aleksander
Moonlight tumblesthrough the windows as I walk into Asha’s parlor and shut the door behind me. She sits on the sofa near the hearth, her curly brown hair tumbling over one shoulder as she studies a map spread across a table.
Her eyes lift to meet mine. “You’re back,” she notes, her tone neither welcoming nor cold.
“Obviously.” I cross the room and sit opposite her. “I had matters to attend to.”
