ella

tiseptic, lavender, and the faint, sweet smell of decay. I stood over the four-poster bed whe

ark black dress entered. Sister Agnes, the estate's housekeeper and Elena's shadow. I knew her ki

f warmth. She did not look at me, but at a point somewher

arb, meant to remind me of my place. I w

ll, oilskin pouch containing my grandmother'

not a

her, my voice as quiet and sharp as the needle I was now holding. "This is the first, and the last time, I will correct you. Next time,

e threat, coupled with the sheer au

and tell the Matriarch that her son will be awake within

my victory. But it was a small victory,

Clara, and two stone-faced soldiers. Julian was the one who began

I know it! She's a witch, a

rance with my body. I had locked the inner do

not ente

u little whore!" Julian

scent began to fill the antechamber. "I am in the middle of a delicate procedure. The incense is a catalyst for the a

n ignorance and fear. Elena, her face a wreck of tears

ough his eyes were wide wit

es. Uninterrupted. If, at the end of that hour, Damien is not awake, you can do with me what you will. A bullet, a knife, I will not resist. But if he is..." I let

life. A trial by ordeal. It was an an

ding grandson, then back at me,

ged whisper. She turned to the soldiers.

e dying Don and the ticking clock. My gamble ha