Page 114 of Ashborne Forged

Eventually, satisfied that she hadn’t installed secret passages to the room, I stopped, expelled a tight breath, and took stock.

The sitting room of my chambers was cramped by family standards, but I’d always liked it. Long, and narrow, with a piano at one end, and windows at the other, a wide fireplace in the middle of the long wall, and chairs that had once felt comfortable. It was eerily familiar. And I found myself sucked back. As if no time had passed at all. As if the past seven, almost eight years had been a dream.

Nothing had changed.

She’d told the servants I died. They’d believed her, if Mrs. Voss’s reaction was anything to go by. Yet, she’d never touched this room.

Because she knew.

The question was, why did she want me to find it unchanged?

Because she thought it would draw me?

No.

Because she knew it would turn my stomach.

I grimaced and strode into the bedchamber where my bags had been laid aside, now empty, and their contents placed in the drawers and wardrobe. A pitiful number of items for the grand furniture, but nothing was missing.

I wore the only coat that would be considered fine quality in this house. The rest were hardly the clothes of a noble, yet definitely not to be mistaken for a trade. And then there were the dresses and stockings.

What had the servants made of that?

Not that it mattered, since Mother had already been aware of Grace’s impending nuptials. Because she was already aware of Grace’s connection to me? Or because of Breckon’s place in her web?

Frowning, I turned instinctively to look in the direction I was sure my mother lay. But I caught myself and shook off the sudden chill. The answer wouldn’t change anything about my plan, and pursuing it only threatened to reveal more than I wished her to know.

Soon, I blew out the candles and slipped into the bed, which had been made with crisp, clean sheets. But my heart still pounded. I’d left the door open into the sitting room so I was more likely to hear any intruder, and I could see by the light of the dying fire.

A gust of wind rattled a shutter, and my heart leaped into my throat.

I sat back, against the headboard of the massive four-poster bed, made from ebony, and stared into those low flames, my skin prickling as I sent my senses out, searching for anything, or anyone, that shouldn’t be near.

Nothing.

I reached for Kham.

‘You made it. Just breathe,’ he murmured in my head immediately.

‘Did you listen? Did you hear it all?’

‘Yes.’

Thank God. I didn’t think I could stomach explaining it all again. ‘I think she’ll do it. But she’ll have a scheme. She’ll try to trap me, to keep the baby close.’

‘We will find our way. You were strong, and calm. I’m proud of you.’

I almost laughed, though it would have been morbid. ‘I am the furthest thing from calm. I feel like I’m about to jump out of my skin.’

‘You kept your head.’

‘I had to. There’s no room for error with her. None.’

Kham sent a rush of warm soothing through the bond, and even though it eased my heart, it barely touched my fear.

I pulled my knees up and leaned my elbows on them. The night was cool, but I felt hot. Flustered. My cheeks burned.

How was it possible I was here? How was it possible I’d just spent two hours with my mother? How was it possible I was still alive?