Page 33 of Nightshade

“Oh, no. He is healthier than most.” She sighed, and a hoarse, wet cough sent her jerking forward. “Never suffered so much as a fever, that one. I only worry about his fate. He’s angry. Cannot say that I blame him, but … I worry over what that anger may turn into.”

“He is angry over your condition, My Lady?”

“I suppose, in part, yes.”

“May I ask … what ails you?” The bishop had given her vague explanation, but she wanted to hear it from her.

“My time here is almost finished.” She stared off toward the end of the bed, quiet for a moment. “My demise will leave my son at the mercy of his father. And what misery that would bring.” She must’ve been delirious on something to confess such a thing to, essentially, a stranger.

“You don’t trust his father?”

“No. Perhaps I do not. I only hope that I have instilled enough love and goodness in Jericho.” A blink broke her of the staring spell, and she trailed her tearful gaze back to Lustina. “Now, if you would be so kind as to have one of my attendants fetch my son?”

“Of course.”

When Lustina exited the bedroom, Bishop Venable was no longer standing in the corridor with the elder Van Croix. In their place, the young baron sat on the floor against the wall, his head cradled in the palms of his hands.

“My Lord, your mother asked for you.”

“You ought not to have been allowed inside her room. She is very ill.”

“I kept my distance. And I was only tasked to gather the rags.”

“Keep them. Perhaps you will make another dress out of them.” His snorted chuckle echoed down the hallway, the sound of it nearly bringing Lustina to tears. “You’ve no sense of humor, girl.”

“And you have no sense, at all.”

“Careful.” His tone crackled like a snarl.

“It astonishes me that something so cruel could possibly come from someone so kind.”

“You do not know me, and you surely do not know my mother.” Still keeping his head bowed, he pulled his knees up, rubbing his hands together. “You still think it was wrong of me. What I did in the woods, the last time you were here.”

“Yes.”

“Precisely. Your world is divided by what is good and evil. Black and white. There is no room for gray.”

“Such assumptions prove that you do not know me, either, My Lord.”

“I do not need to know you. I do not want to know you.”

At the curling of his hand into a fist, what Lustina had gathered to be a reaction of anger from their first encounter in the woods, she nodded. “Then, I shall keep my distance from you, as well. Now, if you will kindly excuse me, I shall just gather the rags and let your mother know you will be on your way in.”

“What was she saying about your mother?”

Lustina flinched, wondering how much of the conversation he had overheard. “Only that she knew her.”

“How?”

“When she was pregnant with you, I presume. My mother brought her herbs, to help her feel better.”

“And where is your mother now?”

Her brow flickered with the pain that still stabbed her heart. “Dead, My Lord.”

“How did she die?”

“She was … burned. For witchcraft.”