Page 62 of Nightshade

“My intentions with the baron were innocent and chaste.”

“Of course they were.” The bishop crossed in front of her. “You are no longer permitted to accompany me on these visits.”

“But Lady Praecepsia--”

“Lady Praecepsia is dying. So shall her interest in you.” At the brush of his finger over her cheek, she jerked her head away from his unwanted touch. “You will remain as unloved as your mother.”

18

Farryn

I splashed warm water over my face, and nabbed the clean linen from beside me to pat my skin dry. The fabric smelled like fresh lilacs, a scent that took me back to childhood, and the beautiful lilac bush at the front of our house. Through the cloth, I palpated the bump from my fall and grimaced. Anya had given me some ice to take down the swelling, but it still protruded enough to hurt.

As I lowered the fabric from my face, something through the window caught my attention. Off in the distance, what looked to be an enormous, black-winged bird soared upward, its form silhouetted by the moon. Squinting to focus, I tiptoed closer to the window, as it cut through the air on a path toward the cathedral. The nearer it got, the more discernible its features became.

Not a bird, but a human body with black wings.

I gasped, stepping backward from the window. “Oh, God.”

The dark-winged creatures.

At the door clicking behind me, I spun around on a scream.

A young woman, perhaps only a year, or two, younger than me, with fiery red hair, stepped into the room. The white apron tied at the waist of her gray, hooded, A-line dress told me she was a servant. In her hands, she carried a fancy, silver tray, piled with something that had the whole room smelling delicious.

“Just bringing some food, in case you might be hungry.”

Hungry wasn’t quite the word. More like ravenous. Perhaps an effect of the tea I’d been given, but it occurred to me that I hadn’t eaten much, at all.

“I’m starving. Thank you. I’m Farryn.”

Lowering her head, she stole quick glances from the corner of her eye, clearly trying not to look at me as she set food items out onto a nearby table. “Aurelia.”

“Here, let me help you with that.” I lurched toward her, and she jumped back, knocking an entire bowl of what looked like custard onto the floor with a clattering splat. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She nabbed one of the napkins she’d brought with my dinner and crouched low to clean it.

When I reached for the broken bowl, she scrambled to her feet and edged another step toward the door, both hands resting against a small bump of a belly.

Pregnant.

Frowning, I stared back at the girl, catching the tremble of lips and fear in her eyes.

Because of me?

“The bump on your forehead … is it contagious?” she asked.

Mindlessly touching my hand to my hairline brought to mind the obvious source of her concern. “No. I injured myself, is all.”

“The other girls, they did not want to bring the food up. They all believe you’ve got bullio. So, I was picked. And I am okay with that, but I do not wish to bring harm to my baby.”

“I promise you, it’s harmless.”

“I have been trying to eat well, and getting as much exercise as I can. I cannot afford to get sick. And I do not want my baby to look--I mean, I just want to be careful while I’m here. They say bullio can kill a baby when its born.”

“Bullio?”

“It’s an awful affliction. With horrible lesions and painful deformities.”

“Oh. I know the bump looks bad, but it’s really just that. A bump. Do you … plan to leave this place?” I asked, trying to gauge if she was, as Xhiphias had said, one of those who couldn’t leave. Human, essentially.