Page 199 of A Touch of Poison
I’d filled her in on all that had happened while we’d been away, and she’d taken it all in, open-mouthed. When I’d hinted about Bastian’s piercing, she’d squealed.
“Thanks so much,” I muttered, reaching for the bottle to top up my glass.
Ella’s teasing grin faded as she moved it to the other end of the table. “And that’s the other thing.” She flicked her fingernail against the glass and it let out a dull chime. “In fact, I think they’re all related.”
“And I must be psychic, because I have a strong sense that you’re about to explain your master theory.” I scowled and downed what was left in my glass—I was going to need it to get through this.
“Ah, ah, ah.” She tapped the spot between her eyebrows. “Wrinkles, remember.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Ella.”
She huffed a sigh and discarded the box of chocolates. “I wasn’t going to bring this up until later, but if you insist.” She shrugged, then curled her legs under herself so she was focused fully on me. “I know findingthemhere when you got back has shaken you. And I know you’re trying to numb your fears and some horrible memories.”
I had to look away. I didn’t have to tell Ella my heart: she saw it. The fact brought a little flutter of panic to my chest.
“But you can’t choose what you numb. If you’re deadened, you lose the good and the bad. Numbness doesn’t help. It’s just a temporary escape.”
What other kind was there? Despite all my attempts, I certainly hadn’t found a permanent one.
I picked at my nails and tried to swallow down that fluttering feeling as it rose into my throat.
“You heard what the Lady of the Lake said.” She covered my hands, stopping me from pulling my cuticles apart. Her warmth was like the first sip of brandy after a night riding through the cold. “You tried holding on to control all the time and that didn’t work. And letting go entirely when you were attacked… Well, you said that frightened you because you couldn’t stop.”
I shivered, pushing away the image of the bodies—the pain on those people’s faces.
“What if the middle is what’s needed?” She widened her eyes at me. “I think that’s what she meant: you need to give up control sometimes to be able to keep it at others. Time where your magic is free. Time being yourself. Sitting with your thoughts and feelings rather than regulating them for other people. Time fucking the brains out of Bastian Marwood.”
“I let go.” I frowned at her perfect fingers squeezing around mine. “That’s exactly what the drink is for.”
“No. Drink isn’t for ceding control—it’s for running away. Drink lets you pretend there’s nothing to let go of.”
A low sound escaped me. No playful clutch of the chest required this time. She’d landed a direct hit.
If I felt it so deeply, it had to be true. And I didn’t want it to be.
Drink was an old friend—an older one than Ella. It had comforted me in the early days of my marriage when I’d discovered just how disappointing every aspect of married life truly was. It had kept me warm in the bitter winters. And it had pushed away the darkness that had threatened to sweep in as the estate’s situation had grown more desperate.
Drink had got me through unCavendish, and Robin’s arrival in Lunden. Without it, I wouldn’t have survived.
I pulled my hands away and shrugged. It was a moot point. “My magic is blocked right now, anyway, and I plan to keep it that way.”
“But your mind is still there. You can’t block that, however much you might wish to.”
Kaliban’s words came back to me, echoing Ella’s.Your mind is who you are.
“Why do you—?”
“Katherine Ferrers, if you’re about to ask me why I care, I’m going to be forced to murder you.” Despite the dangers of wrinkles, I found Ella giving me the sharpest frown I’d ever seen. “I care about you, you massive idiot. And…” Her throat bobbed as she looked away, interlacing her fingers. “We all know the stereotype of someone who drinks too much. A man who gets loud and aggressive, who turns to violence and hurts others. Or who takes his carriage out and crashes it into someone… But my mother wasn’t like that.”
My breath caught. She’d told me of some happy childhood memories with her mother—there’d never been a hint of anything to turn the corners of her mouth down like this.
“She was a delight at parties, witty and beautiful. And outside parties, she was always kind and sweet to me, careful to make sure the nursery maid and, later, my governess were there to look after me in the evenings. She never harmed anyone… except herself.” She frowned down at her wringing hands.
It was my turn to reach across and squeeze her fingers.
She looked up, eyes gleaming, making my heart ache. “She died in her sleep, far too young. I was fifteen.”
No fights. No carriage accident. No tumble down the stairs. Simply there one day and gone the next.
