Page 188 of A Bond in Blood

“She has little time,” my father whispered when we made it back to my childhood home. “She has waited for you.”

I ripped my hand from his grip. “I know where her rooms are.”

He stared at me with shock. “Brenna?”

“I will not discuss the words in my heart right now. I need to say my goodbyes. I need to hold her hand until the Gods claim her. Only after we have burned her body at sea, and said our farewells, will we speak. Do you understand?”

I didn’t allow him the chance to reply before I was rushing through the palace. More like a small home in my eyes after having explored and lived in Ulrich’s stone fortress.

When I arrived at my grandmother's room, my heart was racing. With fear and sorrow. Anger and regret.

I pushed it open, welcoming the familiar scent of her. Of the sweet cakes she always had on her table. The fresh tea, hot and waiting for a visitor.

“My child.” Her voice was a welcome sound.

I rushed through the room, falling onto the bed and into her open, frail arms.

“My child,” she whispered, raising her arms to stroke my hair.

I cried, releasing every broken part of myself into her embrace. Sobbing until her nightgown was soaked, until my sobs could no longer come from my chest.

“You did not come for me,” I cried.

She held me as tight as her weakening limbs could.

“Do you thinkIcould have?” she laughed.

The sound—oh Gods—it broke me in two. A noise I knew like a piece of my soul, but it rattled now. Evidence of her illness.

I sat up, staring into her blue eyes and the wrinkles painting her face. Her hand held mine and I shook my head.

“Why?” I cried. “Why leave me? Why not fight?”

“Did you fight?” she asked before coughing.

I stood, pulling the shoulders of the gown from my body and turned for her to find the scars not covered by my chemise.

“Bren,” she gasped. “What in the Gods?”

“The Gods are silent, cruel beings,” I replied, settling beside her. “I tried. Each day for the first month and several days after. Even when I was thrown in the dungeon to lay on rot and death, I still tried. So, he punished me.”

I met her eyes, finding them burning with pride.

“Yet you live. Does he?”

My gaze dropped.

“Brenna?” she pried.

“He lives. He released me, three months early.”

“Three months?” she coughed again. “No, two months.”

I smiled, like a fool. “He added a month to my service. After the murder attempts.”

Her laughing put her into a coughing fit and I startled. I leaned toward her, helping her sit up to clear her lungs.

“You’ve changed, my child.” She coughed. “A woman stands before me.”

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