Page 112 of Alchemised
“Your ‘program’ is a spectacle.” Ferron’s voice grew low and taunting. “Your lab assistants are better qualified than you are. Vivimancy is the only unique skill you possess, and I am far more competent in that field than you.”
Ferron gestured towards the butler, standing near the door. “Show Stroud out, and don’t ever let her inside this house again unless I’m present to personally escort her.”
Stroud huffed, muttering about speaking to the High Necromancer, but her hands trembled violently as she gathered her files. When the door shut, Ferron turned back to Helena.
She could feel his stare without looking up.
He reached towards her, and she went stiff. He didn’t touch her face; instead, his fingers slid along the nape of her neck, finding the dip of her skull.
She looked up then, but there was no emotion on his face. He could have been marble.
“I don’t trust you to be conscious right now,” he said.
She felt his resonance, delicate as the prick of a needle.
Heaviness swept through her like a black tidal wave, dragging her down.
“No …” she choked out, not sure what she was protesting. Everything.
But the world slipped from her grasp. She was dimly aware of her legs being lifted onto the bed, the duvet pulled over her.
“I’m so sorry.”
CHAPTER 21
IT WAS A STRUGGLE TO WAKE AGAIN. The room was dim and heavy, Helena’s vision sluggish and disoriented. It felt as if she had been unconscious for a long time. Her mouth was parched.
Turning her head, she spotted Ferron standing with the lady’s maid. He was speaking quickly to her in a low voice, as though explaining something complicated.
Her eyes drifted shut, head swimming.
When they opened again, Ferron was looking at her, and the necrothrall was across the room.
Now that she wasn’t panicking anymore, Helena thought she was going to be sick from the sight of him. She squeezed her eyes shut, curling into a defensive ball as he walked over.
“You are not allowed to hurt yourself or do anything that might cause an abortion or miscarriage,” he said. “You’ll be monitored full-time now, just in case your newfound desperation drives you to previously unknown heights of creativity.”
The words were caustic, but he sounded more tired than anything else.
Helena said nothing, waiting for him to leave.
She curled protectively around her stomach. She knew there was little more than nothing there, but eventually there would be, and she could do nothing to stop it.
When she wouldn’t get up for several days, Ferron returned.
“You cannot lie in bed moping for nine months,” he said when she refused to acknowledge him. “You need to eat and go outside.”
She ignored him.
“I have something for you,” Ferron finally said.
Something heavy pressed onto the duvet. She glanced over.
There was a thick book beside her. The Maternal Condition: An In-Depth Study on the Science and Physiology of Gestation.
She looked away. “Why?”
“Because you’ll wear your brain smooth if you don’t find answers to all the things you want to know.” He sounded resigned.
