Page 113 of Alchemised
There was a pause; clearly, he’d hoped for some reaction.
“I’ll expect you out of bed tomorrow,” he said, and left.
When his footsteps had finally faded, Helena reached towards the book and almost shoved it off the bed, then hesitated and pulled it against her chest, holding it tightly.
The next day, she got out of bed and sat by the window, where the light was strongest. The book was brand new, with a leather spine that creaked when she lifted the cover and pages that still smelled of machine oil and ink.
It was a medical textbook, not a housewife’s guide that would have avoided technical and medical terminology in favour of the more accessible explanations of pregnancy.
She was several chapters in when he returned.
She clutched at her book reactively, but he simply studied her.
“When did you last go outside?” he asked.
She looked down. “I—went out—”
She didn’t know how long the necrothralls retained information, whether they could observe the passage of time. If she lied, would he know?
“Last week,” she said.
“No, you didn’t. You haven’t been outside in weeks.”
She stared down at her book, not blinking until the words began to blur. She didn’t want to go outside. She didn’t want to see the spring or smell the scent of the world coming to life.
“Put your shoes on.”
She stood, holding her book tightly against her chest. He sighed with irritation.
“You cannot bring that; it weighs nearly five pounds.”
Helena only held it tighter. Other than her shoes and gloves, it was her only possession.
Ferron gripped his temples as though he had a migraine.
“No one is going to steal your book,” he said as if he was trying very hard to be patient. He gestured around. “Who even would? If they do, I will buy you a new one. Leave it.”
She placed it carefully on the table, fingers lingering on the cover a moment longer before she went to retrieve her boots.
The courtyard was reborn by spring. There was grass, and little red buds covered the trees. The vines on the house had bright-green leaves, transforming their previously gruesome appearance.
It was beautiful, Helena couldn’t deny it, but every detail felt tainted and poisonous.
Ferron said nothing, but he walked with her around the courtyard a few times and then back to her room.
As he turned to leave, she forced herself to speak.
“Ferron.” Her voice wavered.
He was already in the hall, but he paused and turned slowly back. His expression was closed, eyes guarded.
“Ferron,” she said again, voice barely more than a whisper. Her jaw trembled uncontrollably, and she gripped the post of the bed, trying to steady herself. “I—I will never ask anything of you—”
His expression went flat and cold, and something inside her broke but she kept speaking.
“You can do anything you want to me. I’ll never ask for any mercy from you, but please—don’t do this …”
He stood, impassive.
