Page 65 of Lost in the Dark

Before she could question what that meant, he was heading down the hall, his long legs rapidly adding space between them. Unless she wanted to make a scene and chase after him, she’d have to wait until tomorrow.

Very well.

She slowly closed the door and leaned against it.

Shoulders braced by the oak, she surveyed the room. Her room. Golden Gods bless her with sunlight, how could such a place be hers? This chamber with its massive fireplace in the center, a polished armoire big enough to house clothing for an entire family, and an enormous four-poster bed framed by curtains.

It would put their mayor’s home to shame.

And it was notably clean.

And lonely.

She was used to sharing a room with her sisters—hells, she was used to sharing a bed with at least one. This much space felt strangely desolate, somehow darker than the night outside despite the glow of the fire burning low in the hearth. Rubbing her arms and fighting a yawn, she removed her travel-worn dress and ate the last piece of bread that she’d packed for the journey.

She started to remove the necklace, and once again heard the faint sound of women crying—whether in warning or in terror, she couldn’t tell. The sound fled as fast as it had come, and she shook her head. She must be more tired than she’d realized. Still, her fingers rested on the clasp, unable to unfasten the piece.

Her new husband had given her the piece. If he wasn’t with her tonight in body, perhaps he should be here in spirit.

Rest tonight.

Tomorrow, convince him this marriage is not a mistake.

Yes, that’s what she’d do. She was tired from her journey. She’d probably fall asleep the moment she climbed into that massive bed. Even if the night outside her window seemed to press inward, and the fire didn’t glow as bright as it should have. Even if she missed her sisters and felt tiny and scared in this massive home.

Rathbytten required a mistress.

She’d feel better once she’d improved the state of this sprawling manor. And surely when she’d proven her worth, her husband would come to her bed and consummate their marriage.

Crawling into bed, she stared at the canopy overhead and tried to ignore the way the necklace seemed to press her into the mattress.

She’d just close her eyes…

Anna huddled beneath her blankets. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts, and she bit the goose-down mattress to keep from screaming. From begging. Whatever she did, whatever words were whispered over her bed, she couldn’t cry out. Couldn’t make a sound, lest her husband hear her and think her weak.

But she was weak.

Weak and terrified of monstrous voices.

“I’ll make you a queen,” whispered a voice like the scratch of mice.

The soft tap of bare feet across the stone floor followed. And something else. A different sound, wet and churning. Like a fish, struggling on a muddy river bank.

Don’t look.

Don’t let her know that you hear.

Her grandmother had taught her to never look at the night voices—the mora, her grandmother had called them. Lost women. If you let one, the mora would sit upon your chest and suck the life from your bones.

Fingers tight, palms damp, Anna pulled the blankets higher over her head. Careful to stay on her stomach, she burrowed deeper into the bedclothes. They were warm. Soft. A luxury she should be enjoying. Her sisters would be shivering in their shared room, the wind sneaking through the gaps between stone, turning the uncovered windows to ice. And with one less body to warm the bed, the room would be colder than ever.

Gods, but she missed her sisters.

Even if she could never return to them.

Their hands had clenched when the Chastry priest had handed over the coins in payment for her hand and called for the carriage, so she’d simply hugged them goodbye. She hadn’t told them how scared she was, how she wanted to stay with them instead of going to an estate days from her home. And they’d been silent as she drove away in her new husband’s fancy carriage.

The necklace dug into Anna’s breast and left her longing to exchange its weight for the thin arms of her older sister. But going home wasn’t an option—her father had made that clear.

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