House of Salt and Sorrows - Erin A. Craig Page 0,119

I believe anymore.”

“Did Cassius tell you this?” Her voice was skeptical but not unkind.

My laugh was short and tasted like bitter coffee, brewed too strong. “He told me all kinds of things, but what is real and what isn’t? Are we actually here, having this conversation? What about him?” I raised the baby higher up on my shoulder. “Is he really dead, or is it just an illusion?”

“An illusion?” she repeated. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Of course he’s dead. Feel his chest. There’s no heartbeat. Listen to his lungs. They never drew breath.”

“But that could be what she wants us to see.”

Camille stamped her foot, her patience drawn too thin. “What she? Who are you talking about?”

“Kosamaras.” I rubbed circles across my brother’s tiny back. “She can make us see whatever she wants us to. Even a captain’s son no one else remembers.”

“Oh, Annaleigh.” She put her hand on my shoulder, her voice flush with understanding. “But why would she be here? What did we ever do to anger her?” I could see her wanting to listen, wanting to believe, but I didn’t know if she truly trusted what I was saying or if it was simply easier to think that than to know your sister was a murderer.

“She’s working for Viscardi. Tormenting us was part of his bargain.”

She glanced up, meeting my eyes with exhausted resignation. “Verity is dead, isn’t she?”

“I don’t know.” Tears came, swift and sudden. My throat felt clogged and thick. Kosamaras had gotten to her somehow, and I hadn’t been there to stop it. I’d never see her lopsided grin or her happy green eyes looking up at me again. “I think so.”

Camille let out a sob and bit into the back of her hand to stifle it. I hugged her again, holding our half brother between us.

Groans from Morella’s room interrupted us.

“She must be waking up. Do you think the other twin will come today?”

There was too much death already. I could not lose either of them as well. “We should go in and see.”

* * *

“Oh, Annaleigh, you’re here!” Morella held out her hands, beckoning me to join her.

Papa glanced at Camille. “Are you certain this is a good idea?” After a considered beat, she nodded, and he grudgingly allowed me access.

“How are you feeling? Have there been more contractions?”

“Not as intense. Not like before.” Her lips were pale—nearly the same shade the sheets had been—raw, chapped, and cracked from her screaming.

I spotted Hanna lingering in the corner. She looked as if she’d aged a decade since I last saw her, and I wondered again if everyone but me remembered Fisher’s death. Were those tired circles under her eyes etched from grief or another illusion from Kosamaras?

“Hanna, can you bring water, please? And fresh linens. Several sets.” I turned back to Papa. “Find a new nightgown for her?” I climbed into the bed, skirting the bloody mess as best I could. “We’ll get you cleaned up, Morella, all right?”

She sank backward, her eyes rolling shut. “You don’t need to bother. I think I’m dying.”

“You’re not,” I said with more confidence than I truly felt. “Tell me what happened.”

“You’ve seen your brother?” She broke into fresh tears. “I was resting after breakfast when there was a sudden sharp pain. Right here,” she said, pointing to her side. “It was like being ripped apart from the inside. Then a great gush of water. Maybe it was blood. Just when I thought the pain couldn’t get any worse, it did. Down…down there. I don’t remember much after that. But Ortun…” Sobs racked her body.

“Sometimes these things happen. Papa knows that.”

Thunder rumbled over Highmoor, shaking the breath from our chests. There was no way a midwife would make it to Salten in time.

Hanna returned with new sheets, and Papa tenderly scooped Morella up from the bed, heading to their bathroom. Camille offered to help clean and dress her while Hanna and I struggled with the bedding.

“Burn them,” I instructed, looking at the bloodied sheets. Stringy black streaks of discharge stuck to them like pitch tar. There was no way they’d ever be cleaned. “And have someone bring up warm broth for her. She’ll need to keep up her strength.”

Hanna glanced at the chaise, where I’d carefully rested my baby brother between soft throw pillows. “What should we do with…” She couldn’t finish.

In truth, I did not know. He’d eventually need a proper funeral, down in the crypt. When his little body