House of Salt and Sorrows - Erin A. Craig Page 0,121
rubbing her foot with a sharp focus. I’d jumped to the wrong conclusion with Sterland before. I didn’t want to make that mistake again. “That’s too bad. They’re Nyxmist, aren’t they?”
At the sound of the flower’s name, she froze. “You’ve heard of Nyxmist?”
I dared to meet her eyes, going for the jugular. “I never realized you were from the Cardanian Mountains. You never talk about it.”
Camille frowned, unaware of what Morella was about to give away. “You told me you grew up near Foresia, on the plains.”
Eyes widened, she felt herself caught in the lie. “I moved there…later. Once I became a midwife.”
“A governess,” I reminded her. Her ruse was showing, unraveling like a spool of thread. “Papa said you were a governess.”
She pushed a lock of hair back behind her ear. It was damp with sweat. Her nightgown was already drenched as she curled around another contraction. My instincts screamed to help her, to ease her pain, but I ignored them and slid out of the bed. When the contraction passed, she lay back into the pillows, feigning sleep.
“How could you?”
She kept her eyes closed.
Camille’s mouth dropped open. “It was you? You made the bargain?” She’d put everything together.
Her voice was so weak and dry, rustling like leaves. She didn’t look long for this world.
“I knew the little ones wouldn’t, but I worried about you two.”
“Remember you?” Camille asked, appraising her with fresh eyes. “Remember you from what?”
“I served as one of the midwives for your mother’s confinement with Verity.”
I frowned, scanning hazy memories of the women in white who had descended upon Highmoor during Mama’s last pregnancy. Papa had spared no expense, saying he wanted the very best possible care for her. There’d been so many midwives and healers, I couldn’t recall them all.
“I was much younger,” she whispered. “Obviously. I never did live in the flatlands or work as a governess. Your father and I made all that up. I was born in the Cardanian Mountains and sent to the capital to study midwifery, like my mother and her mother before.” She took a deep breath. “Could I have some water, please?”
Camille turned to the pitcher at the bedside table, but I reached out, stopping her. “When your story is done.”
She sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Oh, what does it matter now? I’m going to die tonight anyway. Someone ought to know the truth.” She turned toward the window, her eyes flickering back and forth as if watching her story unfold like a play onstage. “I’d never seen the sea before. Or a house as lovely as Highmoor. I spent most of my first afternoon here dreaming of someday being mistress of such an estate…. When I felt Ortun’s eyes on me, I decided someday was too far away.”
A bark of laughter burst from me. “You’re lying. Papa was devoted to Mama. He never would have strayed from her.”
“Don’t be so naive. I knew he wanted me. I could see it in every one of his glances.” She smiled so widely, her lower lip cracked open and began to weep blood as a stab of lightning danced outside the window.
Camille made a noise of disgust.
Morella’s eyelids fluttered shut. “After Verity was born, your mother was so weak. So tired and worn out. Birthing twelve daughters…No one was truly surprised when she died….”
Hearing the words Morella didn’t speak made my blood run cold. Her forehead tightened as another contraction hit. When it passed, she dared to meet my stony gaze.
“It was an act of kindness, Annaleigh, truly, you must believe me. She was in pain, so much pain. I mixed a bit of hemlock into her nightly medicine, and she died in her sleep, none the wiser.”
“You murdered Mama?” Camille’s face twisted in rage. She grabbed an iron poker from the fireplace, wielding it at her. “You bitch!”
“It wasn’t a bad death,” she gasped. “She didn’t suffer.”
“Are we supposed to be thankful for that?” Camille brought the poker down over her legs—not hard enough to break bone, though it did leave a nasty welt. Morella shrieked and scooted away from the rod’s reach.
I held out my hand toward Camille. “Let her finish. We need to hear everything. You killed Mama. Then what?”
“Annaleigh,” she pleaded, “it wasn’t murder. She was going to die anyway, probably. I just…helped.”
I clenched my teeth, trying to hold in my fury. “What. Next?”