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The longer she searched, the more convinced she grew. Ferron was dead. She was trapped alone in this house.
If Ferron was dead, she had to see it with her own eyes. She had to know, or he’d haunt her.
Then a shadow moved, and the moonlight fell across Ferron’s face, catching his pale hair and skin so that he seemed to glow. “Helena,” he said softly.
She stood frozen, not sure if she felt relief or terror at the sight of him.
dead.” She should turn and leave, but he looked so unearthly that she couldn’t tear her eyes away. His expression was one of utter despair, but as he stared at her, a look of starvation filled his eyes. He stood slowly.
“Oh, Marino.” His thumb trailed along her neck, following the scar below her jaw. “If I’d known what pain you’d cause me, I never would have taken you.”
“But at this point I suppose I deserve to burn. I wonder if you’ll burn, too.” His face was so close the words brushed against her lips, and his mouth crashed against hers.
Helena stood frozen in shock. Pliant and stunned in his possessive hands.
Cool air bit across her skin for an instant before the warmth of his hands and mouth erased it. An ache shuddered through her. His face was buried against her throat, lips pressed below her ear, kissing down the length of her neck to the juncture of her shoulder, nipping, and he reached a spot, and she—moaned. The sound shattered the quiet. They both froze. Ferron wrenched himself away.
He’d come towards her and kissed her and she had let him. In the moment, it hadn’t even occurred to her to push him away. Instead, she’d melted at the warmth of being held.
Ferron turned her to face him, his eyes still silver-bright. “Why?”
window. “I would rather spend the rest of my life being raped in Central than spend a minute of it having feelings for you.” The air in the room seemed to freeze. “Well,” Ferron said after a long silence, “with luck you’re pregnant, and there will be no need for either choice. You’ll be left to yourself.”
He turned away, and Helena’s resolve shattered. Her hand darted out, catching hold of his coat to stop him. Her body was shaking but she couldn’t let go. She gripped harder. She didn’t want to be alone; she couldn’t bear it.
She was so tired of the space around her always being cold and empty and endless.
“Oh, you’re pathetic, aren’t you?” he said. “Survival? Really?”
The Eternal Flame’s lonely little healer, with no one left to save. No one needs you, and no one wants you.”
“That’s all this is. You can’t bear being alone. You’ll do anything for the people who’ll let you love them.” He raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t that what the war was? You wanted to fight, but when they realised what you were, Ilva Holdfast decided you were better suited as Holdfast’s sacrificial lamb. They put you on death row before Holdfast even saw combat.”
“You would have done anything for your friends: made all the hard choices, paid the price without complaint, whored yourself for the war effort. But tell me…because I am sincerely curious, what did Holdfast ever do for you to deserve it?”
“Let me be very clear, then. I don’t want you. I never wanted you. I am not your friend. There is nothing I want more than the moment I’m finally done with you.” He turned and left.
“Calm down.” His voice was hard, but his hands weren’t. He pulled her close until the world narrowed into the space between them. “Breathe.” He squeezed her shoulders hard enough to reach through the numbness. “Come on. You have to breathe.”
“Keep breathing, that’s all you have to do. You breathe,” Ferron said, his expression drawn. The muscles in his jaw were taut. He turned to glare at Stroud without letting go.
“I’m so sorry.”
“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. “It—this baby—it’ll be half yours. Don’t let them—” she said in a broken voice. “I’ll do anything you want—I’ll—I’ll—”
“No one is going to hurt your baby,” he said, meeting her eyes. She gave a small gasp of relief. It was what she’d so desperately wanted him to say.
“There.” Stroud sounded pleased. “Your heir—” She caught herself. “Well, progeny, I suppose we should say.” Ferron’s face had gone ashen.
Helena closed her eyes. Now she understood: She was expected to die, and they’d all known. She only hoped it would happen too early for the pregnancy to be viable.
When they’d gone, Ferron would sit on the edge of the bed and smooth her hair. Sometimes he would take her hand, his fingers moving absently against hers. The first time he did it, she thought he was playing with her fingers; then she realised he was massaging them.
She’d hover over Helena, wordlessly offering mint and ginger tisanes, clear broths, and bits of toast, giving her sponge baths, and carefully combing and plaiting Helena’s hair into a loose braid so it wouldn’t mat. She seemed strangely experienced in nursing for a lady’s maid.
He didn’t speak or meet her eyes, but he was there constantly. Sitting sometimes for hours with her hand in his as if it could keep her from slipping away.
She felt like an hourglass, the final grains of sand finally running down. It was almost over. She could feel herself slipping away. The room flipped as she was dragged up and crushed tight. “Stay…please…stay.”
The light grew and the strangest sensation came over her, a glow inside her chest, familiar even though she was certain she’d never experienced anything like it before. The constant feeling of strain inside her chest, like a thread pulled to the verge of snapping, slowly faded away.
There was something important she needed to do— Her legs nearly gave out when they hit the floor. She stumbled, catching herself. A shock of pain lanced through her arms, but she ignored it. She was supposed to be doing something. What was it, though? She couldn’t remember. She was waiting. She needed to be ready for…
she could feel it. Don’t break. She’d promised… What? What had she promised? Think, Helena.
world split in two. When her vision cleared, Ferron was still there, but his eyes had turned a flat grey, his hair darkened by shadows as he lunged towards her. She fell back instinctively, fingers scrabbling, trying to find— He vanished. The room splintered.
Ferron had her by the throat, and he was slamming her onto the floor. His eyes narrowed into slits.
A hard kiss where she was pinned against a wall.
“You’re mine. You swore yourself to me.” The words were growled in her ear.
“I have warned you, if something happens to you, I will personally raze the Eternal Flame. That isn’t a threat. It is a promise. Consider your survival as much a necessity to the Resistance as Holdfast’s. If you die, I will kill every single one of them.”
“You promised you’d do anything for him.”
“What do you know about fighting?”
“So what do we do?” Helena asked. Ilva pursed her lips, drawing a deep breath. “Do you remember Kaine Ferron?” Helena stifled an incredulous laugh. Everyone remembered Kaine Ferron. He’d murdered Luc’s father by ripping out his heart at the foot of the Alchemy Tower.
“Kaine Ferron has offered to spy for the Resistance,” said Crowther. Helena’s head swivelled sharply. “What?” Crowther’s upper lip curled. “He says it’s to avenge his mother.” He inclined his head. “A strange motive, given that Enid Ferron died peacefully in the family’s city residence a year ago. When he was reminded of that, he admitted he has a few—conditions for the services he’s offering.”