by Lindsey Byrd
Kera couldn’t help feeling a swell of grief rising up within her. This was the world that they lived in. A world where mothers watched their children die as their husbands abandoned them through death or disloyalty. She curled around her son, breathing in the smell of his body.
Fever heat warmed her brow as her son’s wet breath ghosted across her cheek. She tried to hold back a sob. She would not cry in front of the woman her husband found more desirable than her. Swallowing back every vile thought, every cry for vengeance, every emotion that was not pure and good, Kera thanked Aurora Sinclair.
Aurora did not need to let them stay. She did not need to let them share her space. She could have protested, and Kera would have had nothing. “I . . . appreciate your kindness,” Kera gritted out.
Aurora looked for all the world like she would rather swallow her tongue than continue this conversation one moment longer. Still, she forced another banker’s smile and retrieved whatever it was that she intended to grab from her bag. Walking toward Kera, Aurora handed her a folded strip of fabric that smelled of something fruity and sweet. Kera had no idea what she was meant to do with it. She held the cloth between them and blinked at Aurora until Aurora deigned to provide instruction. “The smell . . . it makes the shaking not as bad.”
Confusion filled Kera’s body, but she lowered the cloth to her son’s face. Aurora didn’t say anything more. She turned her back on Kera and Aiden, while Kera felt more imbecilic with each passing second. Then, to her very great surprise, the boy did start to settle. His whining ceased, and he returned to dozing once again.
“Thank you,” Kera repeated. This time, she meant it far more than she had before.
Folding her hands in her lap, Aurora inspected Kera as one would a piece of meat. Spoiled? Unspoiled? Fit for consumption? “If you’ll forgive me,” Aurora began, and even with Aurora’s kindness tonight, that was the one thing Kera was incapable of doing. Forgiveness was not in her nature. “Where’re you going?” Aurora raised a brow as though she knew where Kera’s mind had gone. She all but dared Kera to voice her opinion here and now.
Kera scowled, unused to her thoughts being so plain to read. Only her husband had managed to do that, and it was a familiarity she had no intention of sharing with his mistress. A part of her longed to make up some falsehood that would make Aurora regret starting this conversation to begin with, but . . . Kera’s eyes traveled to Faith. Faith was young and blameless for her mother’s actions. “The physicians suggested that . . . griffons could cure my son.”
Aurora looked almost pensive as she nodded, accepting that response. “And . . . where are your . . . escorts, Mrs. Montgomery?”
She continued to call Kera that. Mrs. Montgomery. How long had it been since someone called her Mrs? How long had it been since someone deferred to her by the name she had expected would be hers all her life, rather than the dark and dreary reminder of failures long since passed? She had been Widow Montgomery for over a year now.
Why was it that the first one to call her by her true name was Aurora?
Why did it feel like it was less polite intentions, and more a stab? Mrs. Montgomery. The wife of the man she’d slept with. Mrs. Montgomery. The wife that had to smile in public as her husband bared his guilty soul to the world. “Yes,” he had said. “I did this awful thing, but being an adulterer does not invalidate my many other accomplishments!”
“My name is Kera,” she snapped, desperate to be free of any reminders of Morpheus’s sin. “I have a name.”
Aurora pursed her lips. Her jaw clenched. “I . . . I meant no offense.” It was not quite an apology.
For the first time in years, Kera wondered if Aurora even knew who she was. They had never spoken or interacted before. The most they had shared were a few strained glances across the street before neighbors would surround Kera and inform her all the ways she should be managing her household.
The countless stream of busybodies had overwhelmed Kera to the point where she had made it her priority to never speak with Aurora at all. She didn’t want to hear the rumors that would follow. She didn’t want to hear the excuses that would echo in her ears. She wanted silence. A silence that she never received when her peers took it upon themselves to offer their words of support or dismay as she struggled to sort the wreckage of her life.
Kera had been raised to not speak out against them. She had been taught that her place was to remain firm and calm amidst the storm. It was her duty to be a pillar of support her children could flock around, offering them all the stability their father had tried his best to destroy.
Silence could only mask pain until the turmoil reached a maelstrom of inescapable ruin. Right now, Kera was too angry to sit across from this woman, after everything else, and stay silent. “When you and my Mori—when you and my husband were together. Did you know my name?”
Did Aurora know that Kera had been pregnant at the time? With her fifth child, John? Did she know that after Mori finished with her, he came home to Kera and tended to her aching feet? Her sore back? Did she know that he brought her food and bought her dresses? That he kissed her in the morning and right before bed? That he had been there and delivered the child he conceived with her while he also was spending time with Aurora? Did she know?
“I knew,” Aurora whispered. She looked faintly ill. Kera wondered if she had made Aurora uncomfortable. If she had given her even a fraction of the pain that Kera felt since the moment Brennan Wild decided to tell the world about her husband’s affair. Her husband hadn’t bothered to inform her until she had read about it in the morning paper. Then and only then had he tried to explain. She hadn’t wanted to listen. She still didn’t.
But now that she had been given the smallest hint of awareness from Aurora, Kera’s mind flooded with questions. Did Aurora know that aside from his affair, Kera and Mori had never known conflict? Had always been the best of friends? Hand in hand in all things. Blessed with beautiful children. Granted such great fortune with their affairs. Surrounded by good men and women. Did she know that once the affair became known, the façade crumbled?
Kera’s world fell to ruin, with one tragedy after another. First, Brennan Wild took it upon himself to destroy Mori’s reputation, then General Zakaria died, her eldest son died, he died. He died just as she had forgiven him. Just as she had found it in her heart to set all the pain to the side. Just as she had determined that with their son’s death, she could not handle the heartbreak. The loss of one more member of her family.
Did Aurora know that she had sat at her husband’s deathbed, holding him close and begging him to stay? Begging him for more time. Begging him not to leave her because they had lost so much already. Time she lost because of her?
“I’m sorry,” Aurora told Kera.
It was not good enough. Two simple words did not erase the pain and dismay of having her world shattered like stained glass in the sun.
Kera tucked her head to Aiden’s cheek. She breathed in. She breathed out. She tried to remain calm, and convince herself that even with all of her turmoil, a room with Aurora was still safer than anything else.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” Aurora continued. “But . . . but I can make rep-rations?”
She stumbled so badly that Kera wanted to take delight in it. But a much larger part of her was dismayed. Comparisons were drawing up in her mind. Was this what he liked about her? Was this what I did wrong? “Rep-ar-ations,” Kera corrected anyway. She even tried not to sound mocking as she asked, “How could you possibly make reparations to me?”
Aurora did not back down. If anything, Kera’s scathing words seemed to embolden her more. She straightened her back, tilted her chin up. “You’re traveling to the griffons, right? Ehm. Well . . . we are too? I . . . I can help you get there.”
Kera did laugh at that. It was hard not to. Aurora looked like she believed Kera would accept that offer. It was as if she expected Kera to spend her time with the woman who destroyed her relationship with Mori.
But despite Kera’s obvious amusement at the comment, Aurora held firm. She seemed undaunted by Kera’s reaction, remaining steady and calm, as if determined to succeed.
“You are traveling alone, are you not?” she asked. Kera’s laughter stopped. “No woman has her bags dropped off by the boy downstairs when she got a guard or servant to do it for her.” The observation was frustratingly astute.
Kera scowled. Her nostrils flared with her temper. “You mean to extort both Montgomerys?”
Aurora flinched. It was not a subtle thing, but a whole body affair. Her limbs jerked like Aiden’s during his fits. She averted her eyes, hands clenching down so tight that Kera could hear them crack from across the room. “I mean to make . . . make amends to the woman I wronged.”
Kera tried not to feel guilt. She struggled not to snap back and argue her point, giving voice to some indeterminable feeling that was both wrong and unnecessary. But the guilt came anyway, and shame came soon after.
Aiden is dying, she reminded herself. Aiden was dying, and Aurora’s Faith was dying, and they were more important than the pain that their unique pasts wrought. “How do you know of the griffons?” Kera asked.
“Been working for the Travers family since my divorce. They talked about griffons before. And when Faith fell ill . . . they told me where I could go to find them.” She walked back over to her bag and withdrew a sheet of parchment. This too she offered to Kera for review.
Taking it, Kera let her eyes roam over the page. It was a map. “Before my husband put Henry in jail, the Traverses were good people . . . I’m glad at least the rest of their family hasn’t turned sour.”
“Yes . . . they’ve been very kind. Henry’s still dead and they’re still tryna make do. But they’ve been good to me and Faith . . . they never did much like your family though. Heard them talking about you sometimes.”
“Yes. They’re trying to get my house from me.”
“At least you have a house for them to try to take.”
“At least.” Kera swallowed back an unnatural urge to be violent. She hadn’t struck anyone or anything in years, but the feeling was growing to an alarming point the longer this conversation dragged on.
“Look . . . I’m not trying to start anything, Lady, but I know where I’m going. I have the map to the den. And it’s safer to travel in groups. We . . . we should work together on this. It’d be safer for all of us.”
“I don’t have an escort,” Kera confirmed.
Aurora pointed toward a small squiggle at the far end of the map. Her dirty nail aimed right at a tight scrawl reading The Long Lakes. “Unlike you, my lady, I’ve never traveled in a carriage to and fro. I’ve never had the, um, luxury of your dresses and pearls.” She wrung her hands at that. “I know this world . . . and I know how to navigate it. I can bring you to the griffons.”
“Just to make amends?” Kera spat. She returned the map over and adjusted her hold on Aiden as she tried to understand what could motivate a woman like Aurora to want to help her in any way, shape, or form. Nothing positive crossed her imagination. All explanations were mind-boggling. Kera couldn’t follow the thread of this conversation, nor weave it into a narrative she could understand.
“No,” Aurora admitted. “Woulda done it even if I didn’t know you any.” Was this what Mori saw in Aurora? Was this what he wanted all along? Someone strong and brave and fearless? Someone who took a map and raced off into the world, confident she would be fine?
“I can take care of myself,” Kera told Aurora. She had the Bestiary. She had Herbalism. She could manage. Somehow, some way, she would manage. She could do this too.
Aurora, however, remained unconvinced. She bit her lip and shifted her feet as she tried to find the words she longed to say. Whether it was another chastisement on Kera’s privileged status, or another method of irritating her further, Kera was not in the mood. She—
“I won’t force you to travel with me if you don’t wanna,” Aurora cut in. “Gods know it’s . . . best . . . that you and I not speak to each other at all, all things considered. I just . . . We are going to the same place. And it’s safer . . . and I’d not forgive myself should anything happen to you Mrs.—Kera.”
“You forgave yourself for sleeping with my husband,” Kera said before her brain could catch up with her. Aurora scowled, face always in motion. She clearly never learned how to mask her emotions, nor how to play the charming lady, capable of controlling the room at a glance.
She was a commoner, a simple woman who lived a simple life. And she was also a clever woman who’d seduced a brilliant man from a loving marriage. A vixen. A harpy. Kera conjured names and disparagements as easy as could be. Each term came to mind with greater speed and fluency. She needed to bite her tongue to keep from giving them life.
Aiden whined again. He squirmed in Kera’s arms and distracted her from Aurora once more. She looked down at her son, and let out a startled gasp. His eyes were open, and he was staring up at her with such stunned confusion. Pulling the cloth back from his face, she managed a smile.
“Mama . . .?” he asked, sweet voice breaking and cracking in the air.
“Darling,” she greeted in turn. “How are you feeling?”
Aiden looked around the room without answering, far more interested in investigating. “Where . . . are we?”
“You should feed him while he’s awake,” Aurora lectured Kera. “He’ll sleep again soon, and if you can get him to eat and drink now, it will make your journey easier.”
She was right. Kera knew she was right, but just hearing the advice made Kera want to spurn it. Made her want to reject it and every other word in that sentence, because Aurora was the one who spoke them. That’s unfair, she forced herself to remember. That’s unfair, and it’s cruel. And it didn’t help Aiden.
Reaching for her saddlebag, she opened it and retrieved the small folded napkin that held Aiden’s premade dinner secure. It was a simple thing, just some bread and cheese that Ciara had cut in their kitchen back at the Ivory Gate. She lowered herself to the ground so Aiden could sit upright and eat it on her lap. Cross-legged and woozy, Aiden leaned against her. His coordination wasn’t strong, but what toddler had good coordination when ill?
Handing the first mouthful of bread to her son, she watched him eat. She followed the motions of his hands as he brought the demi-baguette to his mouth. He chewed with small teeth in careful little bites. Aurora watched them the whole time.
Occasionally she looked toward Faith, but Faith was still asleep. She hadn’t moved an inch. Kera tried not to think about her daughter, Cirri, lying in Faith’s position. It was hard not to. With Aiden already weak and shaking in her arms, imagining one more child in a precarious position was not difficult.
“I fear that my faith may not be strong enough to forgive you, Aurora,” Kera told her husband’s former mistress.
She had forgiven Mori. In the seven years before his death, they had worked on fixing the damage from his affair. Mori had pledged himself to correcting his errors every day. Had fought for her forgiveness, and earned it when she deemed herself capable of feeling again.
Aurora had never earned it. She had never shown Kera any interest in apologizing for her behavior, nor reached out before this day to speak. To be fair, Kera doubted she would have even granted Aurora an audience had she asked for one. But Aurora had never asked in the first place, so Kera didn’t allow the thought to linger too long in her head.
“You have hurt me too severely for me to forgive you for what you’ve done,” Kera said.
Aurora nodded, implacable. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I made the choices I made. I fucked your husband.” Kera flinched both at the word and the admission. Seven years, and the admission still struck home. Hearing someone else confirm what she had known all this time still made her heart beat too fast, her lungs seize, and her head spin.
Why didn’t he tell me?
“But your boy don’t deserve this,” Aurora continued, “and s
o I’ll take you to the griffons. Please, ma’am. Please let me take you to the griffons. Morpheus Montgomery’s son don’t deserve to die because you and I are arguing over our foolishness.”
Kera expected to feel pain at the sound of her husband’s name. She expected to feel something other than a slow and steady resignation, but she knew Aurora was telling the truth. Aurora was sincere in her wishes and beliefs, and Kera could even understand Aurora’s intentions.
Faith was still lying on the bed, skin waxy and limbs. Just as Aiden had been all day. “I apologize for damaging your family like I have,” Aurora went on. “I truly am sorry. But your husband was a good man. And he loved you all dearly. Please . . . please allow me this one chance to make it up to you. I don’t know how else to make it better.”
Aiden chewed his cheese in slow bites with his jaw moving left and right like a goat, his fingers dusted with grain from the meal. Kera knew full well that the plague would wrap its way around him once more, pulling him back to the depths of despair far too soon. He would become immobile; he would seize. He would take one step closer to death, just as Aurora and she invariably would.
Someday soon, they would both fall as ill as their children. Their only hope was to reach the Long Lakes in time. Think of Aiden.
“Show me the way,” Kera whispered.
Aurora, to her credit, didn’t smile or try to make any false promises. She just nodded and said, “I’ll do my best, Lady Kera. Promise.”
And her best, Kera supposed, would have to do.
It was still dark out when Kera woke to the sound of Faith mumbling in her sleep. Aurora tried to settle her daughter, but it took time. Kera watched as Faith’s limbs twisted. Her neck strained. Her hands opened and closed at her sides. The image was too familiar to ignore. Though Aiden remained still at Kera’s side, enjoying a temporary peace, Faith’s struggling tugged at her heart.
Faith mewled and reached for her mother. She was awake, coughing and clawing at her own neck. Kera imagined ants in her throat. Running about beneath the flesh. She imagined Faith trying to dig them out one by one, even as Aurora pulled her hands back.