Chapter Text
I woke in Ambrose’s chamber, my head heavily buzzing. I was wearing only a linen chemise, damp and sticking to my skin with sweat. My arm throbbed, and when I lifted it, I saw a bandage wrapped tightly around it.
I did not recall entering the room, nor did I recall putting on the chemise. The faint scent of lavender mixed with wax from the dying candles filled my nose, and I felt sick. I tried to remember how I had gotten there, but I could not. My mind felt muddled, erased. I could not recall the events that had left me in the state.
Voices reached me from the corridor. I laid in bed, straining my ear to listen.
“You went too far!” Ambrose’s voice was tense. I could hear, from those four words, just how angry she was.
“I did what was necessary!” the Countess retorted. “Do you think I will allow her to defy me? She will obey us if she is to stay.”
“You did not have to hurt her! Not physically!” Ambrose’s voice wavered. “She is small, weak. How could you do it, mama?”
“She will learn,” the Countess said. “Do not question me. This is not about you.”
“But it is. The woman is to be mine, and so, it is about me.”
My arm reminded me that something had happened. I could not remember clearly, but the pain was real, and the bandage confirmed it. I wondered what had made Ambrose so upset.
Ambrose’s voice increased in intensity, pleading. “You must not push her beyond her limits. She is not ready.”
“She will listen to us, or she will face the consequences,” the Countess declared.
I shifted carefully on the bed, testing my arm. The throbbing had dulled slightly, but it still ached with every movement. I sat up, pressing my legs beneath the thin chemise, and leaned closer to the door.
The voices continued, sharp as ever.
“You cannot force her if she is not ready,” Ambrose said, her tone low but urgent. “She is not yours to command. It is my job to prepare her for what is to come. You are pushing her too far. She is delicate, like a bird, and we must treat her as such until the time is right.”
“We cannot waste time. Mother Vivicia is expecting word any time now,” the Countess replied. “I will not have you chasing the wrong woman.”
The wrong woman? Mother Vivicia? I did not understand what had happened or how I had been injured. My head spun and I felt too ill to think. As I laid there, I felt extreme dread. Who was Mother Vivicia? The bandage on my arm pulled at the injured skin beneath, reminding me that I had suffered somehow.
Ambrose’s voice softened. “Mother, please. She is still recovering. We cannot go now. We have to buy some time.”
“The two of you will make the journey come nightfall,” the Countess interrupted, her voice final. “Do not question me. You think I have failed to consider her well-being? I know what must be done. If you want her future with you to be secured, it shall be done.”
I sank against the pillows, clutching my arm. I felt trapped, and all I wanted to do was run. I knew if I tried to demand answers, I would get none. Ambrose’s concern for me was clear in her voice, but she could not save me. The Countess had full control over the situation.
I whispered to the empty room, “Where in the world am I?”
ᛝ ROSEVALE HALL ᛝ
The door creaked, and my heart leapt. Ambrose stepped inside, her cloak hanging loosely around her shoulders. Her expression was unreadable at first, but as she drew closer, I noticed something unusual: a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, a tension in her jaw that I had never seen before.
She had always appeared so sure of herself, but not on that day.
“Ambrose…” I croaked, my throat dry and sore. “Are you…?”
She moved to my side and helped me upright. Her hands were light like feathers as she guided me to the edge of the bed. “We have… preparations to make.”
“Preparations?” I frowned, anxious. “Where are we going?”
Ambrose did not answer. Instead, she helped with removing my clothing. Then, she ran a small brush through my hair.
“Hold still,” she said, her voice quieter than usual, as nervous as I was.
She gathered the majority of my hair at the nape of my neck, twisting it upward into a low coil. The loose waves framed my face gently. A few tiny flowers were pinned delicately at the temples, curling neatly against my cheeks.
“Wonderful. You look beautiful, darling.”
“Ambrose,” I broke the moment, “Who is Mother Vivicia?”
Her eyes darkened. “Do not say another word about her.
“But…”
“You will be ready soon. And then we must leave.”
“Leave? Where?”
She was unsettled, and I had a suspicion it had something to do with me. I so strongly wanted to ask her questions. Instead, I sat in silence as she finished dressing me, adjusting the many layers of skirts, pins, and ribbons.
Her hands lingered a moment longer than necessary on my hair, then she straightened and drew back. “We must move quickly.”
I tried to rise from the bed, but my arm protested sharply, and my legs felt as if they were not there. A wave of dizziness made me falter, and I swayed, almost falling back onto the mattress.
Ambrose was instantly at my side. She steadied me easily. “Relax. You are still weak. Let me help you.”
I leaned against her, grateful despite the unease I felt. She moved one step at a time so that I could move with minimal pain. Her tall frame loomed protectively as she guided me toward the door.
“You do not need to struggle,” she said softly. “I will see you through this. It will be a long journey. Let me support you.”
The hallway stretched in front of us, dimly lit by lanterns flickering along the walls. I could hear the quiet clip of the horses outside, ready for the journey. Ambrose’s hand remained on my back as she led me down the stairs. Every step made my arm throb, and indeed, my head as well. My strong companion adjusted her grip to keep me supported, her own composure unshakable despite the changing circumstances.
When we reached the carriage, she guided me onto the step. “Steady yourself,” she instructed, placing a hand under my elbow. Once I was seated, she climbed in beside me, adjusting the folds of my skirts. Kindly, she wrapped her cloak around both of us to shield me from the evening chill.
The carriage jolted forward, and I leaned back, still weak, still uncertain of what awaited us. Ambrose’s presence was a small comfort, though I could sense the strain beneath her composure, the silent struggle she was hiding from me.
“Are you ready?” she asked, voice tight, betraying the smallest edge of nerves.
I nodded while my stomach did a flip. I still felt weak, and my memory had not yet returned. Inside, the carriage smelled of polished wood, faint leather, and a lingering trace of lavender—the scent of Ambrose herself. Cushions lined the walls, soft and inviting, though I hardly noticed any comfort. It was a far nicer carriage than Rosevale Hall’s.
Ambrose sat beside me, hands folded in her lap. She stared out the window, her body language closed off. Though, she sat close enough that her cloak protected me from the cold.
The horses lurched forward, and the carriage rolled onto the uneven road. I gripped the edge of the seat as the wheels rattled over stones and uneven dirt. Ambrose’s eyes were still fixed on the window, watching the countryside blur into dusk.
Hours passed. The carriage bounced over rutted paths, through forests, and across empty fields. My mind wandered, and I had no idea where we were going. Ambrose remained silent, though every now and then she would glance at me.
Around the fifth hour, I noticed her pale fingers tightening around the edge of her cloak. Her lips were pressed thin, and a faint tremor ran through her hands.
“Ambrose?” I asked, my voice no louder than a pin dropping. “Are you unwell?”
She shook her head, forcing a small smile that did not reach her eyes. “I am fine. Do not concern yourself.”
I studied her, noticing the unusual pallor of her skin. Upon further inspection, I saw a faint sheen of sweat on her brow. “You should rest. Perhaps you need water or something to eat. It has been a while since our last meal.”
“No, I cannot eat. I must think.”
Her words only heightened the tension in the carriage. Things became silent again, and I hated it. I felt the weight of the journey, and in truth, I felt ignored. I was being taken to some strange woman I had never heard of without an explanation.
By the time the moon had reached its peak, the temperature had dropped. Ambrose’s hands fell to her lap, and her head dipped. I reached across my lap and grabbed her hand.
“Ambrose… you must rest,” I said, urgency creeping into my voice.
She lifted her head. “I cannot rest. Not now. I must remain alert. We are so close. Mother Vivicia… she will not wait for me any longer.”
Her words confused me, and there, in the carriage, I felt true fear. I did not understand just how dangerous the journey was. Not just for Ambrose, but for me.