The name Grey drifted through her mind. That familiar jerk fluttered in her stomach as if the energy were ready to come out with the name — but she forced it back again. Her eyes closed.
Andrew stormed out of the chambers.
***
The boy grew quickly after that. For a time, at least. In a matter of a couple weeks he could stand on his own, the muscles in his legs fully supportive, and step more than once. His eyes opened. They were brown, like his father's. He saw, and recognized the motions which created sound, but could not hear Amelia speak to him. They'd been right, she supposed. After surviving a year, things were better.
He began to wander on his own, with eyes that spoke of ten more years on his age.
Still, Amelia refused to look at him as more than a release for her magic. He was small, and still not good for more than a sigh or unintelligible sound.
She stayed in his room at night, when Andrew would not notice. Her fingers stroked his tiny hand. She had to be very careful, she'd unfortunately realized, to quietly pass her magic to the boy through direct contact. If any wisp dared escape into the open air, Jed would track her scent. Punishment was swift and sufficient. If she could pour it directly into the baby, he didn't seem to be able to notice.
So, every night, Amelia would touch the little boy; his hands, his cheeks, his soft ribs. She looked at how perfect and also imperfect the little boy was; this thing that she had made against her will. She closed her eyes and though of a more complete version of herself. She thought of Feren.
***
That night, one of the guards was found dead in the grand hall. Amelia stared at his body, too, but he had not been poisoned. At least, not in the same way. His friends had said he'd eaten nothing since the night before, and had hardly had anything to drink. No one could even remember if he'd been around anyone recently.
His body was empty in the same way the kitchen maid's had been. He was simply a shell of a man.
When his uniform was removed, they found the smallest of pinpricks on the inside of his arm.
Amelia figured it could have been hetinal. He would not have known hetinal in his system.
She was confused, though. Hetinal came primarily from her country; the plant was more available in Constentine and could be easily reduced into a blood poison. Verdonal, on the other hand, was extremely hard to obtain — with traces as far away as four years' travel. But why, if the killer could suck away his life's forces, would they choose to poison him first?
Of course, as she thought that, Firican eyes turned to her as if in silent accusation. A physician confirmed her thought; they declared his death a result of hetinal injection. Where did they think she was supposed to have obtained hetinal? In that country she walked into every other day?
Constentine was broken and burned down, in case they hadn't noticed.
Andrew wanted action, but not enough to allow their accusations against his... wife to pass.
Until the day their son died.
Then he was ready to place the blame on Amelia.
***
She stared blankly at a place on the ground for a long while as the murmurs of voices surrounded her.
It was extremely unnerving to suddenly be surrounded by so many eyes. People she didn't know and definitely did not trust.
Though one duke was present, whom she thought was a bit familiar. He'd been the one who'd married them, after all.
Nather, was it?
Chapter Three: A Spirit's Death, and Rebirth
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