Page 26 of Fangs

Is he safe? Has he eaten? I sold myself to keep him free, and I don’t even know if he still lives.

I press my palms hard against my eyes until the urge to cry fades. I have given them enough tears. I will not hand them more of my weakness.

I move to the window. Below me the gardens sprawl wild and overgrown. Beyond them the forest presses close. Somewhere out there is my father and the life I once lived.

It feels like a story I read long ago about a girl who lived in a cottage and dared to want more.

Mama would tell me to stay strong. To stay brave. But what would she say if she saw every humiliating thing I have already allowed?

The room stays silent.

I turn from the glass. My gaze catches the vanity mirror. In its surface I see myself—pale, hollow-eyed, hair a tangled mess.

And behind me, the portrait.

I spin around. The wall is bare. No frame hangs there. Yet the image burns clear in my mind: Luminous violet-blue eyes, the sculpted lines of his ruthless face. I saw him in the hall, standing in the deepest shadow. I know I did.

His name hovers on the tip of my tongue, just out of reach.

I close my eyes, and I whisper it.

“Blake.”

The name falls from my lips like a secret I didn’t know I was keeping.

I freeze. How do I know that name? Where did it come from? I have never heard it spoken. I have never read it in any book. And yet it feels familiar, like a dream that refuses to fade.

I open my eyes, half expecting to find him standing in the corner.

Only ordinary darkness answers.

A soft knock sounds at the door. My heart jumps. I cross the room and open it..

Lady Vesper stands in the hallway. Gray hair pinned into a severe bun. Icy eyes weighing me in silence.

“Miss Lucy.” Her voice is soft, almost gentle. “I came to check on you. Are you well?”

I nod.

She studies me. She notes the flush on my cheeks, the tremor in my hands, the way I hold myself too still.

“I have been here for ages,” she says. “I know every game and every trick you girls invent. None of this is new to me.”

She steps past me into the room. Her hand hovers over a silver spoon on the desk and a shadow of memory crosses her face.

I watch her and the question rises. “How long have you been here, Lady Vesper?”

“Ages,” she answers, voice distant. “I was one of the girls once. Young and frightened and full of dreams.” She turns to me, eyes glassy. “I won the Masters’ trust. They decided to keep me. I never went to the auction. I stayed. I served. I have been here ever since.”

I frown. The Masters—Thomas, Cain, the others—can’t be more than thirty. Lady Vesper is at least eighty. The years refuse to match.

“How long?” I press. “How long exactly?”

Her gaze drifts to the window. “Time moves differently in Bloodgrove. You will learn that.”

She is not telling me everything. A fevered brightness lives in her eyes. She is broken in a way I can’t name.

“The Masters have ordered that everyone remain in their rooms for the rest of the day.” She moves farther inside, eyes sweeping the space. “The bats were a sign. A warning. There is risk of attack. The protocol is to stay indoors.”