"I promise you, Mother. I will try. Very soon."
22
Yorkshire
"You mustn't go," Teddy cried for the third time since she'd started to dress. "You're in no condition!"
Unbearable, the thought of spending another minute in this cramped, dusty room.
Quaint, that was the curious word Teddy had used to describe this place, this inn, as they called it. To her, it seemed a sharp, menacing word; and the forced smile with which he'd said the word over and over again had become a kind of taunt.
From the moment they'd reached England, his attentions had gone from nurturing to infuriating. The idea that he would try to stop her now, when they were so close to their destination, when this party for Ramses had started not a half hour ago--it was insane, these things he was saying!
He had already helped her into a corset, but now that she was pulling up the shoulders of the dress he'd bought for her in Cairo, he seemed to be coming apart. She studied herself in the full-length mirror as he paced behind her. "We have traveled all this way. You cannot expect me to--"
"I will go," said Teddy. "I will explain everything to Ramses. He seeks to live under an alias now. If I threaten to expose him, he will agree to meet with you at once. He will tell you everything you need to know, and he will most certainly give you more of this elixir. I'm sure of it!"
"And that is the problem, dear Teddy," she said. She removed her hat from its box, along with its long, sharp pin. "You are too sure of it. You are too sure of everything you say in this moment."
"Don't you see? This condition of yours, it's worsened since we arrived. You must stay put until we--"
If only he hadn't grabbed her by both shoulders. If only he hadn't shaken her. There was something about the feel of his hands gripping her in that way that triggered an anger she could not control.
She shoved him.
His back slammed into the wall behind him with such force the full-length mirror next to him tilted to one side, sending her reflection askew.
"Enough!" she said. But the fear in his eyes filled her with remorse. So much fear in him now; fear of her great strength, fear of her condition, as he called it.
And he was right.
It had worsened since they'd reached this vast, green island. The powerful visions had been replaced by strange bits of fugue. She now felt the urge to sleep, but could not. The result was a kind of daze in which her limbs went numb and she could barely form words and found herself staring off into space for minutes at a time.
More, she thought, I just need more. And then I will never have to see this frightened look in Teddy's eyes again. In anyone's eyes again. Whoever this Sibyl Parker is, she is a witch, a priestess, and she has used sorcery to exploit my weakened condition. A long drink of Ramses' precious elixir will make me strong against her.
But the look in Teddy's eyes. The misery and the fear. Not since Ramses had fled from her resurrected corpse in the Cairo Museum had anyone gazed upon her with this abject, wide-eyed terror. She could not bear this. She simply could not bear it.
"It is you who is coming apart," she said. "And it is you who will remain here while I attend this gathering. I have asked for your care alone. I will not become your slave."
"My queen," he whispered, the tears flowing now. "Please...my queen..."
Impossible not to pity him now. When she reached for his face, she expected him to flinch or turn away. And she saw the flicker of such an urge. But it died quickly, and
when she caressed the side of his cheek, his eyes fluttered closed.
"Trust in me, Teddy. Trust in that which you cannot fully understand."
False, these words. At least the confidence with which she'd spoken them was false, even if the words themselves were true. For she understood the condition that gripped her about as well as he did.
He turned his lips to her fingers and kissed them gently.
Did he believe her to be dying? Or, worse, a creature whose mind would collapse even as her body endured?
How else to interpret his misery?
There was no time for this.
The hat they'd bought in Cairo had a broad black brim and a band of ostrich feathers that arced over it like plumes of spray from a fountain. She had already pinned up her hair so that the hat could fit almost snugly over the top. But she'd forgotten to insert the hatpin itself. Terrified that her resolve would crumble under the force of another terrible wail from Teddy, she left the room quickly, driving the hatpin into place as she strode down the narrow hall.