House of Salt and Sorrows (Sisters of Salt #1)
House of Salt and Sorrows: Chapter 38

Rushing into the bedchamber, I was struck by a wall of iron-tainted air. The sheets were a tangled horror of blood and viscera. The babies had come.

Morella sprawled back into a pile of pillows, dozing or unconscious, I couldn’t say for certain. For a moment, I worried she was dead, but even from across the room, I could see her chest heaving. Papa knelt at the side of the bed, his hands enveloping hers as he whispered a silent prayer.

“The babies?” I asked stupidly, struck by how silent the room was.

Camille turned, holding out a blanket-covered bundle. I feared she’d cringe from me, as Honor and Mercy had. Tears streamed down her face, and I knew my math was right. It was too soon.

Wordlessly, she offered me the baby. Peeking inside the stained swaddling clothes, I spotted a beautiful tiny face, eyes closed. They would never open. He was a boy. Papa’s only son. Stillborn.

“What happened?” I kept my voice low. There was no other bundle in the room. This boy had been the first. Morella needed all the rest she could get if she was to deliver another child on this hellish day.

Camille glanced uneasily at the bed, then beckoned me into the hallway. I couldn’t bear to leave my brother, however small, however dead, by himself, so I took him with us. I rubbed his back, wishing that could return him to us.

“She was already in labor when we got here. She said the contractions came on fast and horribly strong. She’d been fine at breakfast, but then…She was bleeding so much. I didn’t know if that was normal. I can’t imagine that it was.” She nudged back a lock of hair with her wrist. I’d never seen her look so exhausted. “She started pushing, and he just came out in a rush of fluids and more blood. Papa caught him and…he never made a sound. He tried hitting him on the back, but he never woke up. I can’t do that again, not by myself. I know you’re not wholly well right now, Annaleigh, but I need you to be. I need my sister.” She held back a sob.

“Oh, Camille.” I threw my arms around her, not caring about her blood-soaked clothing, not caring about her accusations or the bargain. Relief raced through my body as she hugged me back.

“What is happening to our family?” I could barely hear the question with her face buried in my neck. “What were you talking about downstairs? A bargain?”

“Cassius…” She jerked away and I trailed off, seeing the nervous glint in her eyes. “I think someone in this house made a bargain with one of the Tricksters, Viscardi. I thought it was Papa, maybe. So he could have the twins. Then Sterland. But now I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

“Did Cassius tell you this?” Her voice was skeptical but not unkind.

My laugh was short and tasted like bitter coffee, brewed too strong. “He told me all kinds of things, but what is real and what isn’t? Are we actually here, having this conversation? What about him?” I raised the baby higher up on my shoulder. “Is he really dead, or is it just an illusion?”

“An illusion?” she repeated. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Of course he’s dead. Feel his chest. There’s no heartbeat. Listen to his lungs. They never drew breath.”

“But that could be what she wants us to see.”

Camille stamped her foot, her patience drawn too thin. “What she? Who are you talking about?”

“Kosamaras.” I rubbed circles across my brother’s tiny back. “She can make us see whatever she wants us to. Even a captain’s son no one else remembers.”

“Oh, Annaleigh.” She put her hand on my shoulder, her voice flush with understanding. “But why would she be here? What did we ever do to anger her?” I could see her wanting to listen, wanting to believe, but I didn’t know if she truly trusted what I was saying or if it was simply easier to think that than to know your sister was a murderer.

“She’s working for Viscardi. Tormenting us was part of his bargain.”

She glanced up, meeting my eyes with exhausted resignation. “Verity is dead, isn’t she?”

“I don’t know.” Tears came, swift and sudden. My throat felt clogged and thick. Kosamaras had gotten to her somehow, and I hadn’t been there to stop it. I’d never see her lopsided grin or her happy green eyes looking up at me again. “I think so.”

Camille let out a sob and bit into the back of her hand to stifle it. I hugged her again, holding our half brother between us.

Groans from Morella’s room interrupted us.

“She must be waking up. Do you think the other twin will come today?”

There was too much death already. I could not lose either of them as well. “We should go in and see.”

“Oh, Annaleigh, you’re here!” Morella held out her hands, beckoning me to join her.

Papa glanced at Camille. “Are you certain this is a good idea?” After a considered beat, she nodded, and he grudgingly allowed me access.

“How are you feeling? Have there been more contractions?”

“Not as intense. Not like before.” Her lips were pale—nearly the same shade the sheets had been—raw, chapped, and cracked from her screaming.

I spotted Hanna lingering in the corner. She looked as if she’d aged a decade since I last saw her, and I wondered again if everyone but me remembered Fisher’s death. Were those tired circles under her eyes etched from grief or another illusion from Kosamaras?

“Hanna, can you bring water, please? And fresh linens. Several sets.” I turned back to Papa. “Find a new nightgown for her?” I climbed into the bed, skirting the bloody mess as best I could. “We’ll get you cleaned up, Morella, all right?”

She sank backward, her eyes rolling shut. “You don’t need to bother. I think I’m dying.”

“You’re not,” I said with more confidence than I truly felt. “Tell me what happened.”

“You’ve seen your brother?” She broke into fresh tears. “I was resting after breakfast when there was a sudden sharp pain. Right here,” she said, pointing to her side. “It was like being ripped apart from the inside. Then a great gush of water. Maybe it was blood. Just when I thought the pain couldn’t get any worse, it did. Down…down there. I don’t remember much after that. But Ortun…” Sobs racked her body.

“Sometimes these things happen. Papa knows that.”

Thunder rumbled over Highmoor, shaking the breath from our chests. There was no way a midwife would make it to Salten in time.

Hanna returned with new sheets, and Papa tenderly scooped Morella up from the bed, heading to their bathroom. Camille offered to help clean and dress her while Hanna and I struggled with the bedding.

“Burn them,” I instructed, looking at the bloodied sheets. Stringy black streaks of discharge stuck to them like pitch tar. There was no way they’d ever be cleaned. “And have someone bring up warm broth for her. She’ll need to keep up her strength.”

Hanna glanced at the chaise, where I’d carefully rested my baby brother between soft throw pillows. “What should we do with…” She couldn’t finish.

In truth, I did not know. He’d eventually need a proper funeral, down in the crypt. When his little body finally returned to the Salt, would he know to look for his other sisters? Surely they’d be kind to him and show him love.

“Let me take care of him,” Papa volunteered, reentering the room. He tucked Morella beneath the clean sheets. “I will take care of my son.”

Morella burst into a fresh set of tears once he and Hanna left the room. “He’s going to hate me.” Her lips trembled, and I took her hand. It was shaking.

“He loves you,” I repeated. “You need to calm down. You’ve got the other baby to think about.”

She shook her head with such violence, she managed to undo the careful braid Camille had just plaited. “No. No. I’m not going through that again. I can’t deliver another dead child.”

My hand settled on her belly, searching for any sign of movement from the other twin. My heart sank as I shifted positions, praying to Pontus for a sign of life. Just as I pulled away, her stomach jumped, the baby inside lashing out as if to say, “I’m still here. Don’t forget me.”

She grimaced.

“See? The other baby is alive and well. And feels very strong!” I tried to laugh, hoping she’d smile back, but she rolled to her side, away from me.

“I can’t do it,” she whimpered.

At the edge of the bed, Camille shifted, clearly uncomfortable waiting. She raised one eyebrow at me, silently asking what we should do. Remembering the tray of lotion and oil, I crossed to the bureau.

“Why don’t Camille and I rub your feet?” I suggested, picking up the little vial of lavender oil. It would relax her and hopefully mask some of the foul odors lingering in the room. Breathing through my mouth helped only so much. I could taste the blood in the air, like copper coins weighing heavily on my tongue.

We knelt on either side of Morella’s legs. Spilling out several drops of the silvery fluid into my palm, I showed Camille how to rub the arches of her feet with ever-increasing pressure.

Morella groaned as a mild contraction clenched her abdomen. When it passed, she continued to weep. Her hysteria built, growing ripe and foul like a great blister, ready to burst and soak us all with its poison. She’d drive herself crazy, lingering on the agony and pain of the first delivery. She needed a distraction.

“This smells nice, doesn’t it?”

Her fingers clenched, balling up the sheet into a tight fist before smoothing it out, stretching the linen till threads snapped and unraveled.

“Does it remind you of the lavender fields near your home?”

She’d mentioned the fields of flowers before. Perhaps if I could get her talking about her childhood, she’d relax and stop putting so much stress on the remaining child.

Another contraction passed, and she frowned. “My home? No, we didn’t have lavender in the mountains.”

It was my turn to frown, though she didn’t see. Her eyes were shut, anticipating the pain of the next wave. “I thought you lived in the flatlands.”

She shook her head. “No. I grew up near one of the sharpest peaks in the range. But there were the most beautiful flowers just outside my village. Scarlet red, like shining rubies. They have a peculiarly sweet scent. It’s hard to describe but impossible to forget. I miss them so.” Her face scrunched as she tensed again. When the tightness passed, she opened her eyes. “There’s one on my vanity, that little glass flower.” Her bottom lip pushed out wistfully. “You can’t smell it, though.”

Camille slid off the bed to retrieve it for her. “It’s beautiful,” she said, handing it to Morella to focus on. “Like an exotic geranium.”

A memory stirred inside me. I’d heard something about little red flowers before. Something Cassius had said…

The Cardanian Mountains. The Nyxmist flower and the People of the Bones…

Viscardi’s people.

Another contraction, harder and longer than those before. Morella dropped the little bauble into the bedding as she doubled around the pain.

When her breathing returned to normal, I picked up the glass sphere, considering. “I’m sure once this is all over, Papa will get you a bouquet of these, the biggest you’ve ever seen. He’ll probably fill the whole house with them!”

Her smile was weak, her energy drained. “They only grow outside that village. It’s so far from Salten, they’d never make the journey.”

All of this sounded exactly like the People of the Bones. Surely a follower of Viscardi would have no qualm brokering an agreement with him. I dug my fingers into her arch, rubbing her foot with a sharp focus. I’d jumped to the wrong conclusion with Sterland before. I didn’t want to make that mistake again. “That’s too bad. They’re Nyxmist, aren’t they?”

At the sound of the flower’s name, she froze. “You’ve heard of Nyxmist?”

I dared to meet her eyes, going for the jugular. “I never realized you were from the Cardanian Mountains. You never talk about it.”

Camille frowned, unaware of what Morella was about to give away. “You told me you grew up near Foresia, on the plains.”

Eyes widened, she felt herself caught in the lie. “I moved there…later. Once I became a midwife.”

“A governess,” I reminded her. Her ruse was showing, unraveling like a spool of thread. “Papa said you were a governess.”

She pushed a lock of hair back behind her ear. It was damp with sweat. Her nightgown was already drenched as she curled around another contraction. My instincts screamed to help her, to ease her pain, but I ignored them and slid out of the bed. When the contraction passed, she lay back into the pillows, feigning sleep.

“How could you?”

She kept her eyes closed.

Camille’s mouth dropped open. “It was you? You made the bargain?” She’d put everything together.

Morella’s eyes slowly fluttered open. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

Her voice was so weak and dry, rustling like leaves. She didn’t look long for this world.

“I knew the little ones wouldn’t, but I worried about you two.”

“Remember you?” Camille asked, appraising her with fresh eyes. “Remember you from what?”

“I served as one of the midwives for your mother’s confinement with Verity.”

I frowned, scanning hazy memories of the women in white who had descended upon Highmoor during Mama’s last pregnancy. Papa had spared no expense, saying he wanted the very best possible care for her. There’d been so many midwives and healers, I couldn’t recall them all.

“I was much younger,” she whispered. “Obviously. I never did live in the flatlands or work as a governess. Your father and I made all that up. I was born in the Cardanian Mountains and sent to the capital to study midwifery, like my mother and her mother before.” She took a deep breath. “Could I have some water, please?”

Camille turned to the pitcher at the bedside table, but I reached out, stopping her. “When your story is done.”

She sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Oh, what does it matter now? I’m going to die tonight anyway. Someone ought to know the truth.” She turned toward the window, her eyes flickering back and forth as if watching her story unfold like a play onstage. “I’d never seen the sea before. Or a house as lovely as Highmoor. I spent most of my first afternoon here dreaming of someday being mistress of such an estate…. When I felt Ortun’s eyes on me, I decided someday was too far away.”

A bark of laughter burst from me. “You’re lying. Papa was devoted to Mama. He never would have strayed from her.”

“Don’t be so naive. I knew he wanted me. I could see it in every one of his glances.” She smiled so widely, her lower lip cracked open and began to weep blood as a stab of lightning danced outside the window.

Camille made a noise of disgust.

Morella’s eyelids fluttered shut. “After Verity was born, your mother was so weak. So tired and worn out. Birthing twelve daughters…No one was truly surprised when she died….”

Hearing the words Morella didn’t speak made my blood run cold. Her forehead tightened as another contraction hit. When it passed, she dared to meet my stony gaze.

“It was an act of kindness, Annaleigh, truly, you must believe me. She was in pain, so much pain. I mixed a bit of hemlock into her nightly medicine, and she died in her sleep, none the wiser.”

“You murdered Mama?” Camille’s face twisted in rage. She grabbed an iron poker from the fireplace, wielding it at her. “You bitch!”

“It wasn’t a bad death,” she gasped. “She didn’t suffer.”

“Are we supposed to be thankful for that?” Camille brought the poker down over her legs—not hard enough to break bone, though it did leave a nasty welt. Morella shrieked and scooted away from the rod’s reach.

I held out my hand toward Camille. “Let her finish. We need to hear everything. You killed Mama. Then what?”

“Annaleigh,” she pleaded, “it wasn’t murder. She was going to die anyway, probably. I just…helped.”

I clenched my teeth, trying to hold in my fury. “What. Next?”

“After Cecilia’s death, we were all sent away. My mother begged me to return home, but I stayed in the capital. One day I crossed paths with Ortun—he was there on business at court, and he…he was so lost without Cecilia, so in need of comfort and care…so I got him over his grief the only way I knew how to.” She smiled, her face relaxing for a brief moment as memories washed over her. “Ortun sent for me every night that week…. When he returned here, he wrote, saying how he longed for me, yearned for me.” She closed her eyes again. “And like a stupid calf, I believed him.”

Another contraction. Another crash of thunder.

“It went on like this for months. Nights of bliss, followed by weeks of waiting for him. Publicly, he needed to mourn Cecilia. I only needed to wait a year. Just one little year.” She swallowed. “Five years passed. Every time one of your sisters died, Ortun had to start the mourning process all over again. He said I needed to be patient and then we could be together, but I…I should have known better.”

Morella paused, her face blood red and thick with sweat.

“One night, I was coming home from a delivery and I saw your father. I didn’t know he was in town. He hadn’t written, hadn’t sent for me.” Morella pushed back a damp lock of hair, wheezing. “And on his arm was a woman. Just a girl, really.”

She rippled in pain, but I couldn’t tell if it was from a contraction or memories of that night.

“I flew at him, cursing and shouting, making such a scene.” She gasped, then let out a deep groan. “Water, please.”

Camille pointed the poker toward her neck, and she tipped her head back, cringing. “Keep talking.”

“He struck me. In front of his new little whore. He didn’t even care that she saw. He called me names, screamed, berated me. Said I was a fool for ever believing a person like him would marry a nothing like me. I wasn’t titled, I wasn’t rich. I was just…me.” Tears now openly streamed down her face.

Despite the horrors she’d confessed, in this one awful moment, with my own words ringing in her voice, I wanted to comfort her. She’d been hurt by my own father, a man who claimed to love her.

A sharp crack of thunder sounded directly above us, snapping me back to my senses. Impossibly, the afternoon grew darker still, the storm ready to slash the sky to bits.

“He left me there, lying in the street, as if I’d never mattered to him.” She let out a broken sob. “But even after all that…I still wanted him.”

A groan welled up from the very bowels of Morella’s belly. Her legs flailed with such force, it gave the impression there were more than two under the sheets. My gaze strayed to the Thaumas octopus at the top of the bed’s canopy. Its eyes seemed alive with condemnation, squinting down in judgment as it listened to her tale. Its arms spiraled down the posts, beaten metal against dark mahogany, reaching out in retribution. The silver reflected shots of lightning outside, and the wind picked up, howling past the windows in uneven pitches.

“So you summoned Viscardi,” I filled in. “You summoned him to make Papa fall in love with you?”

Morella nodded. “And to become pregnant with a son. If I was with child, Ortun would have to marry me. After all I’d done for him…I deserved that much. Once I returned to Highmoor, I saw Eulalie watching closely. She was starting to remember. Then that awful night…she confronted me, saying she was going to tell everyone. I…I couldn’t let her ruin everything.”

Edgar’s shadow on the cliff.

“You killed Eulalie?”

Her fevered eyes darted over mine, beseeching me to understand. “She wouldn’t keep it a secret.”

I recoiled, as if hit in the stomach. I’d befriended this woman, and all along she’d been killing off my family with no greater pain than crossing items off a list. A red mist clouded my vision, and my heart beat in double time. Fury raced through my body, pulsing from my core out to the very tips of my fingers. I grabbed the poker from Camille and pointed it at Morella’s throat.

“You used us as payment for a son.”

She cringed back toward the headboard, trying to escape the metal hook. “And it was all for naught. My son is dead, and I will be too before the night’s end.”

“Good,” Camille spat out.

A crack of thunder exploded directly over us, and Morella began to laugh, clinging to her belly as the next contraction ripped through her. A commotion rose at the far end of the hall, shouts and screaming.

“Go see what it is.” I kept the iron trained on Morella. “I’ll stay with her.”

Morella watched Camille go before meeting my gaze once more. “Annaleigh, you must believe me. I didn’t want you to die. I…I did at first, before I knew you—I wanted to make Ortun pay for how he’d treated me—but then…You’ve been so kind to me. You took care of me, befriended me. I didn’t know Viscardi would use the Harbinger to collect his payment, truly I didn’t. That’s why I gave you the book to read…so you wouldn’t sleep at night. So you wouldn’t dream of that thing.”

I said nothing.

A feeble mewing squeezed out of her. “I can’t do this, I can’t,” Morella groaned, shoulder blades popping. Her lower jaw jutted forward, sinking into her upper lip. “You could do it, you know. Just go ahead and do it.”

“Do what?”

A crazed sheen glazed her eyes. “Hit me. I know you want to. You know you want to.”

“I don’t.”

“Just raise it up and bring it down over my head. Then it’ll all be over.”

I backed away from the bed, looking out into the hall as the shouting grew. Servants ran by with buckets of water and towels. Smoke poured out of a room at the far end.

“Do it, Annaleigh,” she called out. “Bash my head in. Bash my brains out. I killed your mother. I killed your sisters. Take your revenge and kill me.” A bloodcurdling howl ripped from her mouth, and a spot of red appeared on her nightgown, growing larger and wet over her thighs. “Please!”

“I don’t care what happens to you, but I’m not killing my brother.”

Laughter erupted past bared teeth, cruel, sharp pieces of shrapnel ricocheting off the walls. “You idiot girl.” She groaned and hunkered down as she began to push, pushing around the contractions, pushing past the pain, pushing the baby free. Her voice was low and grating, like metal skidding down a cliff. “This is not your father’s son.”

My stomach lurched. “What?”

She gasped for air. “Viscardi and I had to seal our bargain somehow…. Once it was set, Ortun fell at my feet, begging for forgiveness, begging for another chance, begging to come back to my bed. And I let him. I let them both in. And then…I let them ravish me.”

Her groans turned to a shriek of anguish as a dark shape hurtled from her, spilling onto the bed in a mess of tangled limbs and dark, membraned wings. My eyes couldn’t seem to focus on the details, couldn’t make sense of the shapes flailing through the air. A mouth too wide, too full of teeth, opened and let out a lusty wail.

It wasn’t a baby. It was a monster.