Yes, Alora knew her! A contented feeling drifted through her then.This must mean something. Something positive.
She’d an inkling there were others too. Her mind, however it managed, wanted to fight what had been done. Perhaps her brain was stronger than Merridon expected. Or maybe it was all the black tea she drank day to day. Or something else she drank…
He’d mentioned sons. How could someone like that procreate? Who allowed such a thing?
At once, her mind whirled with the direction of her thoughts. Like she’d chosen the wrong path, and it wished to cast her upon the correct one. However well-meaning, it was disorienting, and Alora cursed and spat, trying with everything in her to grip onto any particular memory and pin it like she’d done with Lennox. She was gifted with eyes.
Merridon,she thought.Merridon. Merridon. Merridon.
“Bash,” she breathed, and slumped in relief. She knew him, Marshall Merridon’s son. But how well? The sensation his name brought upon her wasn’t so much contentment, but an excitablewarmth, a vague agitation. Whatever that meant. Would he help her?
The doorknob across the room began to turn. Alora swung her head toward it as a tall figure, dressed in black, stepped into the room.
She stiffened. Her contracted mind recognized this person as an employee of Opulence and thus unable to be harmed. The stuttering of her memories revealed she’d seen others like this before, even if she couldn’t recall any singular one with clarity. She thought she might have had very bad experiences with such people. But then she thought she might have had very good ones too.
How terribly confusing. She felt on the verge of tears.
“Miss Pennigrim,” began the figure, the voice distinctly male and rasping. “I’ve come to escort you to your new accommodations.”
An unwinding sensation occurred across her thighs. Alora rushed to stand so quickly, her vision blurred. She reached out to steady herself against the chaise at the same moment a gloved hand encircled her elbow.
Alora ripped her arm from his grasp. Her vision righted. “Where?”
“On the grounds. Same as us all. Come with me.”
She had to obey. It had been right there in the contract. Alora stared at her feet as they moved one in front of the other. It was a strange sensation, having no control.
“Do I know you?” She stared up into a masked face, the rest of him shadowed by the drape of his hood.Please. Let me know you.
But the figure shook his head, and Alora wilted. Embarrassingly, her eyes welled. She looked away.
Tears dripped from her downturned nose. She’d had a plan once, she thought. Something to be rid of this evil place. Or atleast to discredit it. But she couldn’t remember any of it now. She knew who she was at least. She knew she had a rabbit at home that would need feeding, a donkey in a stable who would miss her visits. She knew from where she’d come from. That she loved tea and tomato and cheese sandwiches, an old baker and even older bookshop owner.
She followed the broad figure down the hall, now lit with gold sconces. Their flames enticed, the newly laid carpet beneath her feet crimson and plush and lined with twinkling lights. It made her want to turn back and see how it led to Door Twenty-five. But she’d been told to follow and so she did.
They stepped into the great hall, and the sight sent every memory Alora held of it into a flurry. She tried to grab at one, but it was as futile as catching a flake in a blizzard and just as dizzying. She exhaled long and slow.
The sound drew the attention of the masked man, who turned back to her briefly. But he did not stop, and so she didn’t either.
Then a woman marched toward them.
She had a deep groove between her eyebrows and a fierce downturn to her mouth. Her shoes clipped against the veined marble but did not echo. Alora thought she knew her. If nothing else, the uptick of scurrying memories in her head hinted at it. She focused on that. It was a clue, at least, toward something forgotten.
“Madam Feebledire,” rasped the man ahead of her. He stopped, meaning Alora did too.
But then he surprised her by stepping back. Alora glanced at her shoulder, now pressed against his arm. A shock rattled through her, pleasant and light. She didn’t move away. It was familiar to her, a hint of something more. Intense memories whirled around her. A tornado of fear and anger, relief and desire.
But he’d said he didn’t know her.
“Madam Feebledire”echoed in her head, demanding her attention.
“I know you,” whispered Alora.
The arm against her stiffened. His pinky finger brushed her own.
“I’ll take her the remainder of the way. Master wishes to speak with you about an urgent matter.”
Her escort remained solid at her side. Alora glanced up at him, his attention riveted on the woman in front of them. She could see the line of his masked jaw and could feel indecision rolling off him like waves.Why does he hesitate?
