Page 8 of On Broken Bonds

But for now, I stand in the foyer and drink in the pain, staring up at the tall, vaulted ceilings, watching the lone firefly blink and buzz inside our house like so many shifting constellations.

I need a miracle. Is one miracle truly too much to ask for?

3

Nyx

“If you don’t let me carry that bag, Nyx dear, I’m going to think you don’t trust me.”

I give Ivor a petulant look, adjusting the satchel higher on my shoulder before finally surrendering it to him. The movement sends a dull ache through the bruise along my ribs, and I bite back a wince. Even a day later, Shaw’s kick still lingers in my body, a deep soreness that seems to pulse all the way up into my skull.

Sleep had been impossible after he and his men finally left our home. Even when exhaustion dragged me under, it had been shallow and restless, my dreams tangled with the sound of splintering wood and Lyra’s frightened wheezing. By dawn, I had already made my decision.

While Lyra still slept, her coughs carrying faintly through the quiet house, I moved from room to room gathering what remained of our family’s valuables. I searched every hidden place my mother had ever shown me: the loose floorboard beneath her dressing table, the false back of my father’s desk drawer, the hollowed stone tucked behind books in the library. One by one, I collected my mother’s jewelry, my father’s pocket watch, silver hair combs, cufflinks, and every other piece that might still carry enough worth to matter. Once everything was packed into the satchel, I charmed the clasp so only I could open it.

It had not been enough.

The banks would be kinder with our repayment. They might give us time to turn things around with our crops and our livestock. With their money, we could repay our debtors, invest in our lands, and slowly pay off the new loans.

If we could just get approved.

We’d met Master Elloway’s carriage outside the city gates, exactly as I had hoped. The banker had been making his rounds through the neighboring holdings, and I had taken our chance, stepping directly into the road with Ivor at my side.

To his credit, Master Elloway had not looked irritated by the interruption. The moment he recognized me, he had climbed down from his carriage himself, bowing his head with all the respect due the Nocturne name.

“Lady Nyx,” he’d said, his lined face full of concern. “Had I known you were coming, I would have received you properly.”

I had explained everything as plainly as I could. The debt. The valuables. The need for a loan against our family’s remaining assets. He had inspected each item carefully, turning my father’s watch over in his hands, studying the stones set into my mother’s rings. For several terrible minutes, hope had begun to creep into me.

When he finally looked up, his expression had been gentle enough to make the refusal worse.

“Your family’s name still carries great honor,” he’d said quietly. “If respect alone could secure a loan, Lady Nyx, I would approve it this instant.”

The shame of standing there while he chose his next words still burns hotter than the bruise on my ribs.

“But no sum I could offer would solve this. The curse upon your lands has already reduced your yields for many seasons. Until that changes, repayment is impossible. To approve such a loan would only delay the inevitable, and place both our houses in jeopardy.”

He had bowed again before leaving, his apology sincere.

The satchel now bounces against Ivor’s side as we make our way back along the dirt path toward home. Not that I feel as stressed about our valuables being left in the open. According to Master Elloway, our family’s treasures are not worth the risk of investing in cursed land.

Although that is not entirely true. The pieces have value enough. The truth is that no one wishes to wager against the will of the gods.

“Just by that wrinkle between your eyes, I know you’re muddling around in that head of yours,” Ivor says, reaching over to brush a hand across my shoulder.

I blink against the sting behind my eyes. There is a painful familiarity in the gesture, one that reminds me too much of my father. My body feels starved for comfort these days, for the kind of reassurance that only parents ever seem able to give.

“I am,” I admit, glancing over at him. “But what else is there to do? If we cannot get out from under this debt, Lyra will…”

The words die before I can force them out.

Ivor does not need me to finish. He was there last night. He heard Shaw’s threat as clearly as I did. When those men return, they will not be interested in candlesticks and serving trays.

They will come for my sister and me.

“Do you know something?” Ivor asks, his voice low and thoughtful, the sort of tone that always means he is about to offer hard earned wisdom whether I asked for it or not. “Hilda and I have been propositioned by the Dowers at least twice this year.”

I blink at him, startled enough to forget my spiraling thoughts. “That cannot be so.”