Page 83 of The Temptation of Roan Island

And I’ve never loved him more.

My throat clenches with new tears because I can never tell him. We promised we wouldn’t fall in love. And I’d never want him to think I was trying to manipulate him, rush him, or just get a bite out of him, using him for my own purposes the way Vivienne did.

I can’t tell him. But I can show him.

Drawing his face to mine, I kiss him. “Thank you.”

He kisses me back, sighing into the contact.

When we pull apart, I ask the only question still clouding my mind. “But where do we start?”

“Where it all began.” He presses another kiss against my temple and wraps his arms around me. “At The Sanatorium.”

34

PIPPA

The offices on the top floor of The Sanatorium are warmer and cozier than the rest of the building. The three wings are constructed of the same gray and black stones that compose most of New Essik, but the inside halls are cold and sterile everywhere but here. I’ve never been on the administration floor before.

Out the window, the landscape blooms with spring life, the trees full of leaves and birds. In the distance, just past the cliffs to the back of the hospital, the ebb and flow of Lake Nettor offers an additional soundtrack. It’s a lovely day, but it’s ruined by the muted beat of my heart as we wait for the head of the hospital to meet with us. I can almost imagine I hear the clock in the clock tower, which dominates The Sanatorium’s front-facing edifice, the gears rolling to shift into place as another minute passes.

“Are you alright?” Shemaiah asks, taking my hand.

We came here straight from the station, still in travel clothes after the long journey back to New Essik. The last four days on the airship vacillated between the joy of children to boost my spirits and the despair that none of them were Toby.

Shemaiah was as patient as ever, holding me when I cried and distracting me with pleasure when I had no tears left. But by the time we arrived, I wasn’t willing to wait longer to find my boy. So we came straight here.

I squeeze Shemaiah’s arm with my gloved hand and nod. “Yes.”

It’s a lie, of a sort, and he knows it, but he doesn’t call me on it. We’ve already had the runaround since we arrived. The receptionist checked records and told us the same thing everyone else said: Tobias was sent to New Essik Children’s Home. I demanded that she show us the visitor sign-in sheets from his last visit, but when she complied, there was no record of any visits from him at all. Every person who enters the hospital always has to sign in, but there were no visitors recorded on the day he last came to see me.

I lost it then, so tired of everyone telling me the same damn lie, so hopelessly worried about my boy. Shemaiah stepped in and convinced the woman to get us an appointment with Dr. Reter, the head of the hospital, which is how we ended up waiting in his office.

When he finally enters, my heart is racing, and my palms are sweaty. Hope and fear battle in my chest, and it’s all I can do to stand to meet him.

Dr. Reter greets us with a wide smile on his clean-shaven face. His dark hair is slicked back into a severe side part, and his brows are neatly shaped over green eyes behind round spectacles. His tugs on his white coat, straightening it over his white shirt, closed at his throat with a red bow tie. Because of his position, he never came to my ward, but there’s something familiar about his eyes, something that makes a chill run down my spine.

“Mr. Roan!” He indicates chairs for us before he moves to the other side of the desk and takes a seat, folding his hands in front of him as he leans forward. “I understand that you’re looking for Miss Willoughby’s son?”

“Mrs. Roan,” Shemaiah corrects. He’s done it countless times now, but each time it sets a small flutter in my belly. This time it feels almost like he’s claiming Tobias too.

Dr. Reter’s eyebrows shoot up, gaze assessing me rather than paying any attention to Shemaiah. There’s something unnerving about it. It’s not lust in his eyes, but it’s something like desire, eagerness, curiosity. Maybe because I look so much healthier than a woman with Vastatio should. Despite the days of travel and the wrinkled state of my attire, I know the dark circles under my eyes are gone. My hair has a luxurious shine. My formerly pale cheeks are rosy. There’s no shortness of breath, no weakness in my muscles as I sit straight up in the chair.

Yes, that must be what I’m seeing in his gaze. Professional intrigue.

“Do you know where our son is?” Shemaiah asks.

My mind stalls as my heart soars. Our son. The words sound too perfect to be true.

Dr. Reter’s lips pull down in a movement so extreme it seems forced, like the look of a man trying to appear sad who isn’t. A clammy feeling skates over my skin, sweat gathering at my brow. Whatever he’s about to say, I know it’ll ruin me.

“I’m not sure why the New Essik Children’s Home didn’t tell you, but I just spoke with them—I wanted to handle this matter personally, of course.” He looks at Shemaiah and tips his chin in deference. “I regret to be the one to tell you the poor boy died of a fever a few months ago. Just after his last visit, it seems.”

“No,” I gasp, my heart wrenching in my chest. I’m the one who’s supposed to die, not Tobias. Not my boy. My eyes burn. The world tunnels into a vacuum of ringing sound. But deep in my bones something feels off.

I don’t believe him. I would have felt it, would have known if my boy was gone. I would have felt his life-force severed from mine. Every part that makes me his mother feels the lie because my boy isn’t gone. He can’t be.

I shake my head. “No.”