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148
Ian forced himself to walk down the path slowly, then he went up the creaking steps and into the darkened foyer.
"Come on out. I know you're here," he whispered into the still, black room.
No one answered.
He moved into the study and whipped off his cloak, tossing it over a chair. Lighting a lamp, he poured himself a stiff drink and headed up the stairs.
His mother stood on the landing, her unbound hair splayed out across her shoulders, her hands at her waist, her fingers furiously working the ribbon.
His breath released in a tired sigh. "Mother, go back to bed."
"Were you going to see Selena?"
"No."
"Many things have changed in your absence."
He sighed, saying nothing.
Maeve stepped toward him. He saw her fear in tiny, familiar movements-the way her fingers tightened around the strip of satin, the way she bit down on her lower lip. It sickened and shamed him as it always did-the proof that his own mother feared him.
She stopped directly in front of him and looked up. He didn't need to read her mind to know her thoughts. He needed only to look into her anxious eyes. She was afraid he'd laugh at her and turn away before she spoke. But still she was here, standing in front of him, blocking his path.
It was unusual, her sudden temerity, and it intrigued him. He leaned against the cold wall and crossed his arms, waiting.
"W-We've had a ... meeting," she said in a breathy rush.
"We?"
"The residents of the house." "Oh, really? Busting out, are you?" "We've been helping Selena."
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He stiffened, pulled infinitesimally away from the wall. "Helping her do what?"
Nervously Maeve wet her lips. Some emotion that looked like pride filled her eyes. She squared her shoulders. "I taught her to eat like a lady. The queen taught her to curtsy."
A horrifying image of Selena dropping into a mechanical, jerking curtsy flashed through Ian's mind. He closed his eyes and tried to banish it. "How nice. Good night, Mother." He started to turn away.
"I didn't give you permission to leave."
The authority in her voice caught Ian off guard. Surprised, he turned back to her. "Excuse me?"
"No, I do not." She licked her lips again and blinked up at him. He could see how much that order had cost her, how it frightened her to say it.
Something was out of the ordinary. She stood tall and straight, her flyaway hair a halo around her pale, oval face. Hazel eyes stared up at him, clear and lucid.
He felt a spark of pride at her composure. "What is it, Mother?"
"Selena is not like the rest of us, Ian."
"No, Mother. You're crazy. She's brain-damaged."
"No. She's almost normal."
Almost. The simple words caused a pain deep in his chest. He thought fleetingly of Elizabeth, hunched over in her chair by the window, watching a world she was no longer a part of. No doubt Maeve would think that Elizabeth was "almost normal" as well. "Because she can eat and curtsy? What was I thinking? No doubt she's ready to attend the opera."
