Page 62

CHAPTER 59

It’s been a quiet morning on Ward 6, as far as these things go. Breakfast went smoothly, and later, during free time, one of the doctors brought in doughnuts for the patients and staff. A radio plays softly in the nurses’ station, and Andy lurches up and down the hall, humming tunelessly to a Bruno Mars song.

There are two new names on the hall whiteboard that lists the ward’s residents, and three old ones have been recently erased: Sean L., Jade P., and Cora S. They’ve gone back to their homes and families, armed with prescriptions, reassurances, and outpatient therapy appointments. With any luck, these will be enough to keep them safe in the world. If they aren’t, Belman will welcome them back.

Jordan Hassan walks down the hall, peering in through doorways. “Safety check. Safety check. Safety check.” Most of the rooms are empty, since patients are supposed to be in one kind of therapy or another, or at least hanging out in the lounge with everyone else.

Then he comes to Room 5A. The door’s shut, so he knocks and opens it. Hannah crouches in the corner near the bed, shivering. Her lips move quickly but silently, and her hands flap and circle the air around her head like birds.

“Shit,” he breathes.

He looks up and down the hallway. He knows that Sophie, Hannah’s roommate, has gone to a meditation circle, where she’s listening to New Age music and the low, soothing voice of Harold Wong, Belman’s part-time yoga and breathwork instructor. Sophie’s struggling, but she’s doing her best to get better.

Meanwhile Hannah is here, alone and lost. Not getting better.

Jordan says her name, and she looks up at him. Her dark eyes don’t focus on his face.

“Help me,” she whispers. “Help me.”

“Oh, Hannah, I want to,” he says, moving toward her. If he could take her into his arms, he would. Hehatesseeing her like this.

She shrinks farther into the corner, and Jordan can tell that she doesn’t know who he is. Her body’s in a psychiatric ward, and her mind’s four thousand miles and seven centuries away.

CHAPTER 60

At first I thought I was back in my cottage—that all of this was a dream. But it wasn’t. I was alone in a vast, high-ceilinged hall. Gray sky was visible through slitted windows, and a fire flickered in the enormous hearth. I was cold, though a heavy fur cloak had been draped across my shoulders. Underneath it, I still wore a scullery maid’s dress and a lady’s fine, soft boots, their leather the color of dried blood.

A feast had been laid out before me: meat, bread, and wine on a linen-covered table. A single candle burned in its polished brass holder.

I looked around in confusion, but there were no clues to how I’d arrived here, or who had brought me. My last memory was seeing the baron when I stood on the drawbridge, a guard’s knife poised at my throat.

I put my fingers to my neck. The blood was gone, a salve had been applied, and the cut was already healing.

A sudden commotion sounded in the corner, and I jumped, crashing my knee hard into a bench. But it was only a crow who’d found its way into the hall. I watched it circle near the rafters, black feathers flapping, before making its escape out the narrow window.

I turned back to the food. Mouth watering, I took a few hesitant steps toward the table. Could it really be just for me?

I meant to be cautious, but my hand shot out and grabbed a handful of roasted nuts. I shoved them into my mouth, barely chewing them before I swallowed. They were crunchy, salty, and flavored with spices I’d never tasted before. I scooped up another handful.

Then I stopped and listened. Looked all around, peering into every dim corner.

Nothing happened. No one called out for me to stop.

Then the hunger in my belly woke all the way, uncurling like an animal coming out of hiding. I forgot to be worried about why I was here or what would come next. I ate and ate and ate: pigeon pie, braised leeks, jellied fish, baked apples. It seemed as if I would never be full. What I couldn’t put in my mouth I shoved into the big greasy pocket of my apron.

I was putting rolls into my pocket with one hand and raising the roasted lamb to my lips with the other when I heard a low, haughty laugh.

“It can’t run away from you, you know.”

I turned and saw Baron Joachim’s chiseled face, his green-gold eyes blazing at me from the shadows. I felt my cheeks flush in shame. If I’d known he was watching, my pride would’ve conquered my hunger. I set the meat down and wiped my hands on my dress. I turned away from the table.

A smile played in the corner of his mouth. “Chagrined, are you? How surprising, considering that you stole from me shamelessly under the cover of night. Why do you balk now at eating what is freely offered—is it because I am here to see you chew?” His smile grew wider. “You are a very peculiar girl indeed.”

My cheeks still burned, but I kept my mouth in a hard line. Yes, I was embarrassed to have been caught shoving food everywhere I could get it. I didn’t want to accept kindness from the baron.

But I’m so hungry.

“Well?” he said.