Page 67 of Blood and Moonlight

The smell of sweat, unclean body, human waste… and fear washes over me from her room. Juliane appears thinner than ever, and her eyes are black pits, ringed with purple. Her hair hangs in matted clumps around her gaunt cheeks, but she smiles when she recognizes me. “Cat!”

I take a half step back. Her breath is foul, too.

Oudin makes a disgusted face, then raises his eyebrows as if to say,This is what you wanted to see, and turns away.

Juliane yanks me into the room by my wrist, then closes and bolts the door. The light is so dim I can barely see. I’m afraid to move lest I trip over something—like the chamber pot I can smell clearly.

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this.” Juliane’s voice is surprisingly steady as she crosses to the window which is boarded shut and pulls down a piece of wood, then another, letting both light and fresh air inside.

I quickly move to stand closer to it, holding my breath until I can feel the coolness on my face. Then I take in the rest of the room, which is a mess of wadded papers and soiled clothing. “Lady Juliane, what’s happened to you?”

She turns her hands palms up and indicates her surroundings. “This is my life without Simon.”

At first I think Juliane is pining for him, but her tone is matter-of-fact, like she’s saying this is what happens when it rains. “What do you mean?” I ask. “Are you trapped in here?”

“I used to be,” she says. “Even on my good days. Until Simon. He got me out.” Juliane waves her hands around. “Awful as thisis, until he comes back, I’m better off staying in here, where they can’t see.”

Her fear is contagious. “Where who can’t see what?”

“My father and Oudin mostly.” She shakes her head. “Lambert, too, though that’s to spare him. He saw enough with Mother.”

“Lady Juliane, you’re not making any sense.” If I was being honest, though, I’d say she only makes sense half the time.

She sighs and turns away, combing her fingers through her hair in a vain attempt to smooth it. When she reaches the bed, she pivots abruptly to face me. “Listen, Catrin. I’ll tell you this because Simon trusts you, and therefore I trust you.” She takes a deep breath and clasps her hands. “It has to do with my mother and her illness.”

“Your mother?” I repeat stupidly. The other day Juliane had said she’d been unwell all her life, but the woman is hard to picture. I think I only ever saw her once.

“Yes.” Juliane nods. “In body, my mother was healthy. Her mind, however, was very confused. For many years she was kept out of sight, at home or in our estate in the country.”

When she pauses, I feel like my reaction is being gauged. “What kind of confusion did she suffer?” I ask carefully.

Juliane clutches her thin fingers to minimize their tremor. “She heard voices and imagined terrible things. Strange ideas would take root in her head and grow into complicated delusions no one could persuade her weren’t true. Every time she saw Oudin, she’d scream that he was a demon put in his place by someone who had stolen her real child.” Juliane blinks back tears. “Lambert and I are old enough to remember better times, but Oudin hated her. Frankly, I don’t blame him.”

She takes another deep breath before continuing. “Fathercouldn’t bear to watch her decline and buried himself in governing Collis. When he sent me to the convent for schooling, the burden of Mother’s care fell on Lambert. Eventually he was the only one of us she would let near her. Often she would harm herself if he left her side.”

My heart goes out to Lambert, and I even feel sorry for Oudin. As for Juliane, her perfect memory is a curse. Not only is she unable to forget anything she watched or experienced, she recalls every detail with perfect clarity.

When her pause lengthens to an uncomfortable point I say, “That must have been terrible for all of you.”

“It was. I don’t know which was worse—the way things were, or having to pretend none of it was happening.” She grimaces. “And we’re still pretending.”

It’s easy to see why Oudin never cared about anyone but himself and how the comte became obsessed with appearances. The other day Juliane had described how after the comtesse’s death, Lambert had turned all his energy to caring for his sister, and she felt smothered by it. I’d assumed Simon’s arrival had relieved Juliane of having only one male relative she could depend on.

Now I realize it’s much more complicated.

“When did you first start experiencing the same sickness as your mother?” I ask.

Juliane half smiles, like Simon does when he’s pleased with a conclusion I’ve drawn. “I had small signs all my life,” she says. “But I knew for sure when I was about sixteen. People started coming up to me on the street and speaking to me, especially when I was feeling weary. Often they would tell me things I wanted to know. But though I heard, saw, smelled, and sometimes even touched them, they weren’t real.”

I blink. “That sounds likeskoniahallucinations.”

“Ironically,skoniaactually helps me.” Juliane takes a cautiousstep forward, as though I’m a skittish animal. “But I went out in public less and less, and I was always afraid to talk to anyone when I did. I could never be sure they weren’t purely in my mind.”

The night Perrete was killed she’d snapped her fingers for Simon’s attention. “When I first tried to speak to you, you acknowledged me only after Simon nodded,” I say. “I thought he was giving you some sort of permission, but he was confirming to you that I was real.”

“Yes.”

And because Simon was from Mesanus, he understood Juliane’s illness and knew ways to help her cope with her delusions. When she spoke in rhymes or made outlandish statements, he worked to soothe her nerves. Not only that, but he welcomed her in his presence, treated her like an equal, and valued her opinion. “Does Lambert know?” I ask.