The chamber was completely silent except for the soft shift of the water and the faint hiss of the oil lamps.
Julian watched Helena's face during those seconds and found it extraordinary. She was fighting with herself, reconsidering everything and ultimately, loosing in her own battle.
She was outnumbered now.
Finally, steeling herself, she reached out and placed her hands on her son's.
Thomas's fingers closed around hers—gently, carefully, the way you close your hand around something fragile. He pulled her forward without rushing, giving her the space and Helena came willingly. One step, then another, then a third, until she was standing between her children, her hair loose around her shoulders exactly as Kraven had requested.
She kept her eyes on Thomas's face.
Didn't look at the sofas. Didn't look at Mara. Just her son's face, as if it were the only fixed point available to her.
Thomas's free hand rose slowly.
