The great house was finally, mercifully, quiet.
In Marissa's bedchamber, the air was warm and smelled of lavender and soap. Lily, her eyes still puffy from a night of terror and relief, had just finished putting the last of Marissa's belongings back in their drawers. The trunks, packed for an exile that had never truly begun, were now empty, pushed back into their storage closets.
A hot bath had been drawn, and Lily had helped Marissa wash away the grime of the long, terrible night. The small cut on her neck, no longer bleeding, was a thin, red, angry line.
After helping her into a simple, unadorned silk nightgown, Lily had fussed over her, trying to get her to eat, to drink, to let her call the physician. Marissa had refused it all, her body exhausted but her mind still racing.
"That is enough for tonight, Lily," Marissa had said, her voice gentle but firm. "You have been brave. Go to bed. I will complete the rest."
