Chapter 36
Cecilia
“Ican’t believe she’s listening to me,” I marvel, gripping the reins tight as Victoria’s mare begins to move—with me on her back. I let out an awed laugh, engaging my core and thighs as I try not to fall.
“You’re doing amazing! How does it feel?” my sister-in-law asks, looking up at me with big, hopeful eyes.
When she saw me at the breakfast table this morning, sulking and sleep-deprived, she insisted we come out here and enjoy the sunny day.
I ended up saying yes, that I wanted a riding lesson at last. Anything to take my mind off the danger Mikhail walked into yesterday, because of course, he’s all I can think about.
“I can see why you love it so much,” I admit.
“Wait till you start gaining speed a few months down the line. Nothing compares to the feeling of the wind blowing in your hair or the otherworldly connection you develop with your horse. When you can trust her, and she trusts you, it’s just…ah, it’s magical.”
“Oh, I believe you. Though if Alaska decides to throw me off her back, this rider’s future won’t be so magical.”
Victoria’s lips press together. “Try not to say the word schnitzel too much. That’s when she gets a little feisty. Ask me how I know.”
I look at her, and I laugh, throwing my head back. “She has a personality. Noted.”
We walk a few rounds of the fenced pen with me on the horse and Victoria by its side, instructing and encouraging me along the way. At some point, I gain my footing and relax a little, realizing there’s probably nothing to worry about. I won’t fall.
“Can I ask you a question?” I ask.
“Hmm? Yeah, sure. What is it?”
“How do you do it? Accept that Wolfgang’s life can end at any moment. You know, considering his line of work.”
She shrugs—a faint, sad jolt of her shoulder. “It’s either this or not having him at all. I’ve run all possible scenarios in my head, and I always end up choosing him, no matter what.”
I smile. “So you don’t think about it much, then? You just accept the situation?”
“Pretty much. In the end, life isn’t guaranteed to any of us. You can die completely out of nowhere, even if you never put yourself in harm’s way. I refuse to live my life in fear. I want to fight, not hide.”
Her words feel like a fresh breath after diving out of the water. Although I still worry greatly about Mikhail, a tendril of courage makes its way into my heart. I should trust him like I always do—trust he’ll make his way back to me, because he promised.
Victoria glances toward the house, where her husband is, with the kind of longing I recognize.
“Do you…do you think Mikhail will be okay?” I ask.
She looks up at me, lips curving into a sympathetic smile. “He’s been dodging death so many times, it’s hard to imagine he won’t do it again. He’ll be back.”
God, I hope she’s right.
A lump forms in my throat, and I nod, trying to bring my focus back to the horse, to the way my body sways from the movement and the soft, icy blow of the wind against my face.
The hour passes, and I dismount the animal.
Thanks to the rush of endorphins after the mild workout, my anxiety eases up a little. I take the reins, following Victoria toward the stables, where she said she’d show me how to remove Alaska’s tack.
We don’t make it all the way, however, because a fox comes out of the forest somewhere in the mare’s line of sight. She jerks a little forward, the reins snapping tight around my curled fingers until I lose them. A quick, sharp pain courses through one of my fingers.
“Ah,” I groan, seeing a droplet of blood form on my skin. My diamond ring must have snipped it.
“You okay? Sorry about that,” Victoria says, taking the reins.
“Y-Yeah. It’s just a small—”
Paralyzed, I keep staring at the droplet swelling on the tip of my finger. It trembles there for a second, round and glossy, the winter light reflecting in it.
I should suck it clean to make the bleeding stop, but I don’t. For some reason, my gaze clings to the visual, ignoring everything else as my lungs refuse to take in any more oxygen.
Time seems to slow, the world around me fading, as if someone covers my ears. Victoria is saying something—my name, perhaps—but her voice sounds muffled, like it’s somewhere far, far away.
My pulse begins to throb in my temples, sending tremors through my hands. It makes the droplet fall eventually. I peer down as it splashes against the white snow, creating an aghast contrast. I don’t want to look, don’t want to see it. But it’s there, and it’s obvious, and I can’t close my eyes.
“No. N-No—”
Red on white.
My mouth dries out because…I’ve seen this before.
The thought barges into my mind like a tornado, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
Red on white.
Blood on fresh sheets.
My mother’s sheets when she bled out that night, the abundant, metallic scent.
“No,” I whisper, but I don’t know why I’m still trying to deny it.
My breathing turns shallow, and a guttural sound leaves my chest as the memory hits me. It’s still fragmented, but every piece hurts more than the last, clawing its way deeper into my heart.
I remember my small hands. I remember how gross they felt with all the blood. Something hard hangs heavy from one of them—the handle of a knife. I remember needing to drop it but being unable to move.
My own sob reaches my ears as I continue to watch the snow. I try to shake my head, but the memories keep hitting me anyway. My father came into the room that night, and he...he yelled. He panicked. I said I was sorry, and he grabbed my shoulder, pulling me away as if I’d done something wrong.
Because I had.
“It wasn’t me. I didn’t—”
But I did. And it was. There’s no denying it now.
I see my crime with horrible clarity. And I remember—my fingers tightening around the knife, my arm rising, the blade reflecting the moonlight. My mother’s peaceful sleep, and then the awful scream she let out when I hit her.
I fall to my knees.
Hands begin to shake my shoulders, but I can’t snap out of what’s flashing through my head, can’t escape the truth that’s currently crashing into me.
What happened to my mother…it wasn’t a heart attack.
And my nightmares…they weren’t just dreams.
It was me.
“I killed her,” I breathe.