She pushed through the door leading out onto the balcony. Cold air struck her face. The night opened above her.
This was her favourite spot or it had been. The same place where her blood had been spilled. Bella stumbled forward and sank to the ground.
The stone was cold beneath her knees. She cried then. Her child had been reduced to a weapon in another woman's mouth.
At last, Bella lifted her tear-streaked face to the sky. The stars blurred above her. She looked up, searching the darkness with a broken heart, wondering if her Thomas was still there.
Bella reached for her chest as the sob tore out of her. It was ugly with breath, and it scraped its way out of her. Her heart had finally split where Theodora had struck it.
Of all the things the Queen Mother could have used to cut her down, she had chosen Thomas. Her son. The small, sacred wound Bella carried everywhere.
