CHAPTER 66: CHAPTER SIXTY SIX

A few days had passed since the brutal, bloody reckoning in the courtyard. The Thompson estate, scrubbed clean of all its stains, had settled into a new, strange, and quiet order.

The servants, now under Marissa’s direct and undisputed authority, moved with efficiency. They had seen what their new mistress was capable of—both in her cunning and in her capacity for cold, absolute justice.

This morning, the central courtyard was once again a hive of activity, but it was not for a party or a punishment. It was for a departure.

A large, sturdy, and unmarked traveling carriage, built for a long journey, stood waiting. Footmen were strapping the last of several small, securely fastened trunks onto the back. Maids were placing baskets and blankets inside.

In the center of this quiet bustle stood Marissa, and holding her hand, his own small, gloved hand lost in hers, was Ryan.

"Mother, where am I going to?" he asked, his small voice clear in the crisp morning air. He looked at the large carriage, at the strange maids, at the trunks that he knew held his own clothes and books. His expression was not one of fear, but of simple, childish curiosity.

Marissa’s face, which had been a calm, authoritative mask as she oversaw the preparations, softened instantly. She let go of his hand and crouched down, bringing herself to his eye level, her heavy morning skirts pooling on the gravel.

"You are going on a little trip," she said, her voice soft and reassuring. "You will be staying with some of your distant relatives for a while. A visit."

"A visit?"

"Yes. Do you remember your cousin, Lloyd Thompson? The one who is a few years older than you?" she asked.

Ryan’s face scrunched up in concentration, and then he nodded, his expression suddenly very serious. "Yes! Lloyd is very good at swordsmanship with his wooden sword. He beat me the last time he visited." He looked a little indignant at the memory. "I lost. Grandmother told me not to cry, so I didn’t. But I told Lloyd that I will beat him next time."

Marissa’s heart ached with a sudden, sharp pang of love for this serious, innocent little boy. She reached out and smoothed the collar of his small, perfectly tailored traveling coat. "Yes, you did," she said, her voice gentle. "And this time, you will have all the time in the world to practice. You can show him who the real boss is."

Ryan’s face lit up, a small, gap-toothed, competitive grin. "Like Mother?"

The question, so simple, so pure, struck Marissa with an overwhelming force . Her breath caught in her throat. She had been a schemer, a bargainer, a punisher. She had fought with wits, with poison, and with a whip. She had just begun to see herself as a cold, hard, necessary monster, just like Ashlyn, only more successful. But Ryan... Ryan had seen all of it. He had seen her defeat the exorcist, expose Lorena, and punish Ashlyn. And in his clear, innocent, childish eyes, she was not a monster. She was his role model.

Her carefully constructed, hard exterior, the one she had built over two lifetimes of pain, just... cracked.

A single, hot, unexpected tear escaped, tracing a slow, traitorous path down her cold cheek.

Ryan’s bright, happy expression vanished instantly, replaced by one of deep, concern. He had never seen her cry. He had only seen her be strong. He reached up, his small, gloved hand clumsy as he tried to wipe the tear from her face.

"Don’t cry, Mother," he whispered, his own face clouding over, his lower lip beginning to tremble. "It makes me sad. And it makes me want to cry, too."

"Oh, my love," Marissa whispered, her voice thick. She pulled him into a tight, desperate hug, burying her face in his dark, curly hair. She was so very tired of being strong. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."

He hugged her back, his small arms wrapping tightly around her neck. "Promise you will visit me," he said, his voice a muffled, serious sound against her shoulder.

She pulled back, holding him at arm’s length. She quickly, angrily, wiped her own face. "I promise," she said, her voice a little shaky.

"No," he said, his expression grave. "You have to swear. Like in the stories. A promise you can never, ever break."

A small, watery laugh escaped her. "All right. A swear." She held up her right hand. "I, Marissa Thompson, Ryan’s mother, swear that I will always visit Ryan..."

"And to bring honey cakes," Ryan added, his priorities absolute.

Marissa’s laugh, this time, was real. It was the first real laugh he had ever heard from her. "And to bring honey cakes," she repeated, her voice now steady. "The very best ones I will make with my hands. I swear it."

That was enough. His serious expression vanished, replaced by a radiant smile. He leaned forward and planted a loud, wet, and thoroughly enthusiastic kiss on her cheek.

"I will miss you and Father, deeply," he said, his voice now a little sad, but brave.

"We will miss you too, my darling," Marissa replied, her heart feeling like it was being squeezed.

A new maid, a woman with a kind, steady face whom Ryan hadn’t seen before, approached and curtsied. "Your Grace, everything is ready for our departure."

Marissa stood, her face instantly composing itself, the mask of the Grand Duchess sliding back into place. "Good." She turned to Ryan. "Ryan, this is Miss Nancy. She will be taking care of you from now on. I hand-picked her myself, so you must be very good to her."

Ryan, ever the little gentleman, turned to the new maid and gave her a small, perfect bow. "It is nice to meet you, Miss Nancy."

"And it is a true pleasure to meet you, Young Master," Nancy replied, her voice as warm and calm as her face.

"If you need anything," Marissa continued, "anything at all, or if you just want to talk, you can tell her to write a letter, and she will send it to me immediately. Do you understand?"

"Okay, Mother," he said. He reached out and took Marissa’s hand again as they walked the last few steps to the open carriage door.

Standing beside the carriage, his arms crossed, was a tall, gruff-looking man with a sword at his hip and a scar on his chin. He was built like a mountain. He bowed deeply as they approached. "Your Grace."

"Sir Alex!" Ryan called out, his face lighting up again. "Mother, he’s the one! He’s the one teaching me swordsmanship!"

"I know," Marissa said. "He will be going with you. He will continue to teach you, and he will protect you every single day." She leaned down, cupping her hand around Ryan’s ear, and whispered, a conspiratorial glint in her eye. "Now you can practice every day. You will definitely be able to beat Lloyd."

Ryan giggled, his hand flying to his mouth, his earlier sadness now completely gone, replaced by a new, exciting sense of adventure.

"Everything is set, Your Grace," Alex said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "We are ready to leave at your command."

Lily hurried over, her own eyes red from crying. She handed a large, covered basket to Miss Nancy. "Sweets for the journey, Young Master," she sniffled. "And some fruit and water."

Marissa knelt one last time. She did not hug him again; she knew if she did, she might not let go. Instead, she kissed his forehead, a long, gentle press of her lips. "Be a good boy, Ryan."

"I will, Mother," he said, his face serious again. "I love you."

"I love you too," she whispered, her voice thick.

Sir Alex bent down and, with a surprising gentleness, swung the small boy up into his arms and placed him easily inside the carriage. Nancy and the other maids followed. Alex shut the door with a solid, secure thud, and then climbed up onto the driver’s box, taking the reins himself.

The carriage lurched, the wheels crunching on the gravel. Marissa stood perfectly still, her hands clasped in front of her, her face a calm, serene mask.

Just as the carriage began to pull away, a small, dark head popped out of the window.

"Goodbye, Mother!" Ryan shouted, his small hand waving frantically.

Marissa raised her own hand, a slow, regal wave. She held her smile, her mask, in place, not letting it waver, not letting him see the sudden, sharp, agonizing pain of his departure. She would not let his last memory of her be one of tears.

"Goodbye, my brave boy," she said, her voice a clear, steady call that carried across the courtyard.

She stood there, unmoving, waving, until the carriage had rounded the great bend in the drive, until it was completely, and finally, out of sight.