CIARA
The smell of blood didn't leave my nostrils when we walked out of the hall.
It followed us up the wide stone stairs. It clung to the heavy wool of my mantle, locked inside the fabric like a stain. Iron, spilled blood, and the bitter, chemical sting of the black-root ash Nora had spilled across the floor.
My stomach gave a hard, unnatural twist as Hayes pushed open the doors to our suite.
"I'm having Martha burn those linens immediately," Hayes growled, closing the oak door behind us and throwing the iron bolt into place. He swept his arm across the small table near the hearth, knocking two silver cups and a washbasin to the floor with a loud crash. "Every blanket in this room gets thrown into the yard."
"Hayes, calm down," I said, reaching out to touch his arm.
The moment my fi
