Chapter 31
Esme scaled the rocks to the platform, sprinted across the wide limestone shelf, and bent over the figure. It was her mother: dark-haired Ariane, her skin as pale and waxen as the alabaster cave in which she lay, as if she herself had become part of its endless tableaux of sculptured shapes.
The Pearl of Esperance glowed in her mother’s hand, but all Esme had eyes for was the figure curled up around it. Fearing the worst, she put her head to Ariane’s breast.
The faintest of heartbeats reached her ear.
Relief coursed through her. A dam burst inside, unleashing a flood of tears. Soon she was awash in great heaving sobs, clinging to her mother like a life raft.
By some miracle, her mother was still alive.
Her lips brushed against her ear; with trembling fingers, she smoothed
