“I spoke to Sergei this morning, too. He said that he’ll stop by tomorrow night, before he goes off to Brezno,” she said in a falsely cheery voice. “He insists that if you won’t join him at the table for dinner, he’s going to come up here and bring you down himself. ‘What good is Numetodo magic if you can’t get rid of a little minor illness?’ he said. He also suggested that the sea air in Karnmor might do you some good. I might see if we could take a villa there next month. He said that the Gschnas was ever so nice, though he mentioned that Stor ca’Vikej’s son has come to the city, and he didn’t like the way that Kraljica Allesandra paid attention to him…”

She realized that the room was too still, that she hadn’t heard Karl take a breath for some time. He was still staring at her, but his gaze had gone empty and dull. She felt her stomach muscles clench. She took in a breath that was halfsob. “Karl…?” She watched his chest, willing it to move, listening for the sound of air moving through his nostrils. Was his hand colder? She felt for his pulse, searching for the fluttering underneath her fingertips and imagining she felt it.

“Karl…?”

The room was silent except for the distant clamor of the servants and the chirping of birds in the trees outside and the faint sounds of the city beyond the walls of their villa. She felt pressure rising in her chest, a wave that broke free from her and turned into a wail that sounded as if it were ripped from someone else’s throat.

She heard the servants running up the stairs, heard them stop at the door. The sound of her grief echoed in her ears. She was still holding Karl’s hand. Now she let it drop lifeless back to the sheet. She reached out and brushed his eyelids closed, her fingertips trembling.