Dying Forever (Waking Forever Book 3) by Heather McVea

Author:Heather McVea [McVea, Heather]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-07-30T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

It took several seconds for Bryce’s eyes to adjust to the pre-dawn darkness. She lay under a coarse, thin, beige wool blanket that barely covered her torso and legs. Her neck was stiff as the nearly flat, straw filled burlap pillow offered little support for her head.

Sitting up, she threw her legs over the side of the narrow cot she had been sleeping on for the past eight months. She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and shuddered when her bare feet touched the cold wood plank floor. An icy breeze made its way through the gaps between the slats of wood lining the outside of her servant’s shack, sending a chill up Bryce’s spine that her threadbare, white linen shift did little to diminish.

Looking toward the corner of the room, she could see her mother’s cot was empty and the small, black iron stove next to it was barely warm, as the meager allotment of coal they were given the day before had all but burnt out.

Taking the iron poker that rested in the empty coal bucket next to the stove, Bryce tried to stir some life into the stove. A faint, reddish glow began to radiate from the bed of coals and the woman held her hands in front of the open stove door to warm herself.

After several minutes, with still only moderate warmth coming from the stove, Bryce turned to the small wooden table next to her cot. Pouring water from a clay pitcher into the basin that sat on the table, she quickly stripped off her shift and braced herself for the ice cold sting of the water as she splashed her face.

Reaching for the scrap of cloth next to the basin, she wetted it and wiped her face, the back of her neck, and underarms before pulling the shift back over her head. Her petticoat, skirt, and stockings hung along the wall on several wooden pegs. Sliding her shapely legs into the off-white wool stockings, she quickly secured the garments with a black cotton cord around each of her thighs.

The chill of the air sent shivers along Bryce’s body and she hurriedly finished dressing, some semblance of warmth finding her as she fastened the last wooden button on her brown cotton jacket. With no mirror, Bryce ran her hands along the front of her gray skirt, smoothing the coarse cotton fabric flat, before using three metal hair clips to pin her long, thick auburn hair up.

A faint knock came from the tattered door of the shack. Unlatching the leather strap that secured the door, Bryce peered into the darkness. “You’re early.” Her voice was thin, her throat sore when she spoke, and she wondered if she was getting a cold.

“Hardly.” A young man, nearly six feet tall, stood at Bryce’s door. He had a thick mane of red hair that grew to just past his collar. Blowing into his bare hands to warm them, he shifted from foot to foot.

“It can’t be five yet, Aeden.

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