“Often with death comes freedom.”
“Often with death comes freedom.”She lay in bed waiting for the sound of the rooster’s crow. She did not need it to wake her for Viviana had not slept.
Her mind had refused to still, refused to stop imagining or dreaming. The few times she dozed, the journey of the unconscious took her through a house, each bright room overflowed with the herald of conquest. Not a one dispelled it.
She rose, dressed quickly, hurrying Jemma, her ever-stalwart maid.
“No, cara, the blue one,” Viviana instructed as the young woman reached for a set of slashed sleeves to tie over Viviana’s puffed-sleeved gamurra.
cara, gamurra.Viviana had abandoned her widow’s weeds long ago, barely able to stand their gloominess for the requisite time. Especially as the gloom was, in trut
