"Thank you," she said, though the words were thin.
Pembroke smiled. "You need not look so frightened. I have no wish to be unkind to you."
"I am not frightened," Livia said.
"What are you, then?"
Before she could answer, pain cut through her belly. It was sharper now, sudden enough to steal the air from her lungs. Livia's hand flew to the arm of the chair. The room shifted slightly, the candles stretching at their edges. She tasted metal beneath the bitterness.
She tried to speak. A cough came instead.
Pembroke leaned forward. "Miss Valenti?"
Livia lifted one hand, asking for a moment. The cough deepened. Her body seized around it, breath catching, throat burning. She turned away from Pembroke, one hand pressed to her mouth, the other clutching the chair. Margery gasped. Eleanor rose halfway from her seat.
"My lady?" someone whispered.
