The Sapphire Heiress (The Silver Order #1)

23 Poison

Chapter Twenty-Three

Poison

M ae awoke atop the jagged bricks of the courtyard. She didn’t know when she had fallen unconscious, only that her lungs still burned and her mouth tasted like ash.

A thud and the splintering of wood forced her to sit up.

The fire, beautiful in its orange, raging brilliance, danced along the night sky. She gripped the dead vegetation beneath her.

This hadn’t been a dream. Nothing could be more real. The blaze roared, too loud to ignore. And every now and again came the sudden crash of what she imagined to be a banister, chandelier, or support beam. There was no coming back from the fire now.

There was no more searching for her family vault in this place.

Her body, stiff with cold, savored the fire’s radiating warmth, but as she tried to move closer, something pulled her arm. She looked down. A chain glistened around her wrist. Like an animal, she had been chained to a stone statue of a woman, one of the many that decorated the formal gardens. Was she just imagining it or was the figure’s stony face lined with green tears? Mae felt just as stiff and immobile, just as trapped.

Toward the house was a flurry of activity. Ellsworth’s men moved in and out of doors, raiding her home like savages. They lugged entire cabinets, trunks, and even her father’s carved desk onto the lawn. From every part of the house, the fire raged on, the bricks of the manor sparkling brightly.

“Awake, I see.” An unfamiliar man appeared, his white shirt wet with sweat. “Go get Ellsworth.”

A man lugging a trunk some distance away dropped it where it lay and took to the house. Some minutes past, Ellsworth was upon her, a beaming smile on his horrible face.

Mae struggled against the restraints, the chains clanging in protest.

“A bit of bad luck, all this,” Ellsworth said.

When he turned back toward the manor, the fire seemed to take on a new intensity. New tendrils of flame had broken through several windows, forcing her back. The dry heat burned her eyes.

“Need I remind you that neither gold nor diamonds burn?” Ellsworth spat. “Nor vaults. We’ll be searching through the ruins soon enough.”

How could she think she could stop such a monster? She hadn’t even fazed him. Not for a second.

Mae shivered in the mix of cool wind and fiery heat. How long before he realized there was no other vault at the manor? What would he do then? Did it matter? At least Miss Rosewood had her freedom. At least someone did.

“How about we find us a better view?” He brandished a bottle of wine, no doubt stolen.

When he unlocked the chain, she considered trying to hit him. Useless, yes, but it might at least inflict pain. Then another thought occurred to her, a near-smile touching her lips. “Might I suggest my father’s favorite bench?” She tried not to look hopeful.

“Yes, why not?”

Mae surrendered to his grip as he dragged her to the marble bench. The same one she had searched with Locke. A moment that seemed centuries ago.

“Very nice,” Ellsworth remarked. Given the slight rise of a hill, it indeed offered the perfect view.

Mae didn’t bother taking it in. She sat down quickly, the renewed thought of revenge tasting bitter at the back of her throat. All she needed was a moment of distraction, a moment that Ellsworth might look away.

“There’s no need for this.” Mae thought to give him one last chance at decency.

“Come now,” Ellsworth said. “I’m enjoying this.”

“Our families are rivals no longer.”

At that, Ellsworth’s happy expression broke.

“You’re entirely clueless.” He yanked her in close, their noses almost touching. “You think I’m vindictive, but this isn’t revenge. It’s redemption .”

“And William?” Mae croaked. “Was he just another means to that end?”

“Your brother was already dead. And you knew it.”

Mae felt her face crumple at the memories of William’s drinking, the mornings she had found him unconscious on the stairs, often in his own vomit. She could not bear the idea of servants finding him like that. So often, she had cleaned him up herself. She had spent months doing that.

“He was sick. I wanted to make him better. I—”

“I did you a favor. It was no trouble, really. I found it on him that night, you know—the night you had me drag him away. I thought, hmm… Maybe he had discovered something. The very fortune those legends speak of. Well, he had.”

Mae jerked hard against his grip, but he held her still, pulling her even closer.

“I waited till you went off to bed. Then I took a candlestick to his head. Don’t worry, he was already half-gone from liquor. Smell made him a bloody pain to drag to the roof.” He released her an inch. “I didn’t just do it for the money, you should know. Everyone wanted you once.”

Mae was surprised at the rush of memories that came. Yes, there had been other men, but she had disparaged them all. She had been a different person back then, too picky, perhaps, but they had never been quite to her liking.

“Don’t forget the ones your father scared away with his reputation,” Ellsworth put in. His face twisted. “I was supposed to be the one who won. The one who rescued you… That was how people would see it.”

Mae felt her stomach turn. What if she hadn’t known? What if she had married her brother’s murderer?

The idea was so despicable, she screamed out. She could bear it no longer. She beat her fists against him with all the strength she had left. But he simply moved back, letting her fall to her knees. She couldn’t hurt him if she tried. Her throat still ached, like someone had taken a razor to it, and she was so utterly exhausted. On the weed-laden ground, she rolled on her back. Tears spilled down the sides of her face.

“He was too much of a drunk to know what to do with the fortune,” Ellsworth continued. “And you! Without a man, you would have thrown it all away too. When, my darling, when will you see that money belongs to those who will make proper use of it?”

“And you think you’re the one to do it?” Mae demanded. “You, who bankrupted your own business?”

She didn’t know why she bothered. The rivalry between their families had gone on too long, had poisoned Ellsworth to the point of insanity. And there was never any sense in reasoning with a madman. There was nothing human about him in the least. He was a machine, bent on this so-called redemption regardless of what she said or did.

Ellsworth braced his foot against the bench. Using a corkscrew, he opened the bottle. “Chianti 1820. This year any good?”

Mae’s teeth ground into her lip, not caring when she began to draw blood. That year, she had been a mere child playing in that very courtyard, back when it had been green and full of life.

How could she have known that one day, she would be beneath this great tree drinking that very bottle of wine, watching her home go up in flames? And despite her lifelong love of the place, the fire had been her doing?

She imagined what the scandal sheets would say. She could see the headlines and how little everything, her story, her tragedy, would mean to readers. It would be just another scandal to add to the list.

But it wasn’t over yet. She could still change the ending. She remembered her younger self sitting on that very bench, listening to another one of her father’s stories about the Northern Woods. A place of great danger, he had often told her and anyone else who might listen. It was he who had stirred up tales about the place. Now, she knew why. All those years, the forest had belonged to his enemy.

“How could a place so beautiful be bad?” she had asked him.

“Looks can be deceiving,” he’d said, repeating the old adage as he’d picked at a branch that had drooped down in front of them. She’d reached for the seedpod in his hand, but he’d swept it back. “Remember what your mother told you about this tree?”

She had nodded. “Their seeds look harmless, but they’re really…”

Poison.

Mae snapped out of the memory, looking up at the tree above. Years later, it looked exactly as she had remembered. Its placement had been no accident. The tree had a purpose. Once more, Mae felt that familiar weight of duty. Her family wanted revenge. Her ancestors, every one of them, seemed to whisper in her ear.

How much she craved for Ellsworth to release that bottle he held tightly in his hand. She could think of nothing to distract him. If she asked for a drink, would he keep his eyes on her? Would he become suspicious when she tried to turn away? Perhaps this was useless. Even if she could distract him, how long might the poison take to work? He might die, yes, but so might she in the meantime. Just as she had failed at her grand plans of starting the fire but keeping it contained, she might fail at this too.

“Beautiful sight, isn’t it?” Ellsworth sucked in the air and let it out in a rush.

Mae never wanted to see his dark, disturbing eyes ever again. Watching him drink wine straight from the bottle tormented her. He had not a care in the world. As if gazing upon stars, he watched the flames lick at the sky.

What might her father say? What might he have done? What would he have told her to do?

“What is it?” He roared as one of his men waved for attention.

“The fire is making re-entry impossible sir.”

“I won’t hear of it.” Ellsworth pulled himself away.

As Mae had hoped, he left the bottle vulnerable on the bench. But for a long moment, she couldn’t move. Ever since Ellsworth had admitted what he’d done to William, she had wanted revenge. Perhaps even before then. Now that the opportunity was before her, she doubted herself.

Like that night in the cellar, she had few options, all of which had devastating outcomes. The events of the past, the death she had handed out—rightfully or not—seemed to form a pattern. She feared she was incapable of reversing its steady progression, of returning to the person she had been before all this. What her family had been before her brother had left for sea.

Had her family been unable to stop its progression too? Had they hoped to get out of piracy years ago, the moment hard times had been behind them? Years before the greed and violence had corrupted them?

She tried to slow her breaths, remembering Locke’s consolatory words that night in the tunnel. But had that man she’d murdered really been so bad? Perhaps he’d just been unlucky in life with no other life to which to turn. A boy who might have lived a better life had he had a better upbringing?

She could not erase that doubt from her mind.

This was different, though. Ellsworth…

He was making his way back.

There was no time to hesitate now. She wanted to survive—she knew that much. Still feeling weak, Mae lifted herself up. With no further thought, she took up a seedpod from the bench, broke it apart, and spilled its contents into the bottle.

Ellsworth was steps away, still standing tall with hands on his hips and hardly surprised that she hadn’t decided to run. To her delight, he took another gulp of the poisoned wine straight away. With that, she had sealed his fate.

“Delicious.” He swallowed and extended the bottle toward her. “See for yourself.”

Mae shrank back, her heart halfway to her throat.

“Fine.” He took another gulp.

For some minutes, they sat in silence, listening to the steady crackling of the fire and the occasional whisper of the wind. Her heart leaped every time he sipped from the bottle. Would it take the hours she had feared? Had the seeds lost their potency? Perhaps if she had taken a pod straight from the branches…

“This heat won’t do,” Ellsworth suddenly said, sweat glistening on his forehead. She noted that his breathing had quickened too. A consequence of the fire or poison? She could not tell.

*

Locke pressed his back flush against the wall. He needed to keep to the shadows and move quickly.

All the while, his eyes stung from the smoke and sweat trickled down his forehead. A voice needled him—he was too late. She was already dead. How could he have done this to her? How could he allow her to be taken in the first place?

He sidled along a bay of windows blown out from the heat. Outside, Ellsworth’s men and their piles of loot surrounded the west wing. None of them, no matter how intrepid, dared to enter the building now. The fire had grown too large. It had reached every wing.

None of this fazed him, though. As he listened for screams and even sniffed for burning flesh, he was ready to go deeper into the flames. He had no qualms about that. The only trouble was the rooms, winding halls, and the hours it might take to find her. And the house could collapse at any moment. Beneath it, they would both perish. But if that was how it had to be, so be it.

He stepped farther down and paused at the opening of another hall. The fire roared at the opposite end, his face burning from the heat. Amidst the shouts of arguing men and the snapping of fire, he could discern nothing. Fatigue had long begun to set in. He feared it would weaken his senses. As hard as he strained to listen, he might miss something. Perhaps the tiniest whisper that would lead him to her.

He moved toward another series of doors. He didn’t care how intensely hot the fire grew, he told himself. If she died, there was nothing he could do, no way he could ever make amends.

He listened again. The house had become a furnace, the tip of his ear searing with pain. In a matter of minutes, the entire wing would be engulfed. He wouldn’t be able to endure the heat. As hard as he might try, he wouldn’t be able to get any closer.

Then, somehow, he heard it. The slightest whisper of a scream reviving him from his previous stupor. The raging fire with its great gusts of heat and crackling laughter confused its direction. Though it seemed distant, the scream was all the hope he needed.

He moved back toward the brilliant flames. Though it had yet to sound again, he ignored this. There would be no second chance. He didn’t have time to consider the consequences. From the moment he had left Pierce, he had been more than willing to risk everything. Most importantly, he had been willing to die.

*

Evening passed into deep night, Mae and Ellsworth’s journey marked only by the line of trees growing taller in the distance. Across the open field, the fire cast an orange haze. The leaves of nearby trees had begun to smolder too. Soon, whole branches would be consumed by flames and she with them.

“This way.” Ellsworth dragged Mae forward, his ironclad grip reminding her of those pain-filled moments in the cellar.

“Tell me where you are taking me.”

He pointed to an old work shed, some several yards away. “There, we’ll have some privacy.”

With that, her future seemed to crystalize, becoming clearer and all the more chilling. She could not have deserved this.

Panic squeezed her heart. The poison, what seemed her only hope, had not worked. She struggled to remain calm. Tears ran hot down her cheeks and her breaths would not slow. She needed to save her strength, to gather the courage already worn quite thin.

“Easy now. It’s just until the fire goes down, then we search.”

That could be all night, Mae feared. Perhaps more.

She thought to run, but walking at their pace had already proved laborious. She could barely focus her steps across the cold, bleak ground. The grass had faded away, her surroundings little more than a watery blur. Her steps just a pounding in her head.

Only after she nearly tripped did her senses return. Focusing her eyes, she realized they had crossed a trodden path. The scent of freshly turned soil filled her nose. She looked behind her. The trail was more distinct.

Did she dare consider it? No, it had to be. She was certain. The broken soil was from horse hooves, traveling full speed toward the estate.

Mae pulled back, hopeful that some traveler had seen the rising flames. She ignored Ellsworth’s tugging. Like a sudden mirage, she saw Locke again—riding through the woods, lantern in hand, their paths edging closer.

But as Ellsworth forced her forward again, this lone traveler, whoever he was, seemed impossible. The marks were much older, perhaps even from Thomas.

The same fate that had once been on her side had betrayed her ever since the coast.

“I told you,” Mae spit, the truth perhaps her only chance. “The vault isn’t in the manor!”

It seemed she had no choice. She could not endure a whole night alone with Ellsworth. The thought made her stomach roil. However much was in her family vault, it wasn’t worth her life.

Ellsworth turned to her abruptly, stopping them among the patch of thorns. “What did you say?”

“The vault is where you and Miss Rosewood first met us,” she said breathlessly. “At my family’s summer cottage… I wasn’t lying.”

“And why should I trust you?”

Mae struggled for argument. Before long, he was dragging her again. She did not know how much farther she could go. She felt dizzy. Dread weighed down on her too. Like a heavy stone atop her chest.

“Tell me the truth and you’ll get your share. You can even have mine.” He grinned. “When we marry.”

“ Marry? ”

“Yes, of course. I wanted to kill you at first, I’ll admit. But perhaps marriage is our true destiny. Suits me better, I think.”

He really had gone mad. How could he think to force her? Did he have some terrible means to make her agree ?

Horrified, Mae thrust her elbow into his stomach and gave a tug that only made her captor laugh.

Mae screamed out, not caring who heard, not caring if it captured the attention of the other men. Screams—though hoarse and ragged—were her only hope.

As if in reply, a deafening series of crackling caught her attention. The roof had finally given in, breaking into what sounded like a thousand pieces. A giant puff of smoke rose into the sky. When it dissipated, the fire burned brighter, illuminating the grass and trees ahead.

In the new burst of light, she saw something. Silhouetted against the firelight, it was just a blur, but as it approached, she saw more clearly. The rider! Not any rider, but a guard donning the black cloak of the Silver Order. She recognized it in the intense new light. Only then was it visible. In the darkness, it was no more than a glimmer.

She screamed out, calling again for help. Ellsworth quickly smothered her, his massive hand squeezing so tightly, she could barely breathe.

Ellsworth changed direction toward the woods. There, he could easily hide with her. Pulling ahead, he moved even faster. After her previous screams, Mae barely had the strength to resist. Perhaps this was why the woods had always frightened her. Perhaps it was because it was the place in which she had been destined to die.

She wondered where the guard had gone, why she didn’t hear the approaching hooves. In her final moments of desperation, had she imagined him? She couldn’t believe that. No matter how unlikely it seemed, she still strained to listen. She struggled against the man too, her moans muffled in his palm. Her tears dripped down onto the grass.

Stupidly, perhaps, she thought she heard something—the slightest wisp of air—when amidst the steady roar of fire came a hard thud right next to her ear. Ellsworth yelped, releasing Mae and slamming to the ground .

A blade jutted out from his chest. Locke’s blade, its hilt embossed with black onyx.

In awe, Mae bent down and yanked it free from Ellsworth’s flesh. Nausea washed over her. The knife dripped with blood and more of the red liquid gushed from Ellsworth’s wound. He was dying, wailing and groaning in pain.

More men began taking notice. Against the haze of the fire, their black shapes turned in her direction. Someone had said something. Then, one by one, they dropped their loot and came running.

She nearly ran off right then. But, remembering the key, she could not leave it. Cringing and shaking, she found it in Ellsworth’s front pocket. That, along with her father’s watch. She took both and put them down her bodice. She looked down at him. Not quite dead, he was still struggling for air, maybe even for words. As much as she wanted, she didn’t have time to sneer or utter her own words of vindication.

Still holding the knife, Mae shifted to run. But at last hearing the hooves, she swept around.

The attacker dropped down from his horse. For some reason—she didn’t know why—her heart swelled with hope. There was something familiar about this figure, about his determined gait. Rather than demand his identity, she stood silent. Ellsworth was dead. Miss Rosewood was safe. That would have to be enough.

It’s just another guard , she told herself. Locke had given the blade to one of the men. With that, he had washed his hands of her. She could not forget that he had wanted this. At Pierce’s manor, he had asked her to leave. Despite all that existed between them, somehow, he had been able to bear parting from her.

For a moment, the memory made her angry. He had been a fool to let her leave. He had to have known something like this would happen. That she might as well be dead without him.

The stranger stepped closer, his face silhouetted once more against the firelight. And yet she knew him at once. Since that first night of the storm, she had grown to know every angle of his face, no matter how obscure in the night. This time, there would be no pause, no awkward hesitation between them. The moment she was within reach, she was in his arms, pressed against him, the feel of him distinct.

“Locke?”

She let the knife slip from her grip, taking in the ash and soot that smeared his lips and cheeks. His impossible presence revigorated her exhausted spirit.

They hadn’t a moment longer, though. Untangling from him, she looked toward the approaching men, their shouts and shrieks gaining distance.

Locke threw his cloak over her shoulders and waved forth Gambit. There didn’t seem enough time to breathe.

The other men were still some distance off. On foot, how long might they have? Minutes?

A crunch of grass caught Mae’s attention. Forever, that innocuous crinkling would always signal danger. All too often, it had. And now was no exception.

Clenching his chest, Ellsworth staggered toward them. In his other quivering hand, he aimed a pistol.

Instantly, smoke blossomed in the air, blinding her. In the agonizing seconds it took to clear, everything changed.

Locke lay stiff on the ground, gasping in pain. Ellsworth was at Mae’s shoulder.

“The key.” He grabbed her again. “Hand it here.”

“No, Mae, don’t!” Locke’s voice rang out.

Ellsworth came toward him, Mae blocking his path.

“You!” he grunted. He need only hit her, shove her, but still, she remained—even when he pulled out a knife. It was the only thing she could think to do after all Locke had done.

With no further warning, he pulled the knife high and drove it into Mae’s shoulder, knocking her to the ground. Locke called out, seemingly certain she was dead, or at least dying. But clenching at her chest, her belly, her sides, she found no blood. Only a slight, dull pain in her shoulder. Somehow, she wasn’t injured.

“Damn woman!” Ellsworth kicked her aside.

Only then did she find the knife, twisted on the ground. How it had happened didn’t matter. Locke and Ellsworth were diving at each other’s throats and wounds. Though both were stripped of weapons and injured, the fighting did not wane. Blood dripped and at times streamed onto the grass.

Her heart beat hotter in her chest, her hands twitching. She couldn’t… She wanted to be free of this violence, but seeing Locke in this struggle, she was desperate to do something. Anything.

Gambit, back from wherever he had run off to, crossed her path. She thought to shove him away. Then, glistening in the moonlight, she saw it, hanging off one of the saddlebags—the thing that would no doubt secure her place in hell.

And yet she did not hesitate.

She tossed the knife away and grabbed the pistol. On the ground, Ellsworth locked his hands around Locke’s throat and squeezed tighter. Locke’s eyes seemed to bulge, becoming distant and glazed. She could not let it go on. She had to take the shot quickly.

First, she had to focus, to breathe. Mae steadied the weapon. At this point, all she could do was pray.

She took a deep breath and pulled the trigger. The fierce explosion, though expected, still sent her backward.

In the dissipating haze, Ellsworth was no more than a crumpled body along the moor.

Mae dropped the weapon and went to Locke.

Not all was right. Beneath her grip, he tensed.

“You’re hurt,” she said.

“I’m fine.” He sat up and pulled her toward Gambit without pause. “ Come. Foolish men never accept defeat.”

Seeing he was determined, Mae mounted, her cloak billowing in the wind as they raced away.

A line of trees closed in. The shadow of branches darkened the night, the black pillars flickering fast as they plowed inside.

Meanwhile, Locke heaved for breath. The air, though fresh, cool, and full of the sharp scent of earth, wasn’t enough for him.

Still, they didn’t stop. They weren’t safe just yet. Mae was afraid they might never be.

“Here.” Locke finally brought Gambit to a halt. He could ride no longer. He was shaking.

Mae looked about the woods, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. Shouting still lingered in the silence. Between the trees, lanterns flickered. Ellsworth’s men had pressed on. How long would they search for her? Till morning? Detection would be far easier during the day.

Before Mae could help, Locke fell from Gambit into a shallow ravine. A soft shattering of glass met her ears. She dismounted and rushed toward him, desperate for the sound not to have been what she thought it had been.

With some effort, she turned Locke over. He had landed on a large, smooth rock, shattering the bottle of serum into bits.

She cursed, taking what she could of the moisture—dirt and all—onto her fingertips. She hated herself for not thinking of it sooner.

She had to work fast. Picking off as much glass as she could, she slipped her fingers onto his mouth and pressed them against his tongue. She repeated this until she felt something warm.

Blood was seeping from Locke’s side through her dress and to her knees. Why hadn’t the serum stopped the bleeding? Was it too late? Even the serum had its limits. Wherever that line was drawn between salvation and death, it was a fine one. Why had he insisted on healing her wound in Pierce’s library? That tiny drop was significant now. It could have saved him.

Mae leaned back. The rise and fall of his chest was jagged and sporadic. She ripped away his shirt, working to find the wound. Her fingers came away bloodied, though none of the gore fazed her. She tore her skirts and soaked away as much as she could. At last, she found it—right along the claw of his tiger tattoo. The jagged hole wasn’t disappearing like the one on her palm had. It was smooth around the edges; it had healed, though only by half. When blood rushed up again, she pressed down.

Locke groaned, his eyes fluttering awake.

“You’re still bleeding. Help me, Locke. Please. ” He must have known what to do. All those days aboard a pirate ship—hadn’t they ever had a doctor?

“Yarrow,” he managed. “You’ll find it in Gambit’s bags.”

Mae nodded. She had seen the plant—a natural astringent—in books, but in this darkness, she was worried she might not find it.

“In the leather satchel.” He gripped her slick, bloodied fingers. “All of it. Bring it to me.”

Mae placed his hand over the bundle of skirts and went toward Gambit. She found it in not the first or the second, but the third bag, and brought it to him.

By then, Locke’s body had gone still. His eyes were closed, his hand barely clutching the bloody cloth.

“Locke.” She shook him then put her ear to his chest. She jolted at the beating. It was waning, weakening with every second.

Faint as the wind, he took in a breath.

“You found it?” He took her hand.

“Yes.” She picked it out from the pouch. “Yes!”

“Chew it,” he instructed, motioning to her mouth.

Mae obeyed, alternating between chewing and pressing it onto the ugly wound. The plant tasted horrible, sucking every last bit of moisture from her mouth, making her even more desperate for the water she’d long craved. But the more she chewed and applied, the less the wound seemed to bleed until finally, it stopped altogether.

She wiped the sweat from her brow, feeling a hot smear of blood take its place.

“I’ve had worse.” Locke groaned and shifted slightly. She didn’t realize until now that he hadn’t made a sound all this time. She wondered if he was in shock. Or if he had just gone numb altogether. “Don’t believe me?”

“Of course I do,” Mae said shakily, suddenly unsure about the night ahead. She turned up to the sky in prayer. It was alive with streams of smoke and a haze of red.

Mae whipped off her cloak and stretched it over him. His eyelids flickered, fighting against the desire for sleep.

“Forgive me.”

“For what?” Mae asked, incredulous.

“For making you do that earlier. Making you kill him.”

“I had to… I needed to…”

When she had tried to poison Ellsworth, it hadn’t been a simple act of survival, either. Ellsworth had no longer meant to kill her. What he’d wanted, though, had been far worse.

“Still, I wished I had spared you the act.” He coughed. “Where do you think I’ll end up?”

“What do you mean?” Mae searched his face. It was calm and serene without a hint of fear.

“Heaven or hell?”

“Heaven or hell? Why, heaven, to be sure.”

Locke smiled, perhaps a bit deliriously. “You haven’t a clue how much I’ve wanted you to believe that.”

“Of course,” Mae said over and over again. “Of course.”

“Here.” Locke gathered the cloak around him and shoved it toward her. “You should keep this on.” Even in his condition, he still gave orders. For a moment, she almost laughed .

When his eyes shut, sadness swept over her again.

“Just rest.” The words comforted her too as she slipped next to him. She tried not to think about the moist dirt, insects, or the men who still searched for them. It was only a matter of time until they realized their master was dead. With no treasure to be found, either, she prayed they’d disperse, passing over Blackthorne Manor like a bad storm.

She pulled the cloak around her too. The material, whatever it was, was warmer than wool.

She wouldn’t let Locke give up. She couldn’t let him think that he would die for her. She held on to him tighter, letting her warmth infiltrate the skin that seemed to grow colder with each second.

She stared at the forest, her breaths as quiet as she could manage. For a while, no one seemed about. Then, in her exhausted state, she began to see figures. Little movements in the brush. She was not afraid, though, not like she had been that night of the storm.

No longer foreboding, the forest had become a place of protection. Even in the darkness, it wasn’t eerie, but quiet and serene. Here, she wanted to forget her wrongs, her guilt, her past decisions that had turned morally gray.

Visible in the moonlight, a mist had begun to form between the trees. The white haze hovered like ghosts—benevolent ones, she wanted to believe. Maybe even her ancestors. If they remained through morning, they could very well escape. If only Locke could last until then.

And if he didn’t… Her name demanded she carry on unfazed by all that had happened, demanded that she too become wild and always drifting like the sea. But she couldn’t. She squeezed her eyes shut. She refused.

In the mossy dirt, she drew him closer. She felt it then. The slightest shift in her bodice. The last piece of her family legacy. She dug it out. The forest, the smoke, everything disappeared. Once more, she was lost in the key’s gold-and-silver intricacies.

Beside her, Locke had fallen asleep, his breathing deeper and steadier. She would not wake him, though. She let him rest. She decided she would wait until the smell of smoke faded and the morning light began to filter through the trees. Only then, when she saw Locke wake too, would she dare to hope.

*

Drops of rain pricked at Mae’s skin. The haze of light beyond her eyelids indicated early morning. But she refused to wake. Without Locke, what had she left? Eternal sleep seemed a far better alternative.

When a distant crash vibrated the ground beneath her, she surged forward. Was her home at last succumbing to the flames? Was it now no more than a pile of soon-to-be forgotten memories? She looked about, expecting to see it, but she was in the Northern Woods, the cloak draped over her. Alone.

She threw the cloak aside and stood up into a warm, lingering fog. Besides the tinkling of rain, the trees around her stood still and silent.

She closed her eyes, trying to remember the night before, not caring how the rain drenched her. She remembered Locke’s struggles for breath. Had he healed, after all?

She walked farther into the mist but hesitated before calling out his name. She had heard of fogs like this. They had frequented her father’s stories and in them there had always been something hiding. But those stories were nothing more than fairy tales, right?

She stilled, going over the possibilities. Perhaps Locke had not left the Silver Order. Had he only returned to save her? She shook with sudden anger. She would follow him if she had to, demand that he—

Catching signs of movement, Mae looked out.

Hidden in the fog stood a figure, but a figure she recognized nonetheless. As he gained on her, she had not a doubt .

She didn’t hesitate.

In his arms, she ran her fingers around the back of his neck, noting his warmth despite the rain. He didn’t speak a word. He merely held her. In a sudden gust of cold, she shivered. Maybe this was a ghost. His ghost, wanting to say one last goodbye before evaporating into the mist.

But the feel of him was too solid and when he said her name in one long, lingering breath, all those ideas seemed silly. Without his healing serum or the sapphire, he was an ordinary man now—someone she could grasp on to.

Still, she looked around, expecting one of Ellsworth’s men to snatch him away at any moment.

“They’re gone,” he said. “Someone would have seen the fire by now. Fire brigade will be soon on their way.”

“Thank God.” She tightened her grip, feeling him stiffen.

“The wound is not quite healed,” he said. “Though soon it will be.”

Mae could scarcely let herself believe, but in his beaming eyes, she could see their future was finally sound. Better than sound, really.

“About the fortune… I…”

“Forget your fortune,” he commanded, reaching into his pocket. In his hand, a ruby ring shimmered in the weak haze of the morning sun. “I took it that day at the coast…for you. But if we sell it, it should be enough for us. For a short while, at least.”

Breathless, she took the ring and squinted up at him. Dirt and shiny sweat mangled his features. And yet, he had never looked so endearing.

She stepped back. “Even without this fortune…you still want me?

“How could you doubt it?” Locke pulled her back into him, face to face. “I care nothing for gold. Adventure requires none of it.”

“And I?” she asked. Before he could answer, she pulled out the key. “Should I be opposed to such things? ”

His eyes went wide. He took her face in his hands, his eyes smiling into hers.

“I can cheat fate, too,” she told him, her heart pounding and aching with joy.

It was a feeling she had known so briefly, it almost felt new.