Chapter 22
“ T his is a beautiful shop.”
The moment Evelina opened the door, Liana could smell a fragrant blend of dried herbs hanging from the rafters: rosemary, lavender, and sage mixed with earthy undertones of chamomile and mint. Small glass jars lined the shelves, each labeled in careful script, filled with everything from powdered ginger to rare, aromatic resins.
“Thank you,” Amalia replied, greeting them.
Dried bundles and woven wreaths hung beside herbs known for their protective properties. Liana felt a sense of calm here—a sanctuary hidden from judgment, a distraction from her worries.
“This is the most excruciating part,” Amalia said. “Waiting for them to return.”
Though she said it to both her and Evelina, it was Liana’s eyes Amalia had met.
“I...” She did not know how to respond. “I do very much hope they return safely.”
Amalia smiled at Evelina. It was at that moment, Liana realized she’d not been at all successful hiding her true feelings from the women.
“You do not have to share your thoughts with us,” Evelina said. “But know that both Amalia and I can help. If you are in need of it.”
She wished for nothing more than to speak with someone. And given their circumstances, Liana was certain neither of the women would judge her. Liana glanced at the door.
“I will close the shop,” Amalia said, and before she could stop her, the woman had all but run to the door and locked it. Closing the wooden shutters, Amalia returned.
She did not know how to begin.
“You are in love with him?” Evelina asked finally. Laughing, she added, “It is not as much of a surprise as you might believe. The way you look at each other... ’tis telling.”
“Each other?”
“He has not told you yet?” Evelina asked.
“Nay, of course, he has not. Darien is an earl, one I am sworn to protect, as my ancestors have done before me.”
“My husband is an earl,” Amalia said. “And I was once a maid.”
“When he first told me of you,” Liana admitted, “I’d begun to have feelings for him. And thought...wondered...if such a thing could be possible. And then my readings?—”
“You have seen your future together?” Evelina asked.
“Not precisely, but I know that we are bound together. We’ve spoken of it, but my visions were vague, at first.”
“At first?” Amalia leaned her elbows on the counter.
“The same reading that showed me a clear picture of England’s future also confirmed that Darien and I were meant to be together, not just me as an adviser, which I had previously thought but...together. In that way.”
“As man and wife?” Amalia asked.
“I suppose, though the idea that he might take me as a wife was not one I thought to entertain. But then he kissed me, more than once. And I was less certain.”
“Did you tell him?” Evelina leaned against the counter, her riding gown falling effortlessly around her, as if she’d been born to the role that Liana was not certain she could fill. “Of your last reading?”
Liana shook her head. “I did not. There was more at stake than us, and...”
“And?” Amalia prompted.
“I did not wish for him to think being with me was inevitable.”
Evelina nodded. “I can understand. You want him to want to be with you?”
“Aye,” she agreed. And then acknowledged, “Very much.”
“’Tis clear he does want that,” Evelina said. “Darien is resourceful. He will make it work.”
“But do you wish it?” Amalia asked. “I sense a hesitancy in you as well.”
She was right. “How can I keep my true nature a secret with as much scrutiny as would be placed on me as his wife? I’ve no wish to be hung as a witch, countess or no.”
“Would it not be easier, as man and wife, to keep the secret?”
“There have already been whispers. I am not certain it would be wise for me to bring attention to myself, and my mother, in that way. Or if Darien would even want it to be so.”
Evelina took Liana’s hand in hers. “He loves you, of that I have no doubt. I would never advise you to put your life in danger, but perhaps you would be more accepted than you believe.”
“Besides,” Amalia added. “It has been foreseen. You will be Darien’s wife. I am certain of it.”
Liana was as well. She squeezed Evelina’s hands before releasing them. “If only I could find the courage to know all will be well. Even now, our men ride toward danger, because of me. If I am wrong?—”
“Right or wrong, you advised them and ’tis for them to act, or not. You can be responsible only for yourself and not for the actions of others. They make their decisions and can be accountable for them.” Amalia stood straight. “You have done your part, Liana. Let them face the weight of their own choices.”
Liana pressed her lips together, worried. “But if harm comes of it...”
“Even if it does, it won’t be your burden to bear. The gift you have is rare and wise, yet it does not give you power over their hearts or minds.” Evelina released her hands. “Now let us assist Amalia with her shop.”
“Nay,” Amalia said. “Instead we remain closed. There is an inn in the village. Do you drink ale?” she asked Liana.
“I do.”
“Then we shall celebrate instead.”
“What do we celebrate?” Liana asked.
Amalia grinned. “You. Darien. The future king of England.”
“The future king of England,” she murmured. “’Twould be an extraordinary turn of events, would it not?”
“And fitting.”
Liana glanced around the shop as a sense of peace tinged with anticipation settled over her. She could almost see it—the lives she might touch, the paths she might influence, and the mysteries yet to unfold.
She turned back to the women, a smile breaking free. “Then let us go and raise a mug of ale to all that lies ahead.”
Liana awoke in her bed. The room was dark, but her dream was still clear in her mind. Her hands shook as she jumped from her bed and struggled to light the sole candle on her nightstand. Finally able to do so, she took it with her to the table and sought out her leather pouch.
He cannot be dead. Please, do not let him be dead.
But the vision haunted her still.
A man, on the ground, voices around him making it clear the knight was, in fact, dead. She could not hear their words, but somehow they verified Liana’s suspicions as she watched the faceless body from above.
With trembling fingers, Liana emptied the pouch onto the rough wooden table. The runes scattered across its surface, some falling face-up, others hidden.
“Please,” she whispered, gathering them back into her hands. The familiar shapes pressed against her palms as she closed her eyes, trying to center herself. But all she could see was Darien’s face, jaw set with determination, eyes bright with purpose.
She cast the runes.
Mannaz lay inverted near the center—a warning of enemies and deception. Beside it fell Ehwaz , the yew rune, speaking of death and transformation. But whose death? The rune’s position suggested it was someone of noble blood, someone young.
“No,” she muttered, fingers hovering over the pattern. There was more. Algiz appeared in the protective position, but it too was reversed. A warning unheeded, a shield failed. Another rune caught her eye— Dagaz , dawn, new beginnings. But it lay in shadow of Ehwaz , suggesting the new beginning came at a terrible price.
Liana pushed back from the table, her chair scraping against the floor. The candle flame wavered, causing the shadows to dance across the runes, changing their meaning yet again. She’d seen death in her vision, yes, but she hadn’t seen Darien’s face. Hadn’t seen any faces.
She reached for the final rune, the one that had rolled to the edge of the table. Othala— inheritance, legacy. The rune of ancestral property. Something about that tugged at her memory, but her mind was too clouded with fear to grasp it.
Rising, she paced her bedchamber. The dead knight in her vision had worn fine mail, she remembered now. And there had been something else—a ring? A seal? Something that had glinted in the vision’s moonlight.
“Think,” she commanded herself. “What else did you see?”
But the details slipped away, leaving only the certainty that death stalked the night. She returned to the runes, studying their pattern again. They spoke of nobility, of inheritance, of protection failed. Yet they also whispered of sacrifice, of duty fulfilled, even in death.
Darien had ridden for Wallingford wearing simple mail, carrying no seal of office. The knight in her vision had been adorned more richly. But fear still gnawed at her heart, and the runes offered no clear comfort.
Dawn was breaking now, pale light creeping through the shutters. Liana gathered the runes with care, returning them to their pouch. She had done all she could to read their message. Somewhere, a nobleman’s son lay dead or dying.
She could only pray it wasn’t the one who held her heart.