Chapter 7
Becky
Rebecka Erring was watching Lyssa Sage like a hawk. The little girl was up to something.
Her dark braid was coming undone at the end, her face scrunched in concentration. The quill between her small fingers moved furiously and without respite. Becky’s wrist ached just from watching.
“How long has she been at this?” Becky murmured to Edwin, who was watching Lyssa with a fondness that warmed the room far more than the oven.
Edwin shrugged, smiling helplessly. “A few hours at least. I got her to eat something around lunch, but she hasn’t paused since.
Miss Evie came in to check on her before she and Trystan departed.
Said when Miss Lyssa gets like this, it’s best to let her be.
” The ogre chuckled to himself, stirring the vat of cauldron brew, the liquid rough and fragrant.
Becky harrumphed before stalking to the table where the little girl sat and peered over her shoulder shamelessly, though she nearly leaped from her skin when Lyssa said, “If you’d like to read it, Ms. Erring, it might be easier up close.”
Her cheeks burned at the teasing censure from a child as she moved to take her place in the opposite chair. “I was merely making sure you were not planning something nefarious.”
“I’m always planning something nefarious.” Lyssa finally looked up, grinning wide, brown eyes glimmering. “But this is merely for fun.”
“What is your story about?” Becky asked, no longer questioning her interest in the goings-on of the little girl. Edwin leaned over, handing a cup of water to Lyssa and a full mug of cauldron brew to Becky. She took it gratefully, allowing it to warm her hands, waiting patiently for Lyssa’s reply.
The little girl’s eyes flashed down to the paper, confusion twisting her features. “I think it’s about Fate?”
“Like destiny?” Becky took a sip of her brew, enjoying the slide of the liquid as it warmed her insides.
Lyssa paled, bumbling through her immediate reply. “No. No, they are not the same thing at all, Ms. Erring. Destiny writes what it expects to happen, while Fate is what will naturally occur in the end.”
Becky felt a twinge of amusement. “You realize if we look them up in the dictionary, they will be synonyms.”
Lyssa stuck her nose in the air haughtily. “I’m not writing a dictionary—I’m writing a novel. And in my novel, Fate and Destiny are bitter rivals.”
It was truly a wonder what the brain of a child could conjure. “So, your story paints Fate and Destiny as people?”
Lyssa shoved the paper in Becky’s direction with concentration she’d only ever seen exhibited within herself. “Fate’s name is Moira.”
“And what is Destiny’s name?” Edwin asked, joining them with a plate of freshly baked scones.
“Destiny,” Lyssa answered, looking at the pair of them like they’d just asked her the first letter of the alphabet. “Of course.”
“Moira took all your creative juice, did she?” Becky’s words were dry, her hands reaching for a scone with purpose, then plopping it in front of Lyssa.
Lyssa’s quill fell, and she dove for the pastry like a starving animal—the child’s typical response to an offering of sugar. Becky looked down upon the scribbled words on the page, pausing over the illustrations. Something about the Destiny drawing was not sitting right in her gut.
But before she could question it, Blade stumbled through the door, breathing heavily as if he’d sprinted all the way from the courtyard. “Roland is on his way up with a missive from your mother, Rebecka. Say the word and I’ll burn it.”
He’d rushed here to ensure she had warning. To ensure she had enough time to process the decision before her brother got to her. How could a man she’d been acquainted with for only a few months know so much of what made her feel safe in the world?
Without a word, Becky rose from her seat and took two steps toward him, folding her arms with a raised brow. “And what if I want to open it?”
Blade pulled her favorite letter opener from his pocket. “I planned for that as well.”
She beamed; it couldn’t be helped. The sweetness of his character pulled it from deep within her.
She took a step forward and cradled his cheeks gently, going up on her toes and laying a soft kiss against his lips before lowering back down.
“How wonderful! May I use that for the next chapter?” Lyssa called, causing a stir of laughter from all of them.
It lasted only a moment before Roland came through the door, his glasses perched just below the scar across his nose, perfectly composed, his hand unwavering when he passed the letter with the Fortis Family seal over to her. Not bothering to explain what it was.
Roland nodded at Blade, clear understanding between them. That Blade’s loyalty and fealty would always be hers. Unlike some.
She stared at the letter in her palm like it would jump up and bite her, and then an unwanted thought paralyzed her. “It’s not… Is it Grandmother?”
Ramona Fortis suffered from the Mystic Illness, as many did in Rennedawn.
A punishment from Fate dealt to the land in response to King Benedict imprisoning some of its creatures: the guvre.
Since they’d been freed, the illness had begun to slowly stop finding new victims, but the old ones still suffered.
Ramona’s daughter, Becky’s mother—Renna—had done everything possible to find a cure, trying to steal Becky’s own magic with the same memory flower that had absconded with Nura Sage’s starlight. At the time, Becky had found the act unforgivable. But now questions pinged in her mind.
Would Becky ever do something like that for someone she loved? Would she manipulate and lie at the cost of a daughter?
A small hand closed around Becky’s. “It’s okay, Ms. Erring. Whatever you’d like to do, it’s okay.”
No, she answered herself, peering down at Lyssa’s trusting face.
No, she would find any other way before hurting her own child.
She couldn’t even stand to hurt this one.
Gripping the little girl’s hand, she gave a comforting squeeze with a smile.
“Are you certain Evie raised you? You turned out so well.”
The statement softened Lyssa’s eyes further. “It seems rather certain she is the only reason that is so. Don’t you agree, Ms. Erring?”
It was the gentlest of ways to compliment Evie Sage. But also, Becky was certain, the kindest. “I rather do, Lyssa.”
“I believe Grandmother is still well enough,” Roland confirmed, and Becky’s shoulders fell in relief.
“She would have written to me as well if not. In truth, I have no idea what that letter will say. When you left with The Villain all those months ago, she refused to speak of you. When Rafael demanded we stop avoiding you as a subject at the dinner table, she stopped eating with us completely.”
Becky swallowed around the large lump that had formed in her throat.
How cowardly their mother was. Unable to face the subject of one child and avoiding the rest to keep it so. Nothing that woman would write could hurt her.
Sucking in a sharp breath, she tore at the envelope and took the parchment out, scanning, her heart thundering over every word. Sweat began to bead at her hairline, blood rushing through her ears.
Blade’s arms were around her then, her horror bared to the entire room. “Rebecka? What is it, sweetheart?” He took a hand and tilted it under her chin until her stricken eyes stared into his worried ones.
“We need to find Evie and Trystan. Now.”
“Why?” Lyssa asked, nervously crinkling her manuscript.
Becky straightened her shoulders, remembering who she was.
Rebecka Eriania Fortis. Heir to the Fortis Family Fortress and all its magic. She’d need the strength of her ancestors to propel them through what she said next.
“Because the manor is about to be torn apart from the inside.”