Chapter 42
Hanna
The moment we stepped outside the high stone arches of the Circle Court, my legs gave out.
Not all at once or dramatically. Just… slowly.
As if the strength seeped out of my bones.
Savla was there before I hit the steps—one arm around my waist, the other bracing my shoulder as if I were made of something precious and breakable.
“Hanna—” he started, his brow furrowed.
“I’m okay,” I managed.
I wasn’t.
The bond hummed low, trying to soothe me, but my chest was too tight, my breaths too shallow. The world spun in warm sunlit colors that felt unreal after the cold tension inside the Court.
Savla guided me to a stone bench beneath an oak tree.
Ribbon pressed himself against my knees like the giant living, concerned, squishy boulder he was.
The rest of the clan and coven hung back respectfully—watching and ready, but giving me space.
Savla crouched in front of me, his large hands gentle on my knees, grounding me with his warmth, his steadiness, his quiet presence.
“Breathe,” he murmured.
I did. Or at least I tried to. It came out halfway between a gasp and a sob. Savla didn’t look alarmed and he didn’t look pitying. He just opened his arms. Which was exactly what I needed. I folded into him like I’d been waiting years to do it.
His arms wrapped around me, firm and strong, one hand cupping the back of my head, the other smoothing slow circles down my spine. My cheek pressed against the warm center of his chest, and everything in me trembled at once.
“They’re gone,” I whispered. “They can’t hurt me anymore.”
His breath shuddered softly against my hair.
“No,” he said. “Never again.”
I let out another breath—this one broken—and he tightened his hold, murmuring something soft in his own tongue. A vow, I thought. A promise of comfort.
I wasn’t sure how long we stayed like that, but it was long enough for the world to settle and long enough for my heartbeat to match his. When I finally pulled back, Savla brushed a tear from my cheek with his thumb.
“You did well,” he said softly. “You were so strong.”
“I didn’t feel strong,” I admitted, rubbing my cheek against his palm, seeking comfort.
“You were,” he insisted, his voice deep and certain. “Stronger than anyone in that room.”
A lump formed in my throat, but before I could reply, Tabitha approached with Rowan and two court clerks floating glowing scrolls between them. Rowan gave me a small nod.
“The transfer has been processed.”
I blinked. “Transfer?”
Tabitha squeezed my shoulder.
“Your grandmother’s estate,” she said gently. “It’s yours now. All of it.”
A tremor went through me. “All of it?”
Rowan’s eyes softened.
“Your grandmother was the sole founder of Greyleaf’s Apothecary.
Not your parents. She listed you as her heir a decade ago.
She left you her recipes, her workshop, her savings, her land, her artifacts…
everything. That includes the house and land Meris and Toland have been living on.
While she gave him the house to use long ago, the property, including the house, all remained as part of her estate and is now yours. ”
The world tilted again—but in a different way. A warm, overwhelming way.
“She always wanted you to take over one day,” Tabitha murmured. “In your own time. In your own way.”
My heart cracked open. My grandmother had believed in me long before I believed in myself.
“What am I supposed to do with all of that?” I whispered.
Savla’s presence behind me grew warmer—protective, supportive and endlessly patient.
Rowan smiled faintly. “Whatever you want.”
The clerks floated forward a leather-bound book—my grandmother’s ledger. Recipes. Notes. Dreams. A lifetime of her work and magic.
I reached out, running trembling fingertips over the cover. Savla steadied me with his hand, not stopping me—just supporting me.
As soon as I touched the book, I felt it. Her magick. It was a soft, warm and familiar presence. I watched as her green magick—that always perfectly matched mine—surrounded me.
She was blessing me, welcoming me and telling me that I wasn’t alone. My breath caught again—this time with wonder.
“I want to rebuild the business,” I said, voice growing steadier. “Not what my parents turned it into. Not a corporation. Not numbers and quotas and mass production.”
Savla’s hand slid gently down my arm.
“How?” he asked quietly, and the way he asked—hopeful, curious and invested—made my heart do another painful, beautiful, twist.
“Back to its roots,” I said. “Back to what my grandmother made it. Small, personal and full of magick.”
I looked up at Tabitha. “She trusted her people, she brewed because she loved it and she let the business run itself. She believed in the craft more than the profit.”
Tabitha nodded, proudly, swiping at the tears brimming in her eyes.
“I want that again,” I whispered. “I want the old recipes back. I want to hire back everyone my parents shoved out—every witch, every herbalist, every apprentice. They deserve their place.”
“And you deserve yours,” Rowan added.
I swallowed hard and turned to Savla. He was watching me like I had hung the moon. When our eyes met, he didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t need to. The bond pulsed warm, a quiet echo of pride and something deeper, something tender and fierce all at once.
“For my grandmother’s house, I was thinking that first it needs to be cleansed.
Everything needs to be healed and recovered.
” I looked at the coven. “I’ll need some help with that.
” I swallowed. “Then, I want to make it into a sanctuary for any witch that needs a place to land from a bad situation. Like we did. I still want to use the profits from my new potion for it, but having it as a sanctuary is going to jump-start the whole project. I think Grandmother would’ve approved. ”
“You’re extraordinary,” he said finally, voice low and rough with emotion.
I laughed softly—shaky, overwhelmed. “Savla—”
“No.” He shook his head. “What you’re planning… what you want to build… your grandmother would be proud.” He lifted his hand and brushed his knuckles along my jaw. “And so am I.”
My breath hitched. “You are?”
His eyes warmed. “Hanna, I’ve always been proud of you.”
Something inside me unclenched and bloomed for the first time in a long time. Since my grandmother had been alive. I leaned into his palm, closing my eyes.
“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice cracking under the strain of holding all my emotions inside.
He bent his forehead to mine, breathing in my scent.
“You’re going to create something beautiful,” he murmured. “And I’ll help you however you need. A workshop. A storefront. A website. Deliveries. Anything.”
I opened my eyes. “Anything?” I asked, mischief entering my tone now.
His lips curved—soft, rare and devastating. “Anything.”
And for the first time since leaving my old life behind—I saw the future clearly. Not the one that my parents envisioned for me. Nothing that was forced onto me. I wouldn’t be trapped by obligation.
No, the future that I was seeing was mine. And Savla’s. The home and business and life we would make together. We would build everything from the roots up. Just like my grandmother wanted.
Just like I wanted.