Chapter 31
We reach the estate just before the sun sinks fully beneath the horizon. The sky is streaked in bruised purples and gold, only a few clouds remain.
Rowan and Aileen are waiting at the steps. Aileen’s face is pale, tight with worry. Relief floods her features the moment she sees us.
“Where have you been?” she demands. “We searched everywhere. Rowan rode toward the river. I sent servants into the woods.”
Ashford inclines his head slightly. “I’m sorry,” he says, and there is no flippancy in him now. “We did not intend to cause alarm.”
His gaze flickers briefly toward me before he adds, “But we must return to the capital immediately.”
“I thought we were staying for the summer,” Aileen protests, gathering her skirts from the damp ground.
I step forward. “Circumstances have changed. Ashford knows…about the ring. He intends to help.”
Aileen’s hand flies to the small cross at her throat. She presses it briefly to her lips.
Ashford exhales softly through his nose, shaking his head.
She shoots him a look. “You can never be too careful when it comes to the devil’s work.”
We pack before dawn. Only what we need, the rest will follow later. The morning air is cool after the storm, but I know the heat will return soon enough.
When we reach Acheron, Ashford’s farewell is restrained.
We do not touch, but the way he looks at me makes my breath hitch.
“Rowan,” he says evenly, “see that she is returned safely. Wait for my signal.”
Then he is gone.
* * *
The silence that follows is torture for my heart. Days pass, they turn into weeks with no word from him. One night, I return to my chambers to find a small piece of gingerbread placed carefully beside a single pale flower. No note, but I know he has not forgotten me.
Summer slips away. The air grows cooler. I visit my children, spending a couple of nights with them, hating the parting each time.
Later, at Aileen’s house, we sit by the window while dusk gathers.
She has not been her chatty self all day.
Finally, she says, “You never told me what happened that night. When you left during the storm.”
I stare at the fading light. “We sought shelter.”
She hits me softly with the towel she is holding. “That is not what I meant, and you know it.”
I do not answer immediately.
She studies me. “You disappeared into a storm with a man no one fully understands, and you returned changed.”
I swallow. “I feel…” I search for the word. “Pulled.”
“Pulled?”
“Yes.” I exhale softly. “Toward him. I cannot explain it. I do not know much about him, and yet I feel as though I know everything that matters.”
Aileen’s brows knit together. “That is precisely what worries me.”
I look at her.
“Men like him,” she says carefully, “are difficult to see through. I understand that he is magnetic. Anyone can see that. But have you asked yourself why?”
“Why what exactly?”
“Well…is it because he is mysterious?” she asks gently. “Or because you genuinely enjoy being with him?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Perhaps I will have to get to know him better.”
Aileen leans closer. “What do you actually know about him?”
I think of the church. Of his voice low in the dark. “We spoke of his mother. She was the most important part of his life. He carries that still.”
Aileen’s expression softens slightly.
“He told me a little about what he does. As the Broker. The kind of arrangements he facilitates. Political understandings. Discreet negotiations.”
“And his loyalties?”
“He has served my father for years,” I say. “And he has worked for Charles on certain…undertakings.”
Her eyes widen slightly at that.
“He knew about the ring,” I continue. “He did not judge me. He could have revealed it at any time. He did not.”
“And that makes you trust him?”
“Yes. No. There is more to it. But I fail to put it into words.”
Aileen studies me carefully. Then her expression shifts—just slightly. “And was that all you did during the storm?” she asks lightly.
Heat rises to my face before I can stop it. “We talked,” I say carefully.
“Only talked?” she presses, one brow lifting.
I look away, and she laughs softly. “I only want you to be careful,” she says at last. “He may be charming. But charm is a weapon in the right hands.”
Before I can answer, the door opens, and Rowan steps inside, breathless from haste.
“I’ve heard from Ashford,” he says.
My heart jumps. “When?” I ask.
“Tonight. He says there is a man we must speak to. A tavern in the lower quarter. I am leaving in an hour and will send word to you at the palace when it is done.”
“I’m coming,” I say immediately.
Rowan doesn’t even blink. “He said you are not to.”
“This concerns my life,” I reply sharply. “You are taking a risk for me. I will not sit safely at home while you do it.”
Rowan exhales slowly, already weary. “He said you would say that.”
I narrow my eyes. “Of course he did.”
“And he wants me to remind you,” Rowan continues carefully, “that you told him you’d trust him to handle this.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Well,” I say coolly, “if he knows everything I will say and do anyway, he should not have bothered to give you all the answers in advance. I am coming.”
For a moment, Rowan just stares at me.
Then he laughs under his breath. “You two are a match made in hell.”
I reach for my cloak, and Rowan lifts three torches from beside the door. I pause, looking at them—then at him. “Three?”
He shrugs innocently. “Ashford said to take three. He knew you’d come along anyway.”
I cannot decide whether to be annoyed or amused. Behind me, Aileen lets out a soft hum of approval.
“I like that he knows you well,” she says. “And that he accepts your determination. Points for the Broker.”
Heat touches my cheeks.
We leave quickly, moving along darkened streets. Rowan walks slightly ahead, guiding us through alleys I do not recognize.
When the tavern comes into view, it looks like it was built to blend in. The low roof, the faded sign, the windows almost hidden behind closed shutters.
Inside, the air smells of old ale and damp wood.
Before we ascend the stairs, I pull my hood forward, shadowing my face. The less attention I draw, the better.
Rowan leads us up. Voices murmur behind a closed door at the end of the corridor. He knocks once, and the voices fall silent when Rowan pushes the door open.
The first face I see is the man who enchanted the ring for me all those years ago. He looks exactly the same as the last time I saw him. Well…his right eye is black and blue, swelling dark against light skin. He looks strained, as though he has not slept well.
Then there is Ashford.
He stands near the window, half in shadow. And when his eyes find mine, relief flickers there first, then longing. Then something far more sinister that makes my breath catch in my throat.
For one unguarded heartbeat, he looks as though he has been holding himself together by sheer force of will. Then the mask slides back into place.
“You see?” he says calmly to the man. “I told you she would come.”
The man nods when I enter. He rises halfway from his chair, then seems to remember himself and bows awkwardly instead. “Thank you for coming, Your Majesty,” he says, voice shaky at first before he gathers it. “Do you remember me?”
“Of course,” I reply, taking the chair opposite. “You were at the chapel. You offered to enchant the ring.”
“Yes.” He swallows. “I did so at the instruction of the man I serve. I have…certain gifts at my disposal.”
His gaze flicks toward Ashford, uncertain how much he is permitted to reveal.
Ashford gives a small nod. “Go on. Tell her about your magic.”
I glance back at Ashford. He winks at me—the gesture so quick it almost feels imagined.
The magic wielder clears his throat. “The spell I wove was meant to protect you from harm,” he says carefully. “To bind affection to loyalty. To keep anger from turning dangerous.”
“It is still working, in a way,” I say quietly.
“Yes.” He folds his hands together. “Lord Ashford tells me the enchantment holds. But it has…placed strain upon the one receiving its influence.”
He does not say Charles’s name, as though speaking it might summon him.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I can feel it. The magic pulls harder each time. As though it must tighten its grip to maintain control.”
I press my palm flat against the table. “It makes him unstable. Obsessive. The feeling grows too intense inside him, and he must find ways to discharge it, to…bleed it off.” Pictures of Verden enter my mind, the bodies falling into the river, the smell of blood and ash in the air.
The man nods grimly. “Magic does not create from nothing. It amplifies what already exists.”
Ashford remains silent, but I feel him watching everything. “May I see the ring?” the man asks.
I hesitate only a moment before offering my hand.
The man takes it gently, his fingers are cold and bony. He closes his eyes and almost immediately, he shudders, followed by a sharp exhale.
“There is too much bound here,” he murmurs. “Too many emotions layered atop one another.”
He reaches into a small satchel and withdraws a bundle of dried sage and a short candle. He lights the wick, then passes the smoking herb slowly around my hand.
“I must cleanse the residue,” he says. “There is grief woven here. Fear. Anger. Devotion. Possession.”
He looks at me carefully.
“Can you remove it?”
I glance at Ashford. His expression is steady and calm. “I am here if anything goes wrong,” he says quietly.
My fingers tremble slightly as I slide the ring from my hand. The moment it leaves my skin—nothing. I feel normal.
The man begins to chant softly, words low and rhythmic. His voice is calming, a gentle hum, and I am wondering how something so serene could be tied to dark magic—
My spine arches violently backward, and the world splits open.
I fall from the chair, a cry tearing from my throat before I can stop it.
Pain detonates through me, as every nerve ignites.
Ashford is there instantly, catching me before my head strikes the floor. “What is happening?” he demands sharply.
“Do not stop me!” the man shouts, voice tight with concentration. “The magic has been compensating for too long. She is experiencing the absence. I must finish.”
It feels as though something has been ripped from my chest. A vacuum that opened up where my heart should be, devouring every emotion tied to the ring.
Charles’s love, his hatred, his jealousy, his fear of losing me, his need, his suspicion.
It crashes into me all at once, unfiltered, unrestrained with nowhere else to go.
I scream, sweat coats my skin. My body convulses against Ashford’s arms.
He holds me tightly, one hand braced at the back of my head, the other gripping my shoulder.
“Look at me,” he says urgently. “Ada. Look at me.” But I can barely see him; the emotions are too loud. It feels as though my heart is being crushed between two stones.
Across the room, I dimly register Aileen’s sob. She has pressed herself into the corner, hands clasped in prayer. Rowan stands rigid by the door, pale, watching the hallway to ensure no one interrupts.
“Finish it!” Ashford snarls.
“I am finishing!” the man replies, voice strained. “The enchantment has fed upon itself. It must recalibrate.”
His words mean nothing through the agony.
I cling to Ashford’s voice. “Breathe,” he murmurs close to my ear. “Stay with me.”
The chanting grows louder, faster, spiraling as I—
Silence.
The man drops to his knees beside us and slides the ring back onto my finger.
The effect is immediate, and the storm inside me dies, like a house of cards collapsing in on itself. The noise inside me dims.
Ashford’s voice reaches me as though from underwater. “Did it work?”
The man is breathing hard. “I cleansed the excess. But this will happen again.”
Ashford’s grip tightens.
“The ring will always strain under prolonged influence,” the man continues. “I added a secondary binding. It should soften the obsession, hopefully temper the intensity.”
“And if it does not?” Ashford asks.
The man hesitates. “Magic is a negotiation,” he says quietly. “It takes as much as it gives. We can guide it, we cannot command it.”
My vision blurs, as Ashford’s hand brushes damp hair from my forehead.
“I’ve got you,” he says softly.
The last thing I feel is his arms around me, and then the world goes dark.