Chapter 36
‘Daleridge Cottage is a private residence my father had built,’ Agatha explains. ‘One of his mistresses requested it because his main residence has so many … eerie magical relics. But then she betrayed him, and he had her exiled. Anyway, he never uses it now.’
I stare ahead as we walk.
Agatha climbs the stairs to the front door of the small log cabin and leads the way inside. The four guardsmen escorting us stop.
Leave so I can chase after Marian and beg her to forgive me.
My head drops, and I take a tight breath. Why? So I can break her heart one more time? There’s no undoing this marriage. Marian was right – I need to keep my distance.
The thought nearly brings me to my knees.
‘Enjoy your honeymoon,’ Diggs calls, then laughs. ‘We’ll be right outside.’
Tension ripples through me, along with the need to prove that they can’t keep me locked up. I’m not a prisoner.
My gaze lifts to Agatha as she spins, taking in the place.
Or maybe I am.
‘Isn’t this place beautiful?’
I lock the door, then pull the curtains. The room immediately dims.
‘I’ll light some candles,’ Agatha suggests. ‘I’d give you a tour, but this is it.’ She waves a hand. ‘One giant room with a bathing chamber in the back. Oh, and a tiny kitchen in the corner.’
A single flame lights as she sets to work, and I reluctantly take in the massive bed. Across from it are a small table and chairs, as well as an oversized chair for lounging.
I rub my face, a bone-deep exhaustion taking over. ‘Agatha, we need to talk.’
There’s a stone fireplace that crawls up the wall, and she begins lighting the coal inside the hearth. ‘Okay.’
My mouth opens, but I don’t know what to say. Or maybe I do, I just don’t want to say it. Saying it makes it real.
The fire is lit before I can get anything out. She claps the coal dust off her hands, then frowns at them. ‘Actually, do you mind if I quickly clean up in the bathing chamber?’
I nod, relieved to have a minute. ‘Go ahead.’
As she disappears, I sit on one of the chairs at the small table. My head falls into my hands, and Marian’s devastated face flashes in my mind. It feels like I’ve been kicked in the gut.
Avoid me at all costs. Goodbye, Ryland.
That’s the last thing I want. Agitation crawls over me until I swear I’m being boiled alive in it.
Needing to move, I jump to my feet. But my heart just pounds harder, like it’s trying to escape my body.
My hands shake with frustration and before I know it, I have the chair in my hands and I’m smashing it on the floor.
A small whimper pulls me out of it. I turn and find Agatha standing there.
Then I notice what she’s wearing – very little, and the very little is made of silk. A short housecoat hangs open. What is she doing? I jerk my gaze to the wall and try to find the words. Any words. ‘I-I’m … sorry. For scaring you.’ I swallow hard. ‘That wasn’t my intent.’
I look at the pieces of chair around me. What am I doing? This isn’t me.
‘You’re upset,’ she says softly. Slowly, she pads towards me. ‘My father tricked you.’
‘Yes, he did,’ I say bitterly.
‘And now you’re worried because … he wasn’t wrong about the magic.’
Suspicion settles over me. ‘Did he tell you about it? Before the wedding?’
‘No.’
Her words resonate in me in some inexplicable way, letting me know they’re true. More proof of the connection tying us together.
‘You know I’ve felt it a few times already,’ she says.
‘It’s so interesting to sense when you’re angry.
And feel it right here.’ She brushes her fingers down her sternum.
‘I think when we kissed, I even felt that you’re injured.
Is that right? On your lower back? There’s a cut? ’ She stops to stand before me.
I stiffen.
She huffs a laugh in amazement. ‘Even that. I felt your hesitation. Just for a second. It burns … here.’ Her finger drags down my stomach.
I stop her hand. The touch intensifies the line of communication between us, and I’m acutely aware of her attraction to me. I can practically taste her longing on my tongue.
It’s so bittersweet to experience this. To finally be here, encountering the connection … and simultaneously wishing I wasn’t. ‘You’re right. I am worried. Your father –’ My eyes skate to her face. ‘Are you going to tell him what you learn about me? About my … magic?’
Her hand drops. ‘I don’t see why I would. He’s never really cared about me. Could barely tolerate me, which is all I’ve ever wanted. To matter. I know he’s hoping to use me against you, but I won’t do it. Not when … I now have you.’
Her words vibrate inside me with a sense of rightness. Another truth.
‘So, will you tell me how it works?’ she asks.
I’ve run out of reasons not to. There’s no changing this course. ‘It’s a long story.’
She takes a seat on the edge of the bed. ‘I have time.’
Apparently, so do I. I lower myself down beside her, jaw clenching over and over. ‘It started years after the bombs fell …’ I begin, and somehow I get through telling her about the founding families of Kingsland and how the connection first appeared, spreading down the family lines.
My explanation isn’t anything like what I gave to Marian.
I keep it vague. Agatha needs to know the basics.
Yes, we’re sensing each other’s emotions, and eventually, if we open up to each other, we could share more – like injuries and memories.
‘You’ll also notice that we can’t use the connection if we’re too far from each other, more than few dozen feet.
’ But I stop there, unable to elaborate more.
‘How do I heal you?’ she asks, after I’ve gone quiet, lost in my head. ‘Ryland’ – she stands – ‘you’re injured. Why wouldn’t we do that now?’
Because I would have to let you in.
And my heart is already full.
‘Let’s just try it,’ she urges.
‘No. We’d have to be more connected and …’
‘Closer?’ She stands from the bed and takes an unsure step in my direction.
‘Do we need to touch?’ Suddenly, she steps between my legs.
There’s a shake to her fingers as they slide through my hair.
‘I’m okay with that. I want to touch you.
Actually …’ Her head dips nervously. ‘If I’m honest, I think about it all the time. ’
I peer up at her. ‘Agatha,’ I say, pained. ‘This is …’ Impossible. On some level she has to know – feel – the misery inside me. Is she just ignoring it?
‘You can’t,’ she says.
‘I can’t.’
With brisk movements, she closes her housecoat and backs away. ‘Can’t ever? Or can’t now?’
I feel her rejection. It tastes like bile. But I also get flickers of other emotions. Desperation. Hurt. Anger. And something else that claws at my gut – jealousy. I run a hand over my head. How much time would I need? Decades? Lifetimes?
Except, I’m not factoring in the connection. The way we’ll be drawn together, mind and body. One day, I will grow to love her … because she’s a part of me now.
But even without that, I’m forgetting what matters most: I’m a man of my word.
‘Can’t now. But in time … it won’t always be this way.’
Agatha has taken the bed. I drift off in the lounge chair, wondering where Marian is right now. And before I know it, she’s in my dreams.
Some part of me is aware that none of this is real as we make our escape. I don’t care.
I can’t take my eyes off her as she gallops her horse beside mine. Her smile keeps growing the further we get from Notting.
‘Ryland,’ Marian says, slowing. ‘Look. Vagabonds.’
I see them.
‘Take my reins,’ she says, then spins to face backwards in her saddle. I wrap them around my pommel, and we both pull our bows, working together, me covering us in the front, as she covers us from behind.
Our partnership doesn’t end when we make camp under the stars, her head nestled against my shoulder. I marvel at how I got so lucky. She shivers as I stroke her hair.
‘Are you cold?’ I don’t wait for her answer. Instead, I warm her by getting acquainted with her neck.
We hunt for hares and ptarmigan as we travel. She picks me berries. I kiss the flavour of them off her lips.
‘The forest – it’s red?’ she says, mouth agape as we view it from the hilltop.
‘Some say it’s orange,’ I mutter, and chuckle. Then I tell her why that made me laugh. There isn’t anything I don’t want her to know.
I point out the mountains, rolling hills and canyons. We stop at rivers for water. Even venture in for a swim. She clings to me in the cold, and I can’t help but kiss her. Then I carry her to the bank, and we lose all track of time.
We travel long days, and the nights are too short.
At the first glimpse of Kingsland’s coal mine, I tell her about the collapse – something I can’t believe I haven’t shared yet, as it was the catalyst for everything.
At Kingsland’s fence, she looks confused.
‘Don’t touch it,’ I warn. ‘It’s electrified. It’ll hurt you.’
‘It’s buzzing,’ she says with fascination, dismounting her horse. She goes to it, reaching.
‘Marian! Don’t!’ I shout. I jump from Duke and race to her, but I’m too late. She touches the metal links, jolts once and crumples to the ground.
‘Marian!’ I drop to my knees and gather her in my arms, but she’s so still. Too still. Desperately, I brush the hair from her face. ‘No, no, no.’
Kingsland soldiers come running from the gate.
‘She’s not breathing!’ I yell to them. ‘Someone help! Get Dr Henshaw.’
‘Can you heal her?’ asks a woman.
I blink. ‘No, get the doctor.’
‘She’s not your wife?’ asks another soldier. ‘Then where is your wife?’
‘Forget my wife,’ I snarl. ‘There’s only Marian.’ I start compressions on her chest. ‘Don’t you dare leave me,’ I beg her.
One of the soldiers grabs my shoulder and tries to pull me away.
‘Stop it!’ I shout, and shove him.
His cry as he falls startles me awake. My breaths come hard, and it takes time to orient myself in the dark room. Atlas’s cabin. I run a hand through my hair, then sit up in the chair.
I become aware of a person’s heavy breaths – someone’s sprawled at my feet. ‘Agatha?’ As my eyes adjust, I make out the outline of her frame. It looks like she’s fallen.
Or like she was pushed.
I lurch forward and find her arm. ‘I’m sorry. Did I do that?’ She must have been trying to wake me. I scoop her up and carry her to the bed. ‘Are you okay? I was having a nightmare.’
‘I know,’ she whispers.
Carefully, I set her back on the mattress, and she rolls away from me, pulling the blanket over her body.
I apologise again, then stand there like an idiot, not sure what else to do. Eventually, I return to my chair, and my mind drifts back to the dream I can’t shake. The same gut-punch of devastation hits me all over again.
Because the pain of Marian dying in that dream is the same as what I feel in real life.