Chapter 21
Casrian released her as soon as she was standing.
She wrapped her blanket tightly around her shoulders while he fetched another.
Their belongings were piled against the trunk of the largest tree, beneath the oilcloth shelter.
He settled there, setting his back against his saddle and stretching his long legs out in front of him. He opened his arms in invitation.
She hesitated.
She’d never been in the arms of a man before, and she wasn’t sure the witch hunter was the best man to start with.
But he would be warm, and there was no fire.
He had an extra blanket too. It was the smart thing to do, share the blankets, share their warmth.
Get some rest after another awful day, with who knew what was to come tomorrow.
If she lay down now on the cold, hard ground with wet hair and damp clothes, her muscles would stiffen and she’d probably make herself sick. She should take comfort where she could get it, shouldn’t she? Even if it came from the witch hunter.
“I’ll keep my hands to myself,” he promised. “Even if you beg me to touch you.”
“I’m never going to beg you for anything.”
He gave a low laugh. “You’ve got nothing to worry about then, do you?”
She didn’t know about that. He was dangerous in all sorts of ways.
But she did move toward him. His smile flashed white in the dim light.
Ignoring it, she curled up beside him, her body going stiff as soon as they made contact.
Her hip pressed against his. Her head fit right against his shoulder like it belonged there. His arms closed around her like a trap.
“You’re too cold,” he murmured, his breath stirring her hair.
It wasn’t the cold making her shiver. It was his warmth and strength and scent, all combined to draw her in closer. Being tucked up in his arms felt better than she’d expected. Which was bad. She was too attracted to him already.
Gingerly, she rested her hand against his chest because there was nowhere else for it to go. He shifted his body so they were pressed more tightly together. The thud of his heart was steady beneath her palm.
“The story?”
He gave a short, bitter laugh. “I don’t know where to start. Everyone in Aresdal knows about it.”
“Scandalous, is it?”
“Lurid. A great House. Sex, murder, and witchcraft. All these years later, it stands as a favorite cautionary tale from the high court to the brothels.”
“I doubt it’s made its way to Toam.”
“Finally one thing to recommend the place.”
She tapped his chest in rebuke.
“You should feel honored. You’ll get the whole, true story and not one of the more fanciful versions floating about.”
“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to,” she said. “You can swear me to secrecy.”
“I trust you.”
“Do you?”
“Hmmm.” She was starting to warm. At least her bones had stopped shaking. She settled in closer against him. When he started to speak, she felt the deep rumble of his voice beneath her cheek.
“Very well,” he murmured. “The story begins before my birth. My mother was a servant of the old Lord Dain. When she was sixteen, she made the mistake of falling in love with the youngest son of the House. She became pregnant and was dismissed from service. My father purchased a townhome for her and set her up as his mistress. I was born. Years later, my father became betrothed to another woman. It was a political match, but my mother was heartbroken. Inconsolably so. So she purchased a potion and gave it to him.”
“Love potions don’t work.”
That’s what Tilly said anyway, and she should know. She sold enough of the things. They were her most popular product in the bigger towns.
He shrugged. “This one did. Though not in the way she hoped. My father became freshly obsessed with her. He broke off the betrothal and moved into the townhome. Refused to leave my mother’s side, taking her everywhere.
” He paused. “She was thrilled at first. His family was scandalized and barred them from attending society gatherings. I was six at the time, and he became jealous of me for any attention my mother gave me. I remember him locking me in the cellar to keep me away. He’d throw food down to me like a dog.
If my mother hugged me, I would be hauled out of her arms and punished. ”
“I’m sorry.”
No child should be treated like that.
Casrian’s arm tightened slightly around her shoulders.
“He eventually sent me out into the street and told me not to come back. I knew who his father was, or at least I knew he was powerful. My mother had pointed out their home. I went there for help. At first, they tried to turn me away, but I had nowhere else to go, so after two nights of sleeping on their front step, I was allowed in to speak to my father’s oldest brother.
He hadn’t known about the potion. When I told him, he went to the townhome intending to drag my father home and take him to the Church to purge him of the curse.
By that time, my father had barricaded himself inside with my mother.
When his brother tried to break in, my father slit my mother’s throat. ”
She drew in a sharp breath.
Casrian caught her hand in his and pressed his thumb lightly against her palm, gently uncurling her fingers, like she was the one who needed to be comforted. “He intended to kill himself too so they would never be separated. My uncle got to him first and was able to wrestle the knife away.”
She pictured him at six, a small, blond-haired boy going to beg for help from people who should have been his family only for it to end in bloodshed.
“What happened then?”
“My mother was buried in an unmarked grave, unsanctified.” His voice hardened.
“Given the circumstances, my father was forgiven for the crime of killing her. The Church was able to purge the spell from his body. He married his betrothed a year later and by all accounts, they’re happy together.
They live on the family estate in the Cashel province and rarely return to the capital.
They have two children, a boy and a girl, teenagers now.
I met them two years ago at my half-brother’s request. They seem nice. ”
She tipped back her head so she could see his face. “You’re of noble blood.”
Of course he was. She should have realized it sooner.
He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. “I’m a bastard, Rowan. It’s not the same thing.”
“It’s not something shameful either if you’re expecting me to be shocked by it. Most of the people in Toam are bastards of one kind or another.”
He raised one brow. “I’m not sure that’s a flattering comparison.”
“Is that why they sent you to the orphanage? To hide you away from the new wife?”
“At first, it was feared that my appearance might trigger a relapse in my father. After a while, I think it was just easier to bury the past.” He shook his head.
“Not that it stayed buried. Everyone knows the story. I was at the orphanage until I turned twelve and was old enough to enter the Academy as a guard in training. It followed me there.”
“You have a terrible father.”
Something flickered in his eyes. “He gave me his name. That opened some doors. Last year, he gave me an estate. One of the family’s old summer homes where they used to stash widows and inconvenient relatives. Not much land, but the house is sound. It’s not far from here, actually.”
“He’s an asshole.”
“That mouth of yours.” His gaze dipped to her mouth for the briefest of moments.
“Tell me he’s not an asshole,” she dared him.
He smiled a flat, humorless smile. “My father is well respected by everyone in the province. His older brother, the duke, spends most of his time at the capital as an advisor to the king. My father handles the affairs of Cashel—land disputes and treaties and such. He’s said to be a fair and compassionate man. ”
She just looked at him.
He shrugged. “I had high marks at the Academy, and a talent for fighting. It’s where I belonged, no matter how I got there. I am good at my job, Rowan, your mother’s case being a glaring exception.”
There was something like an appeal in his eyes as he looked at her.
In the way he hesitated for a beat too long.
Like he was waiting—hopeful—that she’d forgive him like her mother had.
She couldn’t give him that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Even if she was starting to think he wasn’t as awful as she’d once thought.
She lowered her head back to his shoulder, burrowed deeper under the blankets. “Before the trial, I remember you told me that I could survive the scandal. This is what you were talking about, isn’t it? You were speaking from experience.”
“Yes.”
“And it’s why you decided to become a witch hunter? You blame the witch who made the love potion for your mother’s death, the loss of your home, your father.”
She didn’t know what to think about the story.
She felt badly for him, for the child he’d been, his life ripped apart by adults who should have protected him.
As difficult as her life had been, she’d always known her mother loved her.
She was certain that would always be true, no matter what.
Her mother was on her side. Casrian had been so young when his mother had chosen his father over him.
His father had rejected him entirely. Casrian didn’t blame his parents though.
He blamed some nameless witch who’d sold his mother a potion.
In the end, it was his mother who poisoned his father. His father’s hand holding the knife.
He traced small circles on her palm with his thumb. “I became a witch hunter because I saw the evil that witchcraft can do firsthand at a young age and I wanted to fight against it. I’m not trying to avenge myself or my mother. I believe in what I’m doing.”
“Branding women?”
“Preventing evil from spreading within the kingdom,” he said. “Keeping innocent people safe.”