Chapter 12 Marcus #2
I could press Esmerelda for questions again.
Ask her why she was late. But what would be the point?
When I asked her the first time, I didn’t smell deceit coming from her.
And yet I didn’t smell anything wrong before the poisoning either.
I can imagine the look she’d give me. The flat, unimpressed stare that says she has judged me and found me lacking.
And the thing is, I don’t know if I deserve it or not.
It would’ve been so much easier if she was the woman I’d prepared for: thoughtless, blunt, all muscles and command with a lack of sense to back it up.
It would be easier if she were the type of person who could stand outside the door and listen to everyone in a room turn to stone and do nothing but feel victory.
But she ran. When she saw her father, she made a sound I’ve only ever heard from animals in traps.
She went to him as if she’d claw her way through burning wood to get one more moment with him.
That didn’t seem like a performance. That felt marrow-deep.
The metallic taste thickens, and I swallow against it.
Or swallow it down. At this point, I don’t know what I’m doing.
My tongue feels too wrong in my mouth. Heavy, clumsy, like it belongs to someone else.
The heat in my face seems to steady, like pain that’s here for the long haul settles into a dull ache.
Replaying the last two hours is a silent torture.
Worse, though, is the undeniable wish that I could rewind time.
Of all the magic I have learned, the only power I would love to possess is to reverse time.
Pity that time-based magic does not exist. I cannot go back and change my failures.
Cannot tell my younger self to be more alert.
I can do nothing but helplessly carry the burden of guilt, which I will gladly bear.
Because my lack of instincts killed mine and Esmerelda’s families as surely as if I had poured the poison down their throats one by one.
I look at Esmerelda again, because I can’t not.
As much as I hate to admit it, there is something about her presence I can’t ever ignore, no matter how hard I try.
She’s still, and yet not. The energy around her vibrates with tension.
It’s the kind of tension which screams containment.
Like if she let herself go, she would implode from the inside out.
There are too many contradictions with this woman, and it’s maddening.
I wish it was all clear-cut. I hope I’m not making the second biggest mistake of my life.
I can’t afford to be wrong about Esmerelda. Not now.
The door creaks open, and my wolf rises, hackles raised, braced for more questioning.
But it’s Leonard who bursts in with Minerva right behind him. Both are windblown, wide-eyed, and wild with worry until they see me.
“You’re okay,” Leonard breathes. Then he pulls me into a rough, grounding hug before muttering, “Damn it, you scared the hell out of me.”
Minerva doesn’t wait for an invitation. She crosses the room in three long strides and wraps Esmerelda in her arms, murmuring something I can’t hear. Esmerelda, who looked like she might shatter just moments ago, sinks into her friend’s strength.
Thaloran and Eryndor enters behind them, their faces solemn but not as stern as before.
“We’ve concluded that neither you nor your companions are suspects,” he says.
“In fact, it’s likely whoever orchestrated this didn’t account for the unexpected.
Miss Lovell, you can thank your lucky stars you were tardy.
You saved your lady-in-waiting and Leonard.
And of course…” He looks at me. “If no one knows about you being a half-breed, there was no reason to suspect you’d be immune to wolfsbane. It seems it was your lucky day.”
“We lost everyone we love. How is that lucky?” Esmerelda stands. There’s a strength in her voice that hasn’t been present in her body language.
“Yes, a rather unfortunate choice of words. The other unexpected change in plans is that Councilwoman Tallulah was a casualty of all this. Her family is enraged that this happened in your care.”
“Well, do they know we had nothing to do with it?” Esmerelda asks.
“They will,” Eryndor says.
“None of you were meant to survive. You were all targets,” Thaloran says.
Leonard lets out a low whistle. I straighten but don’t speak.
“You’ll be moved to a secure location,” the enforcer continues. “Your safety is our concern now. Until the council finishes its investigation, you are not to interfere. No digging. No retaliation. I mean it.”
He levels his stare at each of us in turn.
I nod. Esmerelda doesn’t.
And when she turns her head just enough to meet my eyes, I see it.
Defiance.
My wolf stirs, recognizing a fighter. Recognizing his match.
Good.
The council might want us benched, but neither of us is built to sit still while our families are frozen in stone.
Thaloran hands us folders with travel plans and address details.
Leonard snorts. “You can’t seriously believe we’re going to sit back and let someone declare war on us without retaliating?”
“Yes,” Eryndor says dryly. “And we aren’t afraid to keep you trapped in a portal if you disobey. Your choice is a place of safety, or a dungeon with magical binds. Either way, we don’t care. You will be safe.”
Minerva groans. “You’re tying our hands on a fight that’s ours.”
“We’ll have agents monitoring the property. Like I said, we don’t care how we have to keep you safe, we will keep you safe.”
He doesn’t wait for our replies, just nods once and leaves.
The room settles again, but something’s shifted.
Leonard breaks the silence. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m not built to play house.”
“Good,” Esmerelda mutters. “Because we’re not going to.”
Her steely tone sends a shiver of relief down my spine. I didn’t like seeing her broken.
We blink and are back in the dining room. No one inhales sharply; our silence is the only sound. But yet it is like a scream has stolen the oxygen out of the room as we all take in the aftermath.
I don’t say anything as I head to the bedroom and start packing. Methodically. Quietly.
I grab vials of herbs. Every encrypted thumb drive. Every old, leather-bound book that might help me identify what kind of magic was woven into that wine.
Whoever did this didn’t just try to destroy our families. They tried to use us to do it.
And they have no idea what kind of mistake that was.
Esmerelda walks into the room. I expect her to head to the closet and start packing her clothing, but she doesn’t. She methodically starts handing me the potions I set out on the bed. I turn to her.
We share a look, an unspoken understanding.
We’re on the same page.
Finally.