Chapter 19 Paeonia
?PAEONIA
Rowan agreed to leave later in the day, and Paeonia strolled the gardens alone.
She did her ground work, swallowing her thoughts and her conversation with Sybil.
She admired the flowers, still in shock at how drastically they could change with her emotions.
If only she could figure out how to harness that.
She eventually grew cold, trailing back inside, checking one of the many clocks—most of which were broken—to see it had finally grown close enough to late afternoon.
She grimaced, biting at her fingernails.
She still felt unsure about the Night Market, but she swallowed the fear, standing tall. She moved in the halls, seeking Rowan.
She rounded past the dining room, Rowan’s baritone echoing against the wooden walls. She went to open the door when her hand froze mid-air, Castor’s voice halting her. “Perhaps I could sweeten her up. Get her to want me—us. Drag her hand in hand to your bed, both of us on our knees—”
Paeonia stumbled back, and she forced herself to move in the other direction. Her legs weak, causing her to run straight into a floor standing candelabra, her heart racing as she steadied it before it could crash to the floor.
Was everyone here a past lover of Rowan’s? Oddly enough, that made sense. And now, he wanted Castor and her in his bed? Fear and anger laced her blood, bidding her to move back to the gardens.
An odd swelling slugged in her chest. Made her want to keel over, a mixture of anxiety and resentment.
She pushed away the nausea, slipping into the frigid air, the soft lacey blanket of snow peppering the ground.
She followed her earlier footprints, looking out beyond the horizon, attempting to picture her father.
To imagine him recovering, feeling better, waiting for Paeonia to return so he could tell her the good news.
Her wedding band warmed around her finger—too warm. She removed it and slid it into her pocket, trying to steady her hand.
Before she had the time to process her raging feeling, a honeyed voice called from behind her.
“Nia!”
Paeonia turned, Sybil hustling over to her, greeting her with a faint smile.
“Come with me,” she gleamed as she slowed before her.
Paeonia willingly followed. “What’s happening?”
Sybil walked with a slight bounce in her step.
“Ever since we talked this morning, it got me thinking. About your bargain—about the forsaken.” They strolled into the castle, and Sybil led the way, seemingly having no rhyme or reason for the path she took.
“And I began to wonder if your bargain—anyone’s bargain—had to do with the forsaken.
The woods are alive. They breathe and feel just as we do.
” She beamed at Paeonia. “And, well”—she bit her lip—“let me show you.”
Paeonia’s heart thumped a few extra beats as she trailed her friend. “Where are we going?”
“I don’t know,” Sybil hummed.
Paeonia raised a brow. “What?”
Sybil peered over her shoulder, giving Paeonia a displeased expression. “You do know how these halls work, don’t you?”
Paeonia hesitantly shook her head.
“The castle doesn’t like to be understood,” she began, waving her hands around in a grand gesture. “Just like Rowan,” she snickered. “It will only take you to where you want if you aren’t looking for it.”
“So,” Paeonia started, trying to piece together Sybil’s words, “you just aimlessly wander the halls until…”
“Yes. Until it brings me to where I wanted to go in the first place.” Sybil tilted her head and smirked. “How have you been getting to your room all this time?”
Paeonia’s cheeks warmed. “I…I usually get lost.” She had been too bashful to ask for directions after being here for so long.
“Ah,” Sybil hummed. “I suppose losing your way is one way to do it.”
Paeonia timidly scanned the walls they passed, seeing the inanimate in a new light. Sybil halted.
“I’ve never seen this door before,” Paeonia said flatly.
“Yes, Nia. Because your heart never sought it out.” Sybil grinned and opened it, stepping inside.
Paeonia crossed the threshold and was immediately taken aback.
Wooden shelves lined the spacious room. A few tall tables spread throughout, stacked high with books and ledgers.
Quills were strewn about the chaos, rolled parchment shoved in slots on the shelves, some opened and laid messily on the tables.
There was no natural light, no window, and Paeonia assumed that was to preserve the parchment.
Instead, an odd, unearthly glow bore from the ceiling with no discernible source.
Scattered coins were left in odd places, along with other fascinating trinkets.
“What is this?” Paeonia asked as she spun around, taking it all in.
“This, Nia, is where the Alder Court stores their bargains.”
Paeonia blinked several times. “Their bargains,” she repeated.
Sybil moved to one of the tables that seemed to have been pilfered through recently and picked an opened scroll. She handed it to her. The parchment was rough in her palm, the paper crinkling as she steadied it. Her eyes glazed over the page before widening.
“This is a bargain Rowan made.” She traced a finger across Rowan’s signature scribbled at the bottom in scratchy ink.
Sybil nodded, leaning back against the workbench. “Every bargain is written down. It seals it, locks it in time, bound to the party indefinitely.”
The room tilted, and Paeonia almost stumbled backward.
“Nia?” Sybil asked cautiously. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”
“Bargains are sealed in parchment?”
Sybil hesitated. “Yes…”
“What about a blood bargain?”
“A…blood bargain? I’m not sure what that is.”
Paeonia closed her eyes, commanding her body to still. To settle her green stomach. “Fae don’t seal their deals in blood?”
Sybil looked at her like she had gone mad. “Not that I’ve ever heard. Perhaps in ancient times.”
Her heart grew hot, uncomfortable behind her ribs.
“But,” Sybil added, looking above her as she thought, “they do exchange blood for other things. Instead of a bargain.”
Paeonia’s heart thrummed. “Like what?”
“Hm,” she hummed. “For control.”
“Control?”
Sybil rested her hands on the wooden table. “Why so curious about blood magic?”
Paeonia bit her lip, hesitant in revealing that first night to her—how Rowan had split open her skin along the back of her neck, his tongue tracing over it. Embarrassment seeped through her and made her lips seal in shame. She gave her friend pleading eyes.
Sybil leaned back against the wall. “Well, it’s a talent partial to the Alder Court.”
“And what is the Alder Court you keep mentioning?”
“The court Rowan belongs to—belonged to. They once used this castle as a meeting ground when in Lyth. Now, it’s just Rowan.
” Sybil’s eyes traced her, the slight silvery glow of her iris the only indication of where she had been looking.
“And the Alder Court was known to be controlling. They relished in that ability. In using the trees as a blockade. And, sometimes, they had used blood oaths. It’s tricky because the blood has to be given willingly; they can’t just force it.
But once it is done, they gain some semblance of control over another—surpassing their own motivations. ”
Pain rushed inside her, clogging her chest, and clouding her mind. What had Rowan done to her? What did he now control? Had her desires, as small as they were, for him been a fabrication?
Paeonia’s hands fell limp so the scroll rested against her thigh. “What does this have to do with the forsaken?”
Sybil didn’t acknowledge Paeonia’s shift to recenter the topic of conversation, and she was glad for it. She gestured for Paeonia to move closer then pointed to the ledger splayed before her.
“Years ago, around the first sightings of the forsaken, a page went missing. The pages are dated from 458 to 462. Which is where the beginning of the forsaken would sit. But the page has been torn out.”
Paeonia stroked the ripped edges in the binding, biting her lip. “So you think—?”
“I think someone made a deal with the Alder Court, and in consequence, the forsaken occurred.” Sybil rested both hands on the table, looking self-assured to have been solving the mystery. “That, or someone made a bargain for the forsaken.”
Paeonia swallowed. “What would that mean for the disease? Could it be stopped?”
“I’m not sure.” Sybil shook her head. “The page is missing, so the bargain can’t be undone or rewritten.”
“How do we find out? Do any of the other Stoneborne know? Perhaps—”
“I doubt it. They’d have to have been alive all those years ago.”
Paeonia was hesitant to meet Sybil’s eyes.
“Someone of the Alder Court. But there is only one member left in Lyth.”
Paeonia’s lips sank into a frown. “Rowan.”
A thin layer of snow blanketed the ground, the rays of sun creating dancing shadows before her as it began to set lower in the sky.
Paeonia’s boots crunched as she trekked beside Rowan, her hands warm under her cloak, shaking with nerves.
Her mind was soaked with the information Sybil had shown her just before she departed for the Night Market.
If the forsaken was truly some form of punishment—a break in a bargain—no herbal remedy could possibly cure it, right?
And if Rowan did know something about the forsaken…
That thought fueled her already simmering anger.
He acted like he had no idea. What if Rowan was lying to her?
What if he knew some crucial detail to the innerworkings of the forsaken, and he kept it from her?
What if he was the one who tore that page out?
She quickly subdued the helplessness, pursing her lips and shoving the thoughts to the back of her mind.
“The Night Market seems rather close,” she said, hoping to break her thoughts and tear away her cynicism.
“Yes.”
She glanced at him. “How do you know the way? How have humans not found it?”