Evermore

Chapter 29

?PAEONIA

Rowan departed from her the moment they arrived back at the castle, and the sinking feeling in her heart that followed discomfited her.

She roamed the halls, breathing deeply and reminding herself of all the reasons her and Rowan couldn’t work.

How easily he had succumbed to her wishes. He freed the Gloamcaps with barely a fight. He had corrected himself when she interpreted spite in his tone instead of leaving her misguided. He had wanted to make her happy, of all things. She must’ve been going mad.

She rubbed her temples, deciding to return to her chambers. But before she made it very far, the castle seemed inclined to tease her. The door with the stained handle stood before her. Except this time, it was left open a crack.

Her pulse quickened as she stepped across the rug and pushed open the door all the way.

Darkness swallowed the room. She narrowed her eyes and made out the shape of a window, but the night offered no assistance in illuminating the room—no moonlight, no stars, nothing to guide her.

Slipping back into the hallway, she took a candle from one of the sconces, and hurried into the room again.

The flickering flame she now held cast light on the forgotten space.

Old furniture loomed in silhouette, draped in dust and cobwebs.

A spider flinched from the glow, and she shuddered.

As she crept deeper inside, something along the wall caught her eye—frames.

Several picture frames, all propped against the wall.

She approached and crouched beside them, tugging one carefully forward to better see it. Wedging the half-melted candlestick into a nook of a nearby table, she used both hands to shift the paintings, revealing what lay beneath the layers of grime and time.

They were all portraits. Faces she didn’t recognize, strangers, each one rendered in fading paint and dust. She wondered if they were now Stoneborne. One by one, she pulled the canvases forward, studying each figure. Then she froze, her breath catching.

It was Rowan. Younger, softer. His features were less severe, his hair longer, his expression unreadable—but unmistakably him.

He didn’t smile, just looked out from the canvas, as if waiting.

She gently brushed her fingers across the dust-laced surface, heart aching with questions.

Why had these been hidden away and forgotten?

Now that she’d seen him, she turned back to the others with new eyes.

Another man, strikingly similar, stood with the same proud posture—perhaps a brother.

Near the end, an older woman smiled beside a somber man.

Their skin matched Rowan’s, their hair dark and curling like his.

His parents, maybe. A family sealed in silence, left to fade in the dark.

She glanced back at Rowan’s portrait, lingering on the way the artist had captured his eyes: dark, intense, almost glowing.

It unsettled her how lifelike they felt, as if they could see her.

She rose to her feet, reminding herself of the hour, and eased out of the room, careful not to let the door latch behind her.

She thought she might return. Maybe during the day, when the shadows didn’t press so heavily. Not to admire them, but to analyze the portraits more closely. To see if the room held any more secrets tucked between the walls.

In nerves, she went to clutch her locket, but it wasn’t there.

Her eyes widened, a rush of anxiety swarming her bloodstream, the hall closing in on her.

She traced the floor around her, wondering if the chain had broken and fallen off.

She patted her skirt pockets. Nothing. She moved her hand in a feverish sweep over her décolletage again, her fear growing as she traced her bare skin.

She scoured the grounds, but the halls dizzied her.

She stared for several minutes at one of the walls, her mind digging through her day, trying to remember a time she might have removed the necklace or felt it fall. Could she have lost it in the auction house?

She finally decided to go back to her room with much regret and look again in the morning. Perhaps it had just slipped her mind, and she’d remember after a good night’s sleep. She bit at her finger as she trailed the corridors.

She found Castor the next morning in the garden, a fluttering flurry decorating the air like falling stars as they worked.

She still hadn’t found her locket. She even asked Ren if she had seen it.

Ren offered to search the castle with her, trying to calm Paeonia’s nerves.

Her chest was tight all morning at the idea of her losing it at the auction house.

She’d never get it back if that was the case.

She gripped the wheelbarrow to distract from the stinging in her heart, spreading the fertilizer on the plants to help them thrive in the winter. She patted them down, her gloves dirtying.

“Castor,” she called after over an hour of working beside him in silence.

“Yes, Peony?”

She sat back on her heels, unsure of how to word her question. If she even had a question at all. But she did, and she wanted to shift her mind to something more productive than just worry. “Last night, I was wandering.”

“Yes, you seem to do that.” He moved the wheelbarrow and scooped another clump of fertilizer.

“Well”—she swallowed—“that room I mentioned before. The one with the rose—”

Castor stopped moving and she imagined his eyes flickered over to her under his helm.

“It was unlocked.”

Castor shook his head. “Oh, foolish, Peony. Always treading where you shouldn’t.”

She began to work again, grabbing more fertilizer before patting it into the earth. “I went inside. And I found portraits. Paintings that probably hung where all those faded spots are.”

He remained quiet.

“And one of them was of Rowan.”

Castor quickly moved to squat before her. She halted her work and watched him intently. “It’s like you enjoy seeking out things to get you in trouble.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

Castor shook his head.

“Please,” she begged. She hoped they had become friends well enough that he wouldn’t torment her and would answer her question regardless of the fact that she hadn’t asked it of Rowan. The winter blooms beside her shrunk away, almost like they were wallowing in her frustration.

Her eyes traced the flower’s movement, and Castor sighed, sitting back on the frozen ground. “Rowan locked them in there years ago.”

“Why? They’re so beautiful.”

His lips slanted. “He got in a fight with his brother, you see.”

That must have been who the other young male in the portrait was.

“Laurus. He… Well, there was betrayal. And pain. Lots of pain. I couldn’t tell you who was in the right.

Neither of them, I suppose. But Rowan shoved those portraits into that room to rot.

I’m not sure why he never just burned them.

He knows they’re still in the castle. Perhaps he realized burning them wouldn’t do any good.

It wouldn’t bring his brother back.” Castor brushed dirt off his legs.

“Or perhaps he knew he’d miss them in time. ”

“His brother is dead?” Paeonia asked in a hushed tone.

Castor shook his head. “To Rowan, he is.”

Paeonia gave Castor a pleading look, begging him to say more.

He chuckled before nudging her arm. “Laurus was a paladin. A righteous Grim Fae. And Rowan…Rowan never was a pious male. And one day, Rowan did something that Laurus could never forgive. Broke the brothers apart for good. It’s why Rowan is stuck here. Trapped in Lyth. In their old home.”

“So he lived here with his family?”

Castor moved his head back and forth as if to say, sort of. “It was one of the meeting spots of the Alder Court. Though, not anymore.” He flicked a pebble with his fingers.

She glanced around. “Does this have anything to do with why you might betray me?”

Castor choked, his head turning to her. “Peony…”

She shook her head. “How do your questions work?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, how do you always know the answer or know when I’ve truly asked the question of Rowan?”

“Magic,” he muttered with fake astonishment.

She wrung her purple-gloved hands together. “If I asked you, say, where something was that I lost—would you be able to help?”

He set down his trowel. “What did you lose?”

“My locket,” she whispered.

A soft breeze numbed her cheeks as Castor shifted toward her. “I’m sorry, Peony. My magic doesn’t work quite like that.”

She nodded. “I figured.” She couldn’t disguise the heartache in her tone. Castor went to speak, his lips parting, but Paeonia shot to her feet. “I want to show you something.”

She didn’t want to wallow over a material thing. Didn’t want her heart to hurt more with Castor’s kind words he was sure to offer. So instead, she resulted in dragging the Stoneborne to the graveyard.

“What are you—?” he began as he trailed her into the alcove.

She pointed to Cecilia’s tombstone and his voice clipped.

She had spent more time at it, singing a soft tune, thinking of positive things, and the flowers continuously and boisterously bloomed.

They wrapped around the headstone, bright grass decorating the dirt opposed to how it should look in the winter.

He remained silent for several moments, and Paeonia wondered if she had done something wrong. She bit her lip, her smile sinking as she watched him.

Finally, he turned his body toward her, his lips turning upward. “You really are something else, Peony.”

She smiled shyly before Castor surprised her by pulling her in for a hug.

Sybil sprawled herself out on one of the couches in the many sitting rooms as Paeonia quietly floated through the threshold.

“I might die of boredom,” Sybil muttered, her hand dramatically draped across her forehead.

“Can Stoneborne die?” Paeonia asked as she approached the fae, the book she wanted to gift her held tightly in her hands.

“I don’t know. Hopefully. Probably not. Perhaps if we fell a great distance onto a hard surface,” Sybil theorized plainly.

Paeonia grinned. “I have something that might actually help with your theatrics.”

Sybil sat upright. “A gift?” she asked wistfully. She grinned, biting her lip. “For me?”

“Yes.” Paeonia moved to the couch and outstretched the book wrapped in brown parchment.

“I haven’t received a gift in… Well, I don’t know how long.” She took it between her hands, admiring it. “Thank you, Nia.” She was quick to tear open the present.

Silence ensued as Sybil read the title, then she let out a little screech. “A romance!”

Paeonia sat beside her on the loveseat. “I hope it’s all right. I’ve never read it before, but it seemed like something you might enjoy.”

“Oh, I’m certain of it. I’ll make you read it after me so we can talk about all the juicy bits!” All her teeth were on display as she smiled. “You know, you’re the best thing that has happened to this castle in…since its existence.”

Paeonia flushed. “I don’t know about that.”

Sybil climbed to her knees and gestured a hand to the window behind her. “Look.”

The gardens below had their usual dark gloom, the amber lights from the candles flickering deep in the bushes. Ivy crawled along the windowpane, slithering further as Paeonia let the compliment swell her heart.

“The garden has never blossomed like this. It’s usually quite the struggle to keep it from withering away, and that’s even during the warm months, let alone winter.” She shifted to face her again. “That is all you, Nia. You marvelous, wondrous thing.”

Paeonia tried to retain her glee, biting her lip to keep from smiling too brightly. She wasn’t used to being needed. To being appreciated like this. It felt foreign. It felt good.

“And,” Sybil added, “I noticed how much more the gardens have been flourishing since your wedding.”

Paeonia’s cheeks warmed.

“How did it go?” Sybil wiggled her eyebrows, and Paeonia wanted to slip away in embarrassment.

“Well,” she stuttered, “I suppose it went how you’d expect.”

“Oh, did it now?” Sybil grinned. “Tell me! Oh, don’t make that face! Please, there is so little that happens around here. And I haven’t felt the touch of a man or woman in decades. Do not spare me the details!”

“Can Stoneborne…?” Paeonia began boldly.

Sybil wiggled her fingers in the air. “I’ve heard they can. I mean, I don’t think it’d be the same, and I think if they were to engage with another being not made of stone, the other person would likely enjoy it much more.”

The way Sybil was able to talk about such intimate things so flippantly made Paeonia straighten her spine and force herself to be braver.

To talk about these things just as all women did with their friends.

She sucked in a breath. “Rowan and I didn’t…

Well, we didn’t exactly—” She coughed, and Sybil smiled but didn’t tease her as she tried to find her tongue. “He, uhm, used his mouth on me.”

Sybil’s eyebrows rose. “You mean, beyond your lips?”

Paeonia nodded, positive her face was bright red.

“And, how was it?”

“I mean, it was good. It, well—it felt nice.”

Sybil leaned back against the settee, putting her book beside her on the cushion. “You’re saying you enjoyed his touch?”

Paeonia bit her lip, her eyes flickering away briefly, and nodded. Sybil made a small sound in her throat in satisfaction.

“I do have a question, though,” Paeonia added. “That is all we did. And…do men—males—usually enjoy it? Kissing a woman down there, I mean.”

Sybil tilted her head. “Good ones do.” She examined her. “Did Rowan…?”

“He”—she swallowed hard—“touched himself while he used his mouth—and fingers—on me.”

Sybil squealed, the back of her hand rising to her forehead in a swoon. “Oh, how I wish I could experience that again.”

A deep pull sank in Paeonia’s chest. “Could you ever become fae again?”

She tilted her head to look at her. “Yes. If Rowan breaks his curse, he’d be able to gain his full magic back. And he’d free us of our bargain with the Alder Court. All of the Stoneborne.”

“Well, then we must break his curse.”

“And if you do, will you return back to Findale?”

Paeonia dug her fingers into her thighs. “I have to return to my father.”

Sybil nodded in understanding. “Perhaps,” Sybil began, her voice more hesitant than the boisterousness it held moments ago, “when you go back—to your father—I could come visit you. Even if I’m still Stoneborne. Only if you’d want that, of course.”

“Are you allowed to do that?” She had assumed the Stoneborne were trapped here.

“Yes. We can leave, but it comes at great cost if a human were to see us. Though, if I come at night, I think I’d manage fine.”

“Yes,” Paeonia chirped. “I’d love for you to visit.”

Suddenly, life didn’t seem so dull.