Chapter 47 Paeonia
?PAEONIA
“What do we do now?” Paeonia asked when they got back inside, searching for the Stoneborne.
“With the Eldritch gone, they need a new guardian of the forest. To rein in their terror.”
Paeonia glanced Rowan’s way as they strolled into the parlor.
“I will do it.”
“Rowan,” she breathed.
“I’ll become the guardian. I’ll retract their advances in the forsaken. You’ll help me heal them.”
“But the humans have corrupted the woods. We can’t stop them.”
“No. We cannot stop the humans from their own toxicity. But we can keep it out of the forest. It’s what the guardian does. Was supposed to do.”
“And that would free my father?”
He nodded. “Yes, I think it would.”
They found Castor at the bottom of the stairs, approaching the two of them.
Rowan grabbed her chin and forced her face more in line with his own. “You will restore the flora.”
Paeonia’s eyes lit, suddenly embarrassed and nervous at the same time.
The curse was broken. Rowan would be free to leave. “But don’t you want to leave Lyth?” She needed to know when he might leave for the fae realm. She had to remind herself that this is the entire reason he wanted to shatter the curse. He didn’t want to be trapped in Lyth. Her chest went tight.
Before he could speak, Castor cut him off. “Laurus is in his old room. What shall we do with him?”
“I think I’d like to take him back to the fae realm, see what the rest of the Alder Court proposes.” He shivered. “I am not looking forward to seeing them again.”
“I’m sure they’ll be just as thrilled to see you,” Castor added. “And what about us?”
Paeonia fiddled with her locket in her pocket, the metallic surface now cracked.
“I will free you from this prison, now that my powers are back to full capacity. You no longer belong in penance to the Alder Court. None of you,” he added as he gazed at Sybil and the other Stoneborne creeping around the bend. “Anyone who wishes to leave, will be granted such permissions.”
Castor grinned. “Quite generous of you.”
Rowan turned to Paeonia, speaking lowly. “This does not include you. You aren’t going anywhere.”
Her cheeks grew warm. “But my father—”
“We will go to your father. Together.”
She held back an exceptionally large grin as Rowan strolled away. “Where is he going?” she asked as she and Castor trailed him.
“Why, to sever the bargains that tie us to this estate.”
Sybil and Lord Olivander made their way to walk with them until Rowan was back at the room Sybil and Paeonia had explored days ago.
Rowan shifted through the maze of scrolls, the air shaking with his ancient power.
She wondered if the others could feel it.
The way his magic seemed to breathe within the confines of the castle.
She could feel the darkness from him slithering around her.
She had noticed moments, small glimpses, of it before, but now it thrummed rebelliously loud.
Rowan held papers before him and turned them to ash before edging back toward Paeonia.
At first, nothing happened. Then, one by one, the Stoneborne dropped to their knees, stone limbs trembling, eyes wide with wonder or fear—perhaps both.
Cracks split along their skin like shattering pottery, and golden light spilled through the seams. The cracks deepened until fragments began to fall away, not in rot, but as though time were gently unmaking them.
Stone faces crumbled like old bark to reveal soft skin beneath.
Eyes blinked open—real eyes this time, not slate hollows. Lashes. Breath. Tears.
Paeonia clutched Rowan’s arm, unable to look away. “Gods,” she whispered.
Across the hall, the small stature of a child watching from behind the bend, broke apart in a burst of petals and dust, revealing a small girl with rounded ears and wild golden curls. Yvette. She gasped and immediately began sobbing, collapsing into the arms of a newly-revealed Sybil.
Some of the other Stoneborne, one being Ren, had sensed the commotion—or perhaps the castle led them here—appearing in the hall.
They collapsed, clutching their chests as if breath was a foreign thing.
Some screamed, not in pain, but in release, like waking from a centuries-long nightmare.
The moss that had grown over their forms now flaked away like ash, revealing living beings.
Her attention focused on Castor, who stood still.
His armor now shined in the light, but he hesitated.
He was slow to remove his helm, his soft curls catching the candlelight.
He flipped his hand over in awe, curious about his features as the gray faded.
His gaze met hers, his head tilting, his entire being springing to how he had once been long before he ever met Paeonia.
He was tentative as he approached closer, his blue eyes finally getting a chance to greet her.
She smiled wildly. He had been handsome underneath. Younger looking than she thought. Curly hair, a scruffy beard, deep tanned skin. And sure enough, those pointed ears.
“Well?” he asked after too long a pause. “How bad is it?”
Paeonia laughed. “You’re very handsome.”
He grinned, stroking his chin. “Yes. Thought as much.”
Rowan held Paeonia’s hand and she could feel it—like a thread snapping loose from his spine—the absence of the curse, the magic unwinding. The garden breathing again, alive not with silence but with song.
Rowan stumbled back, drained. “Let us rest.” The exhaustion laced his tone. “We can go to your father in the morning.”
She nodded, following him to his chambers.
He collapsed on top of the covers, and Paeonia hesitantly stripped into her simple frock, biting her lip in debate.
Wondering if she should leave him to sleep in his room alone.
But something in her heart forced her to stay.
She climbed on top of the covers beside him, thinking him already asleep, when his arms reached for her, dragging her against his chest. She yelped, letting him snuggle her close.
For the first time since she arrived, she slept without worry.