Chapter 48 Paeonia
?PAEONIA
When they arrived in Findale the following afternoon, Rowan brought Paeonia to the forest’s edge, coaxing her to use her magic to bring back the light.
To push the sickness away. To stop the spread.
Only half-fae, she found it difficult, but she eventually managed to draw the flowers into beautiful shades, dismissing their wilting and shedding state.
Reminiscent of those strings she pulled when she captured Laurus’ curse.
As they entered Findale, she marveled at the difference already, how the darkness had begun to subside now that Rowan’s father wasn’t actively spreading the rot.
Their cottage hadn’t changed. Frosted flowers still bloomed along the bushes.
It stood just as crooked as always—its ivy-cloaked walls curled around the shutters like old hands, the roof still bowing under years of snow and storm.
But now, a thin golden mist clung to the mossy stone, trailing through the air like a breath finally released.
Rowan stopped short just beyond the garden gate, his hand resting on the top of the wooden post. “He’s inside?”
Paeonia nodded, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Yes. But if he’s—if he’s still… I mean, if it hasn’t—” Her words tangled, overwhelmed by the memories of watching her father fade like a leaf in the sun.
Rowan didn’t speak. He simply stepped aside and let her lead, Castor lingering behind.
She pushed open the door, the familiar creak startlingly loud after so many days of magic and murmured forests. The cottage smelt of old books, dried herbs, and firewood.
Her father sat in his usual chair by the window, half-slumped in sleep, a blanket tangled in his lap. But there was color in his cheeks again. His skin wasn’t as sallow. And when she gasped, rushing forward, his eyes blinked open.
“Nia?”
She dropped to her knees beside him. “Father!”
He chuckled softly, dazed but lucid. “I thought I was dreaming there again for a moment.”
“You’re not.” Her hands found his, and she nearly wept at their warmth. “The forsaken—it’s slipping. You’re healing.”
He gave a weak smile. “I had the strangest dream. The flowers kept whispering to me. Calling me back.” Then his attention drifted past her shoulder and landed on Rowan.
He stiffened, eyes flashing wide.
Rowan stood in the doorway, tall and shadowed in the hearth’s light, arms crossed.
Her father seemed frozen. “That…is the fae?”
Rowan dipped his chin slightly. “Grim Fae, if you want to be precise.”
Castor stepped out from behind him. “Make that two.”
A beat of silence passed as Paeonia let the air settle.
To her surprise, her father huffed a dry laugh. “Well. I suppose I’ve seen stranger things this week.” His gaze flicked to Paeonia.
She flushed, but held her father’s hand tighter. “He saved me. Saved us all.”
“Is that so?” Her father narrowed his eyes, assessing Rowan the way he might a rare sprouting mushroom. “Never thought I’d see a fae in my own cottage again. Let alone owe one.”
Rowan raised a brow. “I’m not collecting debts today.”
Castor lingered by the kitchen, picking up trinkets, turning them over in his hand, curiously exploring her cottage. “So, this is how you lived,” he hummed as he looked over the array of books and clutter. “Explains a lot.”
Paeonia smiled. “There’s something else.” She reached into the neckline of her dress and drew out the locket. “It’s about Mother.”
Her father’s smile faltered.
“I opened it,” she said softly. “In the manor. It… It reacted to the garden. To Rowan.”
The lines in his face deepened. “Your mother...” He took a long breath.
“She never told me. Not at first. I think she was scared I’d turn her in, or abandon her.
I suspected she was fae-touched before she ever admitted it.
She never aged a day. And she’d go walking in the garden at night, barefoot, whispering to the flowers like they were old friends.
I caught her more than once—watching the stars, singing in a language I couldn’t understand. ”
Paeonia blinked back tears.
“I thought—maybe if I pretended hard enough she was human, she’d stay with me.” He looked away, ashamed. “When she died, I tried to pretend all of it was just stories. Easier than wondering why she left no trace.”
“I’m just glad you’re telling me about her now,” she said gently. “I think… I think I was meant to find the truth when I was ready.”
He looked at her, really looked at her, and his eyes welled. “I suppose I owe your friend a thanks.”
Rowan grumbled under his breath, and Paeonia knew it was because her father referred to him as her friend. “It wasn’t for gratitude.”
“No,” her father said, eyes twinkling faintly. “It was for her.”
Paeonia squeezed his hand, the locket warm against her chest. The cottage creaked in the settling light, and for the first time in weeks, everything felt like it might truly be all right.
A small clattering of pans clashed, all three of them turning toward Castor. He bent to collect the fallen kitchenware. “Sorry.”
She shook her head, smiling.
“And what will we do now?” Paeonia asked Rowan several minutes later, her father sitting happily, drinking his tea, lecturing Castor about the misuse of astrolabes.
“Would you like to come with me to the fae realm?”
Her eyes mooned. Her father sat in her peripheral vision, alive and well. She worried her bottom lip, and Rowan’s hand on her cheek forced her attention.
“Not forever, Pae. Just to return Laurus. To see what has become of that realm. But I plan on returning here. To be with you.”
She sucked in a gasp. “Being here was your punishment. Are you sure you want to stay?”
He gave her a soft smile. “It was my punishment. For years it was. For years my life drained with every passing day I spent locked in Lyth. But now, with you, it could never be anything but a reward. You are the life I want to live.”
The End