Chapter 26
Evelyn
The warm weight of Ambrose’s palm at my back was more distracting than I cared to admit. What had happened in there? We hadn’t decided anything. Lord Arctos had cut off the one conversation we should have had. “What did you speak about before I arrived?”
Ambrose shrugged. “He asked about our work prior to this. I told him what I could of your papers and my history work at the library.”
“You didn’t discuss theories?”
He shook his head. “Not more than what you said. I didn’t want to discuss the idea of working through the magic, since it would involve sharing our predicament.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “Lord Arctos obviously knows, but I don’t think he’ll tell the Vesten Point unless we do. And I’d rather not tell him when our situation only makes us look incompetent with blood magic.”
Ambrose’s ears pinkened, but he nodded. “Every time I asked about anchors, Lord Arctos changed the topic.”
That didn’t seem right. It was part of the reason we were here. I only had myself to blame for not being there to witness it, though. If I hadn’t lost my composure when my father showed up, if I hadn’t shifted and run, maybe I could have combatted Lord Arctos’s redirections.
I rubbed my forehead. It throbbed worse when Ambrose’s hand dropped from my back.
He said something about the house and the layout that I didn’t quite catch.
It wasn’t as if I didn’t trust Ambrose to relay our ideas.
Astonishingly, I did. But that wasn’t really the point.
I wanted to have an impact on the direction of our court, and being in the room during the discussion was part of that.
Mostly, I was disappointed in myself for missing out.
“What painting did you see about the creation?” Ambrose asked.
That brought me from my thoughts. “Lord Arctos didn’t give you a tour?”
He laughed dryly. “Lord Arctos doesn’t find me as entertaining as he finds you.”
I wasn’t sure what to make of that, but I knew, with Ambrose’s knowledge of fae history, the painting might mean more to him than it did to me. I took his hand and pulled him in the opposite direction.
He sucked in a breath behind me, but as I tugged, he stumbled along. At some point, he must have decided to follow me, because no amount of force from me could drag Ambrose Yarrow anywhere he didn’t want to go. He was too big. His hand was too warm and reassuring.
Wait. What?
No, I felt it—his hand reclasped mine like it held on for dear life. It was like I was an adventure, and he wasn’t sure he dared to embark. His grip tightened as we followed the hallway near the entry.
“Do you feel the magic here?” I asked as we walked.
“The magic here feels … heavier than elsewhere. Is that what you mean?” he asked. I had an image of him pulling his hand from mine to jot notes in his journal, but they remained intertwined.
“Not that. This is different. It’s in this house, or maybe on this property specifically. The magic feels so old.” I knew I wasn’t explaining it right.
Ambrose tugged me to a stop. He shook his head. “I don’t think I feel that. Describe it.”
“I’m not sure I can. Ancient, primitive. Powerful. All I can do is describe it with single words.”
Now his hand was reaching for his notebook. “When did you start—”
I waved him off and took a few more steps down the hall. “Don’t worry about it. This is more important.” When we came to where I had stopped with Lord Arctos. I pointed to the painting. “See? They were each given gifts.”
Ambrose’s brow furrowed slightly. He stepped closer to the painting and nodded.
“What if … what if whatever this gift is could be used as an anchor?” My finger all but touched the image of the item being passed from Lord Arctos to the proud-looking Vesten female.
Suddenly, Ambrose reached out and tugged me toward him. His strong arms wrapped around me in what I could only call an embrace. “Evelyn, you’re a genius.”
I knew that. I was pretty sure he already knew that.
But if this was what it took for him to say it out loud, I’d allow it.
My cheek was pressed against his chest. He was solid, but not uncomfortable.
His chin came to rest on top of my head.
Something could be said of the way I fit so perfectly into the cage of him without feeling trapped.
My arms wrapped around his waist, and I nuzzled into him farther.
Oh, my gods. I nuzzled?
I cleared my throat, released my grip, and pushed myself back.
Some part of me didn’t want to go. But regardless of this win, nothing had changed since last night.
He was unaware that the magic didn’t affect us this way.
And I knew that wanting things for myself was foolish.
If anything, seeing my father this afternoon had been a stark reminder.
Desire brought nothing but heartache and anger.
I’d wanted my father to return—apparently, I needed to change my position on that, because he had returned at the most inconvenient time, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear his story.
Or what about my desperate wish to go to the Vesten school?
They hadn’t let me in because I wasn’t fully fae.
Or when I’d wanted someone to teach me how to use my magic?
No one would spare the time for a half-fae when I needed it.
Ambrose did. There was concern in his eyes as I met them, but he let me break our connection.
Wordlessly, I turned to focus on the painting.
It was hard to tell what the gift given to the Vesten Point was.
It was very small, even smaller than the other items pictured.
One of them looked like a dagger. That must be what the Norden Goddess, Aurora, handed to the male fae, the first Norden Point.
The other two items, from the Osten God and Suden God, looked like jewelry.
Maybe a necklace and a ring? I peered closer.
The item in Lord Arctos’s palm was even smaller than the ring.
“Can you tell what it is?”
Ambrose leaned forward, careful to give me space now that I’d separated us. I was fully aware of his presence anyway. The shape of him, the heat that always surrounded him, it was something I was painfully aware of—though usually better at ignoring.
I caught his scent as he leaned closer to the painting. The smell of pencil shavings and old books did something to me, and I couldn’t pretend it had to do with the magic connecting us.
Something sparked behind his eyes, and I knew he figured it out. “It’s the Vesten coin.”
I racked my brain trying to remember what that meant. It definitely had something to do with Vesten history.
Ambrose kept speaking. “Each of the gods granted the new court leaders an item that could enhance their power. This item works even better than we first anticipated. The object is inherently connected to the magic.”
While I’d known Ambrose would recognize the item, his answer brought a sudden exhaustion with it. Doubt swirled through my mind. I didn’t know enough Vesten history to be here. This was proof that I wasn’t one of them. Ambrose was.
My veil cat growled as my thoughts spun.
“Good. We should ask about it at the evening meal,” I said before making my escape. “I’m going to head up to my room. Can you point me in the right direction? Or I can find the steward.”
“I can show you.” His spine straightened, and he gestured forward.
He spoke a little on the walk. I knew he only filled the silence, but the information he shared, more history of the house or comments on other paintings and artifacts on display, reinforced my worry.
He surely thought he was being helpful, welcoming, but it reminded me how unprepared I was for this.
Ambrose glanced at me as he finished speaking of the second Vesten Point and the work he’d done to spread the Vesten across the continent.
His brow furrowed, and I recognized the look.
It was one he gave every experiment before declaring it complete.
It clicked then what his endless chatter meant.
He wanted to know if I was ready to talk about something even more foreign than Vesten history.
He waited for me to ask about my father.
“Did he say anything to you?”
Although Ambrose wasn’t privy to my thoughts, he clearly didn’t need an explanation about who he was.
He nodded.
“Well?”
Ambrose stopped before a door on the second floor. He pointed. “Your room is here. Mine is right next to you.” He smiled sheepishly. “Lord Arctos’s idea.”
Now he wasn’t answering. What had my father said? “Ambrose.”
He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “He wants to talk to you.”
“Yes, I think he made that clear when he ambushed me on the street.”
Ambrose’s hand didn’t manage to leave his hair; in fact, it gripped tighter at the roots. This was my family drama. What had him so worried?
“He’s staying at the inn near the Vesten cottages. He wants to talk to you.”
“You already said that.” What was he keeping from me? “Ambrose. If he said something to you, I’d like to hear it.”
His ears pinkened. “I think it should come from him. If it’s something you want to hear.”
I considered my brief interaction with my father. He’d looked … hopeful, but under my glare, as I realized who he was, his features had crumpled. What had he said? He just wanted to … what? Explain?
“Ambrose, I deserve to know what you do. He’s my father.”
Ambrose’s hazel eyes snapped to mine. I swear a glint of gold crossed them, the briefest snap of the wolf within.
“He wants to explain,” Ambrose said. “But I don’t feel qualified to pass on what I heard.
I don’t want to repeat it if you don’t believe it, and I don’t want to seem like I’m endorsing it by doing so.
You’re right. He is your father. And you deserve to hear what he has to say if you want to, but you deserve to hear it from him. ”
“Fine.” His reaction, his understanding, proved too much for me. It hinted at something too deep, too disastrous to reach for. “Thank you for the information. I’ll take care of it myself.”
He shook his head. “Are you alright? Do you want to—”
I turned the knob on the door. “Thank you, Ambrose, for explaining my absence and passing on the message, but as you said. This is my mess, I will deal with it.”
“That’s not what I—”
I didn’t wait for an explanation. Ambrose was already too tangled in every other aspect of my life at the moment.
I didn’t need to add him to this. We were colleagues.
We were magically bound. We were competing for a position on which we both seemed intent.
Worse—I wanted more. I wanted him to go with me to talk to my father.
I wanted his calm, reassuring presence when my father’s words were sure to upturn all my carefully held beliefs.
Which was precisely why I couldn’t accept what I knew he would offer.
I would deal with my father on my own. Before Ambrose could say more, I entered the room and closed the door behind me.