19. How to Make a Man Less Grumpy #3
“I’m not saying you are.” He turned to look at her fully.
“I think a scared girl was raised by terrified parents who encouraged her to treat every tragedy or loss in her life as a manifestation of a generational curse. I think a very intelligent woman saw evidence with her own eyes and came to her own conclusions. There’s more under the heavens than we understand, Guin. ”
He’d said that earlier. She smoothed her skirts and focused on a bit of lint marring her cuff.
Bran’s hand landed on hers, engulfing it.
“I’m not trying to disparage you. I’m investigating other avenues of thought.
I think it’s quite likely the curse is not a curse at all.
But a… chemical corruption, a disease passed down from one generation to the next through inner light or heat, what forms the body’s ability to cast a glamour.
The bit about dying because you fall in love is pure fantasy, born of too many scary stories passed down like family heirlooms. But the notion that a potion or external circumstances can impact a glamour… we both know the truth of that, Guin.”
Her hand made a fist, quite beyond her control, and he soothed her knuckles until she relaxed it.
He didn’t stop touching her, though. Still he ran his strong, blunt fingers up and down her knuckles.
He pulled her hand into his lap, and her leg pressed against his.
And he was wrapping his arm around her shoulders, tucking her close to his body until her head rested on his chest, and his chin atop her head.
And still he stroked her hand. “Mrs. Ariti knows of no real curses. So I asked her if she knew of any potion that caused lasting damage to the body, and she’s heard of plenty.
I asked Kikulwe the same questions. He answered similarly. ”
A chemical consequence. Not a curse. She laughed and slapped a hand over her mouth to trap it. She wasn’t supposed to feel joy.
But…
What if she could? What if she could break the curse, solve the problem? What if the plague of her life was nothing more than an equation like the one the queen had set before her? Another laugh she couldn’t keep locked away.
For the first time in a long time, she felt… hope.
And hope rolled into determination, that singular space where she worked best. She looked out the window to see how close they were to the Mayfair mansion. Close. The streets were wider, cleaner, newer.
She settled back down into Bran’s big embrace, her brain flying up the street, racing to her conservatory faster than her body could.
“Peppers, sunflowers, perhaps a foundation of coal or peat. I have everything to experiment with at home!” Those were things that would help her with the queen’s request, but since she was searching for ways a potion could change a glamour, the ingredients might help her, too.
She looked out the window again. Almost there. When the coach pulled into the square, she vaulted out before anyone could open the door. She flew past Bentley on her way into the house, and terrified two maids as she sped to the conservatory.
She was gathering her materials at the worktable when Bran joined her, hood up, hands still his. And when he pushed his hood back, his face was still his, too—scarred and unreadable. He threw off his cloak and jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves.
“How can I help?” he asked.
She was still watching him, and instead of giving him instructions, she said, “Your glamour has not appeared since yesterday. Nothing more than little glimmers of gold at your edges.”
“Hopefully it’s flickered out for good.”
“You should try conjuring it.”
“I’d rather not.”
She smiled at him, feeling giddy from the excitement, and the corner of his mouth curved into a delicious half grin. He hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, and she let him, resting her hands on his chest.
“I wonder,” she said, “if it was the shadow potion I gave you that finally broke the glamour’s hold.” If her shadow potion could break a glamour, perhaps it was akin to whatever potion her ancestor gave her disloyal husband.
“Could be.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“No way to tell.” She twisted her mouth to the side, disappointed. But curiously, not. “The glamour was already impacted by Apollo’s trick. We cannot tell what it was that finally did it.”
He pulled her closer so they were belly to belly, legs tangling as he dropped his face to her neck and inhaled deeply. “Think you’ll sleep tonight, Guin? Or will you be up all night experimenting?”
She ignored him, though the flutter in her belly said she wouldn’t greet dawn at the worktable tomorrow. “If I wanted proper experimentation, I’d have had to administer the dose before Apollo killed you.”
He brushed his lips along her neck.
“Do you think you might get the glamour stuck again? For science?”
His lips caressed down her jaw, stopping right at her lips, his eyes warm and hazy. “I’d rather not.” Then he smacked her rear, turned her about and gently pushed her toward the plants. “You get the peppers, I’ll get the sunflowers. Those, at least, I know the look of.”
She laughed as she walked into the leaves with Bran, and for the first time in months, felt happy and hopeful.