Chapter Forty-Two
Tovi
Tovi’s body exhaled at the sight ahead, the limestone brick and slate shingled roofs a welcome sight in her cursed homeland.
Despite the time since she’d lived here, over two decades now, the ivy hadn’t overgrown as much as she’d expected. The trees were trimmed, and the ferns known to pop up along the walls thanks to the lack of sun from the curse were nowhere in sight. It was neat, not an estate in shambles.
“You said you had a manor, not a castle!” Yen said, shaking her head with a wide grin.
“It’s small compared to Drystan Castle. It could fit in one of its wings comfortably,” Tovi said.
“It’s far nicer though,” Yen said, eyes bright. “Less drab. Suits you actually.”
áilleacht Castle had many names. The summer house, the princess’s estate, and the king’s grand gift.
But Tovi preferred its given name—áilleacht meant beauty in the old language of Torren, and her father had selected it as a nod to the nickname he’d used for her.
She’d been his beauty, and Riven had been his cleverness.
It wasn’t until decades later that he saw her beauty as something to sell.
Tovi sighed, dismissing those distant memories. She loved áilleacht Castle for the older memories, the ones where her mother and father hadn’t fallen too deep into their greed tied to their titles as king and queen.
The primary structure of the castle was a square-cornered tower.
Four stories tall, it reached to the Drystan mists with a hip-style roof and four turrets at each corner.
Delicate purple flags, a shade that reminded Tovi of creeping phlox, stood tall in the winds.
An enclosed bridge constructed from the same limestone brick crossed over a tranquil creek.
Many, many times, Tovi had ventured to the bridge with a book, sat in one of the glassless windows, and allowed her nerves to balance with its gentle sound of the calm water.
Yen guided her horse forward, riding ahead of Tovi. “I know what Flynn asked of you. Werewolves have keen hearing, too.”
Tovi shifted in her saddle. “Did you tell Evelyn?”
“No,” Yen said. “But she’s smart. I’m sure she put it together herself.”
Tovi sighed. “Is this where you tell me to take the offer?”
Yennifer brought her horse to a stop, halting their progress across the bridge halfway. “How could you possibly think that?”
“The offer is the wise choice. It proves to my people I’m putting them first.”
“You are already a queen without fighting for the title, Tovi. You don’t have to prove anything.”
“This isn’t the Vadon Mountains, Yen. You, Nadia, Lucy . . . You’re all honored and respected for your fierceness and abilities to fight. Here, vampyrs measure females on their smiles, poise, and mundane talents to pass the time.”
“You are none of those things. Why fulfil societal expectations you loathe? It is marriage.”
Tovi shook her head. “Flynn would be more than a husband. He has a fleet of ships.”
“Other lords have armies and resources. What makes the pirate different? Because it once worked? You deserve better.”
Like a gentle kiss to her temple, Eldrick’s words zinged through her—You deserve happiness.
Yen’s horses stepped side to side as the archer tightened her grip on the reins and her expression hardened. “Do you simply want to become queen or do you want to change Drystan, Tovi?”
Tovi swallowed a hiss, staring out at the gray-infested land around them. She could practically smell the curse in the air, feel the smaller particles creeping across her skin. Dancing in the shadows, seeping from the tree sap, embedded in the stone below the horses’ hooves.
She sighed, setting her shoulders back, tone unbending. “Breaking the curse is my priority, and the chance to make change will come after my homeland is restored.”
“If you marry Flynn, you show your subjects that the status quo is the way. Not even their queen can break free of society norms, so how can the rest of them? Why not prove that you can do this on your own? Set the tone for Drystan’s new era.
Or better yet, stop sacrificing bits of yourself, because as your friend, I fear by the time the curse is broken, there won’t be anything of you left. ” Yen urged her horse back into motion.
Tovi’s chest grew tight. A yearning for the future her friend spoke about rooted in her heart, but her stomach twisted into knots.
Nerves like pesky minnows nibbling at her resolve.
Could she afford to think about herself and what she wanted?
In truth, it was why she had said no to Flynn, but hadn’t forgotten his proposal.
It was an option she had to consider, right?
Yet, the touches of green in her homeland, the color leeching past the curse, taunted her with another promise. What if he was the choice she wanted to make?
“Yen,” Tovi called.
The werewolf stopped at the end of the bridge.
“When did you know Bétar was your mate?” she asked.
Yen smiled, eyes brightening at her warrior’s name. “The moment I met him.”
The urge to ask Yennifer more questions rose in a mighty wave. She clucked her tongue and caught up to Yen with her horse. What if she simply learned? What if Tovi finally admitted what she was afraid to say out loud?
“Auntie!” the gleeful shrieks of children broke through the mists.
Juni and Bryn, her niece and nephew, sprinted towards them with mud-splattered welly boots, and grins so unfitting for Drystan’s gray, Tovi forgot about it all entirely.
Tovi dismounted her horse and caught them as they launched into her awaiting arms. She spun with them, their giggles infectious.
“Why, I missed you both!” she said, holding them on opposite hips. “What are you doing here?”
“Playing werewolf!” Bryn said.
“I’m the werewolf,” Juni said, but the many syllables blurred together and sounded more like “wee-ulf”.
Yennifer snorted and dismounted from her horse, gathering the reins of both steeds. “Now, that is a first that I’ve heard of such a game.”
“Did you bring an elk?” Juni asked.
“Bryn! Juni!” Opal and Sven emerged from the castle gardens, their gloves coated with dirt. Sven held shears while Opal carried a shovel. They lowered their makeshift weapons at the sight of Tovi, and her brother released a whooshing breath.
The main door to the castle groaned open, and Tovi’s uncle, Bran, stormed out. “I swear those children are too fearless for their own good, running off—” He blinked past his gold-wired glasses. “Well, I’ll be damned. You came.”
Tovi set the children down, who rushed off to their parents. “I’m glad to see you made it here, Sven.”
“We wouldn’t be without your help and Cass’s guidance,” her brother said, dragging her into a tight hug.
Uncle Bran, his mate, Cass, nowhere in sight, descended the stairs—he wasn’t her real uncle, but he’d been her father’s best friend all those centuries ago in Callum, and who’d fled Torren and survived the voyage to Drystan’s shores with her family.
He’d been one of the first vampyrs turned.
Not a Verena by blood but circumstance. Like Sven, Bran shied away from court, but he’d grown to be one of Tovi’s most trusted connections, helping her run her merchant business from afar.
He pulled her into a tight hug, palming her cheek. She’d not seen him since she’d left for Callum all those months ago to spy on Riven, leaving him áilleacht Castle if he chose to stay here.
Silver had peppered Bran’s well-shaped beard before he’d turned, remaining long after immortality had touched his blood. It suited him and matched the gentleness that had never vanished from his hazel eyes.
“It is good to see,” he whispered. “My queen.”
She pushed his shoulder. “Please, for the love of the Goddess, don’t call me that.”
“You’ll have to get used to it someday,” Yennifer said.
“Here,” Opal said. “Let me help with the horses.”
Uncle Bran clasped Tovi’s hands. “I’ll get us some wine poured. Dinner’s just around the corner.”
With a shower, a change of clothes, and enough laughter to cause a stitch in her side, dinner with Tovi’s family had eased the tension and travel.
Her earlier conversation with Yen was long gone from her mind, but politics weren’t.
As good as it was to sit at the table, sip wine, eat a delicious meal, and tease her niece and nephew, she’d trekked to áilleacht Castle with a purpose.
“What have you heard about Lord Nathanael? I discovered he’s dealing out bloodstones.”
Sven paused mid-drink, and Opal’s eyes widened.
Bran poured more wine, sighing as he leaned back into his seat. “There have been rumors of such these last few months, that he discovered a deposit nestled in his farmland.”
Tovi ran a finger over the rim of her glass.
She and Riven had discovered the bloodstone’s properties by accident after the curse.
Yet, in pursuit to find more, she and Riven had also learned how rare the gem was, and to prevent chaos around a gem that vampyrs might die for, they created a narrative that bloodstones were the official gem of the royal family.
If discovered by anyone, they were to be handed over to the Verenas.
“Lord Nathanael’s audacity to withhold them isn’t just cheeky, it’s treason,” she said.
“He knows you and Riven are too busy to do anything about it,” Sven said.
“Do we think he’s vying for the crown himself?” Yennifer asked. “He could earn fealty with the bloodstones, no?”
Opal shook her head. “Drystan’s lore is so deeply woven with the Verenas, most would fear putting an another on the throne that doesn’t please the Blood Goddess.”
Tovi nodded. “Nathanael has always been vocal about not wanting a female on the throne, but he’s never had eyes for it.”
“Indeed,” Uncle Bran said. “His power is in money, and he’s one of the wealthiest lords and landowners in Drystan. He has also written to your merchant company, proposing to do business with them.”
“For?”