The Blood Spell (Ravenspire, #4)(52)
“I still don’t like you, either,” he said and waited another moment, memorizing the feel of her hands on his chest, of her mouth a breath away from his. And then he stepped back, opened the curtain of uniforms, and struggled to get his heartbeat under control.
She followed him out of the closet into the empty anteroom. In the kitchen, the cooks were busy calling out instructions to the maids as preparations for lunch got under way. Kellan turned and met Blue’s eyes. She wore a strange expression—half regret, half wonder—and he understood exactly how she felt.
“Blue—”
“I have to go,” she blurted, already backing away. “I came here to petition the queen for help searching for homeless children who’ve gone missing. Nessa told me I should. And maybe the queen needs my help identifying the ingredients of the spell that was used last night.”
“I’m heading up that investigation,” he said. “You can go to the Aubert quarter with me—”
“I’ll just . . . I’m going to go find Nessa and see the queen. If you still need my help, maybe Nessa and I can go together.”
She was right. It was better that he didn’t spend any more time alone with her today. Not while his heart was still blazing and his thoughts kept wandering to the feeling of her body against his. He opened his mouth to agree with her, but she was already gone, hurrying down the staff corridor toward the main hall without a single backward glance.
TWENTY-TWO
“LADY CHAUVEAU.” A man wearing the blue jacket and golden shield pin of the royal magistrate’s office stood beside Dinah’s carriage as she exited the castle. He sketched a quick bow as she approached, and then handed her an envelope sealed with blue wax and pressed with the magistrate’s emblem.
Dinah’s throat tightened as she entered her carriage and tore the envelope open with shaking fingers. She read the words, blinked back furious tears, and then read them again, her heart thudding painfully.
That snake of a creditor had turned the Chauveau estate debts over to the royal magistrate a day earlier than planned.
It didn’t matter that Dubois was dead. His next of kin would inherit Dinah’s holdings instead. The empire she’d built would soon be taken from her, her chance at the throne would be lost, and, with it, the guarantee of absolute power that would keep her from ever being at the mercy of others again.
She hadn’t fought this hard only to lose. Maybe the Chauveau name would soon be worth nothing, and her chance at winning the betrothal for one of her daughters would be out of reach. But there was still a way she could get what she’d desperately wanted for so many years. Still a way to become too powerful to hurt.
It was going to take all of her courage and cunning to make it happen.
Dinah had left Blue on her own in the shop after giving the girl a taste of the punishment she deserved for not figuring out the secret to creating gold fast enough to save Dinah from all this trouble. Now she left the farmhouse gate and turned west. The road wrapped around the gentle swell of vineyards and orchards, hugged the rugged coastline briefly, and then turned toward the mountains and the dark prison that lay before them. A summer rainstorm flattened tufts of grass beside the road as Dinah took the curve around the first vineyard.
Icy fear filled her stomach, pricking along her skin until she shuddered as she glanced around. The sky was a flat slate of dark gray, the landscape blurred into vague, indistinct shapes, and whether because of the storm or because it was nearing the noon dining hour, no wagons were on the road.
She was alone.
The vow she’d made sixteen years earlier to never walk this path again, never retrace these cursed steps, blazed across her thoughts, and she forced it away.
Everything she’d worked for was in jeopardy, and Dinah refused to fail. Not after all she’d sacrificed.
Turning on her heel, she faced the closest orchard. Her breath clogged in her throat as she reached past the fear and clung to the thorns of anger that sliced into her like splinters of fire.
Maybe these steps were cursed, but they were familiar, and the witch at the end of them was the only person who could help Dinah now. She had every right to be here, and she wasn’t leaving until she got what she came for.
Wearing that thought like armor, she left the road and hurried through the orchard, the leafy apple branches rattling above her as her boots sank into the muddy ground. The neat rows of trees ended in a tangle of wild rosebushes, overgrown fennel, and windswept hazel trees. To the unpracticed eye, it appeared to be impassable, but Dinah knew better.
Angling her tall, thin frame, she edged between two leafy hazel trees, their wide skirt of leaves swallowing Dinah whole for a moment before spitting her out the other side. Brushing at a stray twig caught on her cloak, Dinah raised her face to stare at the tiny weathered cottage that was tucked in the center of a garden that was part vegetables, part flowers, and part herbs.
The cottage listed to the right now, and there were shingles missing from the roof. Two steps leading up to the porch were caving in, and cheerful clusters of bluebells grew out of cracks in the home’s foundation.
Dinah’s hands shook as she slowly made her way to the porch and knocked hard on the faded blue front door. The last time she’d been here, she’d made a bargain thinking she understood the strength of the witch she was dealing with.
She’d been wrong, and it had cost her dearly.