As I make my way back to the estate, my thoughts return compulsively to Ryvan. I glance down at my palm and study it beneath the soft light of the moon. Only a thin line across my skin remains from the injury. I flex my hand and marvel that there is not even the slightest hint of pain.
That was kind of him to heal me. He certainly did not have to; it wasn’t part of our agreement. I’ve never actually met a Fae before tonight. From all the stories I’ve heard, I thought they were cruel tricksters. I flex my hand again. I’m glad to know that I was wrong.
The rumors I’d heard about their handsomeness, however, are truth. It’s not as if I have never seen an attractive man before, but there is something about Ryvan that draws me in. With his glowing green eyes and sharp, angular features, he is both fierce and handsome all at once.
Perhaps his allure is inherent to his people. I’ve heard the Fae and Elvenkind are known for their ability to charm unsuspecting humans. Maybe I’m not immune to whatever effects I’ve heard they have on others.
However, some instinct deep inside tells me this is more than just a charm. It cannot be chance that I met him tonight. Not after what my mother told me on her deathbed.
Her final words repeat in my mind.
On the night of your twenty-third birthday, go to the barrier that separates our kind from the Fae. Be brave, my Ella. Deep in the forest, you will find your destiny.
She was a seer. Perhaps she knew that I’d meet Ryvan, and he would be the one to help me escape my evil stepmother.
Or maybe my destiny is something altogether different. My cheeks flush with warmth as I think of him again. Although I was only a child, I remember my mother telling me that she fell in love with my father the first time they met. She claimed something inside her knew he was the one.
My thoughts turn again to Ryvan, but I push them away, believing them to be the beginnings of an infatuation like the ones the staff chat about in the halls. Surely, that is what this is.
I force myself to focus. I must return to the estate before my stepmother awakens—before she realizes that I’ve taken a page from her precious spellbook.
The journey back to the estate seems much shorter than the trip out, but perhaps that’s because renewed fear lends flight to my steps.
When I reach the main house, it is still dark inside. I creep down the hallway, careful to make as little noise as possible while checking on my stepfamily. Fear trickles down my spine as I peer into my stepmother’s room, afraid I’ll find her already gone—awake and waiting for me in her workroom.
A silent sigh of relief moves through me when her silhouette shifts in her bed as she rolls onto her side, still asleep.
I crack the door open just enough to check on my two stepsisters. Each still lies in her bed, none the wiser that I was ever gone.
Carefully, I make my way down to the basement. I run my hand along the wall to guide me, not wanting to use any light and risk awakening or alerting anyone to my presence. With each step on the spiral stone staircase, my surroundings seem to grow darker as I descend into the bowels of the estate.
When I reach the bottom of the stairwell, I make my way along the narrow hallways until I reach a heavy wooden door. Cautiously, I push it open and enter my stepmother’s workroom. In the darkness, the glowing green light of her cauldron provides just enough illumination that I’m able to creep forward as my eyes adjust to the dim lighting.
I’ve cleaned this space enough times over the years that I’m familiar with every object in this room. I’ve dusted all the bookshelves regularly.
I retrieve the spellbook. The ancient tome is so heavy, I struggle to lift it from the shelf and onto the worktable. It lands with an audible thump, and I cringe inwardly as the sound echoes in the otherwise silent house.
The pages are brittle and yellowed with age, so I take great care as I open them and find the one I need. I unroll the parchment and lay it gently on the open book, carefully aligning the torn edges. Ryven specified that it was important to line them up perfectly before casting the spell and to place the leaf directly on the seam. Otherwise, the page would reattach unevenly.
I struggle unsuccessfully to make the break lie flat. The parchment has been rolled up for so long this evening that it refuses to conform to its original shape. I find a nearby candlestick and stone and place them on the top and bottom of the page to hold it straight and firmly in place. I place the leaf over the torn edges.
A bead of wax drips onto the page, and I gasp. If the candle wax is this soft, it means my stepmother recently lit this candle. I can only pray she did not notice this book had been tampered with.
Even as this thought crosses my mind, I quickly dismiss it. If she’d discovered the tear, she would be awake and after me already, not asleep in her bed.
I carefully scrape the bead of wax from the page and step back. Lifting my hands, I focus my attention on the book and recite the spell as Ryvan taught me.
A cool breeze whips through the room, ruffling my hair and sending a chill down my spine as magic arcs between the tips of my fingers and flows to the page in glowing purple wisps. I watch in wonder as the magic lines either side of the torn edges and draws them together. The leaf fades into the parchment as it works. By the time the enchantment is done, I blink down in astonishment. It’s just as he said; the page looks as though it has never been torn.
Carefully, I close the book and place it back on the shelf. No sooner have I slid it back into place than the sound of footsteps on the stairs draws my attention.
I’ve lived under her thumb long enough that I recognize the cadence of my stepmother’s shoes as they clip along the stone floor. She shouldn’t be awake yet. I must not have given her as much vyltarian root, in her tea, as I thought I did, or perhaps she is immune to its normally potent effects.
My heart pounds and my limbs begin trembling as I grab a nearby broom. It’s too late to hide. I smooth my sweaty palms down my dress and then begin sweeping, pretending I’m simply down here cleaning.
The door cracks open, and my stepmother enters. She holds a candlestick out before her, the low light casting her violet skin in harsh relief. With her deep purple hair twisted atop her head in a tight braid I suspect she must have come here straight from her bed. Her amber, reptilian eyes study me intently.
After my father died, she and my stepsisters stopped bothering with the enchantment that made them appear human so she could trick him into marriage. Even in her goblin form, she is beautiful. But that beauty belies a heart of darkness.
Panic tightens my chest, and I freeze in place as she levels a glare at me.
“What are you doing down here?”
“I—I was sweeping.” I stumble over my words as I meekly hold out the broom. “I thought I might get an early start on my chores for the day.”
She narrows her eyes at me for a moment before allowing them to drift over the room as if checking that everything is still in its place. She must be satisfied with what she sees, otherwise her anger would be swift and unyielding.
“I want this entire area spotless.” Her cold gaze holds mine. “Mr. Malforn will be joining us for dinner tomorrow evening. I’ll expect you to look your best.”
Ice fills my veins but I somehow manage to respond. “Of course, Stepmother.”
As soon as she’s gone, I fists my hands in my long skirt to still their trembling as I recall the last time Mr. Malforn came to the estate. She has sold me to him, and we are to be married in less than a month. He’s a cruel man. When he visited, he tried to touch me improperly. When I pushed him away, he hit me and then sneered. He told me I’d be his soon enough anyway to do with as he pleased.
Closing my eyes briefly, I push down my dread at seeing him again and concentrate on cleaning everything in the room thoroughly. The last time I missed a spot, my stepmother gave me ten lashes. It was so terrible I could barely walk the next day.
When I’m finished with my chores, I make my way up to my room, among the servants’ quarters in the far tower. My bedroom used to be just down the hallway from my stepmother’s before my father died. Not long after, she moved me to this cold and remote part of the estate.
I am thankful, however, that it is far enough from the main part of the house that my stepfamily hardly ever comes up here. It is small and drafty, but it is mine. The small hearth in the corner works to provide at least some warmth in the winters. I know there are worse situations to be in than this.
I shudder inwardly as I think on the workhouses in the main part of the city and pray that my fate never leads me to those places.
A dress is waiting for me on the bed when I enter. I recognize it as belonging to one of my stepsisters. It is a lovely shade of pink but far too low in the front for my liking. But I suppose that is the point of all this.
My stepmother wants me to appear as enticing as possible to my future husband. After all, she needs his money to pay off her debts. I dread seeing him tomorrow, but at least I know now I won’t have to marry him, thanks to Ryvan.
It is still a few hours until I’m to meet my new Fae friend, so I decide to get some sleep since I had none last night. I light a fire in the small fireplace and move my bed a bit closer to take advantage of its heat.
Quickly, I slip into my sleeping gown and crawl beneath the covers. Mesmerized by the dancing flames of the hearth, my mind begins to wander. My thoughts return to Ryvan, and I know in my heart we did not meet by chance. It was destiny, just as my mother foretold.
It must be.
For the first time in a long time, I have something to look forward to.
Tonight, I will meet with him again.
