A bead of sweat dripped down Christopher’s neck. He hadn’t expected her to react with such a strong amount of anger, but he was trapped. Either she would believe his story or leave and reveal all of their plans to the Dark magicians.
Reasserting himself, Christopher said, “Alaire is not the victim! My parents left me in the custody of the Council, which was when Aldemund agreed to raise me and adopt me as one of his own. We traveled to England and spent years there, manipulating an entire history of a life I never had to hide my past. Aldemund raised me as his own son, and after several years I forgot about the Sencler family. They were strangers to me; they gave me away without any hesitation.”
Jacquette shook her head as the tears streamed down her face more rapidly. She slapped Christopher hard enough that he could feel the sting of her palm and the warmth in his cheek.
“Alaire lost his entire family. He has lived for years without anyone to call family, and you were ignorant enough to lead him on to believe it too. You do not have my sympathy, Christopher… Or Cristian; whoever you are. God will send you to Hell for the sins you have committed, and you will deserve it,” she countered.
“Should I expect to see you there, as well? Admit it; are you angry because Alaire never knew or because you fell in love with his brother?” Christopher asked, raising his voice.
The tavern door opened, and they both turned to see Wilhem standing at the door. His eyes widened as though he realized he had interrupted something important. He had become more timid since Aldemund’s death.
“Sir, the men would like you to look at the weaponry when you are ready,” Wilhem said.
Christopher nodded, though he glanced at Jacquette and wondered if she would said anything. She had the information now, and there was no way for him to stop her from revealing it to anyone unless he imprisoned her. At her silence he walked to the door and before departing, he glanced back.
“Wilhem, take the lady to her tent and see to it that someone stands guard outside. If you can’t find anyone, I’ll do it myself,” Christopher said.
With that, he left the tavern and walked into the town. It was dark outside now, but Christopher’s mind was focused on Jacquette. He was certain he would lose her now, and it might take more than force to keep her at their base. Alaire also crossed his mind, though he had only ever seen his brother once or twice. It was ironic how quickly he had forgotten his own brother’s appearance, but then again Alaire wasn’t anyone important. Christopher had lived his entire life without anyone except Aldemund and other White magicians raising and training him to who he was now. The world would not end because two brothers were separated from each other, but the magic world might when they were at war against one another. Even so, Christopher’s mind was made up. Whether Jacquette still loved him or not, whether Alaire was alive or dead, nothing was stopping Christopher. He would never let anyone do what the Sencler family had done to him, and for that the Dark magicians would pay.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Right Man
Alaire hadn't been alone with Celestria since his recovery, but with Leal gone they would be entirely alone in each other’s company. Unfortunately she had already cast a spell on him that there was no counter for. Simply enough he was in love with her, but to reveal these feelings felt like it would only strain the relationship they built up. Celestria was an independent woman; she was moving on past Adam, and it did not seem like she would be ready to fall in love again. Even so, from the moment they met Alaire had fallen for her without any intentions to do so. Now all he had was a yearning heart and a woman who was seemingly oblivious to his true feelings.
Keeping those thoughts to himself, Alaire found his companion waiting in the foyer. They agreed to search Esmour's house while there was daylight that way the locals would assume that the house was still occupied. However, that also meant that once they ran out of places to look they would have the remainder of the night together. It wasn't a matter of having control, for he knew how to be patient and act like a gentleman. The problem was holding in those three words he desperately wished to say out loud.
“Alaire? Is something on your mind? You've been standing like a statue for minutes now,” Celestria said, tugging on the sleeve of his tunic.
He glanced down at her and smiled. “Sometimes I swear you could read my mind if you wanted to. Come on, let's see what else Esmour had to hide.”
They wasted no more time and hurried to Esmour's house, though as soon as Alaire reached the door he felt uneasy. No one had properly mourned for Esmour; he had died, and Leal and Alaire moved on with their lives like he meant nothing at all. The problem was that he did matter, and to Alaire he had been like a father. Nonetheless, he could not allow Celestria to see how this was affecting him, and with that he opened the door. There would be too many questions if he started talking about who Esmour had been to him.
The house was exactly as they had left it, and if Rostland changed anything during his visit it was unnoticeable. There were still stains on the wooden floor that Alaire hadn't been able to wash away from that night Esmour died, but Celestria stepped over them without any notice. Her eyes and mind seemed to be wondering elsewhere, but this was her first time seeing the life their leader had. Walking alone, Alaire took note of everything that remained. He walked past the table they once celebrated at with wine, and he remembered Malin's laughter and Rahela's innocent face. There were carefully folded papers on a stool by the table awaiting quill to touch ink. They were the papers Esmour wrote missions on, and Alaire imagined how carefully he might have spent time configuring the missions before writing them down.
Stepping into the next room, Alaire entered the bedroom. The room had already been searched numerous times before, but he decided revisiting it could do no harm. A bed lay empty with the white sheets thrown aside, as if someone had just stepped out of bed. In the corner of the room was another door, but Alaire had never noticed it before. It seemed impossible to miss, seeing as its wooden frames made it stand out. He approached it cautiously, and at that moment all of his thoughts focused on it. The closet was significant; he was certain of it. Without pausing to call for Celestria, he opened the door.
There were neat piles of clothes stacked together. Alaire pushed them aside, and once he looked further in something else caught his attention. In the corner of the closet hidden behind the piles of clothes was a book of some sort. Carefully, Alaire reached for it and held it in his hands. Taking several steps back and sitting down on the bed, Alaire looked more closely at his discovery. There was a strap around it and Esmour's name was roughly worn out on the cover.
Good god he had a journal. Alaire thought. However, the strap holding together the pages was sealed with a lock. It did not appear to require a normal shaped key. The keyhole appeared to resemble a key with no grooves. Jumping up, Alaire searched the back of the closet for such a key and was unsuccessful. Nothing else remained except dust. Stumbled, Alaire leaned back against the door frame and thought.
Every thought in Alaire's mind convinced him that he would have no luck of opening Esmour's journal. Why would a powerful man reveal his darkest secrets in a journal? Furthermore, the key was nowhere in plain sight. Esmour had already proven in death that he had withheld secrets from Destin.
“Celestria?” he called out, hoping that she might have some idea of how to open the journal.
She peeked her head through the doorway, and then noticing the journal, she came to stand by Alaire's side.
“This was Esmour's journal, but I have no key,” he explained.
Then something peculiar occurred. Celestria snatched the journal from his hands, and the cross necklace around her neck started pulling her closer to it as if some magnetic force was attracting them.
“Alaire, I can't stop it,” she said, wincing as she was forced to lean in closer.
The cross necklace fit perfectly into the keyhole. It was a miracle. Alaire watched in awe as the journal opened itself, releasi
ng both the necklace and Celestria from its grip, and the contents lay out before them. The words were written in the familiar cursive he had seen several times before. There was no doubting it was Esmour's writing. However, from where Alaire stood the wording was slanted and too worn out for him to read. As he waited for Celestria to read what the writing said, a dangerous thought occurred to him. Perhaps Esmour had written the entire journal for Alaire. It seemed like a mad idea, but what other explanation was there for why his necklace opened the journal?
Celestria's eyes scanned the first page, but the amazement in her eyes quickly dissolved.
“Are you sure you want me to read this?” she asked. At Alaire's nod, she continued. “'I pray that upon the day this journal is found I can be forgiven for my sins. These words are not ramblings of a mad man; they are warnings from a dead one. God forgive us all... for what we have done, and what we are about to do.'”
The words struck Alaire like a stake through his heart. Suddenly it occurred to him that Esmour had known his death was approaching. He could not understand Esmour's reasoning for hiding away the one secret that would kill him. Perhaps somewhere within the journal there would be justification for his actions. As he reached his hand out, Celestria closed the journal and held it against her chest.
“This wasn't meant for us. I... I don't think we should read it; he kept it locked for a reason,” Celestria said.
He ran his hands through his hair and shrugged. “My necklace was attracted to the lock; there must have been a spell for that to have happened. Esmour was a foreseer, and this journal could have all of the answers we haven't found. What are you afraid of?”
As he asked the question he was certain he had more reasons to be afraid than she did. There was a chance Esmour had written about the vision he told Alaire about, the vision that had changed Alaire's life. If she read it and knew of its existence there was no telling where they would end up. Would she be angry or grateful that he saved her during the first encounter with Aldemund? It would throw their entire friendship on the line and risk destroying it.
Taking a step closer, Celestria glanced up into his eyes. It felt like she was reading his mind, and he felt fragile like glass. She could look right through him and see exactly what he was too afraid to say out loud.
“Yes, I'll willingly admit I'm scared. These visions... you believe they're real, and that maybe even you have the ability to see them. What if there's something in here that changes you? He might have found out something that you won't want to hear,” she said, inching closer until the tips of their shoes touched. She leaned in, breathing against his neck, and for a moment Alaire thought they might kiss. Then, raising her head up, she pressed her lips against his ear.
“Promise me this won't change us,” she whispered.
The promise was not something he was certain he could keep, but the journal held the answers they needed. Esmour had not been the man they thought him to be. He deceived them in every unspeakable manner, but more importantly he had endangered every magician.
Caressing the side of her face, Alaire said, “I promise.”
One promise, and that was all that it took to convince Celestria to open the journal again. She flipped to a page that had been folded and read out loud, though her hands shook as she did so.
“'Alaire's marriage has fallen through, and I fear it is only a matter of time before he crosses paths with Celestria. His loyalty to people has never failed him, but I'm afraid this might also be his downfall. If my visions hold true and they do fall in love, if Celestria chooses him over the right man, the war will be lost. I cannot explain how or why, but for the sake of these star-crossed lovers I pray they never know what it is to love one another.'”
There was complete silence, and the book fell to the ground, crashing against the floorboards and echoing in the room. Celestria's body shook, and then her knees gave way and she crumbled down on the floor. Alaire stood, feeling completely paralyzed and not having the faintest idea of what to do. The one vision he had tried to protect her from was now out in the open. He promised nothing would change, but he didn't have to kneel down beside her to know she was crying. She sobbed quietly, and his heart shattered into tiny pieces with each tear she shed. It wasn't fair; it just wasn't fair.
Bending down, Alaire tried to lift her face up to look at him but she turned away.
“H-how long have you known?” she asked, sniffing between words.
“I tried to tell you before you left for Belsgar. I knew for months before I met you; I had visions nearly every night about the fight you would have with Aldemund in the street. It was how I found you and saved you, but I never intended to fall in love with you. Like Esmour said, it's forbidden,” he said slowly.
“Visions aren't real!” she shouted in his face, and then turned away once more. “No one can be told how to live their life or how to love someone. I don't want the 'right' man; all I've wanted is you. I want you, Alaire...”
Closing his eyes, he wrapped his arms around her. He wanted her more than anything, but he also realized that something had torn from the moment she read Esmour's words.
“I. Want. You.” she said, pounding her fists against his chest.
A single tear ran down his cheek as he tried to cough up the words in the back of his throat. He had held them back for so long now he wondered if he could even speak them out loud. The sound of footsteps interrupted his process, and he opened his eyes and turned to the entrance. Leal dropped the sack that he had swung over his back and stared at them. Celestria pushed away from Alaire and ran to where Leal was. She wrapped her arms around him and cried into his shoulder, and while he rubbed her back he raised his brow. The words were still stuck in Alaire's throat, but as tried to force them out he could hear Celestria's request.
“Take me away from him,” she said.
He wiped her tears and raised her chin. “You're too beautiful to be crying.”
Leal grabbed his bag, and then with his other hand he wrapped it around Celestria's shoulder and they walked out of the house together. No one noticed that the journal remained on the floor by Alaire, and by the time the door slammed shut no one could hear the words that escaped his lips.
“I love you,” Alaire whispered in the silence, and then he allowed himself a minute to cry because whatever pride and dignity he had was gone. The woman he loved would think of him as a coward, and the one chance he had was already walking away. The pain was unbearable, but the tears ran down his face and he felt a hint of relief. The only company left was a dead man's journal as a reminder of the promise he broke.
Chapter Thirty
Last Rose of Summer
The silence in the manor was enough to drive a man mad. Though nightfall was approaching, Alaire and Celestria had stayed in separate areas of the household since we returned. Neither of them asked me about my journey, but nonetheless I sat in the lounge with Celestria and allowed her the minutes of peace she needed. A maid would step in occasionally and inform me of Alaire's whereabouts, though he seemed content with pacing through the halls upstairs. It was difficult to determine who had been hurt; they both seemed heart-broken, and I wasn't certain how much longer I could bear the agony and silence.
“Is there anything I can get you?” I asked, twiddling my thumbs.
She turned her head to the fireplace. “Did you find out where Christopher is hiding?”
Accepting that she wasn't ready to confine in me, I answered, “There was activity outside of a tavern in Schuerle, our neighboring town. I didn't have a clear look at what they were doing, but it was definitely relating to weaponry. By the looks of it, he's not hiding but simply planning for a perfect attack.”
Slowly Celestria stood up and yawned. As she headed for the door she said, “I'll need sleep before I'm of any use. See you in the morning?”
“Sleep well, love,” I replied, smiling as she exited. I noticed the frown on her face as she left and instantly regretted my choice of words. Waiting a
few moments for her to be out of sight, I exited the room and stepped outside. For a second I considered taking a lantern with me, but then I decided my destination was hidden away from the locals. If I needed light I could use my magic, and no one but myself would be aware. There was a garden in our backyard, though some of the plants had died over time. In Mama's better years she had taken care of the garden, but now the work was left to our maids and servants. The cold night chill was refreshing, and I inhaled as much air as I could. We couldn't take anything for granted; Christopher was close enough to strike at his convenience.
Turning around the corner of the house, I walked toward the backyard where the garden was. There was a bush of roses that were growing, and the maids had been telling me there were the finest of the season. As I approached the garden I whispered a word and a single flame lit up above my palm. It revealed the bush of roses all of which looked fully blossomed. Reaching for my dagger, I extended my free hand to the nearest rose and carefully gripped onto it.
A stick snapped and as my hand flinched one of the thorns scratched against my skin. I quickly closed my other hand, extinguishing the flame, and held a firmer grip onto the dagger.
“It's me... Alaire,” the voice said.
I let out a long sigh of relief. “Do you have a death wish with sneaking up on a man like that?”
A flame lit up in his palm, revealing his swollen eyes.
“I need to tell you something, and you need to keep this a secret from Celestria,” he said.
A secret? He had been the one insisting that we open up to Celestria, and now he was coming to me with contradictions.
“Is this something that could put her in danger?” I asked, considering he had a reasonable explanation for secrecy.
Alaire raised his hand, revealing more of his face covered in wet stains. “No, but she's not ready to hear the truth yet. You remember the rumors that I was Esmour's favorite, yes? The reason it seemed that way was because we were alike. He was the one who helped me discover my true gift... foresight.”
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