The Five-Petal Knot (The Witching World Book 2)

by Lucia Ashta

Marcelo despised his father for what he allowed to happen to Clarissa, and he hadn’t seen the Count of Bundry since her death. Marcelo confirmed that their father could have saved her; he chose not to in order to preserve his relationship with her husband. It sickened Marcelo. He transitioned through disgust to rage and decided to confront his father.

  But news of the Count of Bundry’s death intercepted him, and the fury Marcelo wanted to direct at his father was left to fester within him. He was still searching for a way to let it go. The betrayal of a father who never loved him or his sister left scars deeper than any Mirvela inflicted.

  But inspiration struck him now. He’d transform tragedy into opportunity. Time and cruelty robbed him of a sister. He wouldn’t wait for time to give him a second chance at life.

  He’d seize it.

  Even if it turned out to be a short-lived chance at happiness, he would take it. At least for a few days, he’d be happy.

  His face, always grave with the weight of the world, of life and death, of the fleeting moment and eternity, suddenly grew bright with joy. He looked happy, and I didn’t understand the catalyst for such a shift.

  “What is it? Has the dark magic abandoned its plans of attack?” I said playfully, knowing that wasn’t it, although it was the only thing that I imagined could bring such relief to his face.

  “Clara, the Count of Norland thinks you’re dead.”

  “Yes,” I said cautiously.

  “There’s no one in your family who can speak for you in his stead.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “The brothers can’t speak for you. They’re not your family.”

  I nodded. What was he getting at? “Marcelo, aren’t we in a hurry? I have more to learn than humanly possible, and I have only a day or three at most to learn it in. What is it?”

  But Marcelo continued in the same way.

  “If anyone is your family, it’s I.”

  I nodded. He was right. He was as close to family as I had.

  I determined then it was time that I get to know him better. I’d insist upon it. If he was my family, I needed to learn all there was to love about him, and accept all that I didn’t like.

  “I have no one left to ask for your hand in marriage.”

  I didn’t move.

  Not even a hair fluttered on my head, despite the whistling of a faint cool breeze. Shock stood stock still with me.

  Neither Sir Lancelot nor I moved.

  “What did you say?” I sputtered.

  “I said that there’s no one left for me to request leave to ask you to be my wife.”

  I said nothing. Even though my mouth hung open, nothing came out. I couldn’t think.

  Sir Lancelot, who knew etiquette and decorum better than most people, discreetly flew up and away.

  I hardly noticed.

  Marcelo knelt down, placing the knee of his trousers upon the damp, cold earth. All I could think was that the dirt would leave a stain on his paints. My mind wasn’t working.

  He reached a hand in the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a gold coin. He laid it flat in the palm of his other hand. He concentrated hard, squeezing his eyes shut tight. Then he blew on the coin, and it transformed.

  It was now a ring, a shiny, brilliant gold ring. I knew little about marriage proposals, but I realized that I shouldn’t reach for the ring yet.

  “Clara, will you take my hand in marriage and become my wife, so that we may share a lifetime together of love, happiness, and magic?”

  I turned to Marcelo. He looked more handsome than I noticed him being before. Strength and magic radiated from him in a way I didn’t perceive earlier, but now I did. Waves of a shimmering light encircled him, transforming him into a vision or a miracle. I couldn’t decide which.

  I hadn’t considered the possibility of marrying this man before me. Now, however, every part of me recognized that I should. The answer clamored inside me, overpowering everything else. It was clear, and I wouldn’t question it; to do so would only open up the possibility of interfering with what was meant to be and always had been, although neither of us realized it.

  I looked at my future husband. He wasn’t the man Father would have chosen for me. He was likely the last man Father would have selected for me. A magician wouldn’t have qualified to court his daughter. He didn’t possess the qualities that Father looked for in a fiancé, and I was glad. Unlike Winston, Marcelo saw me for who I really was and wanted only to discover more.

  Not because I wanted to spite Father, but because Marcelo was the man I chose for myself, I answered his proposal.

  “Yes, Marcelo. I’ll marry you.”

  I would forever—or at the very least for the days that remained before the dark magic arrived—remember the joy that shimmered in Marcelo’s eyes. It was a radiance I didn’t associate with him before, but now always would, and it was I who gave birth to this within him.

  Marcelo stood. I didn’t look for the brown stain on his knee that I’d predicted. I saw only him.

  He moved forward just one step, and he extended his hand with the ring; he held it between thumb and forefinger. I put my left hand out, and he slid the ring onto my finger.

  It was a magical ring, and it bonded to me like one. A circle of the orange of fire outlined the ring as it flashed alive, sealing our promises to each other, marking how our lives were becoming one. Then it settled in its place, its magic dissipating for now.

  There was only one step between Marcelo’s body and mine. I pulled a breath in, feeling the tension of all that we’d eventually share. I didn’t let the breath out in anticipation. I waited, and he didn’t make me wait long. He closed the space between us in the same motion as he extended his hands to either side of my face. Before I could breathe out, his lips met mine, and then I didn’t know if I breathed at all.

  It was one long kiss that murmured tenderly of a lifetime of caring and affection. It was a kiss meant to express love and hope.

  It lasted for a moment just short of forever, before it turned passionate.

  My suspended breath reanimated, growing heavy between kisses. Marcelo pulled my body against his. I felt his heart pulsing even beneath his sweater.

  I closed my eyes and gave into him.

  As I did, a flash of light exploded behind my closed eyes and, in that instant, I learned everything about Marcelo, what he was proud of and what he wasn’t. He didn’t shrink from my prying witch’s gaze.

  I wanted him, and I got all of him. I understood everything I’d ever wondered about him.

  But I’d process what I’d learned later. Now I melted into his arms and into his lips.

  My eyelids fluttered open, glazed from an unexpected balance of desire and contentment, and I gasped.

  I pulled my lips from his and hid my head on his chest.

  “What is it, Clara? What’s wrong?”

  “Albacus, Mordecai, and Sylvia are watching us,” I whispered, my ear against his heart. It was a miracle he was able to hear me at all above the furious pounding of his heart.

  Marcelo looked upward. We stood right under the window of the brothers’ study, just as they’d told us we should. I’d forgotten all about them tangled in Marcelo’s kiss.

  Mordecai yelled out, “Does this mean what I think it does?”

  “I don’t know,” Marcelo answered. “That depends on what you think it means.”

  “I think it means you’re marrying to become the Count and Countess of Irele.”

  That Mordecai and Albacus would make us their family by name was a sign of unconditional love, respect, and acceptance. Marcelo’s parents had given him none of this. Neither had mine.

  Marcelo looked at me, and I understood his unspoken question. “Yes, I’d like that very much,” I said.

  Marcelo was smiling at the brothers even before he tilted his head back up to look at them. “It would be an honor.”

  When Marcelo turned toward me again, his eyes told me that the watchful brothers were again f
orgotten. The moment was ours.

  “This was my first kiss,” I admitted shyly.

  The tender smile was the first of many we’d share. “You kissed me after I rescued you from the merworld.”

  “I did?” I didn’t remember.

  I pulled him close, embracing him.

  I didn’t want anything to bring our moment to an end.

  Chapter 28

  But our moment had to end. Dark magic approached whether we wanted or not.

  I struggled to direct my thoughts where, regretfully, they must go: dark magic, attack, life, death, and betrayal.

  And it was then that something flashed before my eyes.

  It startled me. Scenes that looked very real sprung to life. I shook my head, attempting to clear them.

  They didn’t go away. Instead, they came to life more fully.

  I felt Marcelo’s arms wrap around me again. “What is it, Clara? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m seeing things.”

  “What kinds of things?” Marcelo’s tone was sharp, alert.

  “I’m seeing things that look real… but can’t be. They feel real. But I’m also seeing you at the same time, so they can’t be real. Right? What’s going on? How do I make it stop?”

  “You don’t. You shouldn’t. You’re having a vision. Don’t resist it. Allow it to unfold as it wants to.”

  “It scares me though.”

  “I understand that it scares you, but don’t hold it back because of that. Messages that cross the magical world are always important. You shouldn’t interfere with them. Destinies can be halted and lives shattered if you do.”

  He tilted his head upward so slowly that it barely appeared to move. But eventually he stared directly into the eyes of Albacus and Mordecai. They watched, vigilant as ever, and waited, just as he did.

  Marcelo softened his choice of words. “I’ll be here for you as you allow the vision to move through you. I promise I won’t leave you.”

  So I did the only thing I knew to do. I released my resistance and allowed the message to stream through me. I fell limply into Marcelo’s hold. My closed eyelids fluttered with the intensity of what coursed behind them.

  Chapter 29

  I saw a younger version of Marcelo.

  He appeared to be in his early twenties, and his eyes were different from those of the Marcelo I knew. But it was unmistakably Marcelo.

  The images drew me into a foreign world so convincing that I readily accepted it as my own reality.

  A weak sound slipped from my lips as I discovered that I didn’t like what I was seeing.

  Marcelo was in a younger, leaner body. His muscles were taut and his face gaunt.

  A lone figure, seemingly oblivious to the dangers of the abyss beneath him, he stood on the edge of a precipice, dark, deep, and forbidding, with no end that I could see. As my eyes searched for a bottom to the depths Marcelo cavalierly ignored, my soul shuddered.

  Marcelo’s eyes met mine. I couldn’t pull away. His eyes were blue and deep. Not only were they different, they were different in a sinister way. That deep-seeded darkness was gone from the man I’d said I would love and marry, but it was prevalent in these eyes. In fact, it was more than prevalent; it consumed them. There was no room for anything other than darkness in these eyes.

  All they wanted was revenge—revenge for what was stolen from him, revenge for what he could never have.

  Mesmerized as I was by those eyes, I tried to tear myself from them. I couldn’t bear to look in them any longer.

  But the young Marcelo held me. As if his eyes were magnets, I couldn’t draw away.

  He noticed my struggle, and the first glimmer of mirth appeared in those eyes that held me captive. He smiled a smile I hoped never to see again. Though his lips curled upward, it was a cruel expression. It was one that enjoyed the suffering of others. More than that, it was one that demanded suffering and would exact all of it he could.

  And the young Marcelo was powerful. There could be no doubt about that. Again, I tried to pull away. He seemed stronger than me, and I couldn’t do anything to sever the cord that tied me to him.

  “Witch,” he snarled.

  I shivered.

  “You. Are. Mine.” He spat the words out.

  Panic began to rise within me as a steady geyser, threatening to blow with a total lack of control.

  I became aware of the thundering of footsteps behind me. As I spun around to look at who was coming, I managed to disconnect from the young Marcelo’s fixed stare, but I immediately rotated back; it felt unsafe to turn my back on him. Even if I knew that he loved me now, it was all too clear that he hated me then.

  When I searched for him again, I was relieved to find that he was now across the chasm from me.

  Feeling more secure now, I looked behind me. Who was coming?

  I waited. The footsteps grew louder. They grew faster in their approach. There was urgency in those steps.

  There was desperation in the voice that called out ahead of them. “Clara!”

  My eyes struggled to accept what I was seeing. “Clara! Get away from him!”

  It was Marcelo. It was my Marcelo who rushed to my aid. It was the man I knew and trusted. So who was the man across the gap, perched on the precipice as if he were the very lord of darkness?

  I swiveled. The younger man was still there, snarling into the depths of the unknown, snarling at me and at my fiancé’s approach. He leaned into an imaginary barrier, waiting, rearing to charge at us, anxious to exact his revenge.

  Were the Marcelo from the past and the Marcelo of now at war with each other? And how had I landed smack in the middle of a fight I wanted no part of?

  “Clara!” my Marcelo yelled again from behind me. “Get away from him! Run!”

  I didn’t think. I put one foot down in front of the other, slowly, numbly at first, until I found myself breaking into a full run. I ran toward my Marcelo at full speed, but I wasn’t moving as fast as I should. I wasn’t gaining enough distance.

  A quick glance over my shoulder told me why. Young Marcelo was pulling me as if I were bound to him with a rope.

  And I was slipping. I was losing ground.

  My Marcelo dove to reach me. I extended my hand. His fingers brushed against mine, but I couldn’t clasp them.

  I felt a tug against my waist. The invisible rope dragged me backward. It pulled me quickly—too quickly—toward the chasm.

  I stared ahead at my Marcelo. The desperation on his face creased his eyes and forehead.

  He sprung upward like an animal.

  He sprinted toward me.

  I reached out my hand with all that I had. I wanted, more than anything, to reach my Marcelo.

  I dug my feet into the stone of the labyrinthine precipice, but I only kicked up pebbles on my way down.

  Chapter 30

  Fear began to overtake my body, but the images faded just in time. I came out of the vision physically unharmed but shaken to the bone.

  My sight cleared. I was in the here-and-now again. I looked up at Marcelo as he curled around me protectively.

  I guessed the fear lingered in my eyes, and its presence did nothing to soothe Marcelo. My eyes roamed, eager to verify that the network of subterranean precipices had indeed disappeared with the vision.

  The sunshine that felt so warm and bright earlier did nothing to dispel my shivering.

  Searching, I gazed deeply into Marcelo’s eyes. I needed to make sure the version of him I’d just encountered didn’t survive somewhere deep within. I didn’t like that I had to look, that I couldn’t be certain without probing, but I wouldn’t share my life with any part of the man who’d stared me down—at least not if I intended to survive.

  Marcelo held my gaze tenderly at first. Until he realized there was more to my look than a desire for comfort. His blue eyes pooled into resolve, and he chose to bare himself to me another time.

  I swam in those limpid pools until I knew them intimately.

 
And then I relaxed. I let go of every muscle I held tight. I melted into a puddle in Marcelo’s embrace.

  He scooped me up and moved to carry me indoors.

  As he approached the heavy front door, it swung open for him, as light as a feather. Albacus stood on the other side of the door, breathing heavily from his run across the castle. Mordecai was right behind him. Sylvia and Sir Lancelot flew in his wake.

  “Is she all right?” Mordecai called ahead of him as he rounded the corner into the foyer.

  Albacus looked at Marcelo, his voice almost a whisper compared to his brother’s. “Is she?”

  Marcelo brought me in quickly, and the door shut behind him. “I don’t know, but I think so. She’s awake.”

  But I wouldn’t be for long. I managed no more than a fleeting glance at my friends before the aftermath of fear and adrenaline claimed me and sucked me into a restless sleep.

  Chapter 31

  When I woke, I did so by the fireside of the brothers’ study. My coat was still on from my time outdoors, and I was comfortably warm. The light outside was orange; the sun burned brilliantly, as if it were dying a small death. Quietly, I watched its slow descent behind the mountains of Irele. No one had noticed I was awake, consumed as they were by the issue at hand, and I enjoyed my anonymity while I listened.

  “Can we multiply him with a simple spell? Will the copies retain the same qualities as this one?” It was Albacus’ voice, and the reply was slow in coming.

  “In theory, it should work,” Mordecai said. “The copies should retain every feature of the original if we’re careful to specify that it should in the wording of the spell. But you and I’ve both experienced the problems with theories.”

  This time it was Marcelo who filled in what they were all thinking. “Sometimes they don’t work out the way we think they will.”

  “Exactly,” Albacus and Mordecai said at the same time.

  “So what will you do?” Marcelo asked.

  “The only thing we can do,” Mordecai said.

  “We’ll animate him, ensure everything is working right, and then clone him,” Albacus said.