Davina—and everyone else—needed to believe she and Jon had hope. “Perhaps if word spreads of his visit here, the circumstances, we could win the people over.”
“I’ll see to that,” Davina said, the grin clear as a bell in her voice.
“But even so… I don’t think it’s possible,” she whispered. The moment he’d become king, their future had narrowed to an extramarital affair or nothing at all, no matter that they loved each other. Someday he’d have to marry for the kingdom’s sake. Could she suffer the fate of standing by while he lived his life, and wait for any leftover crumbs of his time and affection after his queen, his children, and his country had gotten their fill? She shuddered.
She’d spent the past four months believing their love could overcome anything. Even Olivia had said all wounds healed with time. Could this?
“If you love him, he may yet live up to that honor,” Davina replied, rinsing her hair. “And if he doesn’t, love is its own end, isn’t it?”
It was.
Rielle inclined her head and offered Davina a faint smile.
As much it had hurt to learn Jon hadn’t waited for her, their love was still precious to her. Even now, even with all the hurt, he was still the love of her life.
How much could love truly withstand?
Davina finished readying her, dressing her in a crimson brocade gown, embroidered with gold-threaded roses along the neckline and trim, with flowing split sleeves and open lacing down the front revealing teases of an ivory silk chemise—and jeweled crimson slippers to match. While Davina tamed her tresses with pins, Rielle placed the Sodalis ring on her thumb and searched through her recondite satchel for the tiny bottle of immortelle Jon had given her.
The cluster of yellow blooms remained vibrant.
“What is it, my lady?” Davina paused.
“The first gift he ever gave me.” She thumbed the round glass bottle fondly. “The flowers are immortelle. He had cut this cluster outside Monas Ver when he was a paladin, because it reminded him of home. When we fell in love, he… gave it to me.”
Perhaps home can be with you, he’d said. She sucked in a breath and clutched the bottle close.
“That’s beautiful,” Davina whispered, her gaze in the mirror roving to the Sodalis ring on Rielle’s thumb.
Jon had given more of himself than she’d ever expected; he’d sacrificed his calling, his family of paladins and priests, his only personal possessions, life as he’d known it. And it hadn’t been just to bed her. He could have had that in Bournand, even before then, or with any other woman, but that hadn’t been what he’d wanted.
Her hand closed gently around the bottle of immortelle. Always. That had been what he’d wanted, what she’d wanted. A perfect love, together, always.
Perhaps her jewelry box would have a chain long enough to wear the bottle as a necklace. In memory of always. She reached for the box on her vanity, resisting Davina’s hold on her hair. With a last stretch, she drew it closer with her fingers until she could grab it.
Inside were the various things Davina hadn’t seen fit to store under lock and key, among them, a two-foot-long golden chain.
She tied a small white ribbon around the bottle’s neck, then bound it to the chain. She fastened it around her neck and tucked the tiny bottle into her décolletage. Hidden away.
Could she do the same to their love? Hide it away, deep in her heart, until after Shadow was defeated?
A job. A mission. That was all she could allow herself with Jon for now.
The doors to the bedchamber opened.
“My lady, there are deliveries for you,” a maid announced. “Many, many deliveries.”
Rielle’s palm darted to cover the bottle of immortelle, and she looked out the window onto the cobblestone avenue, where many of the Houses’ servants and some lords and ladies had gathered to gawk.
She closed her gaping mouth. Large horse-drawn carts of imported tea, exotic fruits, and delicate desserts and confections… Enough geomancy-grown immortelle to fill several of Couronne’s rooms… Four dozen bouquets of three dozen red roses, their arrangements so massive that each vase required two people to carry…
When the day faded, two barded palfreys were delivered—Pearl and Onyx—sleek and shining to perfection, and a large box stamped with Madame Marlène’s seal, the Houses’ most celebrated dressmaker and tailor.
A gown. On such short notice, there was no way Madame Marlène could have completed a new garment. Or if she had, it would cost a fortune.
Four assistants carried the massive box onto the Couronne grounds, flanked by others carrying smaller boxes.
A ripple wove through the crowd.
Another carriage stopped before Couronne, heavily guarded—a mage, bowmen, pikemen. A footman opened the carriage door, and a well-dressed older man emerged, head held high. He bore a medium-sized finely wrapped box clad in gorgeous white satin and tied with a sapphire-blue ornate bow. Laurent’s, known across the kingdom for its stunning jewelry.
Another man, younger and lithe, well dressed but not so well as to outshine the first man—a young protégé, perhaps—followed suit, bearing a stack of three small satin-wrapped boxes with sapphire-blue bows.
Jon had written that every eye in Azalée would see their plans for the Veris Ball, and every tongue would move on the subject.
He wasn’t wrong.
Davina gave her a knowing look.
“I am blessed with His Majesty’s goodwill.” Rielle smiled, tongue in cheek.
Davina approached her and glanced out the window as a winery cart pulled up, then she rested a hand on Rielle’s arm. A slow smile brightened her face. She nodded toward the window. “Well, all of Azalée—and Courdeval—now knows his heart.”
An artful pretense, and no more. Rielle’s grip tightened on the immortelle, but she forced a smile. “So do I.”
Olivia exhaled a relieved breath as Lydia unfastened the laces of her golden-yellow ball gown. It was beautiful, and well worth the inability to breathe.
With the courier in the wind and no way to track down Shadow, there was little else to do but work and prepare for the ball. And better to get her gown out of the way now before her magic lesson with Jon—still working on the repulsion shield.
A knock came from the hall, and she bade Lydia pause.
“Enter,” she called, looking down the suite of rooms to the doorway.
Edgar entered and placed his hand over his heart, but his moss-green eyes looked her over. “Forgive the intrusion, Lady Archmage, but the Lord Constable is here to see you. Shall I let him in?”
So wooden. Over the past month, he’d been a perfect guardsman, with none of the youthfulness she’d seen in Kirn… and she missed it.
She smoothed her gown. “Please. Send him in.”
“As you wish, Lady Archmage.” With that, he disappeared through the doorway.
Lady Archmage. The implied distance made her wince inwardly. Hadn’t they become friends?
Tor entered, eyebrows raised as he gave her a once-over and a nod of approval. He grinned and clasped his hands behind his back. “Is that…?”
“My gown for the Veris ball,” she replied with a smile, dismissing Lydia to lay out her emerald-green Archmage’s robes. “Do you like it?”
He approached, his tall, large frame clad in a burgundy velvet overcoat that lent his hazel eyes a certain brandy warmth. “That’s putting it lightly, my dove.”
Heat rose in her cheeks.
He brushed her lips with his, and she melted. He smelled like a forest—cypress and moss and a revitalizing mint. “Do you have a moment?”
For him? She nodded.
He took her hand and led her to the nearby sofa, where he seated her gently and sat next to her. “I know you’re a Divinist, but my brother had invited me to spend Ignis at Maerleth Tainn, and I was wondering if you’d like to join me?”
A pleasant shiver pebbled her skin. Ignis? That would be in a little over a month. And he w
anted to take her to meet his family? “I—I’d love to.”
Grinning, he dipped his head, blinking with long, dark lashes. Divine, he was handsome. “Good, because I’d like to introduce you to everyone.”
Why? She wanted to blurt out the word, not because she didn’t know the reason, but because she wanted to hear him say it.
“Olivia, I haven’t loved a woman in decades, not since before my vows, and I think you’re wise, strong, determined, smart—someone who makes me want to be a better man.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m serious about you.”
“Serious?” Commitment. Marriage.
“Very.” He searched her eyes with a soft smile, a sort of quiet affection, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and shifted to sit in his lap, drawing away only to kiss him. He held her steady.
Torrance Auvray Marcel, nobleman, Lord Constable, and a good man, was serious about her.
“Care to show me how serious?” she whispered in his ear.
He straightened and cleared his throat, his hands slipping to her waist. “Olivia, it’s been a long time. A very, very long time.”
Smiling, she shook her head—he was only in his early forties, perhaps a decade and half older than she, not some oldster. “And you’re not eager to make up for lost time?”
He barked a laugh and looked away. “As wonderful as that sounds, it’s not the most important matter between partners. Let’s take things slowly, and we’ll get there.”
Slowly? What kind of torture was that?
James had loved her early and often, met her hot blood with his own searing heat.
But Tor was Tor… No doubt the transition from paladin to freedom was a massive adjustment, with many shocks along the way. And she didn’t want to add to them… overly much.
She kissed him lightly and stood. “All right. Slowly it is.”
“Good.” Mirroring her expression, he rose, too. “Olivia, I know you’re good friends with the marquise of Laurentine. My niece told me she’s returned.”
His niece—Nora.
“Yes,” she replied, frowning. He wanted to take about Rielle?
“She’ll be staying close to Jon, won’t she? Leading up to the Veris ball, during, after?”
“I—yes. Why do you ask?”
He took her hand. “He’s family to me. I know he has the Royal Guard and us, but… I think she’ll protect him. And she can stay by his side, unlike us.”
Stay by his side? “I don’t know. I’m not sure they’re going to stay together.”
His eyebrows drew together. “But he loves her. Through and through and through. All those months—”
“I know.”
“Then—”
“It’s not that simple.” She pulled away. “When she returned, she found him with another woman. It may take some time to mend, and even then…”
He lowered his gaze, his eyes turning dull as he stared at the floor. “Sometimes the people we love cause us pain, but it doesn’t mean we stop loving them. It means we try to help them, no matter how difficult it is.”
“I hope that’s what happens, but she’s been through a lot, too.” She turned around, presenting the back of her gown. “Unlace me.”
A soft take of breath, and his fingers went to work. “There are so many evil forces in the world. We have to be there to support the ones we love.”
The Marcels had to be a tight-knit House to produce someone like Tor. She smiled. “And am I among those?”
In her emerald-green Archmage’s robes, Olivia entered Jon’s quarters.
“In the study,” he called out to her. By the distracted sound of him, he was buried in paperwork.
He sat at the desk, his big frame crowding the chair, his booted feet on top of the purple heartwood surface, crossed ankle over ankle. With a furrowed brow, he scrutinized some papers. “Basilisks attacking villagers on the outskirts of Caerlain Trel,” he said, without looking up. “The count’s forces are still depleted after the pirate attacks a couple months ago. He requests assistance.”
Every day brought some news of Immortals causing chaos and destruction, but her family lived in Caerlain Trel. “How close to the city?”
“Not enough to worry yet,” he said, lowering his legs and setting the papers down. “But we can’t leave the villages to ruin either. I already have Tor looking into it.”
Her most promising lead was a spore that caused hallucinations in Immortals, but the tome she’d translated said it came from moss in the “sky realm.” If there was such a place, she didn’t know it.
And her search for a cure to Jon’s heart problem had proved fruitless. But perhaps some of their new allies would have answers? Once the alliance was stable, perhaps she could convince Jon to allow her to write to Leigh about it?
Jon set the work aside, meeting her eyes with his tired sea-blue gaze.
“You did remember your magic lesson, didn’t you?”
He blinked and raised his eyebrows, his mouth curving into a playful smile. “That was today? I thought it was tomorrow.”
She crossed her arms. “It’s today, tomorrow, and every day thereafter until you finally cast a repulsion shield.”
Which was long overdue.
He leaned back in his chair, by all signs hoping his staring contest would win him a reprieve.
It wouldn’t.
A knock.
“Enter,” he called out, without looking away.
Typical. She rolled her eyes.
“Eloi, Your Majesty,” Raoul’s gruff voice declared.
“Send him in.” To her, he said in a low voice, “Come on, magic can wait one more day, can’t it?”
She shook her head. “It’s waited too long already. Just cast the shield, and then we’ll talk.”
He heaved a sigh as Eloi walked in, tossing his head and displacing some of the blond locks obscuring his eyes. “Word from the merchants, Your Majesty.”
Jon’s smile turned into a broad grin as he accepted the papers, and he unfastened the collar of his sapphire brocade doublet and the first two buttons, revealing more of the crisp white shirt beneath. “Bring the rest as they come in.”
“Yes, sire,” Eloi said with a gangly bow before he left the study.
The broad grin didn’t waver as Jon reviewed the papers, half-laughs under his breath occasionally punctuating the silence.
When she cleared her throat, he looked up at her and opened his mouth.
“Wait, don’t tell me—he delivered some amazing secret strategies to cast a shield.” She narrowed her eyes.
Wordlessly, he handed her the papers. Delivery notes for expensive foodstuffs, massive quantities of flowers, jewelry, horses, couture—“I hope you don’t expect to win back her affections with gifts.”
He huffed a laugh as he stood. “Of course not. But that doesn’t mean I can’t try to lift her spirits a bit with this charade. Can you imagine the look on her face? I can see her surrounded by boxes, baffled and speechless, a little smile, and—”
“It’s going to take more than a bunch of things to ‘lift her spirits,’ Jon,” she said. His relationship with Rielle seemed to be in such a precarious position, and he was hoping things would fix it?
“I know,” he said, sobering. The grin faded. “Olivia, I can’t change what happened in Sonbahar. I know that. And that suffering will stay with her forever. It’s not something I can fix, but if I can make her smile, even once—be happy for a minute, a second—I want to try.”
She raised a brow. Maybe she’d rushed to conclusions. If he was managing his expectations, perhaps there was a chance… “Just… be careful. I don’t want either of you to get hurt.”
Jon offered her his hand. “Olivia, when you love someone, hurt is part of the bargain.”
Taking his hand, she stood from her chair and nodded. “Well, I can’t do anything about that kind of hurt.”
“No shields for that,” he said with an amused huff.
She moved a few steps away and smoothed o
ut her robes. “I think we’re getting close to you finally casting this. Just a few more sessions, maybe. Then we can move on to more exciting spells.”
“Exciting.” He straightened and took up a ready stance. “Right.”
“Focus.”
He nodded and held out his arm, his fingers spread out in the repulsion-shield gesture.
“Remember, visualize the repulsion shield’s rune and map it—”
A translucent blur the size of a full-length mirror appeared in front of him, and he held it, brows drawn.
“Good,” she said quietly, approaching with slow steps. She cast a reversal spell on herself to immediately heal her next injury, and she reached out toward the translucence.
“Olivia,” he warned.
“Stay calm.” She reached until she encountered resistance, then she pushed against it, pressing more of her weight into it, only she used her full body weight.
The shield held.
He’d done it!
Grinning, she stepped away and clapped. “Very good. Now, remember, to dispel it, you can simply break the gesture, or stop visualizing the rune.”
With a nod, he pulled his fingers into a fist, and the repulsion shield vanished. For a moment, he stared at the space it had occupied, then at his hand as he flexed his fingers. Finally, his gaze rose to hers, and a slow smile claimed his face.
He closed the distance between them and drew her in with a one-armed hug.
She leaned her head against him. He’d finally found his focus. The more he practiced, the easier it would come to him.
But something had shifted, and Rielle’s return wasn’t a coincidence. The heavy burdens he’d been carrying all these months had finally lifted just enough.
“You’re the most difficult student I’ve ever had,” she said, “and I’ve taught children.”
When he laughed and pulled away, she rested a hand on his shoulder. “No, you did well. It’s not easy to start learning magic so late.”
“Is that… is that praise?” he teased, heading to a nearby table. “Such a rarity is cause for celebration, I think.” He poured himself a drink from the carafe. “Do you want some water?”
By Dark Deeds (Blade and Rose Book 2) Page 57