Reaching for the door to our apothecary, he said, “Nobody died. In my eyes, that’s good enough. Just…don’t tell your aunt.”
“Oh, absolutely not,” I said quickly, entering the shop andslipping my scarf and cloak onto a hook by the front door. “Are you sticking around, or do you need to get home?”
“Actually, I wanted to talk with you.” The unease in his voice made my hand clench at my side as I crossed behind the counter. “About the Decemvirate,” he added.
This couldn’t be good.
He scratched his head. “I’ve spoken with Morgana about this, of course, but Beau…well, there are some things he might not be able to handle.”
I hummed and rested my elbows on the counter. “He can handle more than you think.”
“Perhaps this isn’t a conversationIcan handle, then.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “You know how dangerous this tournament can be. We don’t know what to expect, what trials the architects will design, who the other challengers will be. There’s no way to ensure I’ll be successful, or that I’ll even make it out in one piece.”
Fear rose inside of me, breaking through the layers I worked to squash it beneath. “You’re going to be fine,” I said curtly. “Nobody has died in a couple decades.”
“Death isn’t the only outcome. You’ve never met someone who’s come back from the tournament, Rose. Not all of them are…” He trailed off, a shadow passing over his eyes before he blinked it away. “Anything is possible. I must be prepared for all probabilities. Which is why I wanted to talk to you about the Arcane.”
My spine straightened. “What about it?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of parchment, folded into thirds. Holding it out to me, he said, “It’s yours.”
“What’s mine?”
“Theshop.”
I froze. “What?” I asked with a strangled yelp.
That brought a small smile to his face. “We should have done this a long time ago. She’s been yours for years—at least now, it can be official.”
When I still didn’t take the paper, heshook it in front of my face with an amused expression. I snapped my mouth shut and reached for it, unfolding the pages carefully, drinking in the words.
The deed to the Arcane Apothecary. Inmyname.Rose Angelica Wolff.
I drew my gaze back to my uncle’s. “But…why?” I’d been saving to buy it from them one day—one day far,farfrom now, but still. I didn’t understand why they’d decided to simply hand it over to me. Unless…
I shoved the deed into his hands. “If this is some sort of ‘dying request,’ you can take it back. You’ll befine,” I repeated, colder than I intended.
While the rational part of my mind knew he was wise to make such preparations, another part, adeeperpart, gnashed its teeth in protest. Ragnar may be my uncle, but he was like a second father to me, and the idea that evenhehad doubts about the upcoming tournament…
I didn’t know what I would do if I lost him. Or Morgana, or Beau. The number of people I had left in my life were few.
Ineededmy uncle to be safe. I needed Aunt Morgana and Beau to be safe. If they weren’t…if something happened to them that I couldn’t prevent, it would feel like my fault all over again. The way it had been when my mother died.
And my father.
Panic blossomed, and I quickly shoved that thought away. Gritting my teeth, I said, “I don’t want the shop out of pity or as a last resort.”
“It’s neither of those, Rose,” he said exasperatedly. “Don’t you think you deserve it, after everything you’ve done to keep this place running? Morgana and I have discussed it at length. We agreed it’s time. This is what your parents would want—it was their dream to begin with. We merely followed along.”
Guilt, yearning, and stubbornness struggled inside of me, a tangled web of emotions. What he said may be true, but I knew it was more than that. I knew he was preparing for the worst, shouldhe die in the coming month. Perhaps this was his way of keeping control over the situation—as I was wont to do, as well.
And…Fates, I wanted the Arcane. More than I’d ever wanted anything.
I swallowed. “Fine.” An awkward tension sliced through the room as I lowered my hand, the deed clutched in my fingers. “I—thank you, Uncle Ragnar. I’ll make a payment plan, set aside part of the profit from each month to pay you?—”
He shook his head and cut me off. “That’s not necessary. We have more than enough.”
“Iwillpay you back,” I repeated, louder, sturdier. “I’ll force the money into your hands if I have to. And I expect to be able to annoy you about it for a very, very long time, you got it?” The last part was weaker—a question and a plea, wrapped into one.
