Mercer closed his eyes, and Louvaen noticed the ravages that age and worry had stamped on his face—the parchment-thin eyelids as crinkled as whitewash baked years in the sun, the deep lines the fanned from the corners of his eyes to his temples and bracketed his mouth. The deaths of two beloved wives had aged him, but this business with Jimenin had painted decades on him. He looked worn-out. “I wish you hadn’t come,” he said.
She laid an arm across his shoulders and ushered him toward the door. “Well there’s nothing to be done for it. I’m here, and we’re going home.” Maybe a bath, a hot meal and a nap in his own bed would erase this strange and desperate melancholy that made her fear for his mind.
He glanced back, peering into the office as if its shadows hid an unknown threat. “Where’s Cinnia?”
“I came alone, Papa.” His shoulders sagged under her grip, whether from relief or despair, she didn’t know. “I’ll tell you everything once we get settled.”
Unsure if Sparrow would accept a second rider, they opted to walk home. Mercer was a morose companion, and Louvaen was too focused on watching every alleyway they passed, fearful a vengeful Jimenin would set his paid brutes on them.
Though she ached to see Ballard and missed the dilapidated comfort of his castle, the sight of the home she once shared with Thomas made her grin. A modest two-story timber frame with a stone and plaster façade, the house had been Thomas’s and later hers after his death. A row of rose bushes, flowerless and black, bristled below the front windows. In late spring and summer, they’d blossom with lush yellow and pink blooms. She made a note to herself to rip them out by the roots at the first opportunity and replace them with cowslips and foxglove.
The back garden was big enough to hold a small stable for horses, a coop for hens and a potager for herbs and vegetables. Louvaen loved every crack and corner of the property. She hoped her soon-to-be guests from Ketach Tor would love it as well, because they’d be packed in like cordwood until they found new accommodations.
She gave Mercer the key to the house and promised to light a fire in the parlor as soon as she unsaddled and stabled Sparrow. The bleak expression he wore flummoxed her. His remark that he wished she hadn’t come had equally shocked her. “What does he think?” she muttered to herself as she led the horse to the stables. “That I’d let him rot in a prison?” None of this made any sense, and she planned to question him as soon as he’d rested enough from his ordeal.
Sunlight streamed through the transom of windows set high on one side of the stables. The two stalls had been swept clean in her absence. Sparrow would have the place to himself. Plowfoot remained at Ketach Tor for now. An image of Ballard’s face rose in her mind’s eye, and she sighed.
The sound of voices halted her as she put her hand on the back door to enter the kitchen. She recognized Mercer’s voice and finally the feminine one speaking to him. The neighbor. Niamh must have noticed their arrival and wasted no time paying a visit. Louvaen liked Niamh and was grateful for her care of Mercer while his daughters had virtually disappeared into the far north. The older woman greeted her with a hug when she stepped into the kitchen.
Short and plump, with a sweet face and shrewd dark eyes, Niamh Cooper had lived next door since before Thomas brought Louvaen home as his bride. She’d comforted Louvaen after Thomas’s death—one widow to another—and had shared tea and laughter over the latest town gossip and the antics of Cinnia’s many suitors. She ran a successful carding business and was respected in the community. For all that Mercer didn’t make the soundest financial decisions, he had a knack for attracting smart, capable women.
Niamh pressed a cup of tea into her hand and helped remove the satchel from her shoulder. “Thank the gods you’re back. I was up all night last night thinking of ways to free your father.” She pushed Louvaen to one of the chairs at the kitchen table and made her sit before bustling to the hearth and stoking the fire. “I’ve made a pest of myself and invaded your house. Just toss me out when you’re ready.”
Tired from her journey and still infuriated at having to ransom her father out of prison, Louvaen was too happy for the help. “Please stay, Niamh. You brew a fine tea, and I welcome the company as much as Papa does.”
Mercer sat next to his daughter, uncharacteristically dour. “You shouldn’t be here, Lou.”
His litany annoyed her, and snappish words hovered on her lips before Niamh interrupted her. She shook an admonishing finger at Mercer. “Don’t be a fool, old man. Of course she should be here. She and Cinnia are the only ones who could get you out of the tower.” She eyed Louvaen, puzzled. “Though I’m impressed with the fates. Were you returning home when the Merchant House sent the catchpoles for your father? I thought it a week’s journey at least.”
“It is, but I had a little help from the de Sauveterres’ sorcerer.”
It was Mercer’s turn to look puzzled. “You don’t like magic.”
How many times had she made such a declaration and then eaten those words in the past few months? “No, I don’t. But it has its uses. I didn’t leave Ketach Tor until I saw you in the prison cell.” Two pairs of eyebrows went up at her statement, and she smiled. “Why don’t you sit down with a cup of your own, Niamh. This requires a lengthy explanation.”
She started with her return trip to Ketach Tor, after she’d paid the first set of Jimenin’s markers. Her story had all the makings of a fairytale. A curse cast by a vengeful woman and barely leashed by a powerful sorcerer who could halt aging for centuries, a crumbling castle, magic mirrors and a kind, beautiful girl who’d fallen in love with a man turning into a beast.
The reality was magical but not at all charming. Louvaen had developed a robust hatred for roses. Her kind and beautiful sister looked forward to an early widowhood. The man who married her would die as a man and be reborn a creature straight out of a nightmare, same as the father who had sacrificed himself to save him. She left out the parts in her recitation where she’d almost drowned in the pond and Gavin had tried to kill her. Mercer already stared at her wide-eyed and pale.
“Ambrose—the sorcerer—gave me another enchanted mirror before I left this time. I can summon Cinnia. Would you like to see her?”
Mercer nodded eagerly at her offer. She retrieved the mirror from her satchel, unwound its protective cloth and handed it to him. The silver gilt backing glinted in the sunlight, highlighting delicate scrollwork etched by a master silversmith centuries earlier.
Mercer grasped the handle as if it might shatter. The glass reflected back his somber visage. He wet his lips. “What do I say?”
She smiled. “It’s ensorcelled to obey only my command. Watch.” She leaned toward the mirror and said in a clear voice “Show me Cinnia.”
Niamh left her seat to join them as they watched the glass cloud with a heavy mist. Louvaen lifted one hand, ready to banish the image if they caught Cinnia during a delicate moment. Her luck held as the mist cleared, revealing her sister sitting peacefully in a chair by the fire in the bower. Gavin sat on a low stool at her knees, his head in her lap, eyes closed in bliss as she slid her fingers through his hair.
“Oh, how lovely,” Niamh said.
Tears glossed Mercer’s eyes. “My beautiful daughter. What a lovely bride you must have made.”
Louvaen coughed to ease the tightness in her throat. “She was beautiful, as always. Happy to marry the man she loved but sorry you weren’t there. She would have married Gavin in Monteblanco if she’d been able to, Papa.”
His gaze remained riveted on the tranquil image. “She does look happy.”
“She is.” At least for now. If will and desire equaled power, Louvaen would halt the future that bore down on her sister and her new husband. But she was powerless. Another woman’s rage had defeated them. She had only comfort to offer Cinnia when she grieved and sanctuary to give Ballard’s household when they abandoned Ketach Tor.
