“You did well,” he said softly. “You weresostrong.”
“I didn’t feel strong,” I admitted, rubbing my cheek against his palm, seeking comfort.
“You were,” he insisted, his voice deep and certain. “Stronger than anyone in that room.”
A lump formed in my throat, but before I could reply, Tabitha approached with Rowan and two court clerks floating glowing scrolls between them.Rowan gave me a small nod.
“The transfer has been processed.”
I blinked. “Transfer?”
Tabitha squeezed my shoulder.
“Your grandmother’s estate,” she said gently. “It’s yours now. All of it.”
A tremor went through me. “Allof it?”
Rowan’s eyes softened.
“Your grandmother was the sole founder of Greyleaf’s Apothecary. Not your parents. She listed you as her heir a decade ago. She left you her recipes, her workshop, her savings, her land, her artifacts…everything. That includes the house and land Meris and Toland have been living on. While she gave him the house to use long ago, the property, including the house, all remained as part of her estate and is now yours.”
The world tilted again—but in a different way. A warm, overwhelming way.
“She always wanted you to take over one day,” Tabitha murmured. “In your own time. In your own way.”
My heart cracked open. My grandmother had believed in me long before I believed in myself.
“What am I supposed to do with all of that?” I whispered.
Savla’s presence behind me grew warmer—protective, supportive and endlessly patient.
Rowan smiled faintly. “Whateveryouwant.”
The clerks floated forward a leather-bound book—my grandmother’s ledger. Recipes. Notes. Dreams. A lifetime of her work and magic.
I reached out, running trembling fingertips over the cover. Savla steadied me with his hand, not stopping me—just supporting me.
As soon as I touched the book, I felt it.Her magick.It was a soft, warm and familiar presence. I watched as her green magick—that always perfectly matched mine—surrounded me.
She was blessing me, welcoming me and telling me that I wasn’t alone. My breath caught again—this time with wonder.
“I want to rebuild the business,” I said, voice growingsteadier. “Not what my parents turned it into. Not a corporation. Not numbers and quotas and mass production.”
Savla’s hand slid gently down my arm.
“How?” he asked quietly, and the way he asked—hopeful, curious and invested—made my heart do another painful, beautiful, twist.
“Back to its roots,” I said. “Back to what my grandmother made it. Small, personal and full of magick.”
I looked up at Tabitha. “She trusted her people, she brewed because she loved it and she let the business run itself. She believed in the craft more than the profit.”
Tabitha nodded, proudly, swiping at the tears brimming in her eyes.
“I want that again,” I whispered. “I want the old recipes back. I want to hire back everyone my parents shoved out—every witch, every herbalist, every apprentice. They deserve their place.”
“And you deserve yours,” Rowan added.
I swallowed hard and turned to Savla. He was watching me like I had hung the moon.When our eyes met, he didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t need to. The bond pulsed warm, a quiet echo of pride and something deeper, something tender and fierce all at once.
