“We took the stairs to the caves and exited below.” She chuckled. “It was kind of you to worry, Lord Bentford, but I will recover.”
“Bentford! You called me Damon before.”
“Yes, I know, but it isn’t right.”
“What isn’t right?” he asked slowly as his gut tightened.
“It’s not right that we alter our lives because of a flowering vine.”
Damon sucked in a breath. “Madam Boswell was right.”
“What do you mean?”
“She said that you no longer trust the vine.”
“I no longer trust much of anything,” she admitted.
“Not even me?” He thought for certain that would never change.
Cordelia offered a slight smile “I do trust you, I’m not certain I can trust magic. The vine chose the woman with a missing memory and who was afraid of water.”
“You are still the same person,” Damon argued.
“I feel different.”
“Feeling and being are not the same,” he said quietly. Damon could understand why she questioned everything now. He certainly would. “Don’t let the actions of one witch change who you are.”
“Two witches. One erased a part of me, and another tried to kill me, so I am not exactly feeling fondly toward witches right now.”
“Two tried to undo that spell. Three others intervened before Miss Perkins could harm you further,” he argued. “How many witches have you known in Bocka Morrow and how many times did they try to hurt you?” He would not allow her to blame all witches because of two.
Her cheeks colored. “You are correct,” she finally said. “I am simply angry.”
“As you should be.”
She was silent for the longest time before she looked up at him, her cornflower blue eyes dull with sadness. “Who was I to be? What could I have been? I may have still been boring and unremarkable, but at least I would have had control over who I was to be.”
“You are not boring, and you are quite remarkable.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m speaking the truth.” This time he approached, took the shoes and stockings from her, and set them on a chair, then held her hands in his. “You fear the vine would have chosen someone else had your memory not been erased.”
“It’s possible. I could be a different person. I may be a different person.”
“You are still you,” he said.
“You do not know that,” she argued.
“Yes, I do.” This he believed with his entire being. “Fate.”
Cordelia’s eyes narrowed as her eyebrows drew together. “You are saying it was fate.”
“Yes, and nothing could have altered our fates.”
Cordelia was shaking her head as if she didn’t believe him.
“Did you know there are three fates who govern all?”
