My stomach growled again. I’d give it ten minutes. Maybe he would be asleep and I could salvage some pride. In ten minutes and one second, though, pride would be damned.
I opened the first box. Trinkets and letters, a locket and some pressed flowers.
My finger grazed the hope medallion I’d made as a little girl. Wishing for a brave and handsome man to help me through my troubles. Troubles which then had consisted of sneaking out to the pond to cultivate the smallest bit of ice magic and returning with chapped hands and nothing else. Getting yelled at for ruining my gloves—ones my parents couldn’t afford to replace.
Any marital and career prospects had gone the way of our country house. Gone forever. No one had come charging in to save me at eight. And no one had come at twenty-four.
I ran a finger over the dark stars on my wrist, marks that bound me, then over a letter from Kennen—one written his first year at school. I pulled the letter and wrist against my chest and closed my eyes.
I would save him.
I clutched the letter and my vow as I tiptoed down to the kitchen, as I ladled the stew into a bowl—as I devoured the heavenly concoction and ignored the tears blurring my eyes.
Chapter 4
MARIETTA
The smell of baking bread and fresh herbs greeted me as I entered the kitchen the next morning. I nearly skipped a step in relief. Rosaire had helped me dress, and it smelled as if she had cooked again. Her stew had been delicious.
I paused in the doorway. Noble paged through papers on the heavily scarred table as he sipped a cup of tea. A fine line of steam danced above the rim and lifted into the air.
I didn’t move for a second, once more stunned by his physical presence, then stepped forward, determined not to do anything foolhardy like trip or stare. Without looking up, he gestured to the teapot. I poured a full cup, warming my hands on the porcelain.
I marveled at the house spells once more. They were woven tight, layered deep—the kind that required constant renewal or massive reserves.
“Interesting reading?” I indicated the stack of papers, determined to be congenial.
Noble stopped turning pages and regarded me, a lock of hair falling into one eye. “These are the notes on the case. Mostly legal jargon. But a Master Archibald Penner is the one who captured your brother and claimed the reward.”
I stiffened and reached for the papers. Surprisingly, he relinquished them without protest.
I skimmed the pages until I came upon the last one. Archibald Penner’s address was listed. He lived near Carowell.
Noble poured another cup of tea. “Would you like to pay Master Penner a visit?” He regarded me over the steaming cup, tendrils curling around his green eyes and dissipating into the air. A demon asking if I desired vengeance.
I looked at the page in my hand. Lines blurred so that the address stood starkly against the crisp parchment.
“Yes,” I whispered. This was the man who had sent Kennen to prison and whose testimony might send him to his death.
A finger lifted my chin until his too handsome face was mere inches from mine. Lips of sin formed words. “Best put revenge from your mind, then, this instant.” His finger pulled a line across my jaw, his expression going from devilish to steady. “Otherwise you won’t step foot through that door.”
Anger rose, the promise of the dark offer ripped away. My tongue strained to let the anger loose. I swallowed it down with difficulty.
The edges of his mouth curled—a devil playing my emotions, making it doubly hard to keep silent.
He rose and removed a loaf of bread from the oven. The smell of rosemary and dill wafted through the air. He cut two pieces and slathered a dollop of butter on each.
He placed one slice in front of me and rearranged himself back in his chair, tilting back on the hind legs.
“You will become used to it, Marietta,” he said, voice deep and melodic.
I looked up from the hot, buttered bread to his eyes. “Used to what?”
“Listening to me.”
I gently pulled the bread apart. “I doubt I will get used to any such thing.” The soft center touched my tongue, and I held down a moan. I spared a thought for Rosaire, a true genius in the kitchen.
“Everyone does, sooner or later. Much easier for you to embrace it now.” Noble balanced on the wood legs and tapped a finger.
