“Yes.” He swallows. “I did so at the instruction of the man I serve. I have…certain gifts at my disposal.”
His gaze flicks toward Ashford, uncertain how much he is permitted to reveal.
Ashford gives a small nod. “Go on. Tell her about your magic.”
I glance back at Ashford. He winks at me—the gesture so quick it almost feels imagined.
The magic wielder clears his throat. “The spell I wove was meant to protect you from harm,” he says carefully. “To bind affection to loyalty. To keep anger from turning dangerous.”
“It is still working, in a way,” I say quietly.
“Yes.” He folds his hands together. “Lord Ashford tells me the enchantment holds. But it has…placed strain upon the one receiving its influence.”
He does not say Charles’s name, as though speaking it might summon him.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I can feel it. The magic pulls harder each time. As though it must tighten its grip to maintain control.”
I press my palm flat against the table. “It makes him unstable. Obsessive. The feeling grows too intense inside him, and he must find ways to discharge it, to…bleed it off.” Pictures of Verden enter my mind, the bodies falling into the river, the smell of blood and ash in the air.
The man nods grimly. “Magic does not create from nothing. It amplifies what already exists.”
Ashford remains silent, but I feel him watching everything. “May I see the ring?” the man asks.
I hesitate only a moment before offering my hand.
The man takes it gently, his fingers are cold and bony. He closes his eyes and almost immediately, he shudders, followed by a sharp exhale.
“There is too much bound here,” he murmurs. “Too many emotions layered atop one another.”
He reaches into a small satchel and withdraws a bundle of dried sage and a short candle. He lights the wick, then passes the smoking herb slowly around my hand.
“I must cleanse the residue,” he says. “There is grief woven here. Fear. Anger. Devotion. Possession.”
He looks at me carefully.
“Can you remove it?”
I glance at Ashford. His expression is steady and calm. “I am here if anything goes wrong,” he says quietly.
My fingers tremble slightly as I slide the ring from my hand. The moment it leaves my skin—nothing. I feel normal.
The man begins to chant softly, words low and rhythmic. His voice is calming, a gentle hum, and I am wondering how something so serene could be tied to dark magic—
My spine arches violently backward, and the world splits open.
I fall from the chair, a cry tearing from my throat before I can stop it.
Pain detonates through me, as every nerve ignites.
Ashford is there instantly, catching me before my head strikes the floor. “What is happening?” he demands sharply.
“Do not stop me!” the man shouts, voice tight with concentration. “The magic has been compensating for too long. She is experiencing the absence. I must finish.”
It feels as though something has been ripped from my chest. A vacuum that opened up where my heart should be, devouring every emotion tied to the ring.
Charles’s love, his hatred, his jealousy, his fear of losing me, his need, his suspicion.
It crashes into me all at once, unfiltered, unrestrained with nowhere else to go.
