Chapter 13

13

Allarion had done and said all he could. Now there was nothing for it but to wait and hope.

Every hour that ticked by seemed an eternal agony. Never before had he so acutely felt the passage of time, nor had it slowed so to a trickle for him. His mind could grasp onto nothing; no matter the task he set himself, he started it halfheartedly, only to abandon it soon after. He tried to keep near the house, for fear that she would decide and wish to speak with him but be unable to find him.

No answer came, though, and he spent most of his time alone.

Without a task to focus on and his mind a mess, the magic that gathered in him had little release. Usually, he went to give over excess to the forest every few days, but as he awaited Molly’s answer, Allarion found himself wandering into the trees each morning and night, needing to purge away the roiling, unhappy magic. He even thought he might be affecting the local weather, and so gave over more than he might have otherwise to the forest, for fear of creating a tempest with his unease.

Two full days passed thusly. He didn’t think he exaggerated to consider them the longest of his long life. In that span, he saw her a handful of times. She nodded politely but didn’t invite conversation, and so he let her be, his hope withering that much more.

By the third day, Allarion fled the house, unable to stand having four walls surrounding him. The house had grown somber, moaning and creaking as it felt the upset of its inhabitants. The whole estate grew quiet and dour, sensing that they all stood on the edge of a precipice.

Hemmed in by the waiting, her decision, his decisions…outside was the only place capable of containing his frustration.

Splitting wood was an excellent task for taking out aggression, and Allarion wielded the axe mercilessly. His newest order of timber and other supplies had been left at the border of the estate nearest Mullon, and the forest had helpfully carted it along on a bed of moss. Organizing the supplies should have been a menial task that took him a day, but instead, he still hadn’t completed it.

The best he could do was split some of the timbers he knew to be too long. And, if he was honest with himself, the swing of the axe and the way it split the wood apart felt good.

It made the waiting bearable, if not better.

If Molly had any sympathy for his agony, he didn’t see her enough to mark it. He had none for himself, as their revelations had revealed the true depth of his miscalculations.

His disgust over what she had thought of him, of what she likely still thought, was hard to shake. What stuck in his craw most, though, was knowing that he’d have done nothing differently. He still would’ve paid any price for her. Oh, to be sure, he wished dearly that he’d spoken to her rather than her uncle, but if she’d refused him or hesitated, Allarion knew he’d have resorted to similar tactics as he did.

As the son of a old noble house, he prided himself on being an honorable warrior and a good man. Deep down, though, when it came to Molly, he was neither.

So, he had no sympathy for himself, for it was his own mess he’d created, and given another chance, he’d have created a similar one. If she chose to return to Dundúran, he would take her—whether he would leave her there was another question entirely.

But perhaps the one with the least sympathy was Bellarand.

The unicorn trotted out of the forest to inspect the new supplies, feigning interest when really, Allarion knew the beast wanted to gloat.

Still you chase her tail?

Don’t be crass.

Then you shouldn’t be stupid. Her silence is answer enough.

It was a truth he’d no interest in hearing. Throwing Bellarand a glare, he resumed his chopping.

A hot huff of breath washed over him, and Bellarand nudged his shoulder with his muzzle. Much as it amuses me, I don’t actually enjoy seeing you like this. Why do you not give this one up? There are other females.

Not for me.

Another huff, this time ruffling his hair. The forest is vast. To say it is not is folly.

She is my azai . My fated one. A gift given by the goddesses.

Bellarand snorted. Some gift.

That earned him another glare.

It is a dread-mount’s duty to point out when the rider chooses a perilous path, is it not?

Allarion sunk the axe into the tree trunk he used as an anchor. It is. But this path is not perilous, merely rocky.

You behave sillier than a foal over her—and for what? She has shown no interest, nor made you any promises. It is time to cut our losses.

Shaking his head, Allarion turned to walk away, needing to leave the conversation. He didn’t enjoy how much like truth it seemed.

But Bellarand wasn’t done with him. Easily keeping stride, the unicorn bobbed his head, pointing his horn at the manor.

This is supposed to be about Ravenna. Everything we’ve done, it’s been for her. This human delays you. Do your promises not matter anymore?

“Of course they do!” Allarion shouted. “But an azai changes everything. I would not ask you to leave a mate—do not ask me to give mine up.”

A deeply sardonic nicker vibrated in Bellarand’s long throat. Pawing the earth, his voice came deadly quiet in Allarion’s mind. Haven’t I, though? Have I not left all my kind behind, to aid you in your promise?

Allarion bared his teeth. “You promised Maxim as much as I.”

I did. Yet I am the only one keeping that vow.

He clenched his fists, resisting again how much his mount’s words sounded like truth. If he let it, the words would rend him in two.

Allarion was a fae of his word, and he would fight to his last breath to fulfill Maxim’s vision. Ravenna would live her life free of Amaranthe’s tyranny; her parents’ sacrifice would be avenged. But no fae could resist the pull of an azai —they were fated, destined. To give up Molly entirely would be to abandon all that was good inside him.

His honor or his mate.

It cannot come to that.

Bellarand blew out an irritated breath. Whipping Allarion’s flank with an indignant tail flick, the unicorn headed back toward the forest.

We don’t need her. The estate accepts you, and your magic will soon finish bonding with the land. She is hindering us. Give her up, Allarion.

He watched his mount and one of his oldest friends walk off, aggravation rubbing his soul raw.

I can’t.

Molly couldn’t decide what to do, and the indecision ate at her. She hated this uncertain person she’d become over the last few days, but crawling out of the hole she’d found herself in proved more difficult with each passing day.

The easiest thing to do would be to leave. Not even have Allarion take her back to Dundúran but just pack up her things and strike out on her own. She at least knew she could walk to Mullon within a day—there were inns there where she could stay for the night, or perhaps even find work.

However, her face was known there, and the thought of all the gossip passing behind cupped hands made her skin crawl. She could bear it for a night, she supposed, but after that…

Where did she go from there?

The answer didn’t immediately come to her.

She spent her time uninterested in much of anything, although she did put effort into avoiding Allarion. He gave her her space, which she appreciated, but still, whenever they crossed paths, Molly had to contend with the despair that positively radiated from him. A kicked dog or hungry kitten couldn’t have looked sadder, and she hated knowing that she’d made him feel so.

Her indignation and righteous anger might have sustained her had he not given her back her choice. It was one thing to rail against oppression and coercion—it was entirely another to fight against indecision.

One afternoon, growing despondent over the sounds of Allarion chopping wood, Molly found herself wandering down through the house. She hated the little mournful sounds the house made, and guilt tugged at her heart when it opened every door before she came to it, trying to anticipate where she headed.

The one door it didn’t open was the only one she wanted.

Molly approached the cellar door holding her breath. When it didn’t open on its own, and doing so herself revealed a plain cellar of old barrels and unused equipment, she closed the door and thought a moment.

Heart in her throat, she traced the symbols she remembered Allarion making when he brought her here. In amazement, she watched the places she’d traced burn with a blue glow before sinking into the grain.

With a pop, the door clicked unlocked.

Molly cracked it open to reveal the cellar of wonders.

Without Allarion’s magical spheres of light, it felt more like a cave, a hoard buried deep underground. Molly lifted the lantern she’d brought, and the light caught in all the thousands of gems and jewels and coins. Nearer ones sparkled in the light, while those further away almost glowed.

Drawing in a deep breath, Molly sat on the threshold stoop and just…stared.

No one she’d known in her whole life could ever have imagined such a fortune. And he said this was only part of his wealth. The idea was staggering.

Leaning forward, Molly plucked a coin from the floor and turned it over in her hands. It carried a bit of heft to it, being solid gold, and had motifs stamped into the faces she didn’t recognize but thought the words looked Pyrrossi.

Choosing another, she found coins of all kinds, stamped with different rulers and legendary heroes from all three human kingdoms. There were even some older than Caledon itself, from before it’d split from Eirea hundreds of years before.

Some of the pieces of jewelry looked old-fashioned as well, and some not in any human-made shape or style.

Where these could have come from she couldn’t fathom, but then, if the fae lived as long as believed, perhaps it wasn’t surprising that this wealth tracked through the ages.

And there was another thing for her to worry about—if Allarion truly was immortal, or at least ancient, what could that mean for them? Would he remain the same even as she wrinkled and grayed? The span of a human lifetime must have seemed so fleeting to a fae—no wonder they hardly interacted with other folk.

But that was a worry for if she decided to stay—which she hadn’t.

Molly very much hadn’t forgotten her promise to herself, to take the fae for all he was worth and leave him. A small handful from this hoard would be worth far more than a vase and get her further through the world.

Taking all she could carry would set her up for life.

No need to stay at an inn or find work in Mullon—she could buy her own place and business. Added to her own stash of savings, she could do anything she wanted anywhere in the world.

A part of her, not so little, thought she certainly deserved it after everything she’d gone through in her life and short time with the fae.

She worked hard, she tried to be a decent enough person, and she’d sacrificed for her family.

As Molly turned the coins over in her hands, she knew she could take as much as she wanted and walk out the door. Something inside her suspected Allarion wouldn’t stop her. Bellarand was another matter, but at least the gold and gems would hurt more than sunflowers if she threw them at him.

Molly suspected Allarion would let her have them, and knowing that only soured her stomach.

She took a handful of coins and gems, but only enough to halfway fill her pocket. She didn’t know what she’d do with them, but it gave her some relief, to know they were there.

When she left the cellar, closing the door behind her, the house creaked in its despondent way.

“I don’t know,” she told it, “I just…want to know it’s there.”

Late that day, as the sunset painted the sky with brilliant peaches and lilacs, Molly stood in the bedchamber two doors down from hers.

Opening the door to the armoire, she stared at the small collection of fine gowns hanging there. She ran her fingers over the rich fabrics, admiring how the vibrant light of sunset caught on the gold threads and created shadows over the elegant draping and tight seams.

Whoever his friend was, she seemed the type of lady who he should want to run this house. A fine lady, who wore gowns and jewels and an iron will. Molly felt downright dowdy compared to the imaginary woman who could wear these gowns, the one who seemed a better match for a fae and his plans.

Molly was just a barmaid. Nothing special.

She knew dozens, hundreds of young women just like her. It didn’t make sense that out of all of them, even just the women who’d been at the well doing the washing that day, that she should be the one he chose.

Molly didn’t know if she believed his claim about fated mates and goddess gifts and destiny. Sure, she knew plenty of otherly folk believed in it, and that was fine for them, perhaps it worked that way for fae and dragons and orcs—but humans? Her?

Surely not.

No destiny, no goddess had ever turned to look at Molly.

And that was all right—she didn’t need fate or destiny to forge a life for herself. She knew better than anyone that nothing was just handed to people like her.

Handsome men riding up on a noble steed to save the day was for fairy tales.

And his steed was more of a pain in the ass than noble.

She didn’t need saving, nor fae magic, nor divine intervention. She didn’t need anything or anyone.

Then what do I need?

And…what do I want?

Those were the questions she kept leading herself back to. She didn’t know the answers.

If Allarion was to be believed, she could have anything she wanted; she need only ask. What that could be was a far more difficult question. Without the feeling of being coerced into this situation, of knowing the truth of her uncle’s treachery and her chance to set things back to the way they were, Molly found herself…reluctant.

She’d never disliked it here, per se. The house was an interesting, if strange companion. The same could even be said for Allarion.

Molly was comfortable, fed, doted on, even. Many others would be perfectly content with that.

Why can’t I be?

Rubbing the red velvet of the gown he’d bought, Molly still couldn’t help feeling…none of this was meant for someone like her. The woman who could occupy this bedchamber and wear those gowns would feel it her due, no doubt, that this was the life she was meant to have. For Molly, though…she’d be waiting for it all to be taken away.

It’d happened before, why not again.

And she wasn’t sure she could live like that.

Morning brought no further answers, and Molly’s uncertainty had grown into a frustrated restlessness. Pulling her arms through the sleeves of her coat, she made her way down through the house.

It was quiet, as if it held its breath for her. Outside, fog had rolled in across the estate, keeping the birds in their beds and blocking out the meager dawn light. Burying her hands deep into her pockets, Molly set off down the drive, hoping to work some of the jitters out of her legs.

The fine gravel crunched beneath her boots as she walked, and the damp of the fog kissed her cheeks. The cool air had a thickness to it from the fog, smelling of water and rich earth.

She kept to the path, not willing to delve into the darkness of the forest that lingered just two trees deep. What light there was struggled to penetrate the fog, let alone the foliage. No doubt something watched her from the shadows, but she put it from her mind. Strange things happened in strange places, and this estate was the strangest of all.

Molly watched her footfalls, for there wasn’t much to see through the fog. The drive eventually gave way to a simple rutted path that followed the gentle curve of a shallow hill. She hadn’t seen how the land of the estate rolled and undulated with hills on their journey here, but then, it’d been night and Molly had been stiff and tired from the ride.

She followed the path up the hill, stopping near the top. The fog hadn’t cleared, but it was a bit thinner higher up, and below, she could spot the tall spires of trees rising out of the gray mist.

Something inside, something innate, told her that not far that way lay the border of the estate.

Molly couldn’t explain it—it was just a kind of knowing, like when the house creaked and she knew if it was a happy or sad creak.

Was that the magic? Had she been here long enough for it to start affecting her?

Changing her?

The thought lodged in her chest, though not entirely unpleasantly. She wasn’t scared of the idea, but it did make her worry—if she left, would there be repercussions? Like a person who’d had their drink taken away or those whose families sent them to Wards when their love of poppy milk grew too much.

Before her was the way to Dundúran. To the north lay Mullon.

But…did she want to go to either place?

What if…she didn’t leave?

The thought caught in her guts and pulled. Again, not unpleasantly. The idea of remaining on the estate didn’t cause dread or fear, not when she knew she wasn’t being kept against her will. It was just…Molly had survived this long knowing the rules of the world she lived in.

It’d taken years after moving to the city to learn its rules. Those of the tavern and neighborhood also took many experiences to understand. Once she’d learned the rules of how the place worked, Molly was better able to navigate it.

Here, in Scarborough, though, there didn’t seem to be any rules. Or at least, none written in a language she understood.

Go on, then.

Molly jumped, spinning in a circle to find who’d spoken.

From below, the shadows of the forest began to move. Molly wrapped her arms around herself as she watched the unicorn emerge from between the trees, moving seamlessly between light and shadow. Those glowing red eyes pierced her as surely as the tip of his horn speared through the air as he mounted the slope.

There is your path, he thought loudly at her. Go. Leave this place, and don’t turn back.

“So eager to be rid of me?” she couldn’t help sniping.

A low, rumbling nicker echoed through the fog. Yes. You have done enough here. Be the coward that you are and go.

“I’m not a coward,” she growled.

No? Then decide. Put Allarion out of his misery and let him lance the wound.

Her temper dissipated as quickly as it’d formed at the mention of Allarion. His sadness haunted her, even here, far from the house.

Do the right thing and leave him, said the unicorn.

No! her soul cried, but she didn’t know if the unicorn could hear.

Tears sprang to Molly’s eyes, and she turned to glare at him, but Bellarand had already moved back toward the forest. He flicked his tail at her as if to bat her away like a bothersome fly.

Biting her cheek, the pinch of pain helped her contain her tears.

She hated that the overgrown pony was right.

She needed to decide.

But knowing and doing were two very different things. And what if she chose wrong?

Closing her eyes, Molly breathed in the damp air of the morning, trying to clear her mind and make herself think.

In that quietness, one truth became clear—her heart didn’t want to leave.

Her freedom and independence meant much to her, so if she could maintain it here…

If she could come to understand or even establish rules for this place…

She supposed there was no true reason to leave.

There was nothing for her back in Dundúran.

What if she gave this a chance? What if she stayed?

She liked the house. She liked the promises the fae made her. She even liked him, with his strange ways. He took a little getting used to, but she often found him oddly compelling. There was something to the set of his shoulders and the jut of his chin…even with his black eyes and sharp fangs, there was a gentleness to him she couldn’t deny.

No man had treated her as well as he had—paying for her or not. No man had looked at her the way he did.

He’d told her all along he meant only to please her. He’d spent their days together being patient and gentle.

Perhaps…she could do the same.