Chapter 22

Rowan

BY THE TIME I GET back to Aurora’s cottage, night is already falling. I told Alden earlier today that I’d help him with the coop, but then I got caught up in the village. A brownie has taken up residence in the bakery, and supposedly, it’s been sneaking through open windows at night and switching out all the villagers’ shoes. It took me the better part of the day just to sort through the mismatched footwear, then more effort to strike up a deal with the mischievous little creature. The baker promised to leave treats out each night for the brownie to enjoy, and in return, the brownie agreed to stop causing trouble for the villagers. We’ll see if he uploads his end of the bargain.

My stomach is grumbling with hunger when I step onto the veranda and knock on the door. The windows in the parlor are open, and the rich scent of Aurora’s vegetable soup drifts out, making my mouth water. When the door opens, I have to look up rather than down.

Because while I’m tall, Alden is taller.

He holds my gaze for a moment, then steps back and opens the door. “Good timing. Dinner’s just about ready.”

I step through the doorway and into the foyer, where I drop my boots. Then I pad into the kitchen, Alden behind me, and find Aurora ladling steaming soup into three big bowls.

“You’re back,” she says, face lighting up with a smile. She has her hair tied back and a scarf around her head, and her cheeks are pink from the heat in the kitchen.

“Long day,” I say as I collapse into a chair at the kitchen table. Alden takes a seat across from me just as Aurora slides two bowls onto the table. They’re quickly followed up by my favorite of Aurora’s baked goods: sourdough bread.

I could probably exist solely on her bread and never have a word of complaint—it’s that good.

“Trouble in the village?” Alden asks, already taking a slice of bread and slathering it with Aurora’s homemade rosemary butter.

“Yeah. Of the brownie variety.”

Alden’s eyebrows go up, but Aurora just laughs.

“I love brownies,” she says. She carries her own bowl to the table, then takes a seat in Alden’s lap. He grunts dramatically, but I can see the delight it brings him. “What did you have to do?”

Over the course of the meal, I explain the dilemma and how we finally came to a solution. By the time I’ve finished my story, we’ve eaten our bowls of soup and have demolished the fresh loaf of bread. Aurora is still perched on Alden’s legs, and he has one arm looped around her waist. I try not to let myself get jealous.

“Well,” Aurora says, glancing at Alden, then back at me, “do you think you have it in you for one more adventure?”

I arch a brow. “What type of adventure?”

Her smile is beaming. “Grab a cloak. We’re all heading to the pumpkin patch.”

HALF AN HOUR LATER, I find myself seated amongst the pumpkin vines, Aurora and Alden beside me. The night is quiet but for the sound of a breeze through the trees, and the air smells of woodsmoke from the villagers’ hearths. The air is cool, though not cold, and the lightweight cloak I’m wearing keeps the chill at bay.

On the way here, Aurora caught me up on the pumpkin patch problem. I’ve spoken with the gardener, Tom, on a number of occasions and know what pride he takes in this patch. It would be such a shame to lose the entire crop. With Aurora here, though, I have a feeling everything is going to be just fine.

So far, we’ve not spotted anything crawling along the pumpkin vines or creeping through the soil. I sit cross-legged upon the ground, twirling a leaf that fell from one of the nearby aspen trees. Aurora is sitting with her legs to the side, her head tipped back so the moonlight turns her face silver. Her long green hair falls down her back in gentle waves, and I reach out to touch it. When I do, her lips turn up in a gentle smile, and she shifts to look at me.

“You’re stunning,” I tell her, not for the first time. I could say the same thing every morning and night, every time I see her smile or laugh, and it still would not be enough.

She catches my hand in hers and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “Thank you for coming with me,” she says softly. Then her gaze flicks to Alden. “Both of you.”

We nod in response. Aurora looks between the two of us, and her eyes light up even in the darkness.

“Let’s play a game,” she says, sounding like a starry-eyed child. That’s one of the things I so enjoy about her—her ability to make every situation a bit more fun, more magical.

“What kind of game?” I extend one leg and wrap my arms around my bent knee.

“How about . . . a game of secrets?”

“Secrets?” Alden asks in that gruff voice of his as he reaches up to scratch his beard.

I wish I could grow a beard like that. Mine just comes in patchy and thin.

“Yes, secrets .” Aurora’s smile turns impish. “You both have secrets, don’t you?”

Alden and I look at each other, then back to Aurora.

Of course I have secrets—plenty of them. But they’re just that for a reason. Because I don’t want to talk about them, don’t want to be reminded of what they mean or the pain they may have caused.

There’s one secret I’m already thinking of, and it makes my chest feel tight. I avert my eyes, looking instead at the aspen leaf still held in my hand.

“So, do you want to play?” Aurora asks.

I glance up at Alden, and he looks back at me. Why is it that we both seem hesitant to open up, but Aurora feels like an open book, completely at ease with revealing the secrets she holds close?

“All right,” Alden says.

Now Aurora is looking at me. Her eyes are bright, her expression soft.

Not wanting to ruin her fun, I let out a sigh. “Okay, let’s play.”

“Let’s start with something light,” she says, shifting closer to us so her thigh is pressed against my outstretched leg. “How about... one of your happiest memories?”

Happiest memories? That one’s easy.

“The day I got knighted,” I say, a smile stretching easily across my face. I’ll never forget the celebration, the banquet, the way it felt when King Jorvick placed the blade upon my shoulder and granted me the title I’d been working toward since I was but a boy. “It was one of the best days of my life.”

“Mine was my first day at Coven Crest,” Aurora says.

“The academy?” I ask, and Aurora nods while tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, from which dangles that same silver feather earring with the blue stone in the center. I’m not sure she ever takes those things out.

“I felt so small standing beneath the gates, so... unimportant and forgettable. And yet I felt like the world was in my hands, like I could do anything.” Her eyes get a faraway look, and she sighs. “I’m not sure if that makes sense, but it’s how I felt.”

“There’s freedom in being no one,” I mumble, and Aurora nods.

“Exactly. It was something like that.”

Now we look to Alden, and he’s wearing a rare small smile, looking completely at ease as the evening breeze tousles his brown curls. “The day I finished building my cabin. When I first started, I wasn’t so sure I could accomplish such a thing. I was an apprentice back then, still learning the trade. But when I drove that last nail and stepped back to look at what I’d achieved...” He lets out a low chuckle. “It’s still one of my proudest moments.”

“Why didn’t you stay in your family home?” Aurora asks. She trails her fingers through the soil slowly, making little tracks in the dark earth.

At her question, Alden’s smile falters. “My parents passed away when Lydia and I were young. As we grew up, I knew it would be best for her to keep our family home. There’s comfort in that—in staying where you were born.” He lets out a sigh and clears his throat. “So I built my own cabin, moved out so she could have her own space to grow.”

“That was thoughtful of you,” Aurora says gently. She reaches over to squeeze his knee, and the touch seems to shake him out of whatever memory he’s recalling.

“All right, how about a new secret?” he asks, seeming to want to shift the conversation.

“You sound like you already have one,” I say.

His response is a laugh, and it immediately cuts through the tension in the air. “You can never tell Lydia this.” He gives Aurora a direct look, and she giggles.

“I won’t. I promise.”

“All right, well... you know that cranberry crumble she makes?”

Aurora nods.

“It’s about the only thing she can bake that tastes halfway decent, but I’m actually allergic to cranberries. Make my tongue swell up every time I eat them. But I don’t have the heart to tell her I can’t eat it anymore—she’s always so proud when she brings me a batch.”

Aurora lets out a tiny gasp. “Alden!”

“What?” He laughs again, rocking back and looking up toward the sky so the moonlight cuts across his bearded face. “It’d break her heart if I told her the truth. And then she’d probably try to bake something else, and that wouldn’t be good for anyone.”

The three of us share a laugh as the evening insects chirp in the trees up on Heritage Hill.

“Okay, Aurora.” I tip my head at her and give her a smile. “Your turn.”

Her giggle fades, and her pink lips pull down in the corners. “Well... my secret is that I know I’ve never been my mother’s favorite, and I know she’s disappointed in me.”

That takes the air right out of my lungs. How anyone could ever be disappointed in Aurora, I have no idea. She’s kind and soft and funny, gives freely and with open arms, and makes the best food I’ve ever tasted. There’s not a single thing I’d wish to change about her.

“Selene has always been the perfect daughter, the perfect witch.” Aurora pushes her hair back over her shoulder with a sigh. “She’s extremely proficient in the craft, much more so than I am. With her talent, she could’ve joined the Shadowfall Court.”

The mention of King Jorvick’s coven has me recalling the colorful-haired women who reside in his castle, moving about the torchlit halls with swishing skirts and crystals tied about their waists. I know little about them but for the fact they are one of the most powerful assets he has. I stood watch outside his study on multiple occasions, listening to the mumbled words through the door as he sought their counsel—and he seeks counsel from very few.

Aurora’s voice calls me back to the present.

“My mother pushed me to do more, to be more, but... I am who I am. And I like being this way, even if it’s not what she wanted from her daughter.”

A moment of silence passes. I meet Aurora’s eyes.

“The only person you ever have to please in your life,” I say softly, “is yourself. Do that, and everything else will fall into place.”

“You seem so sure of that,” she says, tipping her head and holding my stare.

I shrug. “It’s what I had to do.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a good secret too,” Alden says.

And again, my stomach tightens up. I could come up with a silly secret, something lighthearted and jovial. But somehow, that doesn’t feel right to me. If ever there was a moment to tell them what it is I carry around in my heart, this is it.

I open my mouth, but Aurora cuts me off with a gasp.

“Look!”

She points, and Alden and I both turn to see what she’s spotted.

Little iridescent bugs are drifting through the summer air, and as we watch, they descend upon the pumpkin patch in a shimmering swarm. A few land near to us, and I get my first good look at them.

They’re similar to ladybugs, but with spots of gold and purple and turquoise on black bodies. They gleam in the moonlight as they move, sparkling like little jewels.

“What are they?” Alden asks.

“Gilded thornbugs,” Aurora responds right away. “But... they’re not native to this area. I’ve never seen them here before.”

I recall the merchants in town during and after the Beltane festival, with their carts piled high with products and goods from distant towns.

“Could they have hitched a ride with one of the traveling merchants?” I ask.

Aurora nibbles on her lip in thought, then gives a single nod. “That would make sense. Oh, Alden, don’t!”

But it’s too late. Alden is reaching for one of the thornbugs, holding his finger toward it, and in the blink of an eye, it lashes out with thin thorny vines. The thorns cut Alden’s finger, and he yanks his hand back with a hiss of surprise.

“What the . . . ?”

Blood beads on his fingertip, bright in the moonlight.

“They’re extremely defensive,” Aurora explains. “You can’t simply remove them—they’ll fight back to defend themselves and their territory.”

There’s a thornbug crawling along a vine close to my leg, and I shift subtly away from it.

“How do we get rid of them, then?” I ask.

Aurora is chewing her lip again. “I’m not sure. But Auntie was gifted with all things earth magic. Surely there’s something in one of her spellbooks about thornbugs.”

The thornbug nearest me is already nibbling away at the pumpkin vine, making quick work of its destruction.

“Well,” I say, not taking my eyes off it, “we’d better make haste if we want any chance of saving this patch. At this rate, there won’t be any pumpkins left.”

Aurora nods once, expression grim. “Let’s go.”