“You don’t know him like I do,” she whispers viciously.
Farron gives a harsh laugh. “Listen to you! You’ve known him for less than a year. We have lived centuries with him. Believe me when I tell you this is all a game to him. He will take your kindness and turn it ugly.”
Dayton grabs Rosalina’s shoulders. “Rosie, I know you want to see the good in people. But Farron’s right on this. He’s not just dangerous. He’s sadistic. It’s fun for him to ruin people.” Dayton’s eyes shine. “Don’t give him the opportunity.”
She shakes Dayton off, pushing past him like he’s a mere nuisance. Instead, she chases after Farron, grabbing his arm. “You’re scared again, Farron. But you don’t have to be. I can handle him.”
“Can you?” Farron turns on his heel and holds her with a flaming gaze. “Did you forget what he did to me, Rosie? To my people? My history? He brought an army of goblins into Autumn to kill my soldiers. He used my beast against me and destroyed my realm’s ancient texts.” There’s anger and hurt in Farron’s voice like I’ve never heard before. “And Dayton nearly died because of him! Doesn’t that matter to you at all?”
Rosie steps back, tears welling in her eyes. “Of course it matters.”
“And you know why he did that?” Farron’s voice shakes. “Because I ripped the damned little book you gave him. I ripped his book, and in return, he murdered and pillaged and ruined.”
Lightning seems to cross over Rosalina’s gaze. “You ripped it? That was my gift. You had no right!”
Farron’s brow furrows. “You think you can change Caspian with compassion? Kel thought so, too. Look at him now.”
We all turn to stare at Keldarion. A dark shadow has fallen over his gaze. His shoulders shake, but he stays silent.
Rosie looks down, eyes wide, chest heaving. “He hurts people because he hurts inside.” She clutches at her heart. “I feel it, Farron.”
Farron shakes his head. “I can hear what you’re thinking. He’s not your mate, Rosalina.”
Silence erupts in the entrance hall. Her mate? The thought staggers me. The idea that Rosalina could be mated to someone with such evil…
My fingers itch for a blade. Freedom. There has to be freedom for her and Kel from this—
I turn to him. Of all of us, Kel would know—
He’s staring at Rosalina, eyes glittering like sapphires. His expression … It’s one of shock, but not disbelief. She stares back at him, as if finding a tether in his gaze.
“What the fuck?” Now, Dayton’s voice is raised. He grabs Rosalina’s shoulder and spins her to look at him. “You can’t seriously think you belong with him. Not Cas. Anyone but fucking Caspian!”
“What do you care?” Rosalina speaks in a low, venomous tone. “You’ve got your little acolyte to make you pretty necklaces and fawn over you.”
“That’s not fair, Rosie,” Dayton growls. “That’s not fucking fair, and you know it.”
Hurt flickers in her eyes. “Yeah, well, go cry on Wrenley’s shoulder about the bitch of Castletree who’s good for a fuck but not good enough to love!”
Anger explodes across Dayton’s face. “Maybe I will,” he snarls, “because why am I wasting my time here? You’re not my mate, Rosalina.”
She gasps and staggers back. Immediately, Dayton’s eyes widen, and he blinks, dumbstruck.
Heat blazes, and fire licks up Rosalina’s fingers. “Get out of my head, Farron. I don’t want to hear your voice!”
“You don’t want to hear Caspian’s voice either, but that’s what’s happening,” Farron yells. “It’s only Kel’s ridiculous bargain linking you two.”
Rosalina looks shocked for a moment.
“Quiet, both of you,” Keldarion growls, looking from Farron to Dayton. “You’re both afraid. Not of Caspian. Of Rosalina. Of what she’s capable of with him—”
“Shut the fuck up, Kel,” Dayton snaps. “You’re the one who sent her away! Don’t pretend you know what’s best now.”
Kel storms toward him, and Rosalina starts screaming all three of their names, but I’m done.
“Enough!”
I stalk forward, standing between the four of them. Slowly, I pivot in a circle, hands extended, holding each of their gazes.
The anger is fading and there’s only sadness.
“Enough,” I say again, quieter. “We are family. All of us. And family doesn’t turn against one another. Find somewhere in the castle to be by yourself.” I take in a deep breath. “The night will pass. We have withstood each and every one so far. We will withstand this. Together.”
Rosalina holds my gaze for a moment, and I see it thundering within: a Spring storm ready to rage over anything soft and fragile. A look both frightening and beautiful.
A rose covered in thorns.
The castle seems to take a breath. It will sigh or it will scream—
A small flutter sounds. I look up to see a bird made of paper flitting down toward us. It hovers right before Rosalina.
She reaches out and takes it, unfolding the little bird into a letter.
Her face turns ashen. “From Dom and Billy,” she whispers. “It’s my father. He’s sick.”
62
Rosalina
When I was sixteen, a terrible windstorm swept through Orca Cove. Vancouver Island had reports leading up to it for weeks. Papa was gone, so I’d had to prepare for everything myself. I’d bought cases of water, canned food, flashlights, and extra batteries. And a hefty pile of books, as well.
When the storm started, I was terribly afraid. Our whole cottage shook with the might of the gale. Tree branches rapped on the windowpanes like an unwelcome guest. I’d called Papa before the power went out, but it went to voicemail as usual. Then I’d tried Lucas, begging him to come over or bring me to the lodge. He’d told me I was being inconsiderate; a falling branch could scratch the truck his parents had just bought him. Also, I was sixteen and I should stop being a baby.
I was afraid. So, I wrapped myself in a blanket and crawled under my bed, so sure the little cottage would topple in on itself or the whole thing would fly me away like Dorothy. I spent the night like that, listening to the roof rattle and the whine of bending trees, and I thought the storm would never end.
But when I woke up in the morning, slipped on my gumboots and stepped outside, everything was calm. Yes, the path was scattered with twigs, and my lawn chair was down the road, but the little pond by our house barely rippled.
Then I’d seen my father’s tall frame coming up the path, backpack smeared with dirt. “Came back as soon as I got your message!”
“Missed the storm,” I’d said lightly. It seemed so strange to me, after the turbulence of the night before, how there could barely be a breeze.
Papa smiled warmly. “Eh, the storm always passes.”