Page 55

“No.” Grace sighed. “No. I just mean, people are struggling. They seek relief, not destruction.”

Willa’s expression hardened. “Sometimes struggling people would rather see others hurting too than find a solution.”

Her words sent a chill through Grace, and she shivered.

“Willa, is that you?”

Both Grace and Willa turned toward the voice.

Garrick was walking up the cobbled path. His steps slowed as he looked at her—full-on looked, not out the corner of his eye. That was odd.

Grace glowered. She’d temporarily forgotten about Garrick. With an entire patrol searching the town, one man, even a Clairmont, hadn’t seemed important. His presence now, however, reignited her frustration. He’d been following her,making life difficult, and making her look over-reactionary to her parents.

“How are my parents?” Willa asked as soon as Garrick reached the porch. He was still watching Grace, his expression unreadable.

“You know them,” he said. “There’s nothing they can’t handle.”

Willa shrugged. “Of course. Shouldn’t have asked.”

Garrick placed a hand on her shoulder but said nothing. Willa sniffed, nodded, and pulled away.

It was an odd exchange, quite different from their argument in the woods all those days ago. This interaction communicated a tenderness between the cousins. Grace frowned. She felt gratitude toward Garrick for the care he showed towards Willa, and she didn’t like it one bit.

Garrick didn’t deserve her gratitude, and Willa wasn’t her friend.

Except, the more time Grace spent around Willa, the more she felt a kinship to the young woman. She would be a fierce Protector, though admittedly a bit too vocal. In a different way than Russell—fiery, not chatty—but with the same risk. Secrets wouldn’t be their strong suit.

When Grace looked at Garrick again, he was still examining her. She shifted uncomfortably.

“You came to investigate?” he asked.

Grace nodded. “And you?”

“I came for my cousin. She insisted on pretending it was any other work day.” He raised his voice at the end so Willa, who’d wandered to the door of her home, presumably to escape his tenderness, could hear him. A small smile played on his lips.

Grace was surprised. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard Garrick use snark—the night at old Mayor Kavanah’s home came to mind—but with the absence of his usual avoidance of eye contact, he seemed disconcertingly sweet.

This, Grace knew, was a misconception, likely explainable by her exhaustion.

“So strange,” Willa said.

Grace and Garrick both looked her way.

“Yes, it is strange. Normal people take time to handle the trauma of such an invasion into their home,” Garrick said.

Willa popped her head out from behind her front door. “No you, dunderhead, this weird golden stuff on the melted iron. There’s more than this morning. We’re going to have to replace the whole handle.”

Grace stopped breathing. Golden stuff…

She darted for the door.

Once by Willa’s side, her eyes immediately found the metal plate containing a lever handle and keyhole. The mechanism was wrought iron, rough everywhere but the handle, where generations of hands had been placed. At least, that was what her memory told her the plate was like, because nearly half of the sturdy, dark grey metal was coated in a layer of shiny gold that sent waves of shock through Grace’s body.

Zerudorn gold.

It was Zerudorn gold. Here, in the open.

“Don’t touch it!” Grace cried as Willa poked a finger toward the shimmering metal.