Page 23 of Deals & Dream Spells (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #2)

Evryn stopped and turned to face her, his expression incredulous.

“That isn’t what happened. Your grandfather deliberately sabotaged the lumyrite network so that he could blame the Rowanwoods for Dreamland’s failure and force my great-uncle Thaelan out.

Krenshaw Brightcrest wanted Dreamland for himself.

He was looking for alternative power solutions that he could control so he wouldn’t have to share with a Rowanwood. ”

Indignation burned in Mariselle’s veins. “What nonsense! It was the selfishness of Rowanwoods, always wanting to take recognition for themselves, that led to the dream space collapsing and my grandfather being caught in eternal slumber.”

Evryn took a step closer, his gaze never leaving hers. “No, your grandfather was caught in eternal slumber because he overused his own magic .”

Mariselle flinched. It was true that her grandfather’s condition—which had lasted for almost ten years before death had finally claimed him—had long served as a solemn warning within her family.

A cautionary tale of the consequences awaiting those who pushed their dream magic beyond its natural limitations.

But in family accounts, he had always been portrayed as the hero.

The man who had sacrificed himself in order to buy precious time for innocent visitors to escape Dreamland before he himself became eternally imprisoned within the dream realm.

Never before had someone cruelly declared that her grandfather’s decade-long imprisonment within his own dreams was entirely his own fault.

Mariselle’s chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, but her voice remained remarkably steady as she said, “And he would not have had to overuse his magic if your ancestor hadn’t destabilized the dream space and forced my grandfather to try and save it.”

Evryn’s eyes narrowed further. “Except that it was your ancestor who caused that destabilization, not mine.”

Mariselle whirled away and continued along the path, hands fisted at her sides. This was ridiculous, arguing about transgressions from the past that neither of them had even been present for.

“Go home,” she told Evryn, not bothering to look over her shoulder at him. “I shall find the dream core myself.”

She strode forward, the only sounds her own footsteps crunching against fallen leaves and the occasional swish of her skirts against rough stone or low bushes.

The remains of the pavilion frame and the broken archways surrounding it created strange shadows against the star-strewn sky.

Darkness deepened around her as the warm glow of the lantern grew increasingly distant with every determined stride she took.

“Brightcrest!” Evryn shouted, his voice echoing oddly among the remains of the once-grand structure.

She ignored him, quickening her pace despite the low visibility.

Without warning, her skirts caught on something, and she tugged them free with an impatient jerk.

Three steps later, her foot landed on loose gravel, sliding unexpectedly and twisting at an unnatural angle.

She stumbled as pain shot through her ankle, barely catching herself against a crumbling column.

“Brightcrest, don’t be ridiculous.” His voice was closer now, irritated and alarmed all at once. The lantern’s glow grew stronger behind her. “How are you going to get the dream core back to the cottage by yourself?”

She pressed forward, ignoring the pain flaring up the side of her ankle and pretending not to hear Evryn.

“Mariselle!” he called, and it was only the use of her given name, which she was quite certain she’d never heard him utter before, that stopped her.

She turned slowly to face him. “What?”

Evryn stood before her, the lantern held aloft in one hand, casting dramatic shadows across his features.

His jaw worked as if he were physically chewing on words he didn’t want to release.

A groan of what sounded like actual pain escaped him before he finally said, “I … apologize. For what I said about your grandfather.”

Mariselle’s eyebrows rose, genuine surprise replacing her anger. “It looked like that hurt.”

“It did.”

She rolled her eyes, then took a deep breath, forcing herself to be calm. “I …” Yes, this was indeed difficult to say. She tried again. “I … apologize as well. For blaming your great-uncle.”

Evryn blinked. “Astounding.”

“What?”

“I didn’t know a Brightcrest was capable of apologizing.”

“Believe me, I’m equally shocked to hear the words ‘I apologize’ leave the lips of a Rowanwood.”

The mention of his lips inadvertently drew her gaze downward. The lantern’s shifting light cast shadows that somehow rendered his mouth fuller than usual. Irritated with herself for noticing such a thing at all, she quickly averted her eyes.

Releasing a sharp exhale, she said, “Can we perhaps both acknowledge that neither of us knows the full story about what truly happened between our ancestors? Can we stop arguing about the past and instead focus on the present?”

Evryn was silent for a moment before giving a reluctant nod. “I suppose that would be the sensible approach.” He paused, his gaze dropping to her feet and then back to her face. “Did you … hurt yourself?”

“I’m fine,” she told him, the irritation creeping back into her voice.

She ignored the stab of pain in her ankle as they started walking again.

This wouldn’t have happened if she’d been wearing her riding boots.

But the original plan was for Petunia to accompany her this evening, and so she’d snuck out in a carriage instead of on her pegasus.

“You’re limping,” he pointed out as they passed beneath an ornate archway draped in tangled vines and pale blossoms.

“I’m fine,” she repeated. “It’s nothing a simple charm won’t fix when we’re back at the cottage.”

He hesitated for a beat. Then another. “I could?— ”

“Spare me the fake gallantry, Rowanwood.”

He sighed. “As you wish, my luminous pestilence.”

She choked on a laugh that practically ambushed her with its unexpected force. She cleared her throat and swallowed. “Stop that.”

He said nothing, but she could somehow sense the triumphant smirk radiating from him.

They passed beneath the skeletal remains of the pavilion’s outer ring, its enormous framework still reaching toward the sky despite decades of neglect.

Dull lumyrite crystals remained embedded in the tarnished metal at regular intervals, occasionally catching the moonlight.

Broken columns jutted from the earth like ancient teeth, while luminous moss had claimed the shadowed crevices, painting the ruins with an ethereal blue-green glow.

Up ahead, the ground sloped downward in uneven tiers where time and weather had worn away what once must have been a grand, multi-leveled promenade.

Evryn stepped forward and, without hesitation, jumped lightly down onto the lower level.

His boots crunched against gravel and broken stone as he turned back to look up at her.

She stood at the edge, testing the crumbling ground with the toe of her shoe and wishing yet again that she had worn riding attire this evening.

A gown and a twisted ankle were going to make this difficult.

Nevertheless, determination was a quality Mariselle possessed in abundance, and she would find a way down, dress, ankle, and all, if only to prove she could.

“Need a hand, my daringly impractical skylark?” Evryn asked.

She glared at him with narrowed eyes. “No.”

“Excellent. Then I shall stand here uselessly while you twist your other ankle attempting to dismount like a dramatic goat.”

She stared at him.

He offered a winning smile.

Silence stretched between them.

She sighed, long and theatrical. “Fine.”

“Was that the sound of you accepting help?” he asked, eyes gleaming. “Shall I have it engraved?”

“Just get on with it,” she muttered. “And don’t you dare drop me.”

“I would never,” he said solemnly. “Not without warning.” He lowered the lantern to the ground, then stepped closer and lifted his arms. “Try not to enjoy this too much. ”

She gave him a look that could have curdled milk, but didn’t comment. His hands settled around her waist, and she braced hers against his shoulders. His firm, broad, and annoyingly steady shoulders.

He lifted her down with infuriating ease, the muscles beneath her palms flexing with the motion, and she was convinced he was lowering her excruciatingly slowly just to ensure maximum awkwardness for her—and to give himself the satisfaction of watching her squirm.

“See?” he said as he placed her gently on the ground, hands still warm at her waist. “No goat theatrics required.”

She stepped hastily away from him, her ankle throbbing dully. “If anyone’s performing, it’s you. I merely participated under protest.”

He grinned. “You wound me.”

“Tempting.”

She bent to retrieve the lantern and stepped past him.

They climbed carefully over fallen debris—Mariselle’s skirts catching yet again on rough edges and tangled vegetation—and came to a halt at the edge of a circular platform.

They had reached what appeared to be the remains of Dreamland’s central area, a circular space where several of the larger pavilion structures had once stood, with a depression in the ground at the very center.

“I confess I remain somewhat confused as to what , exactly, this place once was,” Evryn admitted, raising the lantern and surveying their surroundings.

“That was the main entrance, correct?” He gestured toward the largest archway, its structure still intact despite the years of abandonment.

“And those appear to have been administrative rooms of some sort.” His hand swept toward several small adjoining structures.

“But everything else is merely … empty space. A rather large amount of it.”