Page 5 of Deals & Dream Spells (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #2)

Chapter Three

Mariselle kissed Cinder’s soft nose, relieved to have successfully returned to Brightcrest Manor without detection.

They had followed their familiar route through the property, keeping to the shadows and skirting the meticulously maintained gardens with their distinctive cerulean roses.

She was grateful as always that the copper mare’s wings only blazed with golden fire during flight.

Their secret nocturnal escapades wouldn’t be possible otherwise.

“Tomorrow we begin something extraordinary,” Mariselle whispered, having carefully unbuckled and removed the riding saddle from Cinder’s back.

Her injured palm throbbed beneath the makeshift bandage she’d fashioned from her riding scarf, the pain flaring with each movement.

“All those nights we spent circling the ruins, imagining what it might have been …” She ran her fingers through Cinder’s silken mane. “Soon it will be real again.”

After ensuring Cinder had fresh water and a measure of oats, Mariselle pressed a final kiss to the pegasus’s soft nose. “Rest well,” she murmured, then slipped out of the stable, carefully securing the door behind her.

The gardens stood between her and the manor house, with flowerbeds laid out in ornate patterns, bordered by clipped hedges and pale gravel paths that gleamed beneath the drifting faelights—any one of which might betray her presence if she wasn’t careful.

Fortunately, Mariselle knew exactly which paths remained unlit, having mapped them meticulously over years of clandestine excursions.

She skirted the luminous fountain and darted behind a hedge sculptured to resemble a prancing unicorn.

Another quick dash brought her beneath the shadow of the western wing, where her bedchamber awaited two stories above.

A soft whistle, pitched just high enough to be heard by its intended recipient, summoned a flickering light from her window.

Moments later, a slender rope ladder unfurled down the wall.

Mariselle grinned. Tilly, her lady’s maid, had received her signal.

Ignoring the persistent ache in her palm, Mariselle began the familiar climb, grateful that her unseemly attire afforded the freedom of movement such ascents required.

Near the top, a pale face peered out from between the drawn curtains.

“You’re earlier than I expected,” Tilly said as she helped Mariselle through the window.

“The rest of your family is still at Solstice Hall.”

“Thank the stars.” Mariselle slipped out of her jacket and handed it to Tilly, who gasped when she caught sight of Mariselle’s bandaged hand. “My lady! Whatever happened?”

“A slight mishap during my ride,” Mariselle replied. “Could you perhaps draw a bath? I need to wash away the dirt and blood before anyone sees me.”

Tilly nodded. “I’ll prepare the enchantment. It won’t take long.”

Though Tilly was human and lacked the innate magical abilities of the fae, she had mastered the simple enchantments accessible to her kind.

Like most servants in noble fae houses, she knew the precise incantations to activate the household’s magical conveniences.

In the case of bathtubs, specifically, this meant applying the correct enchantment to the layer of ever-warm stones that sat beneath the copper tub in order to warm the water to the perfect temperature.

While Tilly busied herself with the tub tucked behind a painted screen in the corner, Mariselle sank onto the edge of her bed, allowing herself a moment of pure, unbridled excitement. Dreamland. She was going to restore Dreamland ! The thought sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine.

Of course, the price for this opportunity was steep: pretending to be in love with Evryn Rowanwood, of all people.

The very idea made her stomach churn with distaste.

But it was a price she would gladly pay.

The restoration of Dreamland would finally prove her worth to her family.

She would transform from the disappointing youngest daughter into the architect of the Brightcrests’ greatest achievement in generations.

And she would have Dreamland too! She couldn’t wait to see it in all its glory.

Tilly stepped back around the screen, interrupting Mariselle’s reverie.

“For your hand, my lady,” she said, offering a small jar with a green-glazed lid.

The familiar scent of Mariselle’s favorite variety of healing salve—peppermint and comfrey with an undertone of something distinctly magical—wafted from it as she removed the lid.

Her maid disappeared behind the screen again, and Mariselle unwrapped the blood-stained scarf from her palm.

The angry red slice looked worse now than when she’d hastily bandaged it earlier, but she was distracted once more by the silvery mark starting at the edges of her palm, looping around her fingers and over her hand in an intricate, swirling pattern.

Another painful throb forced her attention back to the cut.

She scooped a dollop of the cool salve onto her fingers and spread it carefully across the wound, breathing a sigh of relief as the herbs and minor enchantments began their work, instantly soothing the pain and beginning the healing process.

By the time Tilly appeared from behind the screen once more and announced, “Your bath is ready, my lady,” the cut was little more than a faint pink line across Mariselle’s palm.

She hastily lowered her hand and tugged her sleeve downward, concealing the mark.

The last thing she needed was Tilly noticing the strange pattern and asking questions Mariselle wasn’t yet ready to answer.

She rose and moved behind the screen, where steam rose invitingly from the copper tub. “Thank you, Tilly. I believe that will be all for tonight.”

“Are you sure, my lady? Perhaps you require?—”

“No, no. I shall be quite all right.” Mariselle had informed Tilly years ago that she was perfectly capable of removing her riding garments herself, but her maid always offered assistance regardless.

Tilly inclined her head in a polite nod. “Sleep well, my lady. Shall I wake you at the usual hour tomorrow?”

“Yes, thank you,” Mariselle replied, already anticipating the confrontation that awaited her come morning. “I have a feeling I’ll need all my wits about me.”

Tilly departed, and Mariselle removed the remainder of her garments—which Tilly would discreetly launder the next day—before stepping into the bath and lowering herself with a sigh.

The warm water, scented with wild jasmine and enchanted twilight herb, soothed her aching muscles and washed away the evidence of her evening’s adventure.

Though she was tempted to linger, anticipation bubbled through her veins. She couldn’t possibly luxuriate when Petunia remained unaware of the night’s extraordinary developments. With quick motions, she worked vanilla-scented soap through her hair and scrubbed away every trace of soil and blood.

After drying herself with swift pats of a plush towel, Mariselle slipped into her nightgown and robe, then hurried to her bedside table.

From the drawer, she withdrew a small hand mirror framed in delicate silver filigree, one of a pair she and her cousin Petunia—the only person she truly trusted—had discovered in an oddities shop years ago.

The mirrors were enchanted to allow communication between their bearers.

“Petunia,” Mariselle whispered urgently, pressing her palm flat against the glass before peering into its surface.

“Petunia, are you there?” The mirror’s surface darkened, then return to his previously glassy reflection.

She set it down on the bedside table and leaned over it as she pulled her damp hair over one shoulder and began braiding it.

For another few moments, the mirror reflected only Mariselle’s own face, cheeks flushed from her warm bath. Then the surface rippled like disturbed water, and Petunia’s face appeared, auburn hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders.

“Where in all the realms have you been?” Petunia demanded without preamble.

“Did you go off on one of your nighttime rides? On the night of the Opening Ball? I was sooooo bored without you. Mother paraded me before every eligible bachelor with a pulse, and I had to feign interest in the most tedious conversations imaginable. Fortunately she developed a convenient headache and insisted we return home early, so now?—”

“Petunia, you’ll never guess what happened,” Mariselle interrupted. “I raced Evryn Rowanwood again, and I won, naturally, but then we?—”

A sudden commotion from elsewhere in the house cut her off mid-sentence. A familiar voice—her mother’s—rose in a piercing call. “Mariselle! Mariselle, where are you?”

Panic fluttered in Mariselle’s chest. “Oh no!” she hissed. “I have to go!” In her haste to scramble off the bed, the mirror slipped from her grasp and hit the floor with a dreadful crack. The glass splintered into a dozen glittering shards that scattered across the floorboards.

“No, no, no,” Mariselle moaned, dropping to her knees and frantically attempting to gather the pieces.

The swift sound of approaching footsteps sent her into a fresh panic.

With no time to properly clean up the mess, she hastily swept the fragments beneath her bed with one slippered foot mere moments before her chamber door flew open without so much as a courtesy knock.

“There you are,” Lady Clemenbell declared, her voice as cold and cutting as the night air above Bloomhaven.

She stood framed in the doorway, her copper-toned hair still arranged in an immaculate coronet of braids, not a single strand daring to stray from its appointed place.

“Would you care to explain why you departed Solstice Hall without a word to anyone?”