Page 62 of Deals & Dream Spells (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #2)
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“What … how did you …” Evryn’s words dissolved into stunned silence as he stared at his grandmother’s face.
Her usually immaculate appearance was notably disheveled—silver hair hastily gathered into a loose braid that hung over one shoulder, and her voluminous plum-colored cloak covering what could only be a nightdress beneath. She must have left home in great haste.
His mind struggled to reconcile her unexpected presence with the desperate hope he’d been clinging to for Lady Nirella’s arrival.
At the same time, a childlike sense of relief washed over him.
His grandmother had always been the immovable pillar of their family, the one who could mend any situation with a sharp word or a decisive action. Perhaps she could fix this too.
Lady Rivenna remained on the threshold, her gaze drifting past Evryn with a peculiar hesitancy, an almost reverent disbelief, as though she couldn’t quite accept that she was standing at this particular doorway. When she finally looked at him, her expression remained distracted, distant.
“You … called,” she said simply.
“What?”
“Never mind.” The familiar briskness returned to her manner as she stepped past him into the cottage, her posture straightening with resolve. “What has happened, my boy? I sensed you’re in great distress. ”
Evryn blinked, momentarily bewildered by this revelation as he shut the door and faced her. “But … how?”
The question hung between them for only a moment before Evryn’s mind leaped back to what truly mattered: Mariselle. Lying unconscious. Each passing moment potentially pulling her deeper into the dream realm.
“It’s Mariselle,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “She’s?—”
“Are the two of you alone here?” his grandmother demanded, her voice rising sharply.
“That is beside the point!” Evryn shouted, the strain of the night’s events cracking through his veneer of composure. “She is unconscious! She has exhausted her magic, and I can’t wake her!”
Without waiting for his grandmother’s response, he turned and strode toward the bedroom.
Lady Rivenna followed, and as Evryn swiveled in the doorway to look back at her, he caught her keen eyes sweeping over the window seat, the table, the scattered notes and books, the dream core sitting on the rug.
An image of the teacups with painted names on the side came to mind, and he had to remind himself that this was not the first time his grandmother was visiting this cottage. In fact, it was entirely possible she was more familiar with this space than he was.
Rivenna paused beside him in the doorway, her breath catching as she took in Mariselle’s still form on the bed.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice quieter now.
“She’s been enchanting the dream core. Pouring all her magic into it. She’s an architect, Grandmother. A dream architect. Capable of incredible magic.” He couldn’t help the pride that slipped into his voice as he said this. “But she pushed herself too far this evening, and she collapsed, and now?—”
The cottage door swung open behind them, cutting off Evryn’s explanation. He turned to see Lady Nirella Brightcrest striding into the cottage, pearl pink hair tumbling from what had clearly been a hasty arrangement, now coming loose from its pins in the same sort of disarray as Lady Rivenna’s.
The room went utterly still.
The two grandmothers locked eyes across the space, and something unspoken charged the air between them. Decades of bitterness crystallized in that single shared glance, rendering the space between them both vast and fragile, like too-thin ice over deep water .
“What,” Lady Nirella said, her voice dangerously soft, “is going on here?”
Though she stood barely tall enough to reach Evryn’s shoulder, Lady Nirella emanated the same formidable presence as his grandmother, her spine iron-straight, her chin lifted in challenge.
“I received an urgent message from my granddaughter Petunia,” she continued.
“Something about Mariselle being in danger and to come to Windsong Cottage immediately.” Her sharp gaze shifted to Evryn.
“I assumed I would find Petunia here—not you, Lord Rowanwood. This appears to be the height of impropriety. I hope?—”
Her words cut off as her attention caught on the dream core sitting on the rug. Her eyes widened as they traveled over the scattered papers, the open books, the detailed diagrams.
“The contract,” she murmured, a note of disbelief in her voice. Her gaze flashed back to Evryn’s, then down to his hand where silvery patterns shimmered faintly, and then back up to his face. “The two of you agreed to the contract. This, then, is the true matter at hand.”
Lady Rivenna stepped forward. “What contract?”
“The true matter at hand,” Evryn said, anxiety welling up inside him again, “is that Mariselle has pushed herself far beyond the boundaries of magical safety, pouring far too much of her power into that dream core. She collapsed, and I cannot wake her. I—I am afraid that what happened to her grandfather has happened to her.”
Lady Nirella strode forward and brushed past them both, directing a loaded look at Rivenna as she said, “What happened to Krenshaw was entirely different.” She hurried to Mariselle’s side and took her hand. “You both need to leave,” she continued without looking up. “I will handle this.”
“No.” Evryn’s response was immediate and uncompromising. “I will not leave her side.”
Lady Nirella straightened, her expression transforming into one of such profound affront that one might have thought Evryn had suggested something truly scandalous rather than simply refusing to leave. “You cannot remain here, Lord Rowanwood. It is entirely improper.”
“What is improper ,” Evryn said through gritted teeth, barely able to contain his fury now, “is how you have allowed your granddaughter to be treated by her own family. Do you have any notion of what has been happening in that house? ”
“Evryn!” his grandmother hissed, her tone carrying a clear warning that even now, even in these extraordinary circumstances, he was expected to address his elders with respect.
“How dare you speak to me like that,” Lady Nirella said, clearly having the same thoughts as Lady Rivenna. “Mariselle’s parents may be firm, they may be somewhat … cold. But there is nothing improper going on.”
Evryn held her gaze, his voice low with suppressed anger when he said, “So you are aware of the bruises then?”
Lady Nirella went perfectly still, as though someone had replaced her with a statue carved from ice. When she finally spoke, her voice emerged with such glacial coldness that frost might have formed on the windowpanes. “The what?”
Evryn gestured toward Mariselle, as if to say, See for yourself.
Lady Nirella turned and looked again at her granddaughter. “That … that is …”
“Not from when she collapsed earlier,” Evryn said quietly. “That is from whatever happened last night while she was at home.”
Lady Nirella’s shoulders visibly tightened beneath her traveling cloak, and she drew a deep breath that seemed to physically pain her as it filled her lungs.
“Now please accept that I am not leaving this cottage,” Evryn continued, “and focus your energies on finding a solution that will bring Lady Mariselle back to us, rather than wasting precious moments on propriety that does not matter in the least in the face of her condition.”
“Very well,” Lady Nirella said. “You may remain here—in the other room—while I attend to her recovery. And do not despair,” she added in a tone that was a fraction gentler.
“Her condition, while grave, bears little resemblance to what befell her grandfather. What you witness now is the consequence of magical depletion, a serious matter to be certain, but not the irreversible entrapment that claimed Krenshaw’s mind.
” She cut another glance at Rivenna when she said this.
“Oh thank the stars,” Evryn breathed, pressing a shaking hand to his brow.
“If I recall correctly, this cottage houses Lady Eugenia Glendell’s complete collection of journals, and within those pages, I am confident we shall discover the precise treatment required to restore her. ”
“If I may,” Lady Rivenna said stiffly. “I believe I remember which of the journals might contain something of use.”
Lady Nirella’s head snapped up. “I have no intention of allowing you anywhere near my granddaughter’s recovery. Your assistance is neither required nor welcome.”
“Are you quite serious?” Evryn exploded, frustration and fear finally reaching their breaking point.
“Will you truly allow ancient grievances to dictate your actions when Mariselle’s consciousness hangs in the balance?
Can you not set aside your pride and mutual antipathy for a single evening and work together to help her ? ”
His shout reverberated through the small room, leaving a ringing silence in its wake. The two grandmothers stared at him, identical expressions of shock on their faces.
Lady Nirella was the first to recover. “Very well,” she said, the words clearly costing her. She looked at Lady Rivenna with obvious reluctance. “Which journal are you referring to?”
“If you would be so gracious as to permit me a few moments at the bookshelf,” Lady Rivenna replied, every syllable dripping with condescension, “I’m sure I can locate it without difficulty.
I … may have employed one of the remedies myself.
Years ago, after excessive magical expenditure, when I was—” She paused, her expression flickering with something unreadable, as though the words carried a weight only she and Nirella could fully comprehend.
“When I was first working on the many enchantments that would ultimately be woven into The Charmed Leaf Tea House.”
Lady Nirella regarded her warily for a moment before giving a curt nod.
“Show me. Please,” she added, the word emerging from her lips with such evident strain that Evryn was reminded of the first time he’d forced himself to utter the words ‘I apologize’ to Mariselle.
That was the first night they had begun their work here together. How long ago it seemed now.
The two women moved toward the door, an uneasy—and most likely temporary—truce forming between them as they stepped into the main part of the cottage.
Evryn crossed the room to Mariselle’s side, lowered himself to the edge of the chair, and took her hand.
His thumb traced over the swirling patterns that marked her skin, and he lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against the side of her wrist. The mark that had begun as their elaborate deception had transformed into something that felt genuine and significant, a visible symbol of the very real bond that now existed between them.
Beyond the bedroom, the cottage filled with the soft murmur of voices as the grandmothers searched through Lady Eugenia’s journals, their years of animosity temporarily set aside in service to something more important.