I stared at the western horizon. Braddock Farm was that way. Maybe it was time to regroup for a while. I could harvest some grain. Read a few spell books. Plan other ways to find Ada.
When I spoke again, my voice was dreamy. “If I went back to Braddock Farm—and I’m not saying that I would—would you alert me of any news?”
“I’d even let you cast a compulsion on me.”
I scanned his features carefully. A compulsion spell was no small thing, and Rowan’s face looked open and earnest.
“In that case, I’ll consider it.”
His eyes glittered. “That’s all I ask.”
We reached the edge of the forest. A small town stretched out before us. Jaxminster. Here the buildings stood no more than two stories high. All of them were made of white plaster and framed by heavy wooden beams. A tall clock tower stood at the far edge of town.
I stopped my horse. “This is the place. Lady Amelia Masson lives in the estate beyond that clock tower.”
“How do you know?”
“Amelia was adopted by the Vicomte. All his so-called children have extraordinary gifts in science or mechanics. They must build their own clock towers as an early project for him.”
A flicker of unease crossed Rowan’s features. “I hope it goes well for you.”
“I’ve nothing to fear from her. The worst rumor I’ve heard is that she’s a crazy recluse. At least, she’s not one of the adoptees who builds weapons.”
Rowan frowned. “What about the Fantomes?” It was a valid concern. Almost every Royal had a Fantome in residence. That was how the Vicomte controlled his court.
“Amelia’s out of favor. She doesn’t have any Fantomes around. I’ll ask her a few questions and hope she has answers. Perhaps she’ll share something useful.”
Rowan’s frown deepened. I knew he was still worried about my safety.
I lowered my voice to a serious note. “I’ll be fine, Rowan.”
“Still, I’d rather that you could easily contact me without attracting attention.” Rowan raised his right hand. The veins there glowed red as crimson mist swirled about his arm. Within seconds, the haze solidified into a little robin that sat quietly on his palm. “This bird is one of my familiars. If you need to get a message to me, call her name, Tamu. My magick will do the rest.”
The little creature hopped onto my shoulder. Her tiny claws pricked my skin before she flew away. “I will. Thank you.”
Rowan opened his mouth to say something and then closed it just as quickly. I glanced over to his hands. He was wearing his heavy leather gloves once more. I couldn’t help but wonder… Did he ever wear his mating band? For one full day, our souls had been connected through those rings. Did that mean as much to him as it did to me?
My hand settled onto the base of my throat where my own ring hung under my gown. I knew it was weak of me. Even so, I treasured this band. Wearing it with Rowan was one of the few moments in my life where I felt truly linked to another person.
Rowan noticed my hand, and his features became unreadable. An itchy feeling moved over my skin. When we were talking just now, Rowan admitted to hiding something for his King. What could it be? Part of me wanted to press for a full answer, yet I held back. I couldn’t afford to get any more involved with Rowan than I already was.
My mission lay elsewhere. I needed to save Ada and the other Necromancers. Straightening in my saddle, I nodded toward the town. “It’s time for me to leave.”
Rowan shifted his horse onto another path. “Be safe.”
“And you as well.” I clicked my tongue, and Smoke took off for Jaxminster.
Chapter Two
For hours now, I’d been shouting at the front gate of Lady Amelia Masson’s estate. My hands ached from gripping the iron bars so tightly.
No one seems to be home.
Leaning forward, I rested my forehead against the iron bars and angled for a better view.
Still, nothing to see.
The courtyard beyond the gate lay empty. This was unbelievable. What self-respecting Royal didn’t have any guards? Maybe this one really was crazy.
If I didn’t know for a fact that Lady Amelia Masson still lived here, then I might have moved on a while ago. Especially since the darkening clouds threatened rain.
Finally, a light step sounded on the forecourt. A servant walked into view. She was older and petite, with a shrewd face and golden hair that had been pulled into a tight bun. “What do you want?” Her voice was clipped.
“Is the Lady Amelia Masson here?”
“Yes, she is.”
“May I speak with her?”
She pursed her wrinkled lips. “Your name?”
“Lady Elea.”
“No, it’s not, girl.” She used the pronunciation that the farmers did—gurl—which had a little twang to it. She knew I was lying.
Here we go again.