He wasn’t sure if he’d ever reach that level of acceptance with himself.
Bethan’s mother had fled the Abbey when she’d fallen pregnant, taking the Abbey’s secrets with her. According to Bethan, her world had turned into spun gold at a very young age. The manifestation of her abilities outside of the Abbey was a remarkably rare, maybe even singular, occurrence. And perhaps moreimportantly, her mother had recognized Bethan’s talents for what they were – recognized, and chosen to hide them from the Abbey. She knew what title would be placed around Bethan’s shoulders and what she would have to sacrifice to bear it.
Bethan had learned to contain her magic within dreams like Jude did with his books, manifesting them in a way that could be useful to herself and others. He often wondered if he ever would be able to harness his magic as Bethan did. She was comfortable with her abilities in a way he wasn’t. Greeted it like a friend, where Jude saw only an enemy.
Usually, Bethan’s dreams were her own memories, or someone else’s she was focusing on, but occasionally, they were of the future. And sometimes,rarely… her dreams included Jude.
‘What have you dreamed?’ Jude repeated when she didn’t reply. ‘Tell me.’
Bethan’s throat bobbed. ‘Cutting straight to it, then?’
‘We just spent almost three hours at dinner,’ he replied, barely resisting tapping his foot with nerves.
She sighed in response, lowering herself onto the corner of his bed. He tried not to let his discomfort show on his face. They always used his bedroom whenever she came with a dream to share. He often finished their sessions with a sense of vulnerability he felt was best kept contained somewhere comfortable. But he didn’t like people in his space. Ever.
You’d let Maeve in here. Gladly, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Elden whispered.
Jude ignored it.
The thought ofMaeve, however… he couldn’t ignore.
She’d been off over dinner. Withdrawn, almost angry. Had he done something? Said something by accident? It wouldn’t be the first time his brusqueness had come off as uncaring. Jude drummed his fingers on his thighs. ‘Bethan. Tell me what you saw.’
She looked up. Her eyes were red-rimmed and damp with tears. ‘Siobhan. She’s dead.’
Jude stilled. ‘What?’
‘Her body was left in the middle of Oakmoor. By the shrine. She’d been strangled. And… and—The tattoo on her chest.’ Bethan’s eyes slammed shut. ‘Her saint tattoo. It had been burned. I didn’t even recognize what it was at first.’
‘Fuck.Fuck.’ Jude scrubbed his hands over his face. He thought of the saint’s frail wrists, her bright blue eyes. Nausea rushed up his throat. ‘Were you the one to find her?’
‘Mum was. We buried her together.’ A flash of confusion crossed Bethan’s face. ‘Elden was there, too, when we buried her. He helped. Did he not tell you?’
‘Elden?’ Jude crossed the room, turned, and strode back to the other side, fingers laced behind his head. ‘No… no, he didn’t say. You found her this morning?’
Bethan nodded.
Why wouldn’t Elden have said something? He’d been gone all morning, true, and had returned the same time Bethan arrived. Maybe he hadn’t a chance… but no, that wasn’t right. Dinner was already prepared when they went downstairs. Elden had been home for a while.
For whatever reason, he’d chosen not to say anything.
‘Jude.’ Bethan’s voice drew his attention back. ‘She wasn’t hurting anyone. She was just trying to scrape together what remained of her life. And the Abbeykilledher.’
Words weren’t strong enough to convey the horror rolling through his chest.
‘Why?’ Jude managed. ‘Why would they—’ he trailed off, digging his fingers between his brows. The pain was indescribable. ‘They’ve martyred her. It was meant as a statement. Both killing her and burning off her tattoo.’
‘I asked around to see if anyone saw anything, but no one knew,’ Bethan continued, voice rising in pitch. ‘No one even knew who shewas, Jude. They didn’t remember.’
‘They were made to forget,’ he corrected. Was it possible thesame had happened to Elden? ‘It wasn’t enough for the Abbey to take her life. They needed to erase any part of her that still remained.’
He pulled sharply back, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.
His fault.
‘I shouldn’t have taken Maeve to see her,’ Jude groaned. ‘The Abbey must have learned we were digging into her life. That we know about the Goddenwood, and that I told Maeve about their memory tampering. They martyred her so we would – so we would know that they knew. To remind us that they’re watching.’
They never should’ve created her icon, even if Maeve had burned it after using it. Had that tipped the Abbey off, too? Did they know Maeve had finished painting his icon?
