“I wasn’t there for him,” she admitted, voice breaking. “Ishouldhave been, and I wasn’t.”
She dropped her face into her hands, hot tears spilling over her fingers. The weight of it all crashed down, and she let it. She let herself mourn her failure, her regret, her helplessness.
Seraphine’s soft hand traced slow, soothing circles against her back. “Youwerethere for him. He knew that. But he didn’t… No one understood what was happening.” She hesitated before adding, “This is not your fault.”
Evelyne sniffed, wiped her cheeks, and took a shaky breath. She couldn’t afford to cry. She had to act. Lifting her chin, she met Seraphine’s gaze again with quiet determination.
“I will find answers, but I need you to help me gather everything I need. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, and I need you to keep this from my parents as long as possible.”
Seraphine’s brows knit in concern, but before she could protest, Evelyne grasped her hand.
“Please.” Desperation bled through her voice. “Do this for me.”
A moment passed before Seraphine gave a slight nod, and that was all the confirmation Evelyne needed.
Together, they packed with purpose. Seraphine laid out a portmanteau that was sturdy and practical for carriage travel. At the same time, Evelyne retrieved a carpet bag from her wardrobe—compact enough for daily use yet roomy enough to hold heressentials.
She carefully selected two well-made travel dresses designed for ease of movement but still appropriate for her status. A simple evening dress followed in case she needed to maintain appearances. She added a warm cloak lined with wool and a shawl for extra warmth. Gloves, stockings, and undergarments were neatly folded beside them. For footwear, she packed a pair of sturdy leather boots for long walks and one pair of fine shoes, should she need them. And before closing the case, she carefully packed the books, ensuring they were secured among her clothing.
Seraphine tucked a small knife into the folds of her cloak, its discreet weight comforting. Evelyne gathered a water flask, then carefully wrapped dried fruit, nuts, and biscuits in linen, securing them inside the carpet bag. She placed a coin purse beside them, ensuring she had enough funds for unexpected expenses.
But it wasn’t enough.
Once they had finished, Evelyne slipped from her chambers, heart pounding as she moved swiftly through the halls. Most of the staff were occupied with evening dinner preparations, and the house was quiet. She reached her father’s empty study, glancing over her shoulder before slipping inside.
She didn’t hesitate. She knew the fundamentals—how to load the powder and ball, prime the pan, and fire if necessary. Her father had taught her when she was twelve, allowing her to practice for a few years before deeming it improper for a young lady to handle a firearm. She was undoubtedly rusty, but hoped she’d never have to use it.
She pulled open the desk drawer with steady hands, fingers brushing against the polished wood and cold steel of the short-barreled flintlock pistol concealed within. Her father had always kept it in the same spot, safely tucked away for emergencies.
After securing the pistol inside her carpet bag, Evelyne paused, then reached back into the drawer. The weapon would be useless without the proper supplies. She found the small leather pouch her father had always kept nearby, containing powder, lead balls, and spare flint. The faint scent of sulfur and oil clung to the contents. When was the last time it had been used? Was the powder still dry? Would the flint even spark? She didn’t know, but she’d sooner take the risk than be left defenseless. Tucking the pouch securely beside the pistol, she fastened her bag shut and exhaled.
She was ready.
Chapter 20
Beneath a sky slowly unveiling its first scattering of stars, Evelyne set off into the unknown, the rhythmic clatter of wheels against the road the only sound accompanying her thoughts. Within the confines of her carriage, she finally allowed herself to breathe, her mind easing for the first time in hours as she gazed out the window, watching the darkened countryside slip past.
She was grateful for Seraphine’s support and the quiet strength in her farewell. Evelyne had hugged her before slipping into the night, still feeling the warmth of her hands. As she left, she saw Seraphine brush away a silver strand of hair, her eyes glistening with tears. The sight almost made her stop, tempting her to stay—but she couldn’t. This was a journey she had to take alone.
She had no idea where it would lead her. The thought scared her, but she had no choice—she would figure it out. No matter how long it took. She refused to let herself imagine the kind of fear Cillian must be feeling—loneliness. Confusion. Whatever had taken him had been tormenting him for months, a darkness cruel enough to twist his mind in ways she couldn’t understand. Had he been possessed? Marked by something? She had been skeptical of magic before, but now… now she had no choice but to believe it.
Seated on the driver’s bench, Finnegan, a man in his mid-forties, remained as silent as ever. He had served the Duskwood family for years,his questions never extending beyond “Where to?” or “What time shall we be leaving?”.His discretion was a gift—one she needed now more than ever. He didn’t ask why she was leaving alone, why she had packed as if for war. But she had felt his gaze lingering when she hurried from the manor, luggage in hand, determination in her stride.
She instructed him to take her to the main market of Velenshire, the last place she knew Cillian and their father had visited. And if Cillian had been at the library, then perhaps she would find some clue that could point her in the right direction.
It was a fragile plan, but it was all she had.
An hour later, the carriage rolled to a slow halt. The horses exhaled in soft huffs as Finnegan climbed down, his boots scuffing against the cobblestones as he pulled open the door. Before leaving the carriage, Evelyne reached for her carpet bag, carefully checking that the borrowed book was safely inside.
Velenshire breathed with quiet mystery, its streets alive with an energy that made the hairs on Evelyne’s arms stand on end. As she stepped down from the carriage, the city seemed to watch her in silence, its presence felt in the glistening cobblestones, the whisper of distant voices, the flicker of lantern light stretching shadows against the tightly packed buildings.
She took a slow breath, adjusting the folds of her cloak as she surveyed her surroundings. The narrow streets wound through the city like veins, guiding the steady hum of nighttime activity. The air held a strange mix of scents—damp earth, burning wood, and something sweet, like roasted chestnuts—blending with the cool spring evening. It should have felt normal, but it didn’t. Something lingered beneath it, something she couldn’t name, as if the city were straining to contain its power.
Evelyne kept moving, her boots clicking against the slick stones as she stepped into the heart of the market. The square was busier than sheexpected at this hour, but it lacked the boisterous clamor of Caltheris’ markets. There were no shouting merchants or noisy haggling; instead, the trade moved with a precise, almost ritualistic rhythm.
She passed by wooden stalls draped in thick fabrics, their awnings low as if shielding their wares from wandering eyes. Merchants stood behind their displays with quiet confidence, adjusting trinkets. Glass vials filled with swirling, iridescent liquid caught the glow of dim light, changing colors when tilted. Silver charms etched with unfamiliar runes dangled from wooden racks, their surfaces worn smooth from handling.
Evelyne’s fingers twitched at her sides. Magic was woven into this place; subtle, unspoken, but undeniably present.
