Page 50 of Eternal Obsession

“You’re safe now.”

“Daumia, he said that I had to give you something.” Alex reached into the pocket of his shirt and pulled out a gold ring. He handed it to me.

I examined it carefully, recognizing the crest. A gradual fear came over me. The engraved scribe read, “Stone Master.”

I heaved and struggled for words, “When did you last see . . . Velde?”

Alex, do not tell me the answer.

“He left a few moments ago, just before you arrived, Jadeon.”

“No!”

“Yes. Why?”

“His ashes.”

“What ashes?” Alex stared at me.

“Oh, my God! Father.” I leapt up.

I had believed the embers I had found at Stonehenge were Orpheus’s.

This was a nightmare without end, unraveling still. As I stared at my hands, the truth hit me with cruel clarity—it had been me who unwittingly took my father's ashes, who had scattered them carelessly into the cracks of the towering stones. Not with reverence. Not with love. Only with a heart poisoned by hate.

And the only way my father could have been reduced to ash . . . was if Orpheus had burned him alive.

But first, he had turned him . . . “Do not give him permission to enter the room,” I snapped. “Do you understand.”

“How can that stop him?”

My jaw tight with frustration. “Can you recall anything else?”

“Daumia mentioned he had a rendezvous with the Church.”

I sprinted from the room.

I hurried to the convent in Marazion, riddled with guilt. My father’s remains were now entombed with his enemies.

And I had put them there.

There was no time to grieve. Only the blame was welcome.

On my arrival at the convent it was typically quiet, the air still, nothing out of place. I had to see Catherine. Aware that breaking down the door would cause the other nuns distress, I restrained myself and rang the doorbell, pacing the ground before the entrance. Peering into the courtyard through the wooden shutters I strained to glimpse any sign of danger.

A small frail nun soon arrived at the door.

I towered over her. “Catherine, where is she? Is she here?”

“Lord Artimas, is that you?”

“Yes. Catherine?” I pushed for an answer.

“She . . . she is gone.” The nun stepped out from the convent.

“What do you mean she is gone? Where did she go?”

“A gentleman came for her. She was reluctant at first, but he persuaded her. They were heading for St. Michael’s Mount.”