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“Darnel?” Cecilia said, her voice pitched in shock. “We’re family!”
“Precisely. You’ve brought enough embarrassment to our name tonight,” Darnel said. “The least I can do is man up and take you into custody myself.” He let out a sigh. “Do you think I look forward to explaining this to Uncle? I don’t even know what I’ll tell him.”
Cecilia scoffed. “Obviously you tell him that wo—”
“One more word,” Aric said, cutting her off. His tone sliced through the air so sharply even Mitzi looked up. “One more word, Cecilia, and I’ll do your interrogation myself. You won’t like the process.”
Darnel strode forward and hauled his cousin to her feet. He wasn’t nearly gentle enough to make Rochelle think anyone was worried about her wounds, but hadn’t she been hurt?
No one spoke, though Cecilia did her best to glare Rochelle to death, as Darnel dragged Cecilia out the open door.
Fresh tears rushed up behind Rochelle’s eyes and exhaustion knocked her to her knees. Aric was there, tugging her into his chest, but he’d barely made a sound of comfort before Viveca interrupted the relief-induced heartache sweeping through the cottage.
“Um, was that Cecilia I just saw Darnel hauling off in shackles?”
****
Possibly in spite of the dramatically unexpected turn of events, the rest of their usual group gathered themselves enough to show for dinner. Though it was plain that no one had much of an appetite. It was easily the quietest, most awkward meal their group had shared in years, and the discomfort around the table only fueled Aric’s ire. He didn’t truly care about thethingsin his life—he kept them up, polished and nice, because it was what was expected. He cared about the people. His friends were his family, and they were hurting.
No one stayed after dinner, but there wasn’t anything left to say on the subject. There were only feelings lingering, needing to be dealt with.
Rochelle declined his offer to sleep beside him, and though her cheeks were still stained with the tears she’d failed to contain since dinner, Aric didn’t push. Regardless of the intensity of what he felt in his own chest, he understood she needed to move at her own pace. As he lay in his own bed, attempting to sleep, he couldn’t help but think that the last time they’d been separated by any distance, he’d nearly lost her. Arguably the last two times. That was unacceptable. Rochelle was someone he couldn’t afford to lose.
It simply wasn’t the right time to have that conversation.
He felt uncharacteristically conflicted when he descended the stairs in the morning for breakfast. Rochelle’s door was partially ajar, as she always left it when she was up and about, so he didn’t pause to wait for her. A smile threatened to tip his lips at the thought, and he imagined finding her maybe waiting for him.
One of his closest, formerly most trusted, friends had had some kind of break with sanity the night before. It was possible he’d discovered evidence of a longer, deeper treachery. His chest ached when he thought about that. Even if all that had happened was a massive misunderstanding leading to her completely losing her mind, she’d done something terrible. That couldn’t be overlooked. What she’d done would leave a scar on everyone in their circle.
Yet he also felt light—lighter than he could describe. It was genuinely stupid, but he couldn’t work himself up to be angry about it. He’d finally found someone who moved him, someone who thought of him and understood him in a way he couldn’t comfortably allow anyone else to. The timing was so horrible it was downright disgusting, but there was no caging in the sensation in his heart.
Not until Tinsley rushed up to greet him at the foot of the stairs with a pained expression on his face and a note in his hand. “Master Aric … I’m so sorry, sir. I have … terrible news.”
Aric swept the estate for Rochelle’s location on reflex, even as Tinsley held out the partially crumpled paper. He didn’t find her. Not more than an hours’ old trace of her presence. The lightness in his chest vanished. It was Awora all over again, and he did not have the patience for that.If Denham broke into my house…
“She’s left, sir,” Tinsley said in a trembling whisper.
Aric went so still he forgot to breathe. The paper hung, just barely suspended between his thumb and forefinger. “What?”
Tinsley indicated the single sheet. “She left that for you, on the table. As well as this.” He unfolded his other hand, revealing a perfectly smooth, gray rock nestled in his palm. A Connector Stone.
Aric finally looked down as an unfamiliar swelling gripped his throat. He had to work himself up to reading the words scrawled in handwriting he barely recognized. He’d only once seen her write anything down, hadn’t he? He pushed the thought aside and forced himself to read.
Aric,
Thank you for everything. You’ve taught me so much, more than I can put into words. I will always be grateful to you, to Tinsley, and to Mitzi and the others. But it’s time for me to leave. I will not come between you and the family you’ve built.
I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but I will deal with that situation myself from here. It shouldn’t be your problem or burden to bear.
I’m so sorry to be leaving this way. It’s not what I wanted. I wish we could have had more time, but this is probably for the best. I would never forgive myself for costing you someone you loved, and I knew you would have stopped me if I tried to say any of this directly. I hope you understand.
I wish you luck in all things. May the ancestors be kind to you. I will root for you from wherever I go, just as I will love you—always.
Her name was scribbled so sloppily it was hard to decipher, but he didn’t need a signature to know the words were hers. He didn’t need the evidence of a dried teardrop on the margin of the paper to know she had struggled with her decision. Just as he struggled not to crumple the paper into a ball and incinerate it.
Cecilia’s actions had pushed Rochelle over some kind of precipice and he hadn’t even noticed. Or perhaps it had been the fallout, watching everyone’s heartache as they attempted to make some semblance of sense out of a senseless attack. It hardly mattered. Rochelle had fled. Without any intention of returning.
If he was going to have any hope of convincing her to come back, he would first have to settle the strange and complicated situation involving Cecilia, Trisha’s death, and Denham.
