Tanglewood Magic (The Three Sisters Book 2) Read online

Relief flooded Circe. He’d done it. They’d done it. The admiration she felt for Rhys made her want to pull him into her arms.

  Medea squeezed her hand. Circe tore her gaze away from Rhys and settled it on Medea. The queen’s eyes blinked open. “What happened?”

  “You were poisoned!” Circe cried. “Thank the Fates Rhys had a cure.”

  She made room for Tavyss to pull Medea into his arms. He wrapped his wings around her. Scales broke out along his arms, and his eyes glowed with yellow fire. A growl rattled in his throat. At times like these, it was impossible to forget that Tavyss was a dragon and Medea was his greatest treasure.

  “Tavyss? Tavyss, I’m fine.” Medea pressed a hand against his heart.

  Wanting to give them privacy, Circe turned away. Rhys was standing outside the door, shoulders sagging. He looked exhausted but also…relieved. Both of them knew the entire situation could have gone another way.

  She joined him outside the infirmary and whispered, “You did it. It worked. It’s okay.”

  “Thanks to you.” His gaze bore into hers. “If it wasn’t for your magic and your brilliant mind, she’d be dead. People here, they don’t realize what they have in you.”

  The intensity of being the sole object of Rhys’s attention was almost too much. She resisted the urge to look away. Was he talking about the people of Darnuith or someone far closer to home? A ghost of a smile raised her cheeks. “Thank you. I’m just happy that it worked.”

  He nodded. “There’s one more patient we need to check.”

  Circe froze. “The baby!”

  From the laboratory, Rhys retrieved his enchanted glasses and stepped back into the room. With some prodding and explanation, Circe was able to convince Tavyss to let Rhys examine Medea once more. He stared at her abdomen while Circe held her breath.

  “He’s fine,” Rhys blurted, his gaze finding hers and a rare smile dancing fleetingly across his face. Circe watched the tension ease from his body, and her heart thumped with joy. For a moment, it was as if they were the only two people in the room, bathing in the realization that something they’d created together had saved her sister’s life, her baby’s life.

  “He?” Medea asked, breaking the intense connection.

  “He,” Rhys confirmed, turning his smile on the queen.

  Circe grinned at her sister. Isis wrapped her arms around Medea and Tavyss, pressing her forehead to the side of Medea’s head.

  “You should stay here tonight,” Rhys said to Medea and Tavyss. “Just for the night. In case there are any side effects.”

  Circe nodded her agreement. She had another reason for wanting Medea to stay in the infirmary tonight. They still didn’t know who in the palace had poisoned her.

  Seeming to read her thoughts, Isis came closer, her eyes shadowed with dark thoughts. “We will find who did this, sister,” she said softly, just to her.

  Circe nodded. “Yes, we will.”

  Later that evening, Circe struggled to find a reason not to go home. Medea and Tavyss were sleeping peacefully in the infirmary. Isis had left hours ago. But something kept her there, waiting in the front room of the apothecary, in a chair reserved for family members. Part of it was wanting to keep her sister safe. But there was something else, too. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  “I thought you’d gone home.” Rhys stood in the doorway to his laboratory, eyes puffy with fatigue.

  “I couldn’t bring myself to go. I just want to know that she’s okay.”

  He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “She’s going to be fine. And I just finished brewing another batch of antidote in case anyone else in the palace is poisoned.”

  Circe frowned. “It was meant for her. All of us drank the wine, and she was the only one who suffered ill effects. Someone on the inside wants her dead.”

  “I think so too, but you can never be too careful. Tavyss told me he ordered Zelaria to interrogate every person who touched Medea’s glass. Every member of the Royal Guard is searching the grounds for clues in case someone snuck in from the outside.”

  Who would do such a thing to her sister? Circe was too tired to even think about it.

  “Why didn’t you tell me before about your wife?” she asked. That was it. The other reason she’d stayed. It nagged at her like a persistent itch, and only now, with him here in front of her, did she realize how much it bothered her.

  She hadn’t planned to bring it up, but Fates, she had to know. What had happened to her? It must have ended badly.

  “It’s not something I like to talk about.” He glanced out the window toward the stars, bright in the night sky.

  “Where is she now? Is it someone I know? Someone from Mistcraven?”

  He blinked rapidly at her. “The Glade Cemetery,” he said softly. “I am widowed, ten years now.”

  Her mouth dropped open. She hadn’t expected that. He was so young. “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged and tilted his head as if to acknowledge she couldn’t have known. “June was the reason I started Bloodgood’s. She died from a rare fever the old healer, Merriweather, couldn’t cure. Merriweather used magic more than medicine, and after I buried her, I made it my mission to understand how the gifts of the Fates, herbs and roots, could augment spells and enchantments in the healing process. If June were dying today, I’d be able to save her.”

  “Oh, Rhys.” She placed a hand on her chest. “Was that why you were upset today? Did you feel like you were betraying your wife’s memory by attending the game with me?”

  He jerked, shaking his head. “No. I came to terms with her death years ago, Circe.”

  “Then what was it? When I climbed into that carriage, you looked at me like I was covered in vilt dung. I know you said we can only be friends, but friends don’t treat friends that way. Even Brody paid me a compliment.”

  He scoffed. “But that’s the problem.” He strode closer to her and held out his hand. She placed her fingers into his. With a tug, he pulled her onto her feet so that she stood only inches from him. “I don’t think I can be your friend.”

  She gasped.

  He pressed a finger over her lips.

  “When I saw you today in this dress…” His gaze raked over her as if he could see down to her bones, all her inner workings, even without his enchanted glasses. “Every part of me wanted you, Circe. For the first time since my wife’s death, I wanted someone to be mine in every way. I want your mind, your body, your soul.” His voice turned gritty and sent a shiver along her skin. He stepped in a little closer and took a lock of her dark hair between his fingers, stroking it near her shoulder. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. I think the exhaustion is working as a truth serum. I can’t seem to keep it to myself anymore. I feel something for you that I haven’t felt in a long time, and it scares me. It scares me to death.”

  Circe’s heart swelled at the admission. He was a widower, still scarred by his wife’s death. “It’s okay. I understand. I’d never rush you. We don’t have to—”

  He pulled her against him, one arm banding her waist like a vise. “I wanted to kiss you that day in the laboratory. I did. But a kiss is a magical thing, Circe. It’s a doorway, and once you pass through it, you’ve always been kissed and you’ve always done the kissing, and nothing is sadder than a kiss that was but can never be again. Don’t you know that in this dress, you are like a walking kiss? You are bright and hot and begging to be tasted, and here you are in my arms like a dream.”

  “If it is a dream, you should lower your voice so that we don’t wake up.” Her fingers tangled in his hair. “Kisses are magic, but not such a rare kind to never be had again. So, kiss me, Rhys. Kiss me, and then kiss me again. I won’t go up in smoke.”

  He shook his head. “But nothing lasts forever. I, of all people, know that and know the pain of an unexpected ending.”

  “But do you know the pain of unrequited love? A broken egg will never be a chick. If a kiss is a door, then only by having it can you see
what’s on the other side. Nothing lasts forever. You said it yourself. I’ll take every door that’s offered. I wouldn’t want to miss a chance.”

  She rose up onto her toes, brought her lips close to his. At his advantaged height, he’d have to bend his neck a little more for their lips to meet. She waited, feeling his hesitancy in the stiff posture of his back. His navy eyes glinted in the moonlight, wild as if he were warring with himself.

  All the tension bled from him on a sigh. “Forgive me.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.”

  His mouth pressed against hers then, lips gentle and warm, the edge of his beard soft against her chin. She’d never been kissed before. Not like this, anyway. She tipped her head and gave herself over to it. His tongue dipped between her lips, stroked along her tongue. She could feel that kiss all the way to her toes, but especially in the tips of her breasts and deep within her core.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him. She wanted him. Wanted more.

  But he gently pushed her away, his breath coming in trembling pants.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Absolutely nothing,” he said. “There’s so much right about that kiss I’m surprised we haven’t both gone up in flames.”

  She laughed. Her cheeks and ears grew hot.

  “We’re both tired,” he said around a smile. “There will be other days, other kisses, other nights.”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “Then let’s leave the door open for now and savor the view.”

  She took a step back, her fingers trailing from his. “I like that idea.”

  “I should escort you home. You don’t have your broom. You’ll have to walk.”

  She bit her lip and shook her head. “My cottage is close. I need some cool night air anyway.”

  He winked. “Tomorrow, Circe.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  She slipped out the door into the night.

  Chapter

  Six

  “Where is my queen? I have news.”

  Rhys stared across the counter at Zelaria. He’d always thought the witch reminded him of a dead tree come to life. She wasn’t old by any means. Under fifty, he estimated. But her skin was sallow and weathered, and her hair fell in frizzy coils to her shoulders.

  Years ago, he’d thought she could have been beautiful. Could have been. But any beauty the Fates had given her was wasted on her. She rarely smiled, and when she did, as she was doing now, there was no warmth to it.

  “She’s in the infirmary. Tavyss is in there with her. I’ll show you back.” He started in Medea’s direction, but Zelaria held up a hand. “No need.”

  She strode past him, her staff tapping the floor between every step. Power radiated off that staff. Unquestionable power. And just like with her smile, Rhys thought there was no warmth in her magic, no heart. Maybe that was why the Fates had not chosen her to be queen as they all had expected when Ferula died.

  “How are you feeling, my queen?” Zelaria asked, her brow furrowed with worry. Rhys had to stop himself from pursing his lips. She hadn’t even sent a falcon last night. It was hard for him to reconcile that with the dramatic amount of worry Zelaria was showing at the moment.

  “Better, thanks to Rhys.” Medea held out her hand to him, and he took it, despite Tavyss growling softly at the contact. The dragon cleared his throat to hide his aggression.

  “I must give credit where it’s due. Your sister Circe was key in developing the antidote earlier this week. She’s a brilliant alchemist and potion maker. The most talented witch I’ve ever known.”

  The muscles in Zelaria’s face tightened. “Well, you can’t have known many, Rhys.” She laughed as if her words were a joke, but Rhys could hear the bitter jealousy in them.

  “Where is my sister?” Medea asked.

  “Home. She’s due in later this morning.” Rhys rested his hands in his pockets and thought about the night before, about the kiss. Had she dreamed of him the way he’d dreamed of her?

  “Now, I must deliver the news, Medea,” Zelaria said urgently. “We found the person who poisoned you.”

  Medea and Tavyss exchanged glances. “Who?” Tavyss asked.

  “One of the staff. A man named Lazys. He was recently hired on by the house manager to fill a vacancy. We found a vial tainted with the poison in his chambers.”

  “I’ll kill him,” Tavyss growled.

  “Fitting you do the deed, considering I believe he was here because of you,” Zelaria said.

  “What are you insinuating?” Medea leveled a sharp look at the witch.

  “The man is a citizen of Paragon—a witch who grew up in Hobble Glen. I believe he’s a spy.”

  Medea’s brow furrowed. “A spy?”

  Zelaria sighed and leaned back in her chair. “I warned you this would happen, Medea. Servants don’t usually try to murder their employers without a motive. I couldn’t get him to admit it, but I am sure he was sent by Paragon because you repeatedly refused their invitation. They don’t trust you.”

  Rhys could hold his tongue no more. “Do you have any evidence linking this attack to the Obsidian Palace, Zelaria? Or are you assuming because he grew up in Paragon?”

  She brushed her hands over her skirt. “I have no proof. When we caught him with the poison, he went completely mute. He refused to say a word, even when I threatened his life.”

  “Okay, then. What did it look like?” Rhys stared her down. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Zelaria was spinning this tragedy to bolster her political motivations. He didn’t care about relations with Paragon even half as much as he cared that there was a murderer out there who understood the properties of gila vine.

  Zelaria turned. “Hmmm? The man is thin, brown hair, brown eyes.”

  “Not the man, the poison,” Rhys pressed. “You said you caught him with the poison. What did it look like?”

  Furrowing her brow as if the question put her out, she said, “A glass vial.”

  Rhys drew a container out of the inside pocket of his coat. “Like this one?”

  She inhaled deeply. “Why, yes. Exactly like that.”

  Rhys frowned. The glass jars he used for samples weren’t commonly used in homes. They were a tool of his trade, something only an experienced apothecary might have on hand. “What color was the poison inside?”

  Zelaria cleared her throat. “I wasn’t really paying attention to the color—”

  “You were sure it was poison, though. How did you know it was poison if you didn’t get a good look at it?”

  She frowned and crossed her arms. “It smelled of anise. The same smell I’d noticed on Medea’s glass. And now that I think about it, the liquid inside was clear.”

  “Clear? Are you sure?” Rhys asked.

  “Of course I am! It must have been clear, or we would have seen it in her glass before the wine was poured.”

  Rhys slumped, shaking his head.

  Medea sighed heavily. “What does it mean, Rhys? Why does it upset you that it was clear?”

  “You were poisoned using a plant called gila vine. It grows on the border between Darnuith and Rogos and is native to the Mystic Wood. It has bright-green variegated leaves. If you boil it down into a tincture, it’s usually green. A very good apothecary or wizard might be able to refine that tincture until it is clear, but it would take time and complex magic. Only an apothecary of some talent and experience would be capable of it.”

  Tavyss growled. “In other words, if the tincture was clear, someone more powerful than a common servant was involved. Someone with the power and resources to refine a deadly poison from a little-known plant.”

  Medea’s hands went to her belly. “The servant had to be working for someone else.”

  “I’d bet on it.” Rhys hated to be the bearer of bad news, but he was almost positive the man in the dungeon was a tool of someone far more dangerous.

  “Precisely,” Zelaria agreed, finger pointing toward the c
eiling. “It all fits. The man is from Paragon, and the Paragonian royals would have the means to provide him with the poison. Medea, you simply must accept their invitation. This was a message. A warning. What you are doing, putting them off like this, is political positioning. They’ve assumed you’re secretive and dangerous. Whether this man acted alone or not, I think it’s clear why he acted.”

  Medea looked between Zelaria and Tavyss. “I’d like to question the man myself. Before we accuse the kingdom of Paragon of my attempted assassination, I think we should have more evidence.”

  Zelaria bowed her head. “As you wish, my queen. I’ve brought the carriage. We can return to the palace together.”

  “Not yet. I’d like to rest a bit longer. Thank you, Zelaria.”

  Zelaria stood slowly, leaning on her staff. “Are you certain, my queen? Your duties await.”

  “I’ll be there soon.” Medea dismissed Zelaria, and the adviser strode from the apothecary, looking as severe as when she’d walked in.

  Once the door chimed and it was clear she was gone, Medea scrubbed her face with her hands. “Fates help us all. He might have killed any one of us if not for you and Circe.”

  Rhys pressed a hand to his chest. “It’s our honor to be of service.”

  Medea licked her lips. “I wonder if the two of you might be of service once more.”

  Circe chose that moment to walk through the front door, the bell chiming above her head. She spotted Rhys through the door to the infirmary and hurried to him. “Is my sister okay?”

  “She’s fine,” Rhys said.

  But Tavyss’s expression had turned stony. “Things are not fine. Zelaria believes Medea was targeted for assassination by Paragon.”

  Circe’s jaw dropped in alarm, and Rhys curbed a strong desire to take her into his arms.

  “We don’t know that,” Medea said. “Zelaria captured a servant who had the remains of the poison in his room. He hails from Paragon, and Zelaria assumes that means he’s an assassin sent to kill me. But we have no proof the Obsidian Palace is behind this.”

  Tavyss sniffed. “I fear her assumptions are most likely correct.”