Page 10 of Tanglewood Magic (The Three Sisters 2)
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.
