Page 148 of Married to the Devil

“We’ll find another way,” I decree.

“Ready, my lady?”Rowan asks kindly.

I nod, trying not to choke on my hope that this will work. I warm the small blade against my palm, the sharp edge keeping me from getting lost in my wishes.

It’s been a week since I’ve heard Stoneheart’s voice or felt his arms.

The voting of the territory happens tomorrow, and I need him with me.

I’m not worried about the results. In a twist of ingenuity Fiona was able to bring enough evidence of meddling to the other territory leaders, and with the help of Lobo himself, McConnell has lost his seat on the Council.

The unnamed others in his faction have all pulled back for fear of their own positions being put at risk.

Lobo has proven an unlikely, but valuable ally. We don’t talk much, but the empathy he shows me when we do makes conversing both harder and easier. He knows what it’s like to lose someone.

Missing Stoneheart and Ben has left me a husk of myself, but a productive husk.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I say to no one in particular. It’s weird to have so many people up here with me. I visit Stoneheart every night. It’s usually a lonely vigil, where I talk to him and pretend he can hear my updates about what I’m doing with our territory.

Part of me longs to reach out to Ben, but every day he stays away without Stoneheart’s confidence to buoy me, a piece of my heart chips away. I don’t think I’m strong enough for him to reject me again.

I focus on the here and now to keep from dwelling on thoughts of him and how he should be here. The moon is darker tonight, and the air this high up is frigid, though the breeze is blessedly gentle.

“We need more candles,” Zena says, and Rowan makes a sound in agreement. I don’t know how I feel about the potion master. She’s…quirky, but her work is making this attempt to break the curse possible.

It’s lucky for us that Rowan heard rumors about a potion master researching unusual ingredient substitutions.

The extra candles Rowan adds flicker and cast shadows on the statue of Stoneheart in a way that makes it almost look like he’s moving.

Like this could really work.

I inhale.

“You know your part?” Rowan asks, and I nod. I have a simple task. I run my thumb over the blade, a meditation and prayer to any that will listen.

Zena finishes adding something dark and mushy to the wide golden bowl resting on the ground. The contents smell sharp with an underlying layer of butchered animal. I breathe through my mouth and try to keep my stomach from turning more than it usually does.

The territory has kept me busy enough not to dwell on how awful I still feel every day. Whoever said that pregnancy is full of joy can walk off a cliff.

Rowan starts an incantation in a lilting language that must be fae. The feel of the air shifts, and Zena lights the contents ofthe bowl. There must something in there to help it burn because the flame is sudden and powerful.

Rowan’s chanting gets louder and louder until he looks over at me.

That’s my cue.

I don’t let myself hesitate. I draw the knife against my palm and step forward. The heat of the fire curls around my legs, but I keep my gaze forward. The familiar lines of Stoneheart’s face are home in the dark night.

I press my bloodied palm against his chest and a crack of energy vibrates through the air. There’s a collective gasp, and I look up. The surge of magic filling me with hope.

It takes until the bowl of fire to die out for the truth to be apparent.

It didn’t work.

I pull my hand away from the stone. My blood leaves a nearly dried print. The stinging of my palm barely registers past the shattered feeling behind my sternum.

Someone clears their throat and suddenly Rowan is standing beside me. “Don’t lose heart, lady. Fae magic is wily. We will find a way. This is merely our first attempt.”

My chin dips in acknowledgment, and I take the wipe he hands me, pressing the antiseptic against the cut there.

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