Page 26 of Wizard of Most Wicked Ways

Don’t try to open it with magic,the first line read, and he snorted, chagrined. Did she know him so well?The box is warded. The code for the lock is the date of my first letter to you.

Owein turned to the armoire. February 1848, but he couldn’t recall the exact day. He’d kept all of Cora’s letters for reasons he couldn’t—or at least wouldn’t—explain, and he pulled them from the back of the armoire, selecting the bottom collection, tied with twine. Wiggling the lowest letter free, he unfolded it and checked the date: February 9, 1848.

Returning to the lockbox, he dialed 8-9-1-8-4-7, but the lock didn’t budge. Then, recalling Cora was British, he tried again with the day first and month second, and the lock sprung. Within, however, was a second letter and nothing more. What, then, had been the point of the box?

He opened this envelope with more grace. Cora’s perfect handwriting unraveled in front of him, tight everywhere, as though she’d been under great stress for the entire duration she’d written it.

Dearest Owein,

I am so, so terribly sorry. I cannot express how sorry I am. Both for what has happened with you and your family and that I am unable to fulfill your request. Please understand me; even if I slept in the vault where the conjurer’s bead is kept, I would not send it to you. I would not hurt you in such a manner. Do you remember that horrible day in the drawing room? The awful things I did? I was overwhelmed by the power of that simple little orb. It took ahold of me like nothing else could. I felt as though it had reached into my soul and gripped a steel hand around it. I could not stop myself. The thrill of endless power became sour and unbearable. I wanted to stop. I wanted to drop it, but it forbade me from doing so. I still have the scar on my hand from where I clenched it. I still have nightmares of that afternoon.

Owein’s grip loosened on the paper. He hadn’t known. Not really.Nightmares.Oh yes, he understood that torture on a deep level. His own dark dreams had haunted him relentlessly after he’d regained his first body of flesh and blood. Even now they came to him on occasion, though without the same sting they’d once carried. What sort of nightmares haunted Cora, and how often did she dream them?

And here Owein hadn’t thought twice before asking her to revisit the trauma of her past. No wonder she’d sent this letter in a locked box. She wouldn’t risk another soul reading the words she’d written solely for him.

Tense, he sat down at his desk and pulled out a clean sheet of paper. Dipped his pen. Hesitated over the parchment long enough for a droplet of ink to splash onto its surface. He stared at it a long moment,transfixed by the blackness of it, feeling for the first time in years his own darkness stirring in the recesses of his soul.

He didn’t even address Cora by name, merely wrote.

I would do it for my family.

But I understand. I do. But I’m so weak, Cora. Silas Hogwood should be a corpse drowned in the ocean, but he’s not. He is an infection that won’t die, because I couldn’t kill him. Not this time, and not before, either.

Everyone tells me I’m so strong. I’m so powerful. The whole reason we met is because I’m such a novelty in magic. But I’m not. Not like I used to be. For five years, I haven’t been strong. I’ve been mortal, with mortal limitations and mortal consequences. For centuries I was so much more than that. I was magic incarnate. I was everything, and I was endless. No consequences, no backlash, no hesitation. I could do whatever I wanted instantly and perfectly. Had I known what Silas was when he first walked through my door, I would have crushed him so completely his soul would have had nowhere to go but hell.

His eyes stung. Pulling his pen back, Owein closed them and took a deep breath, steadying himself.

After several minutes, he continued.

I’m sorry. I don’t mean to dismiss your experience. I understand. Both your choice and what you’ve been through. Not perfectly—none of us can understand another human being perfectly, can we? I will not draw you back into that darkness. I will not ask you again.

Thank you for looking after me. The Queen’s League is here, which provides a semblance of relief. I suppose I should speak with them and attend the matter at hand.

It sounds so simple, written out like this. Why can’t it be simple, Cora?

The pen twitched in his hand.

Have you chosen me, Cora?he wanted to write, but stalled.Will you send for me, or have you met someone else?

Would she send for him, or would her parents? The queen?

God help him, he was afraid to ask. Especially now, with so much else weighing on him. So, instead, he signed,Yours, Owein, and folded the letter into thirds. Put it back into the warded coffer, because truthfully, he didn’t feel like sharing with prying eyes, either. Only after taking a deep breath did he secure the lid. Only after securing the lid did he notice the bottom of Cora’s letter.

PS: Thank you for the corydalis. I will cherish it.

A smile tempted his lips. Had it been a normal day under normal circumstances, it would have emerged fully, but the weight of his reality made it hard to smile. Securing Cora’s letter at the bottom of the stack he kept in his armoire, he put the lockbox under his arm and headed back downstairs.

“—is the idea,” Blightree was saying as Owein approached the living room, light on his feet so as not to disturb the conversation. “We’ll keep the watchmen posted, if only for appearances, though who knows? They may come in handy. And we’ll keep the fires lit and the lights on to give every semblance of occupation. Then, when Silas returns, we’ll spring into action.”

“When,” Merritt repeated. “Notif.”

Lord Pankhurst extended empty hands. “We’re familiar with his history, Mr. Fernsby. I think it very likely, even if your wife has yet to foresee it. Though I do recommend she continue to try. We want every advantage we can take.”

Merritt wiped his hand down his face. “She’ll want to be here for this.”

“I don’t mind fetching her,” Mackenzie offered.

“We can repeat the information,” Blightree assured Merritt. “But it’s imperative for your families to vacate the island as soon as possible; Mrs. Mirren can escort you to the mainland under cover, in case he is watching.”

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