Page 66 of Midnight Conquest

Rosselyn gasped. “Surely not something as drastic as that!”

“I only tell you what the tablets reveal and how they speak to me.” Amice closed her eyes and laid a trembling hand over the cards, as if to draw the truth from their surface. “Non, the message is the same. There will be loss of lives, I tell you, and even more disaster after those deaths. I do not see such things often. Death is a prediction I do not make lightly.”

A chill swept over Rosselyn’s skin. She shuddered, her heart thudding hard as she fought back the growing lump in her throat.

Amice turned over the other three tablets: an angel in the clouds blowing a trumpet as people rose from graves; a man standing in a chariot; and a smiling child sitting atop a horse beneath a radiant sun.

“Telling your secret will bring judgment upon you,” Amice said, her voice hushed. “And I sense one other person who knows this secret. As a result, you will both be cast out of your home—but it will end joyously.”

“Really?” Rosselyn leaned forward, hope lighting her eyes. The other person had to be her mother. “No one will die?”

Amice pressed her palms to the tablets once more. “I sensegreat sorrow, but also reconciliation, and…” The old Traveller tilted her head as if listening to a distant voice. “I am hearing…you must pull one more card and place it on the table.”

Rosselyn studied the spread and chose the card she felt drawn to, flipping it onto the velvet surface. She placed it atop the Sun: a woman seated upon a throne between two pillars—one black with the letter B, the other white with the letter J. But this card lay upside down.

“The High Priestess…reversed.” Amice’s frown deepened. She laid her hand gently upon the card, eyes slipping shut. “Oui…I hear now. You will uncover deception. There is a plot of ill intentions. I cannot tell who is behind it, but because you choose to reveal your secret, it will lead you to this truth.”

Rosselyn stared at the tablets, Amice’s words echoing in her thoughts. How could keeping a secret lead to death? And yet, exposing it—though painful—promised not only healing, but new information. She could imagine why she and her mother might be cast out, but the idea of truth unmasking deceit offered a strange kind of comfort. Relief unfurled in her chest like the petals of a flower catching the sun.

“I leave the choice to you, my dear Rosselyn.” Amice patted her hand—but paused, gripping it more firmly. Her eyes drifted closed, and she sighed deeply. “Watch over your mistress.”

Rosselyn’s vision blurred. “I do try. She is so headstrong.”

“That is what has kept her alive.” Amice gave her hand a final, reassuring squeeze. “I know only what Mistress Davina’s palm has told me. Her past is filled with sorrow and loss,non?”

Rosselyn nodded gently, the weight of everything settling across her shoulders.

“Be watchful of her, Rosselyn.” Amice searched Rosselyn’s face with concern. “Her pain is not yet over, and she will still needyou. The past still haunts your mistress.” They stared at each other for a long moment. Rosselyn sensed Amice wanted to say more, but instead she patted Rosselyn’s hands and ushered her out of the tent.

“That is all I can say for now, young one. Mind what this Gypsy woman tells you this day.” Without a backward glance, Amice disappeared back inside the tent.

Rosselyn stared after the closed tent flap, the experience leaving her in a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts. “Poor Mistress Davina.”

“What troubles you,mia dulce?” Nicabar sauntered toward her.

Rosselyn snapped herself out of her musings. “Nothing.” She forced a smile. “Amice has given me a lot to think about.”

He brought her knuckles to his lips and caressed her skin with his breath. “Then come to my vardo where we can talk, and I can ease your mind.” The hunger in his gaze lit her soul on fire and she was happy to follow him into what was fast becoming her paradise.

∞∞∞

Davina paced the length of her chamber, her slippered feet whispering over the wooden planks. Back and forth, back and forth. At this rate, she was starting to wear a path into the floor. Her thoughts churned in time with her steps, and no matter how hard she tried to calm herself, the knot of tension in her chest refused to loosen.

The evening stretched ahead of her, and with it, anothersuitor—a man she had no desire to meet again, much less entertain for dinner.

Arthur Forbes.

The very thought of his name made her fists clench. She paused by the window, staring out at the courtyard below. The mountains in the distance, softened by the fading afternoon light, usually brought her a sense of peace. Not today. Not when every step closer to the evening felt like a step deeper into a trap.

And yet, she reminded herself, progress had been made. Two more suitors were gone since Ewan, and with minimal effort on her part.

The man from yesterday, Laird Cromwell, had been easy enough to dispatch. Uncle Tammus himself had thrown him out after catching the lecherous way Cromwell’s eyes lingered on her. Broderick’s murderous glare had made her ask what the laird had been thinking, but he refused to tell her.

He simply said, “Best ye dinnae know, Blossom.” The subtle headshake he exchanged with her uncle had spurred Tammus to relent. Her uncle had been reluctant at first—he’d vouched for the man’s character, after all. But after seeing Cromwell’s true colors and heeding Broderick’s recommendation, he had wasted no time tossing him out.

“I swear,” Tammus had muttered afterward, shaking his head, “he was a gentleman in every other dealing I’ve had with him. This was a side I didn’t know existed.”

The suitor before Cromwell had been no trouble at all. A younger laird from the Lowlands, he’d taken one look at the castle, declared it “dreary,” and practically sneered at the mention of sheep. When Tammus had pressed him about the business, the man had grumbled something about not wanting to “play shepherd” and declined the match altogether.

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