Page 64 of The Seven Rings
Confused, Sonya frowned at Cleo. “I’m missing that part.”
“Because hurt and sad. We’ve already said we have to accept, even through the mirror, the brides can’t be saved. They died. Catherine told you just that. Her death can’t be changed.”
“Their spirits, their essence—whatever you’d call it—are still in the manor.”
“That’s right. So’s Dobbs, so are the rings. But they’re not hers, and—how’d you say she put it? That can be recovered. It can be changed.”
“A brief how-to would’ve been helpful.”
Cleo smiled because the comment sounded more like Sonya.
“I’m guessing if they knew the answer, they’d tell you.”
“Yeah.” Sonya lifted her face so the sea air blew over it. “And yeah, I’d already figured that. You’re bloody well right about the hurt and sad, too. She was young, happy, in love, and eager to start her married life. She wanted kids, Cleo. It got to me.”
She shifted to look at Cleo. “And now that I’m settling—thanks for that—I understand I’m not being shown these things just to hurt me, to make me sad. They strengthen the connection, and I guess that’s important. If I don’t feel that connection, that bond?”
“It’s just a puzzle for you to solve. An exercise.”
“Exactly. And when I think it through, there have been pushes for me to find the rings, but this is the first real confirmation, just as you said, that I can get them back.
“I will, because I must.”
“You’re bloody well right.”
Sonya looked up at the Gold Room windows. “She’s been pretty quiet all week. When she takes the next swing, it’ll be a hard one.”
“So we’ll enjoy the quiet while we’ve got it.”
“I’d better use it and get back to work.”
Pyewacket leaped off the wall to follow as Yoda scrambled up. On the way, Sonya stopped to look at Cleo’s painting in progress.
And admired the leafy, weeping grace of the tree, and the cladded turret rising above it toward a summer-blue sky.
“The shape of it, all those twists and curves. It looks ancient, in a really good way.”
“I always wonder who planted it and when. Well, likely a groundskeeper, but who of the household decidedI want this kind of tree here.”
“And you’ll paint it again in the fall, then in the winter.”
“Mmm-hmm. I’m calling the seriesTurn, Turn, Turn.”
“To everything there’s a season.” And one of her father’s favorite songs again. “Perfect.”
“I should have another couple hours at it, at most, since Owen’s probably right about afternoon storms.”
“You get back to yours, I’ll get back to mine. Thanks for being there, Cleo.”
“Ever and always.”
Owen wasn’t wrong, but by the time the first bolt of lightning slashed the sky, Sonya knew Cleo worked in her studio. And Yoda had already deserted her to play ball with Jack in the main hall downstairs.
She’d finished her proposal, sent it off, then spent the rest of her workday on other projects.
As she started to shut down, Corrine sent her an email with attachments.
Hello, Sonya, I hope your day was as satisfying as mine. Three shoots, results attached. I had to reschedule the one with Eddie due to the weather. Let me know what you think when you get a chance to look them over. Corrine.
