Divine Rivals (Letters of Enchantment, #1)(92)

She held the paper up to the light, studying the mark.

“What’s wrong, Winnow?” Roman asked.

“Did you walk over these papers with dirty boots, Kitt?”

“No. The papers were on the table when I left to help Peter. Here, let me see that.”

She handed the page to him and realized there was another sheet on the floor with a boot mark. Iris stood, her eyes straying to the open doors. She followed the light to the terrace and stood on the threshold, studying the backyard.

The gate was open, creaking in the wind. The tree boughs groaned. The chimes sang. And there were boot marks, marring the garden. Someone had tromped directly through it, over the carefully tended rows and sprouting plants.

Iris clenched her jaw, staring at the path. All that hard work and devotion and toil. Someone had stridden through it without a second thought.

She felt Roman’s warmth as he stood close behind her. She felt his breath stir her hair as he saw the trail.

“Someone came into the house,” he murmured.

She didn’t know what to say, what to think. It had been tumultuous when the infantry arrived in the lorries. Residents had been given only a handful of minutes to evacuate. It could have been anyone in the backyard.

Iris knelt and quickly began to smooth over the tracks, fixing the garden before Keegan returned. She wanted it to be perfect for her. She wanted to make Marisol proud.

The siren at Clover Hill finally fell silent.





{38}





The Eve of Enva’s Day


“Where are the other dash-packs?” Marisol asked. They were the first thing she looked for when she returned to the B and B with Attie and Keegan. She picked up the two burlap bags that were sitting on the kitchen counter, eventually glancing to where Iris and Roman were cleaning off the table.

Roman paused. “They should all be there, Marisol. I laid out four of them.”

“That’s odd,” Marisol said with a frown. “Because there are only two.”

Iris watched as Marisol searched the rest of the kitchen, her pulse dropping. “Marisol? I think someone must have stolen them.”

“Stolen them?” Marisol echoed, as if the thought of stealing in Avalon Bluff was unheard of. “What makes you think that, Iris?”

“Because there were footprints in the garden, leading into the house.”

“Garden?” Keegan said, glancing at her wife. “Did you actually plant one, Mari?”

“Of course I did! I told you I would. But it wouldn’t have happened with quite a bit of help.”

“Show me.”

Attie was closest to the doors; she led the way into the afternoon light. It was strange, how quiet the world felt now. Even the wind had abated, Iris noticed as she followed the others out onto the terrace.

Keegan let out a low whistle. “It looks nice. You remembered to water it this time, Marisol.”

Marisol playfully nudged Keegan’s arm. “Yes, well, it wouldn’t have happened without Iris and Attie.”

“Indeed. And I see what you were talking about, Iris.” Keegan walked to one of the rows, crouching down to trace the lump in the soil. “You covered up their trail?”

“Yes, because I wanted the garden to look nice for you,” Iris explained in a rush. “But I have a perfect imprint of the boot.” She brought the dirt-marked paper to Keegan.

Keegan studied it with a frown. “A soldier’s boot, then. They must have come into the house during the evacuation and taken two of the dash-packs. I’m surprised. My company knows better. They never steal from civilians.”

“It’s fine,” Marisol said. “Whoever it was must have needed resources, and I’m glad to have given to someone in need. I can easily make three more bags. In fact, I’ll do that right now.”

“Three more?” Keegan said, gently grasping Marisol’s arm to stop her. “You only need to make two, darling.”

“Yes, and one for you as well,” Marisol replied with a smile. “Since you’re here with us now.”

“Of course.” Keegan loosened her grip and Marisol retreated to the kitchen. But Iris saw the sadness that flickered through the captain’s eyes as she glanced at the garden again. As if she sensed this might be the last time she would enjoy it.



* * *



Everything was changing.

Iris could taste it in the air, as if the season had crumbled like an ancient page, skipping summer and autumn to usher in the creeping chill of winter. Soldiers were stationed everywhere in their olive-green uniforms and helmets, preparing the town for the imminent battle. Barricades now sat in the streets, made of sandbags, mismatched furniture salvaged from residents’ homes, and anything else that could grant coverage.

The town no longer felt like a haven but like a snare, as if they were waiting to catch a monster.

As if Dacre himself might walk into the Bluff.

And what if he did? What did his face look like? Would Iris know him if their paths crossed?

She thought of Enva and her harp. The power of her music, deep in the earth.

Enva, where are you? Will you help us?

Iris made herself useful to Marisol, who was in the kitchen preparing meals for the platoons, and assisted with Keegan’s quest to create as many strategic barricades as possible in the streets, but there was a quiet moment when Iris remembered her mother and her ashes that were held in a jar upstairs on her desk.