Do Your Worst(84)
Chapter Twenty-Three
High on the exquisite cocktail of new love, Clark convinced himself that nothing could go wrong.
It took about a week to get everything set up with the village. The more people who heard about the impromptu festival, the more they wanted to contribute.
There wasn’t much for Clark to do, his part firmly set, so he finished up his survey, worked on his report for the HES. He ended up packaging his results through the lens of the castle’s potential ties to mysticism, an angle that never would have occurred to him previously. Even though his search hadn’t turned up many artifacts, he hoped that by weaving in the etchings they’d identified in the cave, he might convince the HES that Arden warranted additional research and preservation efforts.
Still, the calm he’d wished for, once it finally arrived, made Clark oddly jittery.
Riley was the same, her hands and mouth in constant, frenetic motion. When she wasn’t coordinating fae offerings, they went off-site to distract themselves. Hiking and taking the bus out to local museums. Places they could find quiet together. It helped, eased the tightening in his chest. But even though neither of them brought it up, they were still having sex like they were running out of time.
The morning of the ritual dawned bright and clear. By noon, a local crowd had gathered on the castle lawn, people spreading blankets across the grass. Rich, warm spices filled the crisp air—clove and cinnamon and ginger—along with peat smoke from the bonfires. Eilean passed out mugs of mead to the adults and hot chocolate to the children while a man who must be Ceilidh’s cousin played the fiddle, his bow moving fast enough that the strings blurred.
There were honey cakes and iced buns arranged on trays as offerings for the fae and ribbons wrapped around the ash trees to mark the occasion. Children and adults alike chatted with their friends and neighbors. A buzz of excitement hummed in the air, everyone dazzled by the idea that they’d come to witness a once-in-a-lifetime supernatural event.
When he met Riley in the entrance way, Clark could tell by the care she’d taken with her clothes, the extra makeup on her face, that she was nervous.
“Everything’s going to work out,” he told her, adjusting the garland of pale purple heather that sat at her brow. “You’ve done all you can to prepare.”
“Thank you.” Her smile was wan, her eyes jumping back to the crowd. “It’s just—there’s a lot of people out there.”
At first, he thought this wasn’t like her—the nerves, the concern about what others might think—but Clark knew that Riley had always felt like an outsider, that she faced near-constant ridicule and rebuff for her work. The more people who knew about what she did, the more people who could reject her. She must have always feared this on some level, even as she’d worked to grow her business—the difference was now she was letting him see how she felt, trusting him enough to lower her guard.
“Hey.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “You can do this.”
Riley gritted her teeth in an approximation of a smile as someone started snapping pictures of them with a mounted flash. “How do you know?”
“Riley.” He bent his knees so she’d meet his eye. “Because it’s you.”
Going over to his bag, he pulled out a tissue-paper-wrapped parcel. “I was going to give this to you after but . . .”
She took the gift and unwrapped it carefully, slipping her fingers underneath the tape so as not to tear the paper.
“Clark.” Riley gasped, looking down at the handsome, leather-bound notebook he’d gotten custom made from a local artisan a few days ago. A near-perfect match to the one she had from her Gran, only new.
“It’s for your own observations. You’re an expert, just like your gran, and you’ll want to pass down what you’ve learned—”
She cut him off with a kiss, so Clark guessed she liked it.
A little while later, they took their positions in front of the castle entrance.
The music faded to a stop, the crowd growing still, hushed as they took out the cursed artifacts.
Clark held the manacles, and Riley the dagger. In addition to honoring the fae, they wanted to remember Malcolm and Philippa, their bravery, their doomed love.
They carefully arranged the metal objects in the grass and then Riley placed a length of woven rope around them, the interlocking knots symbolizing remembrance, the reunion of their spirits, now protected for eternity.
At her cue, the children, rehearsed and eager, scattered wildflowers over the arrangement—thyme and thistle—the blooms falling like teardrops, like rain.
The crowd seemed to vibrate with energy. It was as though Clark could feel them, the way he felt the earth under his feet, the looming stone of the castle at his back.
Hope was in the air. All these people, gathered for the chance to see a wrong righted. To see someone change things. To beckon in a new future for their home, one full of potential unhindered by ancient feuds and spilled blood.
As Riley turned and reached for his hands, Clark felt a bit like he was getting married in front of witnesses. The idea made him significantly less uncomfortable than it should.
“Ready?” She steeled her shoulders.
Clark nodded and squeezed her hands as a breeze came in from the east, random and extravagant and somehow familiar.
The force of the sudden gale made the trees sway, startling birds from their nest. Spectators sat up on their knees, turning and pointing as leaves gathered on the wind, swirling until the foliage circled him and Riley like some kind of cocoon.