Foxglove (Belladonna, #2)(114)
Signa had seen Life’s memories, but every time they came to her, Blythe had been there. The realization brought such a great relief that Signa had no words.
This was why her body burned, and why she had such trouble accessing those powers. They’d never belonged to her, but to Blythe.
Blythe was the reincarnation of Life.
“Do we tell her?” Signa whispered as she stared at the poker, unsure what to feel. For as much as she could understand Fate, Signa hated him for what he’d tried to do. But if Fate were to find out who Blythe truly was…
“No.” There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in Death’s words. He squeezed Signa close, pressing a kiss against her temple with no care for the spirits who stirred uncomfortably behind them. “Let them figure it out on their own time. Theirs is a story in which we should not interfere.”
Signa wasn’t certain she agreed. Part of her wanted little more than to hurry up the stairs and tell Blythe then and there. But Death’s joy kept her in place, wound tight in his arms.
Perhaps she would tell Blythe soon. For now though, she would trust that Death knew what he was saying.
“They may try to kill each other,” Signa noted, though her voice held no argument.
“You once tried to kill me, and look where that got us.” Death’s eyes beamed brighter than ever as he rose to his feet and pulled her up alongside him.
“Now, Little Bird, why don’t you show me around this house of ours?” He offered his hand, and with a heart so full it could burst, Signa took it.
EPILOGUE
BLYTHE
EVERETT WAKEFIELD AND CHARLOTTE KILLINGER MARRIED TWO months later with the midsummer sun beaming down upon them.
It seemed that happiness was everywhere these days. Blythe watched it blossom between the bride and groom as he drew her in for a kiss. It was in the tender touch that Eliza pressed upon her swollen belly, and the way that Elijah laughed when she jolted from the baby’s kick. Eliza was only weeks away from meeting her child, and Elijah had welcomed her into the family without a second thought.
Signa, too, had unfurled like a flower, sighing as she threaded her fingers through Death’s as he embraced her.
Blythe supposed she should be happy, too, now that she had her father back and knew that neither Everett nor Charlotte was the duke’s killer. Even so, no matter how grateful Blythe was for the way things had turned out, there was no ridding herself of the deep unease that coiled like a spring within her.
Whatever Signa had done that night in the garden, it hadn’t just affected Eliza and the child. Blythe hadn’t told a soul of the things she’d seen, or how in the moment their lives were saved, Blythe had fallen into a sea of white light. The warmth of it had coaxed her, easing her worries and stealing her thoughts for seconds that’d felt like hours. And in that sea, she’d dreamed of velvet laughter. Of a faceless man who spun her in his arms, dancing to unfamiliar music that she somehow recognized. Music she knew every step to.
It was ridiculous, and yet Blythe couldn’t rid herself of the memories. They scratched against her mind as she watched Everett cup his hand around Charlotte’s face, reminding Blythe of a time when a faceless someone had held her like that. A time when the heat of his kiss had blazed through her body, and she wanted nothing more than to drown herself in his touch.
Memories was the wrong word for what these images in her head really were, because they didn’t belong to her. Surely Blythe wouldn’t forget falling in love. Especially not with someone whose hands felt so strong against her cheek, or so powerful as they slid down her hips and lifted—
She shook away the image, hoping no one noticed that she was blushing. If she could take a shovel and dig the thoughts out, she would have by now, for they were doing her and her late-night fantasies no favors. She threw her attention instead to the happy couple, clapping with the others as the newlyweds kissed.
After everything that had happened over the past year, the Wakefield manor felt too beautiful for comfort. Its glassware and gilded cakes were too glittering, and the audience too opulent in their suits and gowns. Blythe kept expecting something to break, or perhaps for fire to rain from the sky, which wasn’t at all helping her to focus. That spring within her coiled even tighter, and she wanted to turn around and follow her unease. It felt like someone was watching her, yet she couldn’t sense where those curious eyes were coming from.
“It’s a beautiful wedding, isn’t it?”
Blythe flinched, recognizing the voice as Signa’s a moment too late. She took in Signa’s dark navy gown, a sharp contrast to her own, which was a shade of blue so icy that it almost looked silver. Elijah stood a short distance behind Signa, animated as he spoke to a laughing Eliza.
“He’s going to make a fantastic grandfather,” Signa continued when Blythe didn’t say anything, eyes narrowing on her cousin.
“He will,” Blythe agreed, turning her attention to the bride and groom. “And I daresay Charlotte has never looked happier.”
Blythe’s chest swelled as the couple held each other in tender arms. It was good to see Everett with a light in his eyes, again. The death of his father had been labeled a natural cause. The rumor was that the alleged poison was nothing more than a mistake made by a hasty coroner, thrown off by the body belonging to such a high-profile figure. A lie, of course, but one Blythe knew she and Signa would take to their graves.