Ruthless Vows (Letters of Enchantment, #2)(3)
“Yes, just … thinking,” Iris replied with a faint smile. “Sorry.”
“No apologies needed. I didn’t mean to interrupt your contemplations, but I have a letter for you.” A smile broke Helena’s stern countenance as she withdrew a crinkled envelope from her trouser pocket. “Someone I think you’ll be happy to hear from.”
Iris yanked the letter from Helena’s hand, unable to hide her eagerness. It had to be news about Roman, and her stomach twisted with hope and terror as she ripped opened the envelope. Iris was first taken aback by how long the message was—too lengthy to be a telegram—and she exhaled, her breath tremulous as she read:
Dearest Iris,
I cannot even begin to describe how relieved I was (and still am!) to learn that you had returned safely to Oath! I’m sure Attie has already told you of what happened in Avalon Bluff that terrible day, but we waited for you and Roman at the lorry as long as we could. Even then, it felt like my heart had broken when we drove away without the two of you, and all I could do was pray that you were safe and that we would all find a way to reunite.
Helena wrote to me and shared that Roman is still unaccounted for. I am so sorry, my dear friend. I wish there was something I could do to ease the worry you must feel. Know that you are always welcome here at my sister’s house in River Down. We are only a day trip away from you in Oath, and there is a room here for both you and Attie should you wish to visit.
Until then, my heart is with you. I miss you!
Your friend,
Marisol
Iris blinked away her tears, slipping the letter back into the envelope. It had only been two weeks since Iris had last seen Marisol. Two weeks since they had all been together at the B and B. Two weeks since she had married Roman C. Kitt in the garden.
A fortnight wasn’t much time at all; Iris still had faint bruises and scabs on her knees and arms, from when she had crawled through the rubble and clouds of gas. She could still hear the thunder of the bombs exploding, sense the shudder of the earth beneath her feet. She could still feel Roman’s breath in her hair as he held her, as if nothing would ever come between them.
Two weeks felt like a gasp of time—it could have been yesterday for how raw Iris’s inner wounds were—and yet here in Oath, surrounded by people who were living life as normal, as if war didn’t rage kilometers to the west … it made those days at Avalon Bluff feel like a fever dream. Or like they had happened years ago, and Iris’s memory had retraced those moments so many times they had turned sepia with age and wear.
“Marisol is good, I take it?” Helena asked.
Iris nodded, tucking the envelope beneath a book on the table. “Yes. She invited me and Attie to visit her and her sister.”
“We should go soon,” Attie said.
Of course, Iris thought. Attie had already been in River Down. She had driven Marisol (as well as a mewling cat named Lilac) there to fulfill her promise to Keegan. And Keegan, a captain in Enva’s forces, was another person whom Iris was worried about. She didn’t know if Marisol’s wife had survived the battle at Avalon Bluff.
Iris was just about to respond when a hush crept over the office. One of the lamps flickered as if imparting a warning, and the steady clack of typewriter keys faded until it seemed like the heart of the Tribune had ceased beating, suspended in silence. Helena frowned and turned to the door, and Iris followed her gaze, fixating on the man who stood beneath the brick lintel.
He was tall and thin, dressed in a three-piece navy suit with a red handkerchief tucked in the breast pocket. It was difficult to guess his age, but his pale face was creased with wrinkles. A mustache hovered above his pursed lips, and his beady eyes gleamed like obsidian in the low light. Beneath his bowler hat, his graying hair was slicked back with pomade.
Iris didn’t recognize him at first. She wondered if he had been the one to trail her that morning, until she saw he had two security guards standing behind him in the hallway, their burly arms locked behind their backs.
“Chancellor Verlice,” Helena said in a careful tone. “What brings you to the Inkridden Tribune?”
“A private matter,” the chancellor replied. “May I have a word with you?”
“Yes. Right this way.” Helena wove through the tables to her office.
Iris watched as Chancellor Verlice followed, his eyes sweeping over the editors and columnists he passed. It almost seemed like he was looking through them, or perhaps looking for someone, and her heart faltered when he glanced over and met her stare from across the room.
His inscrutable eyes held hers for a long moment before they shifted to look at Attie. By then, he had finally reached Helena’s office, and he had no choice but to drop his gaze, stepping over the threshold. Helena shut the door behind him; the two security guards remained as sentries in the hallway, barring anyone from coming or going.
Slowly, the Inkridden Tribune resumed its hum of activity. Editors returned to editing piles of paper with their red fountain pens, columnists resumed their typing, assistants rushed from the tea sideboard and the phone, carrying steaming cups and scrawled messages to various desks.
“What’s that all about, do you think?” Attie whispered, angling her head to Helena’s office door.
Iris stifled a shiver. She slipped her trench coat back on, belting it tight at her waist.
“I don’t know,” she whispered in return. “But it can’t be anything good.”