I scoffed. “Agreed. The Circle of Ash isn’t much of a name for a grand and powerful artefact.”
Lysander flashed me a smile. “Exactly.”
Bastian made a low sound that was almost thoughtful, but it reminded me of Faolán’s growl. “Well, that name is all we have so far. I know Katherine’s been conscious of anything circle adjacent in her reading.” He gave a smile as warm as my coffee. “I trust you’ve been doing the same, Lysander.” This smile was much, much cooler.
A certain tension around Lysander’s eyes suggested he was struggling not to roll them. “Of course.”
“So…” I sat forward, reaching for the cream. Bastian grabbed it for me, along with the sugar, and added a generous amount of both to my cup. “What might this Circle of Ash actually be, then?”
“A ring?” Rose shrugged.
“A ceremonial platter. A wreath. A carved disc of wood with some ritual use.” Lysander ticked off the possibilities on his fingers, while Brynan wrote them down one side of the paper.
“Might not be an item but a place.” At Faolán’s gravelly voice, I sat up.
“What do you mean?” Bastian asked, mirroring me.
“Could be a circle of ash trees. You know, growing.”
“You mean, a specific grove somewhere.” Bastian’s eyes widened as though he hadn’t considered that possibility. He nodded slowly, gaze distant and thoughtful. “We’ve been so focused on the circle… what about the ash? It could be the tree itself, but what else?”
“The wood from the tree, obviously.” Rose rubbed the edge of her cup.
With a nod, Bastian smiled at her. “Let’s not assume anything is obvious. What is ash wood used for?”
“Axles.” Faolán nodded. “It’s strong.”
“Healing and protection.” Asher tugged his lower lip.
Rose pointed her cup at him. “There’s also you. Asher.”
A ripple of laughter ran through the group, easing the sense that we were missing something. Of course we were—that was why this relic or grove or whatever it was had sunk into obscurity.
“Ash is the best firewood,” I murmured as my gaze landed on the fireplace.
Every pair of eyes turned to me. All but Rose frowned. “Fae fires don’t consume fuel in the same way, so I’m not sure you’d realise, but ash burns for a long time with intense heat.” I’d rarely been able to afford it, but one cold winter, when I brought Vespera inside to stop her freezing to death, I’d gone through the house and picked out every item of ash furniture and chopped it up for firewood. That was the main reason we’d survived.
“She’s right.” Rose nodded. “Ma and Pa use it if they need the ovens burning for a long time.” No surprise she knew about fires—she came from a family of bakers.
“Then there are ashes,” I added, lifting one shoulder.
Faolán’s eyebrows lowered. “But a circle of them wouldn’t last long.”
“True.” I laughed at myself. “Sorry, I was caught up in ideas.”
“Don’t apologise.” Bastian’s warm hand closed on my knee, the unexpected gesture making my heart trip. He didn’t seem to notice Faolán’s frown deepening as his gaze fixed on that contact. I wasn’t sure he even realised he was touching me. “Nothing is obvious and no idea is foolish. Not while we’re still groping around in the dark.”
Rose jabbed an elbow into Faolán’s ribs and he looked away.
“And some of us are groping around in the light.” Lysander arched an eyebrow.
When Bastian turned to him, he jerked his chin at my knee.
Throat bobbing, Bastian slid his hand onto his own knee.
“She is married, if you recall.”
My blood simmered. Was Robin destined to dog my steps, even in Elfhame? I shot Lysander a sharp smile. “And she is here, if you recall. My marriage is none of your business, but if it was, I’d tell you that I didn’t choose it. An arranged marriage might’ve worked out well for you and Ari, but we aren’t all so lucky.”
An icy silence froze the room.
I bit my tongue. Too late, though, wasn’t it?
At my side, Bastian’s knuckles were white on his own knee. I’d let him down, stamping all over the fae rules of politeness. I should’ve stopped after my first sentence—that would’ve put Lysander on notice without causing this awkwardness.
I cleared my throat. “Sor—”
“Don’t,” Bastian gritted out.
“It could be made from one of the old Guardian trees,” Brynan piped up.
Lysander nodded, eyes downcast. “Three of those were ash.”
The meeting went on, discussing a plan of action. Bastian would send operatives to a remote library. Lysander would trawl the libraries of friends outside the city. I would continue working through Dusk’s library. I kept quiet and drank my coffee, not wanting to cause any more problems with my simmering anger. I tried to put a little distance between Bastian and me, but the settee wasn’t very big, and our legs brushed every time one of us moved. No one made any more comments.
When they left, my head swam with possibilities, but I braced myself for Bastian’s reaction to the tongue-lashing I’d given Lysander.
He leant against the door as he closed it. “Are you all right?”
I blinked at him. “You’re…？ You’re not pissed off at me?”
“Should I be?” He canted his head.
“I just…” I gestured towards the armchair Lysander had vacated. “What I said.”
The corner of Bastian’s mouth twitched as he stalked closer. “He had it coming. And I have to admit, I enjoyed seeing him on the receiving end of your fire.”
Burn for me, my ember.
He spoke in the same tone now as he had then, and the way he crossed the floor with predatory purpose put me right back in Lunden.
I stood there, breaths a little too fast, tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth at the memory of everything Ella had described last night.
He reached me, eyelids heavy as his gaze raked over my face. “Your anger is a beautiful thing, Katherine. You are allowed to have it, and you’re allowed to show it.”
I gripped my gown’s skirts, though I bent towards him as I’d seen Brynan bend towards Gael. Ella had been right—the tension between us was enough to set the world ablaze.
But I was married. His friends and employees cared about that fact. His queen cared. Maybe he did, too. He might want to fuck my brains out, but if he gave in, he’d only regret it after.
I didn’t want to be anyone’s regret. Certainly not his.
Eyes burning, I arched a brow at him. “Even if I’m raging about my marriage?”
His neck corded as a muscle in his jaw twitched. He exhaled, shoulders sinking, and took a step back. “Especially then,” he muttered.
“Perhaps we could both use some space.” I swallowed down the sickly feeling rising from my stomach. “I appreciate you looking after me, but I’m not in the same place I was after…” I gestured vaguely, searching for the words that would tell him what I meant but wouldn’t put me back there. “When my uncle grabbed me.”