“Can’t,” Delora said.
Kiva deflated, but before she could try begging again, Delora nonsensically continued, “I’ve got book club.”
“You’ve — what?” Kiva stumbled over her words.
“Today’s Saturday,” Delora said, as if that should mean something to Kiva. “Book club is on Saturday. The ladies will be here any minute.” She pointed her cane toward the side of her cottage. “There’s a shelter around back. Settle your horse, then come inside. We should have just enough time to make scones. You’re whipping the cream.”
Before Kiva could respond, the old woman hobbled through the doorway and slammed it behind her.
“What just happened?” she whispered to no one, uncertain if her grandmother had agreed to help or not. But since Delora hadn’t sent her packing, Kiva quickly followed her instructions, praying book club would wrap up quickly.
Hours — and hours — later, Kiva sat surrounded by overflowing bookcases in Delora’s cozy living room, a crackling fireplace battling the chill of the storm that had unleashed outside, its intensity only slightly more ferocious than the five elderly women sitting in a circle and shouting at each other.
“I just think there’s a redemption arc in his future,” Clovis said, jabbing her page and nearly upsetting her tea.
Bretwalda, who was clumsy enough to have already spilled numerous cups, argued, “But we’re talking about this book. Gavon is much more swoonworthy.”
“I don’t care if Killian finds redemption,” Yinn stated around a mouth full of scone, the fourth batch of which had just come out of the oven. “He’s sexier as a villain.”
Merrilee nodded fervently, the rosy-cheeked woman having whispered barely five words since arriving. She was, for that reason, Kiva’s favorite, with the other four — including her grandmother — so passionate in their commentary about the bodice-ripping romance that Kiva feared her face would never return to its normal color.
For the thousandth time, she looked out Delora’s boxy windows, seeing the streaks of lightning and the pouring rain, along with the swift approach of twilight. She wouldn’t be leaving soon, even if book club did miraculously come to an end.
Anxiety slithered like a snake inside Kiva with every minute that passed. Caldon would be awake by now, and even if he believed Tipp’s lie about her leaving him to rest, she would still have to explain where she’d been — the one thing she’d wanted to avoid. Her plan had failed, and upon returning to the palace, she would have to face the consequences.
The very thought made Kiva feel ill.
Another hour — and another batch of scones — later, the storm began to pass, the rain a mere drizzle outside, but night had well and truly fallen.
As desperate as Kiva was to return to Vallenia, she still needed her grandmother’s aid, so she waited impatiently as Delora’s four friends finally began to pack up their things.
“I say you give her what she wants, Delly,” Clovis declared out of the blue, rising slowly with the aid of her wooden walking frame. “She seems like a good egg.”
Delora sniffed. “What she wants and what she needs are two different things.”
Kiva stilled, realizing they were talking about her.
Over the course of the day, she’d left the room only a handful of times, mostly to whip up more scones at her grandmother’s command. Delora must have used one of those opportunities to fill her friends in — and given how they were all now peering at Kiva, they clearly knew she had magic and wanted to stop it.
Did that mean they knew who she was? Who Delora was? Whose bloodline they both shared?
“Being Torvin’s descendant doesn’t automatically make her evil. You turned out all right,” Bretwalda said kindly, patting Delora’s wrinkly hand.
Well, that answered that question.
Though . . . Kiva didn’t understand why she’d associated Torvin with evil. He’d spent his life healing people. They’d loved him so much that Sarana had grown jealous enough to try and kill him — her own husband — forcing him to abandon the throne and flee to safety. If anyone was evil, it was Sarana, not Torvin.
“I turned out all right because I put all that behind me,” Delora told her friends. “She is related to the she-devil who wants only one thing.”
The present tense pulled at Kiva’s heart, reminding her that she still had to tell her grandmother that Tilda was dead.
“But she’s not her,” Yinn said, transferring the leftover scones into her fabric bag. “All she wants is help controlling her magic, not using it to hurt people.”