CHAPTER 122: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND TWENTY TWO

The night wind blew through the garden, carrying the chill of the coming winter. Marissa adjusted her shawl and turned to leave, her movements graceful. She didn’t look back. Derek followed close behind her, his steps heavy and resolute.

Senna stood alone on the gravel path. Her heart pounded in her chest like a trapped bird. The pouch of coins in her hand felt heavy, like a stone that was dragging her down to the bottom of the ocean.

"No, no, no," Senna whispered.

Panic seized her throat. She couldn’t leave. Not like this. Not in defeat.

She gathered her skirts and ran. She caught up to Derek just as he reached the stone archway. She grabbed his arm with both hands, her grip desperate and tight.

"Your Grace!" she cried out. "Please, listen to me! I am innocent!"

Derek stopped. He didn’t turn his body, only his head. He looked down at her hands clutching his sleeve. His eyes were dark and empty of the warmth they once held for her.

"Marissa and Ashlyn framed me," Senna pleaded, tears streaming down her face. She pointed a shaking finger at Marissa’s back. "It is her! She can’t tolerate me. She hates that I have a history with you. She wants me gone so she can have you all to herself!"

Marissa stopped walking. She turned around slowly. She looked at Senna, her face a mask of calm amusement. She raised her brows, then looked at Derek.

Then let out a short, mocking laughter. It was a soft sound, but it cut Senna deeper than a knife. It was the sound of someone watching a clown perform a bad trick.

Derek let out a tired exhale. It was a long, weary breath. He looked at Senna’s hands on his arm with pure exhaustion.

He pulled his arm away. It wasn’t a gentle disengagement. It was a harsh, sharp jerk that made Senna stumble backward.

"Senna," Derek said. His voice was low. "The situation is clear. You should leave."

His voice was cold. It was the voice of a stranger.

Senna trembled. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stop the shaking.

"Where will I go?" she asked, her voice rising in hysteria. "It is the middle of the night! The city is dangerous. What if I am harmed? What if robbers find me?"

She looked around wildly.

"And I have been looking for Esme all day," Senna sobbed. "I can’t find her anywhere. She went to look for an appropriate place for me to stay in, and she still isn’t back. She is my only family. I can’t leave without her."

She took a step toward Derek, reaching out again.

"Maybe you could give me a few days," she begged, her voice cracking with sobs. "Just a few days to find her. To find a safe place. Please, Your Grace..."

Derek didn’t turn to face her fully. His back was a wall of rejection.

He interrupted her mid-sob.

"Esme is dead."

The words hung in the cold night air.

Senna froze. Her mouth fell open, but no sound came out.

"Dead?" she whispered.

Derek didn’t offer comfort. He didn’t explain. He just stated the fact with brutal finality.

"You have thirty minutes," Derek said. "Pack your belongings and leave this place."

He didn’t wait for a response. He walked away, his boots crunching on the gravel. Marissa cast one last, pitying glance at Senna, then followed her husband. Lily walked behind them, her head held high.

They disappeared into the shadows of the house, leaving Senna standing alone in the cold.

Senna looked down at the pouch in her hand. She opened it. Gold coins glittered in the moonlight. It was a fortune to a commoner, but to her, it was nothing but dust.

She cried. She cried for her lost status. She cried for the loss of Derek. She cried for Esme, the only person who knew her secrets.

~ ••••• ~

Twenty minutes later, Senna was in the her guest room.

A scream of pure rage tore from her throat.

She grabbed a porcelain vase from the table and threw it against the wall. It shattered into a thousand pieces.

"Why?" she screamed. "Why is this happening to me?"

She grabbed the pillows from the bed and ripped them open. Feathers exploded into the air like snow. She overturned the chairs. She swept the tea set off the table, the cups smashing on the floor.

She thrashed around the room like a wounded animal. She destroyed everything she could touch.

She stopped in the middle of the wreckage, breathing hard. Her hair was wild, her eyes bloodshot.

"What do I do?" she asked herself. Her voice was small and terrified. "Where do I go?"

She had no allies. Ashlyn had betrayed her. Esme was dead. Derek hated her. Marissa had beaten her.

A dark, poisonous thought popped into her head.

If I can’t have this place, she thought, no one can. I’ll burn this place up.

Her eyes darted to the window. She imagined the flames eating the silk curtains, climbing the walls, turning the Thompson estate into ash. She imagined Marissa running in fear.

She raised her hand. She felt the hum of magic in her veins. She could snap her fingers and spark a fire that water couldn’t quench.

But she lowered her hand.

No, she thought. I can’t use magic here.

If she used magic, she could be caught. They would find out she was a magic wielder from the West. In this kingdom, that was a death sentence. She would be executed before the sun came up.

She had to do it the human way.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. They were red and swollen from crying. She looked around the room for a tool.

Her eyes landed on the oil lamp on the bedside table.

She walked over to it. Her hands were shaking, but her resolve was firm. She picked up the lamp. She removed the glass cover.

She walked to the window. The heavy velvet curtains hung there, expensive and flammable.

Senna didn’t hesitate. She tilted the lamp. The oil poured out, soaking into the thick fabric of the curtain. It dripped onto the carpet, creating a dark stain.

She took a matchbox from the table. She struck a match. The small flame flickered in her trembling fingers.

She smiled. It was a broken, crazy smile.

"Goodbye," she whispered.

She touched the match to the oil-soaked curtain.

The fire caught instantly. A bright orange tongue of flame licked up the fabric. It grew fast, feeding on the oil. Smoke began to curl up toward the ceiling.

Senna stepped back. She watched the fire grow. It was beautiful. It was destruction. It was her mark on this house.

The door handle turned.

Senna didn’t hear it over the roaring of her own blood in her ears.

The door burst open.

Derek rushed in. He had come to ensure she was packing, to make sure she left on time.

He stopped dead. He saw the room. The feathers, the broken glass, the overturned furniture.

And he saw the fire climbing the curtains.

"Senna!" he shouted.

He didn’t run to her. He ran to the fire.

He grabbed the burning curtain with his bare hands, ignoring the heat. He ripped it down from the rod. It fell to the floor in a heap of flames.

He stomped on it. He stomped hard, his heavy military boots crushing the fire, smothering it against the rug. He stomped until the last orange glow vanished, leaving only black, smoking fabric.

The room filled with the smell of burnt cloth and oil.

Derek stood there, breathing heavily. He looked at the ruined curtain, then he looked at Senna.

She was standing in the corner, smiling. She looked completely unhinged.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway.

Marissa walked in. She was followed by Lily.

Marissa stopped at the door. She took in the scene instantly. The destroyed room. The smoke. The burnt curtain on the floor. Derek standing over it. And Senna, smiling like a child who had just broken a toy.

Marissa looked at Senna. Her expression was one of pure disbelief.

"What are you doing?" Marissa asked. Her voice was calm, but it carried a heavy weight of judgment.

She stepped into the room, her heels clicking on the broken porcelain.

"Are you insane?" Marissa asked.

Senna looked at Marissa. Her smile faltered.