CHAPTER 47: THE GARDEN OF BEGINNINGS

Anneliese woke to the pale wash of morning light spilling across her chamber. The night had been kind for once, yet instead of being restored, she felt restless. Something unsettled throbbed quietly in her chest, as though sleep had only pressed the unrest deeper.

She lay still for a while, listening to the hush of the castle. It was too quiet, the sort of silence that felt intentional. Even the air seemed to wait, heavy with the memory of the past weeks.

Her fingers twisted in the quilt before she pushed it aside and rose. The marble beneath the thick carpet steadied her, but not enough. At the window, sunlight shimmered gently across the grounds, a picture of calm that felt distant from her own.

Her body had rested, but her spirit had not. The whispers she thought she had escaped in sleep lingered at the edges of her mind—faint, ghostlike—reminding her that peace was always borrowed, never kept.

A soft rap at the door broke her trance.

"Come," Anneliese said, her voice quieter than she intended.

The door eased open, and a young maid stepped inside, head bowed. "My lady," she murmured, "your bath is ready and the brunch will be brought to your chamber shortly." She lifted her gaze slightly, then added, "Afterward, His Lordship requests your presence in the garden."

For a heartbeat, Anneliese only stared at her, the words settling like pebbles in the pool of her thoughts. The witch Vincenzo had spoken of yesterday must have arrived. Drawing a deep breath, she nodded, smoothing her hand over the nightdress as though the motion alone could still her.

"Thank you," she said softly.

The maid dipped a curtsy and slipped out, leaving the chamber once more cloaked in its watchful quiet.

The warmth of the steam wrapped around her, loosening the stiffness she hadn’t realized she carried. For a moment, under the steady water, she closed her eyes and let the water cover her—gentle, constant, almost enough to drown out the restless hum inside her chest. Almost. She lingered longer than she meant to, but when at last she stepped out, the air felt colder, the silence sharper, so that even the beads of water sliding down her hair were audible.

She dressed in a simple dark brown gown, tying the belt at her lower back, the bow drawing the fabric close until it fitted her form with quiet neatness.

By the time her meal arrived, she was ready. She ate slowly, the stillness of the room pressing close, each bite a ritual rather than a hunger answered. The knock of cutlery against porcelain marked the end of her meal. Anneliese rose, smoothing her gown, her movements deliberate as if rehearsed for composure she did not fully feel.

Beyond the chamber, the sunlight played across the garden paths where Vincenzo waited. The air was bright, clean, with sunlight. He stood at the fountain’s edge, dark coat brushing the trimmed grass, the breadth of the garden unfolding in disciplined rows of hedges and late-blooming flowers. The water caught the light in fractured glimmers, rising and falling in measured arcs that seemed too calm. His gaze lingered not on the flowers, nor the fountain, but on the path that cut through the garden’s heart—the one along which Anneliese would soon appear.

Beside him stood Elowyn—her posture composed, her presence sharp and quiet as the blade of a drawn sword. The aura of Witchland clung to her like a second skin, a whisper of storm restrained. She turned at the faint sound of approaching footsteps.

The fountain’s spray thinned in the breeze. Vincenzo felt Anneliese before he saw her—the prickle of a familiar presence sliding through the wards like warmth seeping through glass. He kept his gaze on the path until she stepped into the light. She wore a dark brown dress, plain and unadorned, and for an instant the sight struck him with the memory of Bridgehallow—of the little girl in the inferno.

Elowyn’s chin tilted, the smallest acknowledgment of what moved through the air. "She carries the hush of an old call," the witch murmured, just for him.

"I know," Vincenzo answered, voice even, though his gaze never left Anneliese. "Do not press her too hard—not on the first breath."

Anneliese slowed a few paces from them, her posture careful and calm despite the faint tremor she could not quite master. Vincenzo met her eyes first—steadying, a promise wrapped in restraint—before he inclined his head. "Anneliese," he said. "This is Elowyn Moonflare from Witchland, of the Bellatrix line."

Elowyn’s bow was elegant and precise, her gloved fingers flickering at her side in practiced rhythm—the movement was practiced, a ritual honed, but not without weight.

Anneliese returned a smaller, careful dip of her head. "Thank you for coming," she managed. "I... am grateful."

Elowyn’s eyes searched her face without intrusion, alert to the half-seen things. "Don’t thank me yet," she said. She didn’t look at Vincenzo as she added, "He is a friend, but that alone wouldn’t have brought me here. I came because of a debt that needed to be paid," her mouth curved slightly, though the smile never reached her gaze.

Anneliese’s gaze lowered for a heartbeat, her lips pressing together in a faint, restrained acknowledgment.

Elowyn’s gaze did not wander as the three of them stood in the softened light. She folded her hands at her chest, the gesture closing the moment as surely as a lid. "We begin tomorrow," she said, her voice even, the syllables dropping into the garden like stones that made precise ripples.

Her gaze lifted briefly to Vincenzo, then back to Anneliese before she added. "If you want to master it, you’ll need to learn both the active and the passive—practical knowledge as well as theoretical. One without the other is a blade without an edge."

The air seemed to still, as though listening, as Elowyn continued, "At dawn we will have practical sessions, and in the afternoon, reading lessons."

Anneliese’s eyes flickered toward Vincenzo, searching for what, she did not know. He gave her a slight dip of the head and blinked once in answer—nothing more than that measured calm, but it was enough to keep her from faltering.

Turning back to Elowyn, she inclined her head, the motion deliberate, her voice cautious yet certain. "I will learn. Whatever you ask of me."

For a moment, silence settled again, broken only by the fountain’s slow rhythm. In the echo of what had been spoken, Anneliese felt the first edge of inevitability, but determination settled firmly within her.

"Very well then," Vincenzo said at last, his tone firm but calm. His words were soft, as though meant only for her despite Elowyn’s presence. "Did you eat?"

The question made Elowyn’s brow lift, her lips twitching with the faintest trace of amusement.

Anneliese nodded before replying, her voice low. "Yes... and thank you, for sending the brunch to my chamber."

Vincenzo inclined his head, then straightened slightly. "Good. I have a Conclave meeting to attend, so I’ll leave you both to grow acquainted. I will see you at dinner." His gaze lingered on Anneliese a moment longer. "Try to rest more, Ann—you’ll need it tomorrow. And don’t get yourself into trouble while I’m gone."

His eyes shifted briefly to Elowyn. "And you—do not trouble her."

Elowyn’s lips curved as she dipped her head in a mock bow. "I’ll behave... I rather like her already."

Vincenzo crossed the few steps to stand before Anneliese, his movement unhurried, his presence folding around her like a shield. He bent just enough to brush a faint kiss across her forehead—a quiet imprint of protection, care, and something she could not yet name.

Before Anneliese could even draw breath to process it, he was gone—dissolving into the air like shadow into light. She blinked, surprise lingering in her chest, a ticklish flutter stirring in her stomach. She tried to still her expression, yet a small, unwilling smile tugged at her lips. Her gaze flicked to Elowyn, and the smile vanished as quickly as it had come.

Elowyn only tilted her head, her eyes glinting as if they had caught what lingered a breath before. She offered no words—just a faint, unreadable curve of her lips that gave nothing away.