CHAPTER 48: PATHS OF FATE

The garden path stretched before them, its neat stones bordered by trimmed hedges that whispered faintly in the breeze. Anneliese fell into step beside Elowyn, her movements careful, as though every gesture might be weighed.

For a time, they walked in silence, the steady splash of the fountain fading behind them. Elowyn’s stride was unhurried yet exact—like someone who had long ago mastered the art of conserving energy for sharper things. Her attention lingered not on the blooms or the sky, but on Anneliese, studying without staring.

At last, her voice broke the quiet, carrying the weight of an old memory. "Vincenzo, Adomas, and I—we crossed paths in Witchland years ago. One day, perhaps, you will hear the full story. I can promise it would be... entertaining beyond measure." Her lips curved faintly, though her tone never softened. "Vincenzo told me you were the girl from Bridgehallow. I knew he searched for you, searched everywhere. When he found nothing, I thought you were gone. Dead."

Her gaze flicked ahead, her voice even, measured. "So," she said, the single syllable lingering in the air before she went on, "how did he find you now? And how did you end up here, in Versimoil?"

There was no mockery in her words, no warmth either—only cool curiosity, sharpened by the undercurrent of someone testing the truth of what stood before her.

Anneliese’s steps slowed, her gaze dipping briefly to the stones beneath her feet before lifting again. "I lived in a human town, far from here—the Sicilian Empire. Ordinary, small. For years, I thought that was all I was meant for," she said at last, her tone quiet, as though speaking the pieces aloud might make them more believable.

"Then I found a book—an ancient Book of Spells. By accident, or fate... I don’t know. But it changed everything." Her fingers brushed against her dress, stilling a restless tremor before she went on. "I met Vincenzo in the forest—at the most unexpected time, in the most unexpected way. I was lost, and he helped me find my way home."

Her eyes went distant for a moment, her thoughts folding inward. It feels as though he’s been helping me find my ground ever since—guiding me when I lose my way in life itself.

Now, as she gave the words shape, she realized just how true it was. A warmth, quiet and unexpected, stirred in her chest.

Her gaze flickered to the hedges, then to the witch beside her, her words low now, though steady. "I was captured by Envoy Egnatius when the people of my town disappeared. They threw me into a dungeon... and from there, Sire Adomas brought me here."

She told the Witch pieces as best she could, fragments of a path stitched together—bits and parts of it all, enough to be spoken aloud.

Elowyn let the silence linger, her gaze never straying from Anneliese. "So—a girl who was lost for years, stumbles upon a book she should never have touched, meets a man most never survive, and walks away from an Envoy’s dungeon." Her lips curved faintly, though the expression held no warmth. "That is no path for an ordinary girl who carries the air of a mystery."

She folded her hands across her chest, her stride steady once more. "Perhaps it was accident. Perhaps fate. Or perhaps the book found you because it already knew to whom it belonged. Fate has a way of placing things where they are meant to be, as it has placed you here with Vincenzo." Her eyes glinted as they caught the light, sharp as a blade half-drawn. "Either way... survival speaks louder than any tale you can tell."

Anneliese lowered her gaze, feeling light, as if the weight she had carried had lifted, even if only for a moment. She nodded faintly, letting her steps fall into a steady rhythm.

Beside her, Elowyn said nothing more. The path curved ahead, lined with sunlight and shadow, and though the silence returned, it was no longer empty. The hush of the garden seemed to linger even after they turned back toward the castle, carrying with it the weight of what was to come.

In another part of the castle, in the west tower, the private corridor outside Lady Cassia’s chambers was lined with tall mirrors, their frames gilded but polished to near invisibility, reflecting only glimpses of passing servants and the flickering glow of shifting sun. Cassia moved with measured grace, the sound of her heels resolute, a quiet rhythm that seemed to echo the thoughts running sharp and precise in her mind.

Her chambers awaited, scented faintly with a hint of cinnamon. Sunlight spilling through the high windows caught in the threads of her rich velvet gown, glinting like scattered coins. She paused by the ornate desk, eyes narrowing at the scrolls and ledgers spread across its surface. Plans for the ball, seating arrangements, and a careful allotment of chambers for overnight guests demanded her scrutiny. Among the mundane, however, one name lingered: Anneliese Levine.

A soft knock echoed through the room. "Enter," Cassia called, her tone even yet edged with authority.

Atticus stepped inside, posture straight and composed. The faint creak of the door seemed almost intrusive in the otherwise meticulous quiet. Gray eyes swept the chamber before settling on Cassia, seeking the unspoken thread she always carried between herself and the crown’s affairs. "Mother," he began, voice neutral but carrying a subtle weight, "you wished to see me?"

Cassia folded her hands, tilting her head slightly, her expression smooth but unyielding. "Yes. I wanted to discuss... the arrangements for Roslin’s birthday. The ball is in two weeks, and I intend it to leave a mark—impeccable, precise, flawless." Her lips pressed into a thin line, ambition clear without a hint of apology.

Atticus inclined his head, aware that every syllable mattered. "I assume you have considered all possible arrangements as you always do. Still, I will help in whatever way you need."

Cassia’s eyes flicked briefly to him, a hint of acknowledgment softening the sharp edge. "Of course. But that is not all. I must consider the... unexpected elements." Her gaze lingered just long enough on the doorway, the memory of the young woman present in the castle sharp in her mind. "Anneliese Levine."

Atticus raised an eyebrow, though his face betrayed little. "Is that your wish to hold her at your attention... or necessity?" His voice was quiet, careful, as though testing her resolve.

Cassia allowed a faint exhale, her hands brushing against the desk as she walked closer. "Both," she said smoothly, almost like a statement of law rather than persuasion.

Atticus considered this, the corner of his mouth lifting in an almost imperceptible smirk. "You wish to test her, then... see how to neutralize her."

"Precisely," Cassia replied, her tone flat yet sharpened by intent. "And you, my son, will watch the tides as they shift. Roslin’s celebration will be... illuminating."

Atticus inclined his head again, a faint flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Illuminating, yes. I understand." He paused, remembering the human girl who always seemed too composed, yet with something hidden beneath her calm. An unwanted thought—the desire to keep her away from his mother—stirred in his mind, but he hid it behind forced neutrality.

She let the silence settle, curling one hand around the edge of the desk, her thoughts already racing ahead—calculating, planning, weaving possibilities. Anneliese Levine was a thorn, and Cassia intended to see precisely how she could remove it without pricking herself.