Arcane Entanglement (The Mage and His Brute #1)

Chapter 41

The interior of the cottage was cozy but sparse, signs of a hasty relocation evident in the half-unpacked trunks visible in the rooms they passed. Millbrook’s widow led them to the sunlit kitchen at the back, William bringing up their rear.

Hawk stayed on guard duty outside.

Porcelain tinkled as Martha placed crockery on a tray and brought it to the table. She served them freshly bake scones and poured them tea from the kettle on the fire.

“Thank you,” Evander murmured. He clasped his steaming cup in his hands and took a sip of the hot, sweet drink.

It did little to warm his body.

He couldn’t stop reliving the harrowing tale Viggo had just told them. The rumours he’d heard about the Brute’s childhood paled in comparison to the reality of the horrors he’d just painted with the bold strokes of his recollection from the eyes of the child he had been at the time his life changed forever.

Evander found himself unable to look at Viggo, too ashamed of the magic that ran through his veins and defined him as a mage.

Rufus cast a worried glance his way before addressing Martha Millbrook.

“Can you tell us what Alastair was working on before his murder?”

She exchanged a glance with her son.

“He rarely talked about the commissions he accepted,” she told them guardedly. “Many of the projects he undertook were under strict confidence. It isn’t as if he could tell us about them even if he wanted to.”

“But we knew something was wrong.” William frowned. “We could see it in his face when he came home.” Frustration underscored his voice. “Not that he visited Finsbury much in the two months before his murder. Father spent most of his time in Covent Garden. He slept in the lodgings above his workshop.”

Evander took a shallow breath. He couldn’t just sit there wallowing in his emotions. Not when there was work to be done.

“What prompted you to leave Finsbury?” he asked Martha.

The widow twisted her hands in her dress. Her reply confirmed what Evander had suspected.

“Alastair came home just under a fortnight ago.” Martha’s expression grew haggard. “I have never seen my husband so afraid. He told us we had to leave London, for our own safety.” A shudder shook her as she squeezed her eyes shut. “I wish I had asked him to come with us. Not a day passes that I do not regret my decision to stay silent on the matter.”

Her voice broke. She pressed a hand to her mouth.

William’s chin trembled as he clasped his mother’s shoulder. Martha touched his hand, her throat working convulsively.

“We found out about my father’s death in the papers.” William’s gaze burned with barely contained anger despite his tears. “Do you know who killed him?!”

“It was a dark mage.”

William recoiled at Evander’s quiet words.

Martha’s eyes widened.

“A dark mage?” she mumbled. “But—Alastair would never have anything to do with?—!”

“I doubt he knew,” Viggo cut in. His stiff gaze flitted briefly to Evander before focusing on the Millbrooks. “The reason he became scared was likely because he’d realised what he’d gotten himself involved in.”

“Mr. Stonewall is correct,” Evander said levelly. “We suspect your husband didn’t know what he’d signed himself up for when he took on the commission that led to his murder.”

William’s expression darkened.

“Are you saying the people who hired him intended to kill him?”

The fire crackled noisily in the tense lull that ensued.

“That I cannot tell you for certain.” Evander met the younger man’s glare unflinchingly. “But, yes. There’s a high probability that they planned to get rid of him after he completed the project they’d assigned him.”

Martha paled. William cursed.

“Alastair knew this,” Evander said. “That’s why he took measures to foil their plans and left clues that could lead to his killer.”

Confusion clouded Martha and William’s faces when he removed a small pouch from inside his coat and placed it on the table. Evander pushed it towards them.

“We found this hidden in his workshop.”

Martha’s hands shook as she opened the bag and removed the key they’d discovered. Her breath caught at the name his fire magic had scorched upon the scrap of paper that came with it.

The blood drained from William’s face.

“Who’s Rosa?” Evander asked softly.

Tears bloomed in Martha’s eyes.

“She was my daughter,” she choked out when she could speak.

William wiped the wet trails coursing down his cheeks with a jerky movement.

“Rosa was my baby sister,” he croaked, his voice thick with sorrow. “She died from scarlet fever when she was two.”

“Does the key mean anything to you?” Rufus said tensely.

William shook his head.

“No,” Martha mumbled.

Evander’s gut knotted. They’d banked on the Millbrooks telling them what the key was for.

A strange expression dawned on Viggo’s face. His tone when he spoke carried a hint of hope.

“Where is Rosa buried?”

Confusion wrinkled William’s brow. “In the woods, not far from here.”

Evander’s pulse spiked.

“This cottage belonged to my family,” Martha explained at their stares. “We often come here during autumn and winter.”

“Can you take us to Rosa’s grave?” Evander asked William.

Unease coiled through Viggo as they followed Millbrook’s son out of the cottage and into the woods. He could tell Evander was avoiding looking at him.

He moved closer to the mage while William led them along a barely visible path.

“What’s wrong?”

Evander glanced at him, his expression brittle. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Viggo frowned. “You’re lying.”

Evander closed his eyes briefly and shuddered.

“If you really want to know, I—kind of hate myself right now.”

Surprise jolted Viggo. “Whatever for?”

A muscle jumped in Evander’s jawline.

“Because I was born with magic,” he said bitterly. “The same magic that runs through the veins of the devils who killed your family and destroyed your village.”

Viggo’s throat tightened at the remorse thickening his voice. His hand brushed the back of Evander’s.

“It’s not your fault. You were only what, three at the time?”

Evander shook his head. “I was two years old.”

Viggo hooked their little fingers together for a moment.

“There you go then,” he said lightly. “I could hardly expect an Archmage in diapers to come to my aid.”

An involuntary snort escaped Evander. He regained his composure and pursed his lips at the Brute.

“This is no laughing matter, Viggo.”

“It isn’t.” He bumped shoulders with the mage. “But I can’t keep blaming all mages for the work of a small group of evildoers. You’ve shown me that these past few days.”

Evander swallowed, gratitude bringing a flush of colour to his cheeks.

They soon came upon a small, secluded grove. In the centre of the clearing stood a simple stone marker inscribed with the name Rosa Millbrook and her year of birth and death.

William stopped before it, his shoulders slumping a little.

“Hello, Rosa,” he said softly. “It’s been a while.”

The young man squatted and tidied the weeds encroaching the grave.

“Let’s take a look around,” Evander suggested to Viggo and Rufus.

They fanned out across the glade.

“What are you doing?” William asked curiously after a moment.

“Your father’s clues led us here.” Evander glanced his way. “My guess is there’s something he wanted us to find.”

William’s pupils widened. His gaze swept the area around the grave. He rose, determination hardening his face.

“I’ll help.”

It was William who discovered what Alastair Millbrook had hidden in the vicinity of his dead daughter’s remains.

“Here.” He crouched in front of a beech tree whose branches and leaves shielded the grove. “The ground looks disturbed!”