Page 61 of The Robin on the Oak Throne

And now she finally held what she hoped was the key.

Graves slid a chair over to the bed and began to remove his gloves. She watched as his fingers worked over the material—every move was somehow both methodical and erotic. “Remember our conversations about intent. Keep your thoughts on exactly what you want to drive the spell to the correct destination.”

What she wanted. She glanced up at him and away. She needed to get her head in the game. Graves wasnotwhat she wanted.

Her parents. This was about her parents. She wanted to know so much. What had happened to them, how they had died, what was in her nightmares, what it had been like growing up. Everything. She wanted everything. But she needed to be specific to guide the intent.

Who her parents were.

It was a small thing, and yet it was what she wanted most of all. She wanted a memory that wasn’t destruction that showed who they were.

Graves must have seen her intent settle over her. He dropped his gloves on the side table and said, “Lay back.”

Her stomach dipped at those words. So much control.

Slowly she lowered herself onto her back with the bottles in hand. “How does the anchor work? I didn’t think you could touch my magic because of the absorption.”

“I can’t read you or use my magic on you, but I can hold you through this. I will be here the whole time.”

Kierse panicked for a second, sitting up. “Oh fuck, what if it doesn’t work on me? What if I absorb the spells and can’t use them? I’m not empty.”

Graves put his hands on my shoulders. “Breathe. This is herbal. Much like what Gen has been giving you for your nightmares. You may absorb some of the magic that binds it together, but much of these spells rely on the user to guide it. You will smooth the direction. You will focus your intent. Then you will make way for the memories.”

Kierse nodded, relaxing under his touch as he gently leaned her back on the bed. It was the best she could do. It was worth it to try, whatever it might give her. She could do this. She’d almost paid with her life twice to get it. There was no turning back.

She unstoppered the first potion, meeting Graves’s storm-cloud eyes. His magic glowed golden as it wrapped around her like a blanket. When he was done and the anchor was in place, he nodded.

She lifted the bottle to her lips and said, “Bottoms up.”

Chapter Twenty

The apartment was a shoebox. A pair of threadbare chairs sat in the open main space connected to a small kitchen. A mattress rested on the floor across the room. The bathroom lay beyond the only door, which was ajar, and the water was running in the shower. A man’s voice sang sweetly. Light streamed in from the miniscule window that was half blocked by an air-conditioning unit. Kierse could make out the dirty streets beyond, but she didn’t have enough context to place where she was. It was drab and rough and could have been anywhere.

Kierse stared down at her hands in confusion. Was this part of the dream? This tiny apartment with a man singing in the shower? Where wasshe? If this washermemory?

“Daddy! Daddy!”

Kierse jerked around as the door to the apartment crashed open. A small girl ran inside as the water shut off. A rough white towel was jerked off of a hanger, and a man strode out of the room with it wrapped around his waist.

“Hello, my wee darling,” he crooned in a lilting Scottish accent, picking up the small child and lifting her into his arms. “How was school? Did you learn anything new?”

“Nothing much,” she said in what was clearly a lie.

The girl was unmistakably, categorically striking. Long, ashy-blond hair with angelic features and wide, dark eyesthat seemed to suck the light out of the room. She had a mischievous glint in those eyes and an impish smile for her father.

In her much younger features, Kierse could see it clearly for herself.Shewas that young girl. She no longer had the dark-blond hair, which had aged to a darker brown. Her features had all been changed under the spell anyway. The ears were there, slightly pointed, the shape of her mouth, and there, the little wren necklace hanging on her much smaller body.

Tears came to her eyes as she watched the interaction. Her father had…loved her. He was looking at her with adoration. A muscular man built like an ox, with the same dark hair Kierse had currently, though with a slight curl to it. A tattoo of a wooded landscape snaked down his arm, a horned stag proud and prominent near his elbow, and the whole thing entwined with a Trinity Knot at the wrist.

“She’s a thief is what she is,” a woman said, striding inside the apartment door with arms full of groceries.

“Did she get caught?” the dad asked with a similar grin to his daughter’s.

“Of course not!” She dropped the groceries onto the only available counter space and swiveled to stare at them. “She was trained too well by her misbehaving father.”

“Mummy!” the girl cried.

Kierse’s heart stuttered and stopped.

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