Chapter 17- The Lavender Heir

Cians plan, Sashas capture.

The boy stirred when the heavy door creaked open, the dim light spilling across the stone floor. He tried to sit up, but his body wouldn’t obey; the fever had made him weak, and the wound at his side burned like fire.

Cian stepped inside, the sound of his polished shoes echoing in the small chamber. “Awake,” he said softly. “Good. I was beginning to wonder if you’d given up.”

The boy flinched at the sound of his voice, clutching the thin blanket tighter. His lips were cracked, his face pale, but his eyes—too big in the shadows—followed Cian with wary intensity.

“You’ve survived,” Cian said, crouching so they were eye level. His voice was almost gentle, though his gaze was cold as ice. “That means you’re strong. That means you belong here.”

The boy licked his lips, his voice trembling. “Where’s… my nan?” he whispered, the words barely audible.

Cian tilted his head, as if the question were inconvenient. “Gone,” he said at last. “Just like the others. But you—” he reached out, brushing the boy’s matted hair from his forehead, “—you are still here. And you are the future of this family.”

The boy’s chin wobbled as he fought back tears. “She said she’d come back for me,” he said, voice breaking. “Nan said she’d keep me safe.”

Cian’s expression softened with mock sympathy. “She can’t keep promises anymore. She’s not coming back. But you won’t be alone. Your aunt will be here soon. Sasha is my daughter too, just like Aislinn was. That makes her your family. Your blood. She will raise you the way you were meant to be raised—strong, proud, worthy of the De Burgh of Blackwater name.”

The boy’s chest hitched. “I… I don’t know her.”

“You will,” Cian murmured. “And she will love you. She won’t have a choice.”

He stood, adjusting his jacket with deliberate care, and the boy shrank back against the wall as if the movement alone could hurt him.

“You should rest,” Cian said, his voice soft again. “When Sasha arrives, I want you to be strong enough to greet her. She needs to see what is at stake.”

He turned and left the chamber, the door closing with a heavy thud. The lock slid into place, leaving the boy alone in the dark.

He pulled the blanket tighter around his small body, his breath trembling as he whispered the one name that still gave him courage.

“Nan…”

But there was no answer. Only the silence of the castle and the memory of her arms around him, the only safe place he had ever known.

—

The rain lashed against the windscreen as Lydia clutched the dashboard. Her husband’s hands were tight on the steering wheel, his knuckles pale as the ferry terminal drew closer.

“Faster,” Lydia urged. “Please, we can’t lose any more time.”

“We’re already pushing it,” he replied grimly. “The next crossing to Ireland leaves in forty minutes. If we miss it—”

“We won’t,” Lydia snapped, though her voice shook. She glanced down at her phone for the hundredth time. Still nothing. No missed calls. No messages. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”

Across the sea, Heather was pacing her kitchen floor, the glow of the phone screen casting pale shadows across her face. She had called Megan’s phone a dozen times—straight to voicemail. Eamon’s line was the same.

And Sasha…

Heather’s throat tightened. Sasha was supposed to be here, at her brother’s farmhouse where Heather had been hiding. She’d promised she’d come after packing up the last of her things.

“She wouldn’t just vanish,” Heather murmured, gripping the edge of the counter. “Not Sasha. Not after everything.”

Heather’s brother had returned home and hovered in the doorway. “Do you want me to call the Garda? File a missing persons report?”

Heather hesitated. If she did, she’d have to explain why Sasha, Megan, and Eamon might be missing—and she wasn’t ready to open the door to all those old secrets. Not yet.

She turned away, pressing her hand to her mouth as a ripple of dread went through her. Somewhere, deep down, she already knew this was no coincidence.

Something had happened.

And she was running out of time to stop it.