CHAPTER 67: CHAPTER SIXTY SEVEN

A quiet, fragile peace had settled over the Thompson estate. In the days following Ashlyn’s public punishment, a new order had been established. The household staff, having witnessed the swift, cold execution of one conspirator and the public disgrace of another, moved caution. The name "Lorena" was never spoken, her absence was a silent testament to the new mistress’s authority.

It was a bright, clear morning. The air was cool and smelled of damp earth and the last roses of the season. Lily, Marissa’s personal maid, walked briskly through the estate gates, a light, happy tune humming on her lips. Her basket, already filled with fragrant medicinal herbs from the market, was heavy on her arm. She was happy. Her mistress was finally in charge, the household was safe, and the terrible, dark plots seemed to be a thing of the past.

She turned down a quiet, cobblestone side street, a shortcut back to the manor’s servants’ entrance. She was so lost in her happy tune, thinking of the warm scone she would have with her tea, that she didn’t notice the two rough-looking men lounging in the mouth of a narrow alley until it was too late.

One of them stepped directly into her path. Lily stopped, startled, her hum catching in her throat.

"Are you Lily?" the man asked. His voice was a low, gravelly rumble, and his eyes were cold.

"I... I am," she stammered, her hand tightening on her basket. "Do I... Do I know you?"

"We know your brother, Thomas," the second man said, stepping out from the alley to stand behind her. She was trapped.

The blood drained from Lily’s face. Tom. Her brother, her only family, a boy who had always been weak, always finding new, terrible trouble. "What... what has he done?" she whispered.

"He owes a lot of money," the first man said, his voice bored, as if he were discussing something casual. "A lot. And he told our boss that his good, loyal sister, who works for the new Grand Duchess, would be happy to cover his debt."

"No," Lily whispered, her body trembling. "He... he promised he had stopped. I don’t have that kind of money, I..."

"We’re not here to ask, little lady," the man snarled, his patience gone. He lunged, his hand grabbing her arm in a grip like a steel vise.

"No! Let me go!" Lily cried, dropping her basket. The herbs, her morning’s work, scattered across the dirty cobblestones. She tried to fight, to pull away. The second man grabbed her from behind, his hand clamping over her mouth, silencing her screams.

In the struggle, the first man’s hand caught on the thin, silver chain around her neck. He yanked it mistakingly. The chain snapped. A small, simple, heart-shaped locket—the one Marissa had given her—fell from her neck, clattering onto the stones, unseen in the mess of scattered herbs.

"Get her in the carriage," the first man grunted. In a matter of seconds, they had dragged her, kicking and sobbing, into a plain, unmarked carriage waiting in the alley. The door slammed shut, and the street was silent once more, the only evidence of the struggle a scattering of green herbs and a single, glinting, silver locket.

In her personal, sun-drenched mini-garden, Marissa was at peace. She wore simple gardening gloves and a wide-brimmed straw hat, her mind blessedly, blissfully quiet as she pruned her prize-winning roses. The rhythmic snip of her shears was the only sound, a calming, meditative task that she desperately needed after the chaos of the past few weeks.

She stepped back, admiring a particularly beautiful, deep-red bloom. It was perfect, but the leaves at its base were slightly yellow.

"Lily," she called out, her voice easy and absent-minded, "bring me some of the flower fertilizer from the potting shed."

She waited a moment, but there was no response. She turned, expecting to see her maid, but instead, a different, younger maid, Anna, hurried over, curtsying nervously.

"Your Grace," Anna said, her head bowed. "Lily... she went out early to get the special herbs you requested from the city market. She said she would be back before noon."

Marissa frowned. "Before noon?" She pulled off a glove and looked up, her hand shielding her eyes from the sun, which was now hanging high and bright, directly overhead. "But it’s already noon. In fact, it’s past it. Why hasn’t she come back yet?"

A small, cold prickle of unease, the first she had felt in days, touched her heart. Lily was never late. She was the most punctual, reliable person Marissa had ever known.

"Your Grace, perhaps the market was simply busy?" Anna offered, seeing the look on her mistress’s face.

"No," Marissa said, her voice sharp. She pulled off her other glove and dropped it, along with her shears, into the basket at her feet. The peace of the garden was gone. "Help me search for her. Take two guards and check the main road from the market. I will check the side paths."

"Yes, Your Grace!" the maid said, scurrying off to obey.

The search began. For an hour, Marissa and the guards walked every path connecting the estate to the city.

"Your Grace," one of the guards finally said, meeting her near the main gate. "We have searched everywhere. The market, the main road. There are no signs of Lily at all."

Marissa’s unease was now a heavy, cold knot in her stomach. "No," she said, her voice tight. "She has to be here. She would not just... leave." She dismissed the guard and continued on her own, walking down the quiet, cobblestone side street she knew Lily sometimes used as a shortcut.

"Lily!" she called out, her voice echoing in the empty lane. "Lily!"

She was about to turn back, her mind racing with a thousand terrible possibilities, when she stumbled on something, her foot scattering a small pile of dried, crushed leaves. She looked down. Herbs. The ones she had sent Lily for, scattered and trampled on the stones.

Her heart stopped.

She crouched down, her eyes scanning the ground, and then she saw it. Half-hidden under a stray leaf, a small, silver object glinted in the sun.

She picked it up. Her fingers, which were no longer steady, closed around the small, heart-shaped locket.

"This is Lily’s," she whispered, her voice a raw, shocked sound. She recognized it instantly. She had given it to her. Since the day she had known her, over two lifetimes, Lily had never taken it off.

She clutched the locket so tightly its edges dug into her palm. The world around her seemed to fade.

In my last life, she thought, her blood running cold, it was not a kidnapping. It was a debt. The memory, so sharp and painful, played out behind her eyes. Lily’s brother, Tom. He owed so much money to the ’Red Lantern Den,’ the worst gambling house in the city. He was going to be killed, his hands cut off. She came to me, weeping, begging. But I was powerless then, a prisoner in my own marriage, despised by Carlos, with no money and no power. I couldn’t help her with the payments.

The vision grew sharper, clearer. She went to the gambling house herself. To plead. To offer herself in her brother’s place. And I... I found her. Too late. I found her on the cobblestones, in the alley below the balcony. She had jumped. The sound of her body hitting the street...

Marissa squeezed her eyes shut, the locket a burning brand in her hand. This was different, but it was the same. The debt. The gambling den. And Lily, trapped in the center of it.

"Could it be?" she whispered to the empty, silent street. "Could the tragedy from my previous life be repeating itself? Is this just fate, or is this... Ashlyn?" She knew, with a terrible, sinking certainty, that her sister was the only other person who would know this weakness, this specific, tragic story.

"I have to go there," she said, her voice no longer a whisper, but a cold, hard, determined growl. "I have to check myself."

~ ••••• ~

Miles away, in a gaudy, private, velvet-lined room in the Red Lantern Den, Ashlyn stood at the balcony window. She looked down at the bustling, filthy street below, at the exact spot where, in another life, a body had fallen.

She had been waiting for two hours.

This is the place, she thought, a small, cold smile on her lips. This is where her loyal little maid, Lily, jumped and died. A terrible, sad, and very useful tragedy.

Her plan had been simple. Find Lily’s worthless brother, Tom. Give him a small, "no-questions-asked" loan from a friendly moneylender. And then, when the debt was impossibly large, instruct that moneylender to collect, not from the brother, but from the sister. To take her, by force, and bring her here, to this very room.

It’s all happening again, just as it did before, she thought, her heart beating with a cold, thrilling anticipation. The stage is set. And now, we wait for the rescuer.

This was the true test. She had poisoned Ryan, and Marissa had known, somehow, how to save him. She had laid the trap with the dress and the earring, and Marissa, though she had been caught, had been so quick to suspect her. It was too much to be a coincidence.

If Marissa comes here, Ashlyn thought, her gaze fixed on the street below. If she comes to this specific gambling den to look for her maid... it means she knows. It proves she knows a past she should not know.

She turned from the window, her smile widening. "It proves she was also reborn. So let’s see, sister. Let’s see if you walk into my little trap."