Chapter 3

Ethan, ever the attentive husband on the surface, prepared a small supper. He handed me a bowl of gumbo.

"Your favorite, Sarah."

My favorite. A thick, spicy gumbo.

A small frown touched my lips. I hated gumbo. Too heavy, too rich. Ethan got it wrong every year on my birthday, every minor celebration.

Before, I'd thought it was just his forgetfulness, a charming flaw. That he tried to remember at all was what mattered.

Now I knew. He wasn't forgetting. Someone else loved gumbo.

Olivia.

I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth along with a spoonful of the stew. "Thank you, my dear. But I will get my powers back. I'll command the winds again, maybe even more."

Ethan chuckled, a patronizing sound. "Even I, as Patriarch, can't conjure true hurricanes at will. Your ambitions are grand, Sarah."

I lowered my eyes.

Yes, even Ethan Blackwood, leader of the Moon Bay Guardians, wasn't a full Storm Weaver. Yet, for Olivia's grand ambitions, he was willing to sacrifice me, year after year.

"Are your... discomforts easing?" he asked, his voice soft. "Let me apply some salve."

He reached for a jar of healing balm. Just as he unscrewed the lid, Olivia's personal attendant, a smug young woman named Celeste, burst into the room without knocking.

"Patriarch! It's terrible! Miss Olivia, she felt the... the atmospheric backlash! She's fainted from the shock!"

CRACK.

The ceramic jar shattered in Ethan's grip.

The sudden violence made him flinch. He shot me an awkward glance.

I spoke, my voice deliberately cool. "Olivia faints and the Patriarch must be informed immediately? You may go, Celeste."

"Wait!" Ethan jumped to his feet. "Sarah, Olivia is your sister. My sister, by marriage. And as Patriarch, I am responsible for the well-being of all Guardians."

His eyes pleaded for understanding, but they were already distant.

"I'll just check on her. I'll be right back."

He didn't wait for my reply. He hurried out, Celeste trailing him like a triumphant shadow. She cast a look of pure scorn at me before she left.

I bent to pick up the sharp pieces of the broken jar. A shard sliced my finger.

Blood welled, dripping onto the polished wood floor.

A cold smile touched my lips. Old wounds still raw, and now new ones.

I bandaged my hand.

Soon, Celeste sauntered back in, her expression insufferable.

"Sarah," she said, not even bothering with 'Mrs. Blackwood.' "The Patriarch asked me to inform you. Miss Olivia is suffering from palpitations due to the... incident. She requires company."

Her lips curled. "The Patriarch will be staying with her tonight."

I nodded slowly, not giving her the satisfaction of a reaction.

She strutted out, pausing at the door to deliver a parting shot, loud enough for me to hear clearly.

"A powerless nobody. Thinking she can compete with Miss Olivia for the Patriarch's affections!"

A harsh laugh escaped me. Who gave this servant such audacity?

Or rather, whose silent approval did she have?

That night, I didn't sleep. I sat by the window, watching the moon.

I wrote a formal declaration, a petition to the Guardian Council for dissolution of my marriage to Ethan Blackwood.

I detailed his deceptions, his manipulations, the years of stolen vitality.

Then, I held it over a candle flame.

The parchment blackened, curled, and turned to ash.

Not yet. Annulment was escape. I needed more. I needed understanding. And then, perhaps, retribution.