Chapter 50: Soulmate

With the rain having finally given Westwick a reprieve, the streets around the city’s shopping district were more crowded than usual, full of relaxed men and women going about their daily routines. Clara had to consciously slow down her pace to match Warren’s unhurried gait.

After passing by the train station on Kettle Street, which by the looks of it was almost ready for inauguration, they turned onto Vainqueur Street. Clara immediately recognized the confectioner from which they’d ordered the pastries for the tea party, not to mention the condensed milk. But before her mind trapped her in the usual cycle of guilt and nostalgia over what happened with Iris, something else caught her attention.

She stopped.

In front of her was the display window of a jewelry boutique, where a pair of slim rings sat on a velvet cushion. One was gold, set with a sapphire, and the other was rose-gold with an amethyst.

“Casewell?” Warren called.

Clara came closer to the glass. Above the rings was a placard: ‘Soulmate Rings: with magical location tracking, never worry about finding your love at any distance.’

The concept of magically locating your partner at any time sounded more problematic than romantic. But Clara wasn’t interested in the romance, oh no. There were much more practical applications to something like this. The possibilities were endless. If she slipped one of these into a suspect’s pocket, for example—

“Ah.” Warren’s sleeve brushed her arm as he approached. He read the placard, then turned to Clara with a smirk. “I see.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You were about to.”

He studied the rings with theatrical interest. “The gems are well cut, though much too small for someone of discerning taste. Then again, I suppose one must make compromises when shopping outside the capital’s noble district.”

“Righton.”

“Of course, the placard does raise certain questions. Any distance is a bold claim from a Westwick jeweler. I imagine the enchantment would weaken considerably past a few miles. Still, for a soulmate one keeps reasonably close at hand—”

“I am not shopping for a soulmate. This is purely for investigative purposes.”

He thought for a moment, then pressed a hand to his chest in feigned injury. “I never suggested you were. I was only commenting on the piece you were gazing at so longingly. Tell me, Casewell, is there a fortunate gentleman somewhere who ought to be informed he’s under investigation?”

She scoffed and turned around. “Spare me. We’re going to be late.”

“Why the haste? We do not, to my knowledge, have an appointment.” He pulled the door to the jeweler’s and held it open for her. “Ladies first.”

Clara glared at him, but that only made him widen his smirk as he gave a small, mocking bow toward the shop. With a sigh that she made sure he could hear, she stepped past him and went inside.

A woman emerged from behind a curtained doorway at the back. She examined Warren’s suit and cravat first, straightened slightly, then moved to Clara and gave a polite greeting.

“Good afternoon, madam. How may we be of service?”

“Good afternoon,” replied Clara. “I noticed the… matching rings in your window display. I was hoping you could tell me a bit more about them.”

The woman’s expression brightened immediately. She produced a small key from her waist pocket and opened the display, taking out the velvet pillow where the rings rested and putting it on the counter. “An excellent choice. The soulmate rings are one of our most popular pieces for a dashing couple such as yourselves.”

Clara winced, then quickly replied before Warren could open his mouth and almost certainly make things worse. “Could you explain how the enchantment works?”

“It’s very simple. Why don’t you two put them on?”

Clara opened her mouth to politely refuse, but Warren had already plucked the gold band from the cushion and slid it casually onto his right ring finger. Then he took the rose-gold ring and held out his other hand to her.

“Well, Casewell? It would be terribly rude to leave a soulmate hanging.” His tone showed that he was enjoying this far too much. Clara felt her cheeks flush.

Goddess, give me strength.

She put her right hand on top of his, and he carefully placed the ring onto her finger. The band was cool against her skin, and it actually fit her well.

“Wonderful,” said the shopkeeper with pride. “Now, if you would, walk apart from one another. Just a few paces will do.”

Clara took three steps toward the front of the shop, and Warren did the same in the opposite direction, toward a display of brooches near the back wall. And then she felt it. Not a strong magical pull like when casting a spell, but an awareness, like a faint, unmistakable drift in his direction. If she closed her eyes, she was certain she could have pointed straight at Warren without looking.

“Remarkable,” said Clara softly.

“Is it not? As you can see, the enchantment works automatically,” said the woman. “It’s been designed by a master artificer at the capital. You’ll need to recharge both rings about once a week to preserve the effect, but the recharging process should be relatively quick because the enchantment is so efficient. Anyone can do it, there’s no need to be a full spellcaster.”

So the time limit for tracking was a week. It wasn’t forever, but it was a very long time to be aware of someone’s location. Despite the shopkeeper’s claims, Clara knew she wouldn’t be able to recharge it herself, but she could always ask Professor Morris, or even Emma if the process was as easy as advertised.

“Can we locate the rings even if we aren’t wearing them?” asked Clara. “Such as if they get lost.”

“Yes, of course. As long as they are charged,” said the shopkeeper.

Clara and Warren returned to the counter and placed their rings back on the pillow.

“Well?” he asked. His voice had lost some of its earlier mockery. “Is it what you hoped for, Counsel?”

“Perhaps.” Clara turned to the shopkeeper. It was what Clara had hoped for, but she wasn’t going to admit that in front of the seller. That wasn’t how you haggled. “How much for the pair?”

“Twelve marks, madam.”

It was steep. More than she had on hand, given what remained of Lochlann’s advance. If she combined it with her savings, she could afford it, but that wouldn’t leave her with all that much. Well, I can just come back and buy these after the trial, when the prince pays me in full.

“I’ll come ba—”

But Warren interrupted her. “We’ll take them.”

“We thank you for your patronage. Give me a moment to package these for you.” The woman went back behind the curtain.

“What do you think you’re doing, Righton?”

“Consider it a professional courtesy.”

“Not this again. I’m perfectly capable of paying for my own business expenses.”

He shrugged. “Be that as it may, I’d hate for the good shopkeeper to assume I’m the kind of rake who lets his soulmate pay for her own ring.”

Before Clara could argue back, the woman returned with a neatly wrapped box and handed it to her. Warren took some coins from his pocket, and the shopkeeper bowed her head in thanks as the pair stepped back out onto Vainqueur Street.

As they made the walk to Saintess Winifred’s chapel, she tried her best not to think about the fact that Warren Righton had just bought her a pair of couple rings. Strictly for professional purposes, obviously. Even so, if the Warren from her world ever found out, he’d throw a fit. And Iris will be so upset when she—

Clara’s mood soured instantly, and she was grateful for the silence that settled between herself and Warren. The spire soon appeared in the distance, and shortly after the chapel stood in front of them, looking the same as it had when she’d come here on her birthday. And just like last time, the moment she crossed under the arch of the entrance, a comforting warmth bloomed in her chest. Stella.

Warren noticed her hesitation. “Is there a problem?”

“It’s nothing. Let’s go in.”

The interior was dim and cool, and a slightly bitter incense lingered in the air. A single figure in a habit moved between the front pews—Sister Margeaux. She looked up at the sound of their footsteps.

“Miss Casewell. And…” The young woman’s brown eyes shifted to Warren. “Lord Warren.” She gave a deep curtsy.

He inclined his head. “Sister. We were hoping to have a word with Father Leofric.”

She gave an apologetic look. “Oh, I’m so sorry, my lord. Father Leofric isn’t here. He left yesterday morning for a seminar in Elysia City. Is there anything I can help you with in his stead? Or, if you prefer, I could arrange an appointment with Bishop Dicton for you.”

Clara and Warren exchanged glances. The day after Ricardo’s death. Very convenient.

Then Warren shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. I’m afraid our business can only be attended to by Father Leofric himself. We will return at a later date.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Sister Margeaux, did Father Leofric leave on short notice?” asked Clara.

“I am not sure, Miss. Father Leofric is very meticulous about keeping his own calendar, you see. I always tell him my duty is to assist him, but he has a mind to take care of everything on his own.”

“I see.” Clara kept her face neutral. “And how is Forrest?”

At that, the young nun’s face fell. “He is the same as always. Father Leofric tended to him before he left. He’s very devoted to the boy.”

It was not unexpected, but it was still slightly disappointing. Clara hoped that one day Forrest would be able to recover from the damage Marcella had inflicted and lead a new life, just like Vainglory had started to.

They were saying their goodbyes when the front door of the chapel creaked open behind them, and a raspy voice she recognized spoke from the entrance.

“Sister, I’ve brought the father’s order.”

Clara turned. The elderly chemist from the third apothecary—the one who’d told her, just hours earlier, about Ricardo coming in to ask about pills—stood in the doorway with a basket cradled against her chest.

“Oh, Miss. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” she said.

Sister Margeaux stepped forward with a grateful smile and took the basket, evidently used to the routine. “Mistress Cillin. Thank you for coming all the way here. We’ll send over the usual payment.”

“It’s no trouble. And I’ve told you repeatedly to call me Penny, Sister. ‘Mistress Cillin’ has the unfortunate habit of making me feel my age, you see.”

The nun chuckled. “Now that wouldn’t do. The Church teaches us to respect our elders.”

“And what is it you’ve brought, Penny?” Clara asked, keeping her tone light. Warren raised an eyebrow.

The older woman smiled. “Father Leofric’s regular assortment of herbs. I’m told he requires them for the hospice and his own personal studies. He’s always very particular about what he orders, but we do our best to provide. It’s in service of the Goddess, after all.”

“The father always says Mistress Cillin’s apothecary is the best in town,” added Sister Margeaux, prompting Penny to lift her chin with pride.

So there was a connection between an apothecary Ricardo had gone to and Father Leofric. That certainly had implications.

After some more small talk with the two women, Clara and Warren left the chapel. By then it was almost dusk, and he walked with her to the Kettle & Key before returning to the Albion residence. She ordered another beef pie and retired to her room, ready for an evening of trying to make sense of all the information she’d gathered during the day.

And tomorrow, there were two more people Clara needed to speak with. They both bore the same last name: von Rhenia.