Chapter 18
The car pulled up within minutes, its sleek black frame gleaming in the sunlight. William, the Edgeworth driver, stepped out with a crisp bow, his silver hair catching the light. When Rebecca slid into the back seat beside Nathaniel and Deanna, a strange quiet settled over her chest.
The town drifted by outside the windows bakeries opening their shutters, children darting down sidewalks, neighbors waving across fences but under it all, Rebecca could feel the low hum of the Hollow like a drumbeat. The danger was near, but it pressed no closer. William's hands rested easy on the wheel, his shoulders loose, his presence filling the cabin with a stillness she hadn't realized she craved.
Deanna let out a long breath. "It's like the shadows can't touch us in here."
"They can't," Nathaniel confirmed softly, his eyes on William in the rearview mirror. "It's his gift. Calm is its own kind of ward."
The short ride ended at the estate gates, which stood open as if the house itself was waiting. Beyond, the courtyard was already alive with movement. Families gathering, voices rising in greetings, arguments, and nervous laughter.
When Rebecca stepped out of the car, conversation faltered. Heads turned. Eyes fixed on her, some wide with suspicion, others with something like reverence. She felt the weight of it, pressing harder than the Hollow ever had.
"Why are they looking at me like that?" she whispered to Nathaniel.
"Because they see you," he murmured, his hand brushing hers. "The bond has made you their anchor. Whether you wanted it or not."
The crowd parted as Carolina Edgeworth stepped forward, her dark hair bound neatly, her voice carrying across the courtyard. "It is as it should be. The Matriarch has taken her place." "The blood has returned. It carries forward."
Rebecca froze. "Matriarch?"
Carolina lifted her chin. "You carry the Weatherman line, you are bound to the Edgeworth, and within you are three children already tied to both. The Hollow itself cannot deny it. Neither can we." She stepped closer, laying a cool hand over Rebecca's belly. "Bianca. Penelope. Gabriel. The bond is theirs as much as yours. I bless them, and I bless the union that brought them here."
A murmur rippled through the families some bowing their heads, others crossing their arms, but none daring to deny the truth of Carolina's words.
The spell of stillness didn't last. Two voices rose sharp across the courtyard —Elias Whitlock snarling at Patrick Callaghan about who had failed the last time the Hollow stirred. Others joined, shouts echoing against the stone walls.
Before the noise could spiral, a figure stepped between them. Taylor Boyd, tall and broad-shouldered, raised his voice. "Enough!" His tone cut through the air like a blade. "This is not the time for old grudges."
Thomas Weatherman moved to stand beside him, his presence steady, his glare enough to silence the rest. "The Circle will not fracture before it even sits. If you want to fight, do it with the Hollow, not each other."
Grumbling quieted, though eyes still glared across the courtyard. For a moment, Rebecca thought she felt the ground beneath her hum again not with Hollow hunger this time, but with the power of bloodlines forced into one place.
Nathaniel leaned toward her, his voice low. "This is only the beginning. But they already look to you. That respect you feel uncertain of it's earned. And you'll need it before nightfall."
Rebecca straightened, her pulse quickening. For the first time, she felt not just the weight of their eyes, but the strength of their gathering. A Circle waiting to be made whole.
"Dinner is served," Maggie announced, bowing her head slightly.
The dining hall hummed with low conversation, but the air shifted as the tall double doors creaked open. A maid in a crisp black dress and white apron stepped inside, her voice clear, carrying over the families gathered in smaller clusters across the courtyard and antechambers.
"The families are requested to take their seats in the great hall."
The murmurs quieted. Chairs scraped. Millie tucked her shawl tighter, while Margaret Alden rose slowly with her cane. The Whitlocks eyed the Callaghans with poorly hidden scorn, though both families moved toward the doors. Daniel Mercer clutched his satchel like a shield, muttering names under his breath, while Star Berkshire brushed invisible dust from her skirt and glanced toward Rebecca with a small, encouraging nod.
Rebecca felt her stomach twist. The weight of so many eyes on her made the air heavy, her hand instinctively pressing to her belly. She leaned toward Nathaniel. "Why do they keep looking at me like this? Like I'm already something I'm not."
Nathaniel brushed his hand against hers, grounding her. "Because they already feel it. The bond has marked you their Matriarch, Rebecca, whether you believe it yet or not."
Before she could answer, Carolina Edgeworth's voice rang from the far side of the hall: "Come forward. The Matriarch takes her place first."
All eyes turned to Rebecca. Deanna gave her hand a squeeze, steadying her. Nathaniel's gaze burned into hers, dark but certain.
"Walk with me," he whispered."
And with the bond thrumming between them, Rebecca stepped into the hall to face the feast of Nine.
The dining hall of Edgeworth Hall stretched vast and echoing, the long oak table polished to a mirror's shine. Candles blazed in silver sconces, casting golden light across the assembled families. Platters of roasted meats, steaming vegetables, warm bread, and pitchers of wine lined the table, a meal fit for an army or for a ritual.
The families took their seats, the table alive with murmurs as food was passed. For a time, there was peace. Rebecca broke bread with Margaret Alden, who smiled gently and pressed a piece into her hand, saying, "The flame burns brighter when passed." Across the table, Daniel Mercer read aloud a few lines from an ancient ledger, confirming the prophecy of the children.
But peace did not last. Thomas Weatherman slammed his goblet down. "And what of the last time? When the Callaghans failed their charge at the river, my brother drowned for it!"
Patrick Callaghan bristled, his voice sharp. "And if your walls hadn't crumbled, the Hollow would never have touched the river in the first place!"
Voices rose, sharp and bitter. The tension rippled, threatening to split the gathering apart.
Taylor Boyd stood, his voice cutting through the din. "Enough!" His tone echoed like thunder. "This is not the hour for blame."
Elias Whitlock rose beside him, his presence steady, his voice strong. "The Hollow thrives on division. If you tear at each other now, you may as well hand it victory. We stand, or we fall. Together."
The table quieted, grudges forced down beneath the weight of their words.
Rebecca exhaled slowly, but her hand trembled against her wine glass. Nathaniel's gaze caught hers across the flicker of the candles, dark and intent. The bond thrummed between them insistent, hot, undeniable.
Her breath hitched. She knew what he wanted before he even rose from his chair, his movement smooth and silent. A moment later, she felt him tug at the bond, pulling her with him.
She followed, pulse racing, slipping from the hall into the shadowed corridors of Edgeworth Hall. The voices of the feast grew faint behind them, replaced by the steady pounding of her heart and the low hum of his presence.
The bond lead her to his chambers, the fire crackling in the hearth, the emerald ring already waiting on the mantel. He took it in his hands and turned to her, his eyes soft but blazing with centuries of weight.
"This emerald has always belonged to a Weatherman woman," he said, pressing it into her palm. "Now it calls to you. Put it on, and hear what has always been passed through it."
Rebecca slipped the ring onto her finger, the gem resting against her skin. At once, voices filled her mind whispers of love, of vows unbroken across generations. Louder than the rest came three small voices, bright and clear. Bianca. Penelope. Gabriel.
She gasped, tears burning her eyes. "I can hear them.
Nathaniel's hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear. "Because they already know you. And they already love you."
The bond flared, heat racing through her. She rose onto her toes, pressing her mouth to his. The kiss deepened, urgent, desperate. Hands tangled in fabric, pulling, loosening. Skin against skin, the bond blazing until it was all she could feel.
Nathaniel broke the kiss only long enough to whisper against her lips, raw and trembling "I have loved you since the beginning. I would be happy no, madly happy to fall completely in love with you. And I already have. With the bond we share, this is as close to a marriage as you will ever know. If you choose, you may take my name and seal it, before the Circle forms."
Rebecca's chest heaved, the emerald pulsing against her skin, her children's voices humming through it. She looked into his eyes, centuries of devotion staring back.
"Nathaniel…" she whispered, her voice trembling. "I choose you."
The emerald pulsed brightly the bond thrumming through her veins. Rebecca's hands skimmed over his shoulders, her body arching into his as though every part of her already knew the answer.
Her lips found his again, the kiss fevered, desperate, the world narrowing to fire and breath and the sound of his voice confessing he had loved her since the first moment.
The bond blazed, and Rebecca knew whether she spoke the vow now or before the Nine her heart had already chosen.