Free Web NovelChapter 380: Chapter 380
Her faint smile wavered. fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓
"She feels quite warm," Circe observed, glancing up at Ophelie. "Does she have a fever, perhaps?" A subtle note of concern edged into her tone.
Ophelie shook her head immediately. "No, she doesn’t. Inessa’s skin has always felt a little warm. I was worried when I first noticed it, but none of the physicians I consulted could explain it. They examined her thoroughly and assured me that nothing was wrong. It does not seem to trouble her in any way."
"That is rather odd," Circe murmured thoughtfully.
In her arms, the baby had completely quieted. Wide blue eyes, clear and startlingly aware, stared up at her. There was a steadiness in that gaze that made something stir uneasily in Circe’s chest.
Despite Ophelie’s reassurance, the feeling that something was amiss persisted. It pressed insistently at the edge of her mind. Back at the temple of Eloen, the priestess had told her to heed her instincts whenever they spoke and they would never lead her astray. In that moment, her instincts were not merely speaking; it was urging her to listen.
So she did.
Circe let her fingers trail over Inessa’s forehead once more, her expression serene, her movements casual enough not to draw suspicion. This time, however, she lifted the lid she kept over her power and allowed the faintest thread of it to slip free. It flowed from her fingertips like invisible mist and seeped gently into the child.
At once, the world shifted. She could feel what the baby felt—the steady rhythm of her tiny heart, the soft expansion of her lungs. All the while, Circe maintained her composure, continuing her conversation as though nothing extraordinary was occurring.
"Does she often cry without reason, as she did just now?" Circe asked lightly.
"Yes," Ophelie answered with a small, tired smile. "But so do most babies. She is usually very calm, almost unusually so. Yet there are nights when she does not behave like herself. She cries for hours, inconsolable. I am also told it is still normal for a child her age."
Circe nodded faintly, though her attention was elsewhere. Her magic moved carefully through the child, searching, probing gently for any discomfort, or hidden ailment. It found nothing.
Then her power reached the place where the child’s soul ought to rest. Circe’s breath caught sharply in her throat. ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com
Where there should have been one bright, newly kindled flame, there were two distinct presences entwined within the small body. She forced herself to remain outwardly calm, schooling her features into quiet neutrality so as not to alarm the child’s mother. But inwardly, her pulse thundered.
Something was indeed wrong.
She allowed her power to move cautiously between the two souls, discerning their nature. One was unmistakably the baby’s. The other was older. Much older. It clung stubbornly to its place when Circe nudged at it, as though fearful of being torn away.
And yet... it did not feel malevolent. If anything, the older soul seemed to coil protectively around the infant’s, like a shield refusing to yield.
Circe had never witnessed such a thing before, at least, not in this life. Yet a faint stirring of recognition brushed against her thoughts, like the echo of a distant memory. A fragment from one of her many past lives surfaced: a similar predicament, a soul unwilling to depart.
"I have a question," Circe began gently, ensuring her tone remained light and conversational. "And please think nothing of it but has anyone in yours or your husband’s family passed away recently?"
Ophelie’s brow furrowed in confusion at the unexpected inquiry, yet she answered readily. "Yes. Bastian’s grandmother passed away only days after Inessa was born. Why do you ask?"
Circe did not answer immediately. Instead, she asked another question, her voice still calm. "And where is she buried?"
"At the family cemetery," Ophelie replied. "All deceased members of our family are laid to rest there."
Circe looked down at Inessa and allowed a warm smile to curve her lips, careful to project reassurance.
"Then perhaps," she said gently, "it is time to take little Inessa to say one last goodbye to her great-grandmother, don’t you think?"
She knew her suggestion might invite suspicion, but she could not, in good conscience, remain silent when there was something she might do to help.
For when a soul is not yet ready to leave this world and journey onward to the land of the dead, it sometimes clings to a loved one, using them as an anchor, binding itself to life for just a little while longer.
Sometimes it was for reasons as simple and as heartbreaking as a parent dying and being unable to bear parting from their child, or a lover clinging to the world because they could not imagine eternity without the one they adored. Not every lingering spirit was driven by malice. Some were bound by love, by grief, by promises left unfulfilled. Circe was simply grateful that she had recognized the situation in time.
Had the presence within Inessa been malevolent, Circe would not have hesitated. She would have reached in without mercy and torn the soul free, no matter the cost to herself. But this was nothing like that. Inessa’s great-grandmother had lingered out of devotion, not spite. And so the spirit would have to depart in her own time, gently untethering herself when she was ready.
Ophelie neither questioned nor protested Circe’s suggestion. There had been a silent understanding between them, a fragile thing. As the last traces of Circe’s magic withdrew from Inessa’s body like mist receding at dawn, she felt the subtle exhaustion that always followed such delicate work. Circe only wished she could read the thoughts behind the woman’s eyes at that moment.
The carriage ride back to the cottage was peaceful. Ragnar’s hand rested possessively upon her lap. Even through the layered fabric of her skirts, she could feel the heat of his palm seeping into her skin.
She turned her head slightly to look at him. They were seated so close that their shoulders brushed with each subtle sway of the carriage.
"I can practically hear the wheels of your mind churning," Ragnar murmured, a teasing note threading through his voice as his thumb moved idly against the fabric of her gown. "Tell me what you are thinking about."
