Marcella sat at her writing desk, a fresh sheet of parchment laid before her. She stared down at the page. She had rewritten this letter three times already.
To Sister Evelyne,
Marcella's pen scratched the name across the top. She dipped the pen again and began to write.
I hope this message reaches you through the northern watchpost in time. There is no way for me to delay the events that have already been set into motion here.
Marcella paused, pressing her wrist to her lips. Her fingers smelled of dried ink and lavender powder from the parchment drawer. Then, she continued.
I sealed the Ashen Flame alone. You had warned me once that the Flame does not recognize half-rites. I ignored that warning. I thought I could control it, bend the Flame to my intention. I was wrong.
We have not consummated the Rite. The Duke knows what I did, but we haven't spoken of it in depth. I believe he suspects more than he says, but he's given me space.
