St. Sebastian, it says. The line goes on: middle name Perth—her little joke, I suppose. It means ‘from the thorns.’
Something prickles at the back of my neck, something cold, something certain that what I hold in my hands is very, very important and also very dangerous. I set the journal on the desk and sit into the chair, not even noticing when Sir James slides off the bed and comes to lay on my feet. I smooth out the letter and read it from the beginning.
And when I’m finished, I read it again.
And a third time, although this time I don’t even see the words so much as feel them.
I should have known better than to look, I think numbly. Why didn’t I know better?
I put the letter on the desk, along with the top sheet, which is actually a separate letter from Auden’s lawyer, Mr. Cremer. Apparently he’d been the one to send these pages along to Auden, and he recommends Auden call him as soon as he has the time so that he can inform Mr. Cremer if there are any practical ramifications that need attending to.
I want to laugh at the idea, at the suggestion that all the letter presents is a legal problem—and one that can be tidied up with a phone call at that. No, this isn’t a legal problem. It’s not even a problem.
It’s a knife in my throat. It’s a blowtorch right to the heart.
No, I think. It’s worse than that.
It’s the end.
I stand up without even really being aware that I’m doing it, and something in my demeanor makes Sir James rise and nose gently at my hand, as if trying to make sure I’m okay.
I’m not. I’m not okay. I never will be, because this is the end. This is the end, and Auden knew.
When he chased me through the forest, he knew. When he bit me over the heart, he knew.
When he made me swear to him as a god that nothing would ever, ever tear us apart again—he knew.
How—
But why—
When—
When was he going to tell me?
Maybe never. Maybe he was never going to tell me; he must have known that we couldn’t—
He must have known that love and fucking and pain would all be impossible now.
I glance down at the letter one last time, unable to stop myself from reading the first paragraph again, even though each and every word wrings more and more life out of me.
Dear Auden, Ralph wrote.
In the event of my death, it’ll be necessary that you become aware of a half-brother. I debated greatly about whether to tell you, because as you can infer, he was conceived outside my marriage to your mother. His mother was Jennifer Martinez, a journalist in Thorncombe. She named him St. Sebastian. Middle name Perth—her little joke, I suppose. It means ‘from the thorns.’
From the thorns.
I am from the thorns.
My father is not my father.
My father is Ralph Guest.
My mother must have lied or cheated or omitted—but no, that can’t be, she did love the man I thought was my father. She did love Richard Davey, and I know that with certainty. You also know it’s possible to love more than one person, Saint. You’re doing it now.
I can’t love more than one person now, not anymore. This is the end, because if Ralph is my father, then Auden is my brother.
My wild god, the spoiled prince I’ve spent half my life loving and hating in equal measure, the man who’s called me mine in such a ragged, violent voice that I’ve wished I could change my name to mine just so I could hear it all the time—
We have the same father.
And he knew.
I shouldn’t have looked. I knew better than to look.
And now I know the truth.
I am from the thorns.
Thornchapel has more secrets . . .
Harvest of Sighs will be coming in early 2020!
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Add Harvest of Sighs to your TBR on Goodreads!
Acknowledgments
Feast of Sparks lit my brain on fire, and I have many, many people to thank for helping to douse the flames.
Melissa Gaston, Candi Kane, Ashley Lindemann, and Serena McDonald—thank you for your (literally) tireless work and (literally) infinite patience with me being disorganized, distracted, and dispirited. You are incredible.
To my friends who had to talk me through the teeth-gnashing that came with writing a book with too many six characters, I am hugely indebted to your generosity of time and kind words. Ashley Lindemann, Julie Murphy, Nana Malone, Tessa Gratton, Natalie C. Parker, Kennedy Ryan, Sarah MacLean, Kyla Linde, Jean Siska, and Becca Mysoor, thank you.
I’m also deeply indebted to Nana Malone, Vanessa Reyes, and Karen Cundy for helping me with authenticity and insight. Thank you more than words can say. And to Robin Murphy, who answers all my witchy, sexy questions without hesitating, thank you.
My incomparable editors: Nancy Smay and Erica Russikoff—I’m very sorry that I keep making each deadline such an adventure and throwing such wacky material your way! But your patience and skill is the most necessary ingredient, and thank you. Michele Ficht, thank you as always for your keen eye and sharp mind!
Thank you to my agent team—Rebecca Friedman, Flavia Viotti, Meire Dias—thank you for believing in even my most bananas ideas.
Mostly, I want to thank you, the readers. Your love and support through this strange, wild series has blown me away, and I’m the luckiest girl in the world to have you.
I’m very, very sorry for what I did to Saint, and I’ll try to make it up to you in Book Three. (Maybe. I’m very untrustworthy.)
About the Author
Sierra Simone is a USA Today bestselling former librarian who spent too much time reading romance novels at the information desk. She lives with her husband and family in Kansas City.
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www.thesierrasimone.com
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Also by Sierra Simone
Thornchapel:
A Lesson in Thorns
Feast of Sparks
Harvest of Sighs (coming early 2020)
Door of Bruises
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Misadventures:
Misadventures with a Professor
Misadventures of a Curvy Girl
Misadventures in Blue (Coming September 2019)
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The New Camelot Trilogy:
American Queen
American Prince
American King
The Moon (Merlin’s Novella)
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The Priest Series:
Priest
Midnight Mass: A Priest Novella
Sinner
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Co-Written with Laurelin Paige
Porn Star
Hot Cop
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The Markham Hall Series:
The Awakening of Ivy Leavold
The Education of Ivy Leavold
The Punishment of Ivy Leavold
The Reclaiming of Ivy Leavold
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The London Lovers:
The Seduction of Molly O’Flaherty
The Persuasion of Molly O’Flaherty
The Wedding of Molly O’Flaherty
Feast of Sparks Page 37
