A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 82: Shiny New Toys

Chapter 82: Shiny New Toys

The sun had long set behind the iron gates of the Riddle Estate, leaving behind a sky drained of colour. Night fell with the heaviness of velvet. Anastasia stood by her open window, the pale curtains billowing against her arms. Her trunk was already packed. Her robes pressed. She had counted the hours until they could leave.

This hadn't been the worst of stays. No blood on the floorboards. No victims led through hidden doors at dusk. No screams. Just weddings and fittings and long walks beside Tom under the guise of civility. Still, it had been exhausting.

Every night, she'd lain next to him. Under the sheets he chose. In the bed he deemed hers. He kissed her with that unyielding softness of his—reverent, but not gentle. Always hands on her neck, her shoulder, her thigh. Possessive. He wasn't crass. He wanted her still. Whole. His touch didn't leave bruises anymore. No, he wanted her flawless. Silken. Holy.

At night, she let her mind drift elsewhere—somewhere without skin. Where bodies didn't have to mean anything. She'd learned to vanish without moving. She wasn't sure when it had started. The trick of blinking into nothing. Of stepping outside herself. The first time, it had left her gasping. Now... it was easier.

She'd stopped flinching when he touched her wrist. When he curled against her back and whispered her name like scripture. She let him. Counted ceiling tiles. Recited potion formulas. Let the nothingness fill her mouth like water. Let him touch her spine while she recited incantations in her head. Let him trace her wrist while she listed the names of every known wand wood. She had become a house with locked doors. Let him live in the foyer. He'd never find the stairs.

Her body wasn't hers. Not in this house. Not with him.

She'd been holding her breath. Waiting for the price.

It came.

Lysander entered without waiting. "Master Riddle requests your presence," he said, like it was an afterthought. "In the west drawing room."

Her mouth tasted like iron. She stood.

She should've known it was coming. That he'd never let her leave quietly.

***

Tom was waiting by the staircase, dressed in his finest. Midnight robes, high collar, silver trim. The kind of thing he wore when he wanted to be remembered.

"Anastasia," he said warmly, his voice ringing a little too clearly against the stone. "You look lovely."

"I'm not dressed for anything."

"And yet," he said, smiling, "you still manage."

He held out a small velvet box. She looked at it.

"A gift," he said.

She took it. Opened it slowly. Inside: a silver ring, dark garnet-red—no, ruby. So deep it looked like a clot of blood suspended in glass. Beautiful. Horrifying.

"More jewellery?" she asked, tilting her head.

Tom chuckled. "You'll appreciate this one."

He turned his hand, showing her the same ring on his finger. Twin to hers, except the band was etched with serpentine runes.

"I had them made for us," he said. "Yours has something special. Look closer."

She did. Inside the band, hidden between the settings, was a tiny mechanism. An inverted needle. A bloodletting device, elegant and precise.

"You said you wanted something like this," Tom murmured. "Something to allow quick access to your magic, in emergencies."

She hadn't said it aloud. She'd written it, weeks ago, in the margins of her notebooks. Hidden thoughts. Ideas. Contingencies.