by Linda Kage
Women, I swear.
At least she was quiet, though. Easing up to my side without making a sound, she waited for my response.
Grasping her hand to keep her at my side, since she obviously insisted on coming along, I shook my head and spoke just as softly. “Anything’s possible, so it’s hard to tell.”
In all actuality, it sounded merely like a group of people who were passing by. If their intent had been to sneak in for an attack, one would think they’d be quieter than they were currently being.
But with the slim chance I was wrong, I began to edge backward toward camp, returning to the pair of trees I had Mint and Caramel tied to, drawing Nicolette with me.
She went willingly, and even dug through her own satchels when I rummaged through mine to retrieve more weapons.
“Give me the cold,” I urged as she pulled it out.
But all she gave me was a glare. “Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t even know how to use it. And besides…” She sniffed and tipped up her face. “I’m fairly certain cold wasn’t the correct word for it, anyway.”
I rolled my eyes, put out that even now she wouldn’t let me hold the damn thing.
Once I had my hatchet in hand, I tightened my grip on her fingers and leaned close to murmur, “We’re merely going to scout out the situation, get some intel to make sure they’re not a threat, and then leave again. Okay?”
She nodded and stuck by my side.
“Keep low and try to watch where you step,” I advised. “When we move in close enough to be seen—”
“Oh, please.” Nicolette sent me a dry glance. “I grew up in a castle, you know.” When I lifted my eyebrows questioningly, she added, “The only way to learn anything interesting there is to figure out how to sneak and spy without getting caught. I know how to stay quiet, thank you very much.”
Since slinking around a castle was exactly where I’d learned the same thing, I gave her a head-bob of respect, and we moved forward together as one. Then we paused and crouched at the same moment, ducking behind a bush.
Laughter, then voices—both men and women—flowed past us, followed by children chanting a game. Nicolette and I peeked around our bush to finally locate the caravan, moving at such a slow clip that some had paused to eat a meal, and children chased each other between plodding pack elephants. There were so many people in the clan, they couldn’t be mistaken for a single-family unit but an entire colony.
“Who are they?” Nicolette asked, staring in awe.
I shuddered, not a fan, and hissed, “Gypsy scavengers.” Tugging on her hand, I compelled her to retreat with me. “Come on. We don’t want to be discovered by them.”
“Why not? Who are they?” she repeated, backing away as I did.
“Magical folk,” I told her. “But the lowest of low. They’re the ones who don’t pass purity tests or get chosen to work in castles for kings and queens and the like.”
Nicolette nodded, even as her brow knit with concern. “You know, just because you don’t pass one of those tests, doesn’t necessarily mean you’re a bad person. I hear it’s incredibly difficult to achieve such spiritual cleanliness.”
And yet I had a feeling, were she a magic-bearing person and was tested, she’d pass with flying colors. Nicolette of Donnelly had to be one of the most transparently open, pure, and honest people I’d ever met. Every emotion she felt—joy, irritation, self-doubt, sympathy—she wore them all on her face like a banner. It was refreshing how guileless she was. Dangerous for her own well-being but enticing all the same.
“Aye,” I tightened my grip on her hand to draw us back to our campsite with more vigor. “They’re not necessarily bad. Not necessarily good either. They’re just people. With more supernatural abilities than they should probably possess, which tends to make the rest of the realm terribly uneasy. They’ve gotten shunned out of every community they’ve ever tried to inhabit, so they’ve taken to eternally traveling, aimlessly wandering the kingdom for meaning, and many times getting themselves into mischief along the way. It’d be wise if we just steered clear of them.”
“Alright,” Nicolette said without requiring any more explanation than that. She quickened her step to keep up with me, and I admired that trust she had in my word alone. It made me want to be the kind of man who actually deserved her loyalty.
We crested a knoll and slipped between a tight nook of trees, only to plow to a halt when our campsite came into view.
And was already occupied.
Nicolette squeaked out her alarm and grabbed my arm. I tugged her closer, and we both gaped at the four who’d made themselves at home to our things.
“What the hell?” I growled.
The invaders paused and looked over. The two who’d been going through our satchels innocently yanked their hands free, the third—a small, dirt-splattered boy—paused in petting Mint’s flank, and the mammoth woman who’d been sitting on a stump by the fire lifted the spit of rabbit to us, waving hello with it.
“Howdy,” she called, grinning as if welcoming us to her domain.
She had to be quite the tallest person I’d ever seen before in my life, with large, manly shoulders and the sides of her ice-blond hair buzzed short only for her ratted ponytail to fall most of the way down her back.
“Greetings,” I returned tightly, keeping Nicolette clamped against my side as we slowly approached our guests. “Something we can help you with? This here is our campsite.”
“Oh, we know,” the woman answered cheerfully. “That’s why we’re here.” She shot me a smirk. “Since you decided to spy on us first, boy, we’re merely returning the favor.”
“We were only curious about who our neighbors were,” I explained. “We don’t want any trouble.”
“Yes,” she agreed heartily. “Nor do we.” Then she bit into the meat I’d just spent the last hour and a half roasting, and she moaned in delight, closing her eyes over the pleasure. “Mmm. Good squirrel.”
“It’s rabbit.”
The woman shrugged and kept chewing. “I’m Mydera,” she announced. “That handsome one over there by the mare is Wicket, the woman’s Spice, and the child’s called Bewler.”
Upon hearing his name, the filthy kid hurried to Mydera, crawling on all fours with every few steps, nearly like a primate. Once he reached her, he made frantic motions with his hands, communicating in the language of the deaf.
Her smile turned satisfied as she hummed deep in her throat. “Does he?” she asked the boy as she lifted her eyes to me. “Fascinating.” Addressing us, she finally said, “And you two are…?”
“Farrow,” I introduced myself before nudging my chin toward Nicolette. “And Neeka.”
“Neeka?” Mydera repeated with a hint of surprise as her gaze washed over the princess. She knew I was lying, but she made an indifferent sound in her throat and added, “If you say so.” Then she reached out to stroke the boy’s hair when he sat in the dirt beside her like some kind of pet.
“Bewler here’s what we call a magical bloodhound,” she told us. “He can scent people or things infused with magic from over a mile away. And he smells magic coming from both of you right now. From you especially, Mr. Farrow.”
Nicolette glanced at me in shock, then eased an untrusting step away, staring at me as if I’d betrayed her.
I shifted my head back and forth, assuring her I was clean, before turning back to Mydera. “Well, Bewler’s mistaken,” I snapped.
“Is he?” Her eyebrows lifted. “So you’re saying you don’t have an everlasting flagon on your person right now?”
“Oh!” I blurted in surprise.
Having forgotten about the flask my mother had given me, I dug it from the breast pocket of my tunic and held up the small leather pouch. “You mean this?”
Mydera dropped the impaled rabbit from her hand and flew to her feet, gaping at my flask.
“My God,” she rasped, her voice hushed and reverent. “There it is.”
When she stumbled forward t
o get a closer look, I tucked the flagon away, back out of sight.
Fear, then rage, flashed across her face, before her focus settled on me. “I’ll make you a trade for it.”
I winced slightly. “Sorry. Not for sale.”
She laughed, trying to cover her panic and desperation, but not succeeding in the least. “My dear boy,” she cooed. “Do you not know who we are? What we could do to you?”
I met Nicolette’s gaze and she sent me an uneasy cringe in return. Returning my attention to Mydera, I nodded. “Aye. I know what you are, but I also know what you aren’t. And if you were thieves or murderers, the two of us would already be dead and our horses stripped bare. So don’t try to intimidate me with words of thievery. I know you won’t steal it.”
My answer enraged her. Mydera snorted through her nose, glaring a good ten seconds before she pulled herself together and heaved out a settled breath. “Be that as it may,” she grumbled. “I think you underestimate how valuable that flagon could be for us.”
“It’s valuable to me, too,” was all I said.
“We’d pay you dearly for it,” Mydera tried.
“It’s sentimental,” Nicolette leaned slightly in front of me to explain. “A gift from his dying mother.”
Mydera’s gaze roved over to the princess. “Was it?” Though she seemed savagely on the edge of her patience, she mildly murmured, “How lovely.” Then she looked at me. “Well, it could mean the survival of my entire clan if you handed it over. We heard the magical barriers to Donnelly are down for good, and they’re accepting our kind over there once again. No restrictions.” She lifted a shoulder as if it wasn’t that big of a deal, but the longing in her eyes showed otherwise. “We figured we might give the little oasis of Mandalay a try, see if it could make a suitable permanent home or not.”
“Oh, Mandalay’s just lovely.” Nicolette beamed encouragingly. “I think you’d find it quite agreeable and accepting indeed.”
“Indeed,” Mydera repeated, arching her eyebrows in sarcastic accord. “So having an everlasting flagon on hand to cross the Vast Desert in order to reach this agreeable, accepting oasis would certainly come in handy. Don’t you think?”
Nicolette clamped her mouth shut and sent me a guilty cringe.
“You’ve a whole fleet of magical gypsies on hand.” I motioned toward two of them still lingering entirely too close to our horses. “Can’t you just have someone make you your own everlasting flagon?”
Mydera sent me a cheeky smile. “Sounds that simple, doesn’t it?” Then she glared. “And we prefer to be called mages, dear, not gypsies.” Then she held up a finger and turned away from us so she could stroll around the campsite. “But it just so happens that the only man to figure out how to perfect the everlasting flagon incantation and enchantment died before sharing his specialty with anyone else. So…” She shrugged. “They’re extremely rare. Your mother must’ve been very important to get her hands on one.”
I didn’t speak. My mother had been extremely popular, was all I knew. Men had paid dearly for small amounts of time with her, lavished her with all sorts of trinkets and coins. I could only assume the flagon had been one of many things she’d accrued over the years from one of her customers. And since the flask had been the last thing she’d given me before she died, I wasn’t about to part with it, no matter what kind of sob story this mage fed me.
So, I repeated, “It’s not for sale.”
“Everything’s for sale, boy,” Mydera snarled, glancing at Nicolette before returning her hard gaze to me and calming again. “I just haven’t named the right price yet.” She smiled mawkishly. “Oh, but I will. I most certainly will.”
“But people must travel to Donnelly all the time without such a flagon,” Nicolette said logically. “Otherwise, no one would reside there now, and we’d never see any trade. But we do all the time, so—”
“We?” Mydera cut in, arching her eyebrows high. “Are you claiming to be a Donnellean yourself, then, sweetling?”
Nicolette’s eyes went wide with guilt before she turned fearfully my way.
But Mydera didn’t seem to take such information as a threat. “And here, Bewler said he smelled the mark of L’Amante on you. I thought only High Clifter folk got those.” She moved, closer, squinting at Nicolette’s face. “But maybe Donnelly’s taken up the tradition as well after their big alliance. I’ll admit I’m behind on the times, especially on who does what, anymore. Though I must say, it’s nicely hidden. Very nice, indeed. You didn’t even use a glamour spell to conceal it.”
When Mydera reached up to touch the hidden tattoo, I smacked her hand away, snarling, “Don’t touch her.”
She blinked at me before slowly withdrawing her hand. “Protective,” she murmured before eyeing Nicolette. Tipping her head my way, she asked, “Your true love, I presume?”
“Yes,” Nicolette answered, just as I growled, “No.”
Nicolette toggled her hand. “Meh. He’s having a hard time accepting the truth.”
Mydera chuckled and returned her focus to me. “That’s a stubborn Far Shore man for you, my dear. It’s too bad none of my people were proven pure and worthy enough to apply a genuine mark of L’Amante, or we’d offer to tattoo him right here and now; help you show him once and for all that he’s yours.”
“That would be most helpful,” Nicolette acknowledged on a grin before her brows fell. “But what is it you keep calling them? The mark of—what now?”
“The mark of L’Amante,” Mydera enunciated slowly for Nicolette’s benefit. “Or sometimes Elaina L’Amante.”
Nicolette shook her head. “I’ve never heard them referred to as such. Is Elaina L’Amante—”
“The first queen to get one,” Mydera explained. “Yes.” She cocked her head curiously to the side. “You’ve not heard the tale either, then, hmm?”
Eyes brightening at the prospect of a tale, Nicolette shook her head. “No, I haven’t.”
I snorted under my breath, bitterly muttering, “What? Didn’t your High Cliff bodyguard ever tell you that one?”
She scowled at me primly. “No, he did not.” She turned back to Mydera. “Can you share it with me?”
“Of course, I can, child.” Mydera flashed a smile full of teeth. “I’d be happy to. It’ll only cost you the price of one little flagon.”
“Oh.” Nicolette’s hopeful smile dimmed. She cast me a shamed look before mumbling to Mydera, “Never mind.”
But the woman merely laughed. “I kid,” she announced, opening her arms wide. “I kid. I’ll gladly share the story, free of change, since it’s one from my own lineage. Creating the mark of L’Amante is a source of pride in my family. So come. Be our guest. Stay the night with the mages of Dimway Forest. We’ll pay you back for this little meal of squirrel I have taken from you, and in return, give you fresh cheese from Bewler’s goat, venison stew simmering in the pot, and bread still soft from the iron. You’ll dine like a king and queen around a true campfire, not this little pile of twigs and embers you’ve made a mess of here.” She nudged the toe of her boot at my campfire before turning back to the princess. “And I’ll tell you all the stories of my ancestors you wish to hear.”
I could practically see Nicolette salivate over the mention of stories and a true meal that didn’t consist of the dry, tasteless rations we’d been eating for days. She cast a single pleading wince my way.
Even though I wanted to press on with our journey, we needed a break.
Except I couldn’t trust these mages as far as I could throw them.
“I’m not giving you my flagon in payment,” I said in no uncertain terms.
Mydera shot me a sly grin. “Nor did I think you would. I’d merely appreciate a bit more time in your company so that I might try to persuade it from you in other ways.”
I narrowed my eyes. Aside from the fact that they couldn’t be trusted, they could provide more of a safe cover for Nicolette than I could by myself. Maybe I could use them in more ways than o
ne.
“We need to get to a ferry on the Cull.”
“The Cull River, you say?” Mydera nodded slowly. “Yes, I’m sure we could veer in that direction for a while. Not a problem.”
My gaze sought Nicolette. She needed rest. And food.
When she glanced longingly my way, seeking permission to stay with the mages, my resistance melted. I couldn’t deny her anything.
“But we’ll need to leave at first light,” I told her, not Mydera.
“Of course.” A smile burst across her face. “Thank you.” She turned back to Mydera. “Farrow’s on a quest to save his mother.”
Mydera arched one eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Yes. He needed, uh—” Her eyes went wide when she suddenly realized she probably shouldn’t share the fact that she was the princess of Donnelly, who could provide me with a fresh teardrop. When her eyes cut apologetically my way, I gave her a solemn incline of my head as if granting her permission to tell them the truth, when honestly, I was telling her good job for keeping the facts of her birth under wraps for the time being.
She smiled back, letting me know she understood.
“He needed what, now?” Mydera prompted curiously.
“Oh.” Nicolette pressed a hand to her head as if she’d forgotten she’d been talking to the mage. “He, uh, he needed sand. From the Vast Desert. He came across a potion brewer who could make a tonic to help her, but it called for a bottle of unadulterated Donnelly sand, so we made the trip to the edge of Far Shore, and now we’re on our way back.”
“Sand, hmm?” Mydera tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Never heard of a healing tonic that consisted of simple sand.”
I could see Nicolette trying to remain still as she squirmed internally. But all she said was, “Really? Hmm. That is weird.”
A moment later, Mydera shrugged. “But what do I know? I'm not a potion brewer. I’m just a simple charm caster.”
“A charm caster?” Nicolette asked, seemingly extra interested in such a title, when honestly, I bet she was just happy to latch on to any topic that would change the subject. “What do charm casters do?”
“Oh, we take regular, old objects and enchant them into something else. Kind of like your mate’s everlasting flagon there.”