by Brenda Drake
Nick stepped around me. “Well, why didn’t you say that in the first place? What’s the drinking age here?”
“Drinking age?”
“He means, what is the legal age someone can drink alcohol?”
“We have no age limit. It is up to the parents to decide.”
Nick hopped up the steps. “What if your parents aren’t with you?”
“You’re considered an adult at sixteen.”
“This is my kind of village,” Nick said.
The light burned my eyes when we stepped out of the arena and onto the cobbled street. People crowded the tight lane. Banners hung from the windows of the buildings crowding the road. The town had come alive while we were stuck inside.
Bastien guided us along the sidewalks. Women tossed flower petals from the windows above us. We spent the day shopping in the makeshift market, drinking fresh fruit juices, and eating fried breads.
Nick watched women in thin cotton outfits stomping grapes in long troughs. The women danced seductively, picking up grapes and rubbing them across their exposed midriffs. Nick’s mouth hung open.
“This is awkward,” I whispered to Bastien.
“Why? The women are seducing the grapes to yield their juices.”
“That sounds so wrong. And they are definitely seducing Nick.”
Bastien laughed and snatched my hand, making me dizzy. “Shall we leave him to it and find some mischief of our own?”
My heart flipped. “Um—I don’t think…”
“Relax. I only meant there is a puppet show around the corner.” He led me up the street. “I think you’d be more comfortable watching it instead.”
“Oh. Yeah, that sounds less, um, revealing.” I walked along with him. It felt good to be there, away from Arik and the pain of our breakup.
Bastien and I chuckled at the ridiculous actions of the puppets in the show. The puppet masters spoke Italian so fast I could barely make out what was going on. His hand would rest on my back, and then fall away with each laugh outburst, only to find its way back between lulls in the comedy. I caught myself leaning against him, then quickly straightened.
At the closing of the show, the crowd’s applause exploded and echoed off the buildings.
It felt good to laugh as I practically floated down the street with Bastien, back toward where we left Nick. We weaved through the crowd surrounding the troughs filled with grapes. Nick, his pant legs rolled up and his shirt tied into a crop top, stomped on the grapes, among the women. One girl who seemed around his age held his hand and gave him flirty eyes.
Bastien sidestepped behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders, making my stomach do that flip thing again. “Are you having fun?” his voice tickled my ear, and goose bumps rose on my arms.
I twisted to look at him and flashed a smile. “Yes. This is great.”
Just then, his face went serious and it looked as if he was going to kiss me, stopping my heart. My mind flashed to Arik and the pain of losing him, and I quickly withdrew from Bastien.
“I’m sorry. It’s just—”
“You’re not over him.” His gaze drifted from me to the crowd then back to me. “He’s chosen another over you, yet you still won’t let him go.”
Before I could say that wasn’t so, that it was more about my fears, a man with a round belly and a rounder nose shoved a silver goblet of wine into my hand. I tried to give it back to him, but he waved me off. “No, no, las mujeres beben a la vitalidad.”
The women drink to vitality. Does he want me to drink this?
“I don’t drink,” I tried to say before the man handed one to Bastien and rushed off.
“It’s only wine,” Bastien said, his voice and his body language stiff. “It’s just like drinking fermented grape juice. A few sips won’t harm you. Besides, it’s tradition.”
The villagers didn’t stop at one toast, they said many, and before I knew it, I’d downed the entire goblet. My head felt dizzy. The sky turned from blue to purple to black with sprinkles of stars twinkling against the darkness. Fireworks blossomed in the sky.
Nick danced across the street, buzzed on wine or just from all the excitement swarming around us. Grape splashes stained his white dress shirt and the corners of his mouth.
“We should find him a bed before he gets out of control,” Bastien said.
I gasped. Nick teetered on a retaining wall as he tried to walk it like a balancing beam. “I think it’s too late.”
After coaxing Nick down from the wall, Bastien brought us to a room in a small villa. We tucked Nick into one of the beds.
“This way,” Bastien said, leading me across the hall to another door.
I opened it and paused. “Where’s your room?”
“I’m bunking with Nick,” he said. “With the crowd visiting for the festival, I could only acquire two accommodations.”
“Oh, I see.”
He pulled on the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. “All right, then. Sleep well.”
I blew it. He wanted to kiss me and I screwed it up. Damn you, Arik.
I drew in a sharp breath. “Please don’t be mad at me.”
His eyes locked with mine. “I’m not angry, just frustrated.”
He unbuttoned his shirt.
“What are you doing?”
“It occurred to me you don’t have anything comfortable to sleep in.” He slipped the shirt off and handed it to me. My eyes traveled over the fall and rise of his muscles under his tight undershirt.
“Night, Bastien,” I said, wanting to say anything but good night to him.
He headed back to his room, and as I swung the door closed, catching one more eyeful of his well-defined biceps, he turned, catching my stare. He smiled before ducking into his room.
The door clicked shut, and I sighed. What was wrong with me? A totally too-gorgeous-to-be-real guy was across the hall, and I held on to the hope that Arik would tire of Emily and come back to me. It was absurd, and I knew it. I just couldn’t help how I felt. I shut my door and turned the lock.
I removed my skirt and blouse, and put on his shirt, smelling the collar. A hint of his cologne filled my nose. As I stood there cursing myself for not inviting Bastien in, a small envelope slid under the door. I ripped it open and read it.
Leave Mantello tonight. Do not attend the proceedings tomorrow.
I yanked open the door and searched the hall.
Nothing.
I darted to Bastien and Nick’s door and pounded on it. A few seconds later, it flew open. Bastien stood in the doorframe, his undershirt off, pants unbuttoned, and a toothbrush hanging from his mouth.
“What’s the matter?” he said around foamy paste.
“Um—” My eyes scanned his bare chest. “Um—” I couldn’t speak, so I held out the card.
After he read it, he peeked his head out the door, looking up and down the hall.
“Get inside.” He moved back to let me in. “You’ll sleep here.”
“What do you think that means? Am I in danger?”
“No, it’s only a ploy. Someone wants Toad convicted. They think having Gian’s great-grandchildren at the sentencing will show support for him.”
I glanced around. “There’s no room for me here.”
“Take my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.” He shuffled to the bathroom, his eyes doing a quick inspection of my bare legs before he disappeared behind the door.
A familiar book with a highlighter beside it lay on the comforter.
The Secret Garden. He’s reading it. I flipped through the pages, and many passages had been marked yellow. I smiled, moving the book and the pen to the nightstand.
Peeling back the covers, I hopped into the bed and tucked the comforter under my chin. A few minutes later Bastien returned. I could only make out his amazing silhouette in the dark. He took the extra pillow beside me and padded to the couch. The smell of his soap and toothpaste lingered after he was gone.
This was the definition of torture. I
was scared about the note and, at the same time, scared about my growing feelings for Bastien. There was no way I would fall asleep. What was up with the excitement I felt every time he was near?
I’d been tortured enough witnessing Arik’s and Emily’s budding relationship. Maybe it was time to get distracted with someone new.
Seconds turned into minutes, minutes added up to hours. Nick snored in the bed next to me, and Bastien adjusted on the couch. My head ached and exhaustion finally took over, and I closed my eyes.
Chapter Thirteen
The dream overcame me like an invader in the night. I sat on grass, a vibrant red and gold skirt billowing around me, a leather-bound journal on my lap and a quill in my hand.
I was in Athela’s head again. I’d been hopping in and out of it ever since I entered the Mystik world. Athela was my ancestor from an ancient time when humans and Mystiks lived together in what is now the human world. She was an enchanter and showed me things she felt I needed to know by having me relive her past. One problem, all the memories were like puzzle pieces that I hadn’t put together yet.
An older woman in a plain gray dress, a dingy white shawl wrapped around her shoulders, sat beside me. A small boy with sandy-colored hair ran around a green field sprinkled with white flowers, playing with a wooden sword. He galloped across the grass, his eyes on me.
“There,” Athela said. “Everything his protector needs has been registered.”
“What shall we do with it?” the woman beside her said. “Spells as these are dangerous and will give someone too much power.”
“It shall be hidden in plain sight. Not a soul shall suspect what it holds.”
“See me, Modor?” the boy shouted.
Mother? He’s her son.
Reliving her past taught me about the Tetrad and the horrible disasters it could cause. Good thing the monster was locked up somewhere and hidden from the world.
“Modor sees Roy-Roy,” she called, closing the journal and returning the quill to the inkwell beside her. She leaned over and opened the lid of a basket in the middle of the blanket. “Come, I have delightful morsels for you, my sweet angel. Are thou not famished?”
“The boy has not come into his power,” the older woman said. “It is feared your curse inflicted him.”
“Then we shall teach him to fight.” Athela removed a rolled up cloth, unwrapped a small grilled bird, and placed it on a plate. She then handed the woman a knife.
“Your brother’s wife has borne a dead son.” The woman sawed at the bird. “The high wizard lineage has withered like a dying limb on a tree. Esteril will no longer bear male wizards.”
“It was my hope that Roy-Roy would inherit powers from his father. Instead, as I cursed my people, I have cursed him. He was born to die. I shall prepare him for the horrors I see coming for him.”
The woman placed a severed wing on a plate. “There is a rumor spreading among the villagers that Mykyl has been murdered by the Seventh Wizard’s heirs. Can we not return to Esteril now that your father is gone?”
“We cannot. I must protect my son.” Athela reached into the basket. “Thou hast made a pie. We shall celebrate my son’s life today, the day of his birth.”
It was like someone pressed fast forward in my dream. The countryside went blurry and Athela and her son grew older. He was a man and she had graying hair. In a dark medieval-looking room, she sat at a table while he paced in front of her.
“I must go, Modor.” His amber eyes pleaded with her. “The humans are killing Mystiks, burning their covens. They have attacked wizards.”
“What of your wife? Your children? Who will protect them?”
He touched her cheek with a muscled hand. “Thou wilt watch over them. Modor, I must get our people to the safe boundaries.”
“My father’s people never aided us,” Athela said.
“I am not speaking of your father’s people. I speak of my father’s people. Of Asile. Their wizards have sent the havens into another realm.”
Athela nodded. “Then it is time. You must go. I fear, my dear son, this is the last moment we shall share together. You must bear this burden on your own.” She handed him a rolled parchment.
He gave it a questioning look.
“Your destiny is written on it,” she continued, tears glossing her eyes. “There is no cheating it. Your death will be the salvation for all living beings.”
He read the words on the parchment and slumped to his knees on the floor. Athela rushed to him, wrapping her arms around him.
“I cannot suffer this,” he said to the floor. “Remove this cross from me.”
She rested her head on his. “My son, many nights have I prayed, many nights have I sacrificed the anointed, many nights have I cried, to no avail. There is no undoing what is already in motion.”
What was she trying to tell me? Her son had to die? Why? I wasn’t sure if the overwhelming sadness I felt was her emotion or mine. The dream slipped away from me until everything went black.
...
My heels clicked against the cobbled streets, busy with people rushing here and there. The council hearing wasn’t for another hour, so Bastien brought us to the square to eat breakfast. I took the last bite of the pastry he’d bought me. He and Nick searched a grocer’s stand for something else to eat. While they smelled and squeezed fruit, I window-shopped, admiring the colorful clothes displayed behind the glass panes.
I absentmindedly moved around people, my mind on the dream I’d had and on the note slipped under my door. I hadn’t had a dream about Athela since leaving Asile. Not since returning to the human world. I wondered if she could only invade my sleep in the Mystik world. It seemed to be a pretty solid theory. Bastien brushed off the note as someone trying to keep me from gaining sympathy for Toad. That made sense to me, but it still nagged at the corner of my brain, making me worry about the proceedings today.
I paused at a bookstore and stepped over the threshold.
“Buongiorno,” a very scholarly-looking young man with glasses and a bright smile said from behind the counter.
“Morning,” I muttered, browsing the books on the shelf.
“Americana?”
“Sì.”
He straightened a stack of magazines on the counter. “Please to tell me if you’re in need of assistenza.”
I nodded. “Grazie.”
I dragged my fingers across the spines of the books and stopped on one that caught my eye—The Dangers of Compelling. I bought the book with the coins Bastien had given me, and then found a bench by a fountain in the middle of the square.
Gingerly turning each well-worn page, I absorbed the information. Only a wizard could perform a compelling. The person under control would do whatever the wizard wanted. Wizards lived long lives. Compelling someone shortened a wizard’s life. If the wizard controlled their victim too long, the wizard would age rapidly and die. If a wizard died while compelling a victim, the victim would turn evil and never go back to their normal state before the compulsion.
There were pages and pages of case studies on compelling and the results it had on the using wizard. The graphic pictures made the pastry in my stomach sour. Evil distorted the victims’ faces, and their eyes were so light their irises were barely visible.
Part of me thought that maybe Arik had been compelled. Except for there was a feeling that surrounded someone who had been. I’d experienced it with Faith when she was under one to kill me while I was in Asile. The air had thickened around me and it was as if an ominous energy, like invisible creatures, crawled over my skin. I hadn’t felt that with Arik.
Nick crossed the square to me while popping grapes into his mouth. “Hey, here you are. We’ve been searching all over for you.”
“I’ve been right here for almost an hour.” I closed the book. “I would think you’d be sick of grapes after last night.”
“Funny. But seriously, I’ve never tasted a grape that tasted so grapey before.”
Bastien rushed
over. “Shall we go? The proceedings will start soon.”
I tucked the book into my messenger bag. “Yep.”
We made our way to the arena and took the same seats as we had yesterday. Unlike the day before, the place was filled with people. There was hardly any seating room. I felt uneasy waiting for the council to enter. The message still weighed on my mind. Toad rubbed the back of his neck several times. He couldn’t sit still.
The Wizard Council walked single file into the arena and took their spots at the round table. They didn’t sit, just stood there as if waiting for something. About a dozen guards with swords and shields surrounded the stage. The side door suddenly opened and two women and five men marched in then sat on some comfortable-looking seats directly across the arena from us. Merl was among the group.
“They look important,” Nick said, inspecting the wizards. He pulled out a piece of bread and picked at it. “This is better than a movie.”
I elbowed him. “Really?”
“Stop. You made me drop my bread.”
“Well, act your age. This is serious.”
“I am acting my age. You’re not my mother.” He picked up the slice of bread and brushed it off.
I turned to Bastien. “What’s Merl doing here?”
“The high wizards from the main havens must attend all sentencings when death is a possible penalty. They will have the final decision and can pardon the prisoner if they feel the order is too harsh.”
I gave Bastien a startled look. “I don’t understand. How could they give him a death sentence when he didn’t have one before?”
“He did have a death sentence, but because they believed him insane it was converted to life. Now that they know he was of sound mind, but possibly compelled, death is on the table.”
“What?” I snapped. My outburst caused all eyes in the arena to find me. Merl frowned in my direction. I leaned closer to Bastien and hissed, “You mean to tell me, I got him out of the gallows only to risk him getting the death penalty?”
“Calm down.” He glanced around the arena. “It’s highly unlikely he’ll get death. The evidence is in his favor, and they know he spoke the truth. No one can lie here or use magic. The charm will not allow it.”