So I Married a Sorcerer

by Kerrelyn Sparks

  He glanced at the stone tower on the highest bluff above the village. A green flag was waving there. That was the mayor’s signal to him that it was safe to come ashore. A red flag meant the Eberoni army was nearby hunting for him. So far, the mayor had proven loyal. But Rupert knew most men had a price, and he could be in deep shit if the Eberoni army ever offered the mayor a larger amount of gold.

  “We appreciate your efforts to keep us safe, Your Honor,” Stefan said.

  “It’s the least we can do,” the mayor insisted. “We appreciate your business and your protection. We know that as long as you’re safe, we’ll be safe from other pirates.”

  “We’ll do our best,” Rupert assured him.

  The mayor stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I received a message from your associate. He’ll be waiting for you upstairs at the Salty Pelican.”

  That had to be Dryden, one of Rupert’s spies. The mayor didn’t know Dryden’s name, but he passed on messages for the spy. “Thank you.” Rupert shook the mayor’s hand.

  “Of course. I’ll try to buy you some privacy.” The mayor raised his voice. “Come along, ladies. Drinks are on me!” He led them toward the village tavern.

  The women waved as they passed him by. “We’ll be waiting for you at the Salty Pelican!”

  Rupert and Stefan waited for more dinghies to tie off at the pier. As officers from each ship arrived, Stefan handed each of them a small bag of gold so they could purchase supplies.

  “Ahoy there!” Ansel’s loud voice echoed across the water as his dinghy approached.

  Rupert smiled and waved at the big bear of a man who had taught him and Stefan everything they knew about the sea. Poor Stefan had been only nineteen years old when he’d suddenly found himself responsible for a young, traumatized orphan with a price on his head. But Stefan had never given up on him, and Rupert had always admired him and loved him for that.

  With only twelve years’ difference in their ages, Stefan had always felt like an older brother or young uncle. Ansel, though, was old enough to be Rupert’s father, and he’d willingly taken on that role. Without Ansel, Rupert would still be hiding in the mountainous regions of northern Tourin while Stefan worked odd jobs to support them both. Because of Ansel, Rupert was now an admiral in charge of ten ships, and together, the three of them were working on the Official Plan.

  While Rupert waited for Ansel to climb the ladder, a large pelican swooped down and landed on the pier beside him. He glanced at it a second time. Was that the same bird that had been roosting aboard his ship?

  “There you are!” Ansel greeted them with his booming voice and pulled Rupert into an embrace. “Ten ships, now, you rascal! You’re doing great!” He clapped Rupert on the back, then turned to embrace his cousin.

  They looked very similar, Rupert thought, although Ansel’s dark, curly hair was now half gray. And Ansel was much broader across his girth.

  “How is Wermer doing?” Stefan asked, since the defeated pirate captain had been assigned to Ansel’s ship.

  Ansel grinned. “Not too pleased that he was demoted to a lieutenant. But I told him he could eventually work his way back up to captain.”

  Stefan nodded. “If he proves his loyalty long enough.”

  Ansel chuckled. “Yeah, for about ten years.”

  “Come on.” Rupert motioned toward the village. “Dryden is waiting for us at the Salty Pelican.”

  The three of them made their way through alleys to the back door of the tavern.

  They slipped up the back stairs, carefully avoiding the horde of women in the front room. A blue kerchief was tied around the latch of the third door in the hallway. Ansel knocked softly on the door.

  Dryden cracked the door and peered out. A middle-aged man, with a craggy, weathered face, he’d been one of Ansel’s most trusted seamen until he’d lost a leg in a shark attack. No longer able to climb the rigging, he’d opted for a land job instead. Now he spent most of his time hanging around taverns close to Ebton Palace, listening in on conversations. Whenever he heard anything useful, he rode to Danport to pass the information on to Rupert.

  “There you are, you old codger!” Ansel barged into the room and gave his friend a bear hug. “How are you?”

  “Can’t complain.” The spy shook hands with Stefan and Rupert, then walked toward the round table, his peg leg clunking on the wooden floor.

  No fire burned in the hearth, since it was a warm spring day. On the table, a pitcher of ale and four goblets waited. Ansel filled the goblets while Stefan checked under the bed and behind a dressing screen.

  Rupert drew back the curtains and blinked in surprise to find a pelican perched on the windowsill. “Shoo!” He blew a puff of air, and it hit the bird with enough force to knock it off the sill.

  With a squawk, the bird fell into a rubbish bin.

  “Oops.” Rupert closed the windowpane and pulled the curtains shut. “It seems like every time I turn around, there’s a pelican watching me.”

  Ansel shrugged. “Those damned birds have always congregated around here. That’s how the tavern got its name.” He sat next to Dryden. “So, buddy, you have news?”

  “Aye.” Dryden drew a folded sheet of paper from his jacket. “The Tourinian ambassador at Ebton Palace was passing these out to young noblemen. Since it involved Tourin, I thought you would want to know.” He unfolded the paper and set it on the table.

  Rupert sat in front of it, and on either side of him, Ansel and Stefan scooted closer so they could read.

  NOTICE OF COMPETITION

  FOR THE HAND OF THE TOURINIAN PRINCESS

  Attention all young men of noble birth:

  His Most Royal Majesty, King Gunther of Tourin, decrees a competition to begin two weeks after the Spring Embrace of the moons. All those who enter will compete against one another in a series of contests designed to show combat skills and the ability to complete challenging quests.

  The winner will be awarded with a betrothal to the Tourinian princess, Brigitta. If he successfully begets a son with her in one year, he will be allowed to marry her, and his son will become the heir to the throne of Tourin. If he fails, the second-place winner will take his place.

  The kingdom of Tourin is not responsible for any deaths that occur during the competition. All those seeking to compete must arrive in Lourdon before the competition begins and pay the requisite fee of three hundred gold coins.

  Shock sizzled through Rupert as he read the notice. Not wanting to believe it, he scanned it a second time, and his shock ignited into rage.

  He jumped up so quickly his chair fell over. “Dammit to hell!”

  “Calm down,” Stefan cautioned him.

  As Rupert’s anger grew, the air in the room began to swirl, and a breeze ruffled the curtains and coverlet on the bed. Dammit, he needed to stop thinking about it, but how could he not face the truth? Brigitta’s brother was planning to use her as a broodmare. If one stud failed to impregnate her, the next one would be called in.

  “I’ll kill that bastard!” He slashed his hand through the air, and a wind knocked the hats off his companions. They grabbed their goblets to keep them from being blown over.

  “Control yourself.” Stefan righted Rupert’s fallen chair. “Do you want to start a hurricane in here?”

  Dryden’s eyes widened. “He could do that?”

  Rupert clenched his fists as he paced across the room. Control. He needed to stay in control. It was the one bad side effect of his power. He had become so connected to the wind that it was somehow attached to his emotions. Whenever he grew too agitated, the wind picked up like the tempest that roiled inside him. The last time he’d lost control it had been a disaster.

  The Tourinian navy had tried to ambush his fleet in the fog. In his desperation to keep his men alive, he’d caused the naval ships to blast each other with their cannons. Two ships had caught on fire, and men had lost their lives.

  Control. He inhaled deeply to calm the racing of his heart. But Brig
itta’s words still pricked at him. Why can’t I control my own destiny? Dammit, she would never have a chance. “I’m going to kill that bastard.”

  “Why is he so pissed?” Dryden whispered to Ansel.

  Ansel cleared his throat and gave Rupert a pointed look.

  Rupert took another deep breath. Dryden only knew that he carried a grudge against Gunther. He didn’t know why. And he sure didn’t know that once upon a time, Rupert had vowed to be loyal and true to a baby girl, and to always protect her. That vow was obliterated, along with your family. She is the enemy.

  So why did the thought of her being abused make him want to commit murder?

  “We kidnapped the princess,” Stefan explained as he retrieved the fallen hats and deposited them on the table. “She’s on board the Golden Star.”

  “Holy Light.” Dryden’s eyes widened. “You have Gunther’s sister?”

  With a chuckle, Ansel set his feathered captain’s hat back on his head. “Gunther must be shitting his breeches right now. He’s planned this whole contest, but thanks to us, he can’t deliver the prize.”

  Prize? Rupert gritted his teeth. How dare that bastard use Brigitta as a prize?

  Ansel swallowed down some ale, then belched. “Damn, but this is excellent timing for us. The more desperate Gunther is to get his sister back, the higher the ransom we can require.”

  “Don’t you see what’s he’s doing?” Rupert yelled. “The bastard is using her as a broodmare! She’ll be forced to bed whoever wins.”

  Ansel gave him a curious look. “And that bothers you?”

  “Of course!” Rupert replied. “The man is arranging his sister’s rape!”

  Stefan and Ansel exchanged looks.

  Dryden shrugged. “Aren’t princesses usually married off to strangers?”

  Rupert lifted a clenched fist, ready to punch a hole in the wall.

  “Sit down, Rupert.” Ansel used the same tone he had when Rupert had been a rebellious fourteen-year-old. “We need to discuss this matter calmly.”

  Rupert didn’t budge. “Who are we to decide her destiny?”

  Ansel quirked a brow. “Didn’t you do that when you kidnapped her?”

  Holy crap. It was true. Rupert’s frustration and anger turned on himself, and another burst of wind shot across the room, blowing Ansel’s hat off once again.

  “Dammit, boy,” Ansel growled.

  “Enough, you two.” Stefan lifted his hands. “We need to go over this announcement. First, the timing. The moons embraced last night, so the competition is set to begin in two weeks.”

  Ansel nodded, then pointed at the second paragraph. “Did you notice this? That the son would become Gunther’s heir?”

  “I wondered about that, too,” Dryden said. “Gunther had an heir, but the boy died three years ago. Now there’s a rumor going around that Gunther can no longer father children. I thought it might be merely gossip, but apparently he was seriously injured two years ago in a battle with the Norveshki.”

  Stefan grimaced. “I remember hearing about that. A dragon set his breeches ablaze.”

  “Ouch.” Ansel winced. “My biscuits are burning!”

  While the men chuckled, Rupert ground his teeth over the irony of the situation. If Gunther had been able to sire his own heir, he would have never sent for his sister. He would have gladly pretended that she’d never existed. But now she was his only hope. “Brigitta is the only way he can get an heir from his own bloodline.”

  “Aye,” Stefan agreed, then turned to Dryden. “Do you know if any men have agreed to compete?”

  “I’ve heard there are a few Eberoni noblemen who are interested. Or rather, their ambitious fathers are interested.” Dryden took a drink of ale. “But I’m surprised Gunther is inviting foreigners to compete.”

  “I’m not,” Ansel muttered. “The greedy bastard gets three hundred gold coins from everyone who enters. He’s probably hoping for a hundred contestants.”

  Dryden shrugged. “Even so, I doubt Gunther would let a foreigner win. Most people are saying the whole thing is rigged, that Gunther has three men he favors: his top general, the admiral of the Tourinian navy, and the captain of his personal guard. They say the contest is just to see which of those three men is the strongest, since Gunther wants a strong male heir.”

  A strong brute forcing himself on Brigitta. “Holy crap,” Rupert growled.

  Ansel gave him a pointed look. “If you don’t like it, why don’t you compete?”

  Stefan scoffed and jabbed a finger at the paper. “Did you read the fine print at the bottom of this thing?”

  “What?” Ansel leaned over, squinting his eyes as he read, “‘Only two contestants will survive the competition, for at the end of each round, the contestant with the lowest score will be put to death.’ Shit!” He sat back.

  “Aye.” Stefan nodded. “That’s why Gunther opened the competition to foreign noblemen. He gets to kill them.”

  “Bastard.” Ansel downed his goblet and slammed it on the table.

  “We can’t send her back,” Rupert announced.

  Stefan scoffed. “If we don’t send her back, we don’t get the ransom.”

  “Screw the ransom!” Rupert growled. “We captured her so we could upset whatever plans Gunther had, and we have accomplished that. If he never gets her back, he can never have an heir from his bloodline. The House of Grian will die! That’s worth more to me than any ransom.”

  Dryden’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you want the House of Grian to die?”

  Ansel shot Rupert a pointed look that told him to shut the hell up.

  “Here. For your expenses.” Stefan handed Dryden a small bag of gold. “We need you to go back to Ebton now, so you can keep us informed.”

  “Sure.” Dryden stood as he pocketed the gold.

  “Wait.” Rupert rushed over to the desk and wrote a quick note to inform Queen Luciana that her sister Brigitta was safe, and he would do his best to protect her. “Here. Deliver this to Ebton Palace. And thank you.”

  “Just doing my job.” Dryden plopped his hat back on his head and pocketed the note. “See you later.” He left the room, and Rupert listened to the clump-scrape of his walk down the hall.

  “You wrote to the king of Eberon?” Ansel asked.

  Rupert shook his head. “The queen. She’s Brigitta’s sister and about to give birth. Brigitta didn’t want her to be worried.”

  Stefan exchanged a look with Ansel, then asked, “How did you know about that?”

  Rupert shrugged. “She told me. Last night.” He peered out the door to make sure the hallway was empty.

  “Come sit down,” Ansel said.

  Rupert locked the door, then took his seat. The other two men were watching him closely. “I know what you’re thinking. I said too much in front of Dryden. I need to be more careful.”

  “You’ve always been careful.” Ansel refilled his goblet. “But today you’re different. A lot more emotional.”

  With a snort, Rupert tossed his hat on the table and pushed back his mask. “I’ve always hated Gunther with a passion. And the House of Grian. That’s nothing new.”

  “Yes, but Brigitta is from the House of Grian,” Stefan said, “and you seem very protective of her.”

  Rupert shrugged. “I hate to see anyone being used by Gunther.”

  Stefan sipped some ale. “Perhaps you feel protective because she’s betrothed to you.”

  Rupert snorted. “Given the circumstances, I think we can safely say the engagement was called off.”

  Ansel tapped a finger on the announcement. “This whole competition has been designed for the purpose of getting the princess pregnant, so Gunther can have an heir.”

  Rupert gritted his teeth. “That’s what I said before. The bastard is using her as a broodmare.”

  Ansel nodded. “And since we like upsetting Gunther’s plans, why don’t you beat him to the punch?” He leaned forward. “Seduce the girl and get her pregnant.”

  Rup
ert flinched. “What—no!”

  “It seems obvious that you’re attracted to her,” Stefan said.

  “What?” Rupert scoffed. “Where the hell did you come up—”

  “You look ready to commit murder whenever we talk about her bedding someone else,” Stefan explained.

  “That’s ridic—”

  “Is the task too hard for you, lad?” Ansel interrupted him, then gave his cousin a smirk. “I thought he was made of sterner stuff.”

  Stefan grinned. “Nothing but an old windbag.”

  “Enough!” Rupert rose to his feet and glared at the two men. “I will not abuse her. Nor will I have you talking about her as if she’s nothing more than a pawn or a walking womb. She deserves better than that.”

  Ansel snorted. “You just proved our point, boy. You do care about her.”

  Rupert blinked. Had they been playing with him? “Look, you bastards. I never said I cared about her.”

  Stefan shrugged. “But you obviously do.”

  “No!” Rupert protested. Holy crap! Did he care? No, it was just lust. Nothing more. “I—you taught me to have a sense of honor. That’s why I object to her being used.”

  Ansel nodded. “All right. Since you want to be honorable about it, I’ll perform the marriage ceremony for the two of you.”

  “What?” Rupert stepped back. Marry Brigitta? “I just talked to her for the first time yesterday!” And you’ve been thinking about her ever since.

  “It’s not a bad idea.” Stefan drank some ale. “After all, the two of you are already betrothed.”

  “I’m not marrying her!” Rupert paced away. “Dammit, have you forgotten what her father did? He killed my father, murdered my entire family! Stole the throne from us, and doomed me to hiding in the dark for seven years. The House of Grian must be destroyed!”

  Ansel shrugged. “Fine. Since she’s so awful, we’ll ransom her back to her brother. Let some other man get between her legs and—”