Spellswept
A Prequel to The Harwood Spellbook
Stephanie Burgis
For Tiffany.
Here’s to the power of friendship - and underwater ballrooms, too!
Contents
Spellswept
A Note From Steph
An Excerpt from Snowspelled
Acknowledgments
Spellswept
A Prequel to The Harwood Spellbook
The evening of the Spring Equinox was cool and balmy, just as the weather wizards had—for once!—reliably predicted. The glittering guest list for the Harwoods’ annual ball was exactly to Amy Standish’s design.
As she prepared to descend into the lake that gently rippled, reflecting the full moon and stars, outside the grandeur of Harwood House, Amy knew she had organized the most important night of her life so far to absolute perfection. The only tiny, insignificant task left to do was to propose marriage to the right man by the end of this evening. Then she would finally win everything she had ever dreamed of, and it would be utterly perfect. She knew it.
There was only one problem with the culmination of all her years of planning…and his name was Jonathan Harwood.
Everyone knew, of course, that Jonathan Harwood was a problem. That was an open secret in political circles, and a joke in the national papers whenever they most wished to embarrass their political leaders.
The only son of Miranda Harwood—one of the most respected members of the Boudiccate that ruled all of Angland—had actually refused to study magic?
His father, like every other gentleman who’d ever married or been born to a powerful Harwood lady throughout history, had been a notable magician until his tragic early death. Jonathan’s own place at the Great Library of Trinivantium had been guaranteed to him from birth…yet he’d refused it at eighteen and remained steadfast ever since, turning his back upon centuries of tradition.
Without magical training, he would never be able to make a marriage that benefited his family. He would neither wed nor sire any more shining female politicians to continue the great Harwood legacy; he would never himself rise to the top of the magical hierarchy that was the natural and proper pursuit of every well-born gentleman.
It was inexplicable to the world at large. To the Amy Standish of ten months ago, riding towards Harwood House to take up her appointment as Miranda’s new personal assistant, it had seemed quite simply unforgivable.
For a man to turn his back upon his own family…!
At the very thought of it, her whole body had stiffened, her strong, dark brown fingers tightening around the small travelling desk on her lap, where she’d been making notes throughout the journey. It was, of course, a delightful writing desk, made of polished walnut, with leaping horses and owls scrolled in gold along its sides. The various guardians who’d been responsible for her education across the past twenty years had never flinched in passing on the generous allowance that she’d been assigned from her inheritance.
They’d each delivered it to her with scrupulous fairness, just as they’d delivered Amy herself, every year or two, to the next distant relation with an unfortunate obligation to care for her. Then they’d passed the whole sum on to her, with even less well-disguised relief, the moment that she finally reached the age of maturity and they could dust their hands of all obligations towards her forever.
Of course, they’d had their own families to look after. One day, though, Amy would finally establish a family of her own, and then she would be fierce in its protection—and unlike some hopelessly over-privileged and thoughtless young men, she would never turn away from them! Even the idea of such a betrayal was—
A flash of blue water caught her gaze, distracting her from her ire, as the thick woodland cleared ahead. Aha: finally, the famous Aelfen Mere. It was the site of the late Mr. Harwood’s legendary wedding gift to his wife, a spell that had lasted for a mind-boggling three decades by now to create the Boudiccate’s most unique and acclaimed festive meeting place.
Over the years, Amy had devoured dozens of newspaper reports about the spectacular masked balls, dazzling theatricals, and world-changing international negotiations that regularly took place beneath the seemingly calm waters of that lake. Emissaries from Angland’s allies among the various African nations, the Marathan Empire, and even the widely distrusted new Daniscan Republic had all danced and schemed beneath the blue, along with representatives from the local fairies who shared Angland’s landscape in a state of uneasy détente.
Soon, if she succeeded in impressing Miranda Harwood, Amy would find her own place in those negotiations. She had been waiting her entire life for the chance—but of course, being Amy, she hadn’t merely waited. She’d spent the last three years making detailed lists of plans for exactly how she would manage it.
If there was one lesson Amy Standish had learned in twenty years of being unwanted by her guardians, it was that planning and perfection were the only sensible strategies to manage life with her head held high.
And then she met the Harwood family, and every one of her plans was thrown into turmoil.
Now Amy hesitated by the lakeshore on the night of the Spring Equinox Ball, ensnared by memories and hopelessly tangled in emotions...until a familiar voice spoke suddenly behind her.
“There you are.” Miranda Harwood’s words broke through Amy’s swirling thoughts. “Still worrying over all the tiny details?” Amusement rippled through her mentor’s rich, warm voice as Amy gave a guilty start and stepped back from the lapping waves of the Aelfen Mere. “Trust me, young lady,” Miranda said. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s this: no matter how perfectly you’ve planned anything, something will always go amiss.”
“Oh, Mother,” said a second voice. “As if you’d ever allow that to happen!”
Amy could actually hear the eye-roll in that younger female voice...and she couldn’t help the rueful smile that tugged at her own lips as she turned around to follow it.
Cassandra Harwood was thirteen years old, bursting with energy, a small and fiercely irrepressible force of nature, and the absolute bane of her famous mother’s existence. Mischief glinted in her brown eyes now as she nudged her mother’s waist with one impudent elbow. “If anything ever dared go amiss in a party you’d organized, you’d simply look every guest in the eyes and inform them that it had never happened. You know they’d be far too intimidated to disbelieve you!”
Miranda cast her own eyes to the night sky. “If only either of my children felt the same way,” she said drily. “Perhaps one day, if I’m extraordinarily fortunate...”
“Standing dreaming outside your own party, Mother?” That affectionate voice was adult and male, and so was the jacketed arm that slipped around Miranda’s shoulders.
Amy’s throat tightened as she tipped her head back. The fond smile she’d been wearing suddenly turned fraught in her own head, a matter of urgent strategic importance. Should she—? Shouldn’t she—?
It was a friendly smile, she told herself firmly. Nothing more.
It was only polite to smile at her mentor’s son.
It was...
Oh! His eyes caught hers in the glow of the lanterns that marked out the path from the house to the lake, and she sucked in a breath, her heart lurching horribly.
It was too much. It was always too much with Jonathan, because he never even tried to disguise his own feelings for the sake of common sense and self-protection. They shone, unguarded, through his open gaze to pierce her heart with a sweet, aching pain that cut through all of the shields she’d so carefully constructed across the years of her life.
Amy had plans. She had a whole future laid out before her, full of professional satisfaction and astonishing achievements that w
ould change the entire nation for the better—a future in which no one would ever again look at Amy Standish and see an unwanted burden, a girl with no proper place in her world.
“We certainly can’t stand about dreaming any longer, can we?” Miranda stepped briskly out of her son’s embrace. “Just think, Amy: by the end of tonight, you’ll be an engaged woman. And then...!”
Amy’s smile slipped hopelessly away as Jonathan’s steady gaze remained fixed on her face.
Cassandra scowled mutinously. “Well, I think Lord Llewellyn’s a bore, and not nearly as clever with his magic as he thinks he is. If I—”
“You,” said her mother through gritted teeth, “are not to mention magic even once, Cassandra, from the moment we step into that ballroom! I know you haven’t any concern for my feelings, but do you really wish to ruin one of the most important nights of Amy’s life?”
“Hmmph.” Cassandra’s scowl deepened.
But it was Jonathan who shook his head. “Never,” he said gently. “Don’t worry, Amy. We won’t stand in your way. Will we, brat?” He reached over to give Cassandra’s shoulder a squeeze.
She leaned into it, her scowl lightening as she looked up at her older brother. The easy warmth and trust that flowed between them tugged at Amy like a hearthfire, pulling her toward that comfort as if...
No! She tipped back on her slippered feet with a jerk. She would not give up every dream she’d ever had only to chase a mirage of fleeting happiness. She was a practical woman, not a fool—and he wasn’t even asking her to choose him over her political future, was he?
We won’t stand in your way, indeed.
Fury swept through Amy’s body in a sudden and inexplicable wave that shocked her with its intensity. What was happening to her? Unlike some people, she was always sensible. He was the one who made no sense!
He’d spent the last ten months making her smile over her breakfast every morning and playing ridiculous, invented card games with her and Cassandra every night—games that sent all three of them into helpless, full-body fits of laughter like nothing Amy had ever experienced before. She had even fallen somehow, over the months, into the dangerously addictive habit of joining him for long, private walks every day, circling happily around and around the Aelfen Mere as they talked over everything in their heads.
...Well. Almost everything, at least.
She had never touched him on any of those walks. Amy’s gloved fingers flexed restlessly at her sides, now, at the thought of it. They’d stayed safely within view of Harwood House every time, and Amy had carefully kept her hands to herself, forcing herself to resist every moment of temptation. She would never—could never—allow herself to dishonor him in that way.
Mage or not, Jonathan Harwood was a man who deserved to be married, not simply trifled with. But every time Amy had met his blue gaze over the last ten months, the heat of their connection had built higher and higher until it nearly scorched her.
His feelings matched her own; she was sure of it. And he certainly knew all of her plans for tonight. But instead of stepping back from her now as she deserved and closing off all of that hopelessly sincere and irresistible warmth, here he was smiling at her with—with tenderness and understanding, as if he could read her mind and yet still he somehow felt—
Argh!
Amy swung around, her vision blurring, and stepped into the cool, lapping water of the Aelfen Mere, letting it swallow her up before she could lose her mind entirely.
The first part of the spell that had transfixed visitors for the past three decades was the entrance to the Harwoods’ famous ballroom.
There was no staircase dug into the ground in front of Harwood House, no tunnel leading beneath the lake. Instead, every visitor was required to take a leap of faith: to step, though every sense warned against it, into that rippling blue water and be sucked beneath it. It was a moment of utter helplessness that should have signaled drowning to any who couldn’t swim, or at the very least ruin to their elegant ballroom finery.
Instead, after a blur of momentary blindness, Amy landed, as always, dry and secure on a tiled dancing floor that stretched in a vast and generous circle around her. A jangling, ecstatic mingling of fiddles, flutes, and drums swirled through the air, rising up towards the high arched ceiling paned with curving glass that showed off the mysteries of the dark water beyond.
Hundreds of fey-lights floated through the room, lighting up the dazzling jewels of the human dancers, the vibrantly colorful wings and sparkling clothing of the visiting Fae emissaries, and the rich paintings that lined the rounded walls, celebrating the Boudiccate’s achievements throughout history. From the expulsion of the Roman invaders through the taming of their Norman would-be conquerors and the more recent international treaties the Boudiccate had struck with empires all around the world, every great moment of the past was lovingly depicted.
In the center of the tiled floor, the great Boudicca herself bared her teeth in victory, laid out in ferocious mosaic beside her second husband, whose magical powers had perfectly complemented her martial and political prowess. Together, they had formed the mold for the nation that grew in their wake, creating an unquestionable law that ruled Angland to this day: pragmatic ladies saw to the politics while gentlemen dealt with the more emotional magic...and no woman could ever be accepted into the Boudiccate without a mage-husband by her side.
“Miss Standish.” A familiar, drawling voice spoke nearby, and a glass of sparkling elven wine magically appeared in the smooth, white-skinned hand of the man who’d been awaiting her. He offered it to her with a smile of proprietary satisfaction as his cool green gaze traveled from the curling tendrils of black hair that swung around Amy’s ears to the swirling skirts of her gold gown, made of the finest fey-silk. “You look utterly delightful, as always.”
“Lord Llewellyn.” Smiling warmly, Amy accepted the wineglass from his hand. No more time for nerves. Years of plans clicked into motion as she took a first, careful sip of the bubbling wine...and a shiver of air behind her signaled that the Harwood family had arrived.
“My friends!” The tiled floor of the ballroom cleared, and the sparkling assembly fell silent as Miranda Harwood’s voice rang through the room.
There was no need for magical amplification, although a number of mages were on hand if required; Miranda Harwood’s air of authority was entirely natural. It was one of the things Amy most admired about her and hoped to emulate one day, but for now, she stepped back with everyone else as her mentor swept forward to take control of the room.
“I am delighted to welcome all of you to the Boudiccate’s annual Spring Equinox Ball—and on behalf of our government, I’d like to thank my own new assistant, Miss Amy Standish, for organizing it so beautifully. Amy, may I have the honor of introducing you to our guests?” Miranda beckoned her forward as polite applause echoed around the room from Anglish, Fae, and international attendees alike. “I promise you all,” she said confidingly, “that her name will become extremely familiar to the nation at large over the next few years—and now, Amy, will you please officially open the ball with my son?”
“Of course.” Amy didn’t hesitate even as her pulse quickened and an irrepressible flush rose beneath her skin. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord...” She passed her wine glass back to Lord Llewellyn with an apologetic smile.
“Have no fears, Llewellyn.” Lowering her voice, Miranda gave him a knowing smile. “She’ll be all yours soon enough.”
“I’m depending upon it.” Lord Llewellyn saluted Amy with the glass, his smile perfectly contented.
...And Amy turned, as she’d known she finally must, to Jonathan.
She had been wrong, all those months ago, when she’d imagined that he’d turned his back upon his family. That had been her first of many surprises when she’d arrived at Harwood House ten months ago: to find him not only firmly established in residence like any trusted adult son, but also openly affectionate and ready to assist his mother in anything and everyth
ing she wished...except for that one utterly unbending point.
He would not study magic as tradition demanded. He was the most loyal and loving son and brother that Amy had ever met—but when it came to that point of principle, he would not budge.
Jonathan Harwood refused to lie about what he truly loved.
One warm, strong hand settled around her waist, and an uncontrollable shiver of reaction rippled through Amy’s skin. Still smiling, she lifted her chin and kept her eyes aimed away from his as she twined her right fingers through his left hand and set her own left hand lightly on his broad shoulder, tantalizingly close to the sweet, vulnerable spot where his thick brown hair curled to a stop against his neck.
Too close, too close... How was she supposed to control her feelings when she was standing directly within his arms?
His mother smiled with calm approval, the music swirled back into vibrant life, and Amy and Jonathan swept together towards the center of the dance floor in—unbearably—perfect symmetry.
Fey lights danced overhead like sparkling white stars against the darkness of the deep water outside. Tingles leaped and danced, too, from every point on Amy’s skin where her fingers twined around Jonathan’s and his hand circled her waist. The muscles in his shoulder shifted against her palm, and she had to draw in a shaking breath.
I can’t bear this, she thought as she smiled and smiled over his shoulder at the blurring room beyond. I can’t, I can’t...
“Well done,” he murmured as more couples followed them onto the dance floor. “I hope you know how impressed Mother is with the way that you’ve managed every detail of this ball. She doesn’t throw around real compliments lightly—and she usually drives her assistants into the ground.”
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