The Spring Witch (Season of the Witch Book 2)

by Karpov Kinrade

  “Lyra,” I hiss, keeping my voice low to avoid anyone else coming to argue it further. “You know we don’t condone killing,” I say.

  “I know and I normally agree but—he’s seen your face. He’s seen all our faces. And found our camp. Who’s to say he won’t do it again? And maybe with weapons next time.”

  Or with power.

  She doesn’t say it but the words hang in the air. We don’t know what he’s capable of, and that will worry everyone until we’re safe again.

  “It’s a chance we’ll have to take,” I say. She starts to argue again but I add, “If everything goes as planned at the ball, it won’t matter anyway. We’ll be out of the forest and no longer considered outlaws.” I squeeze her arm. “It’s almost over.”

  She nods, slightly less worried but still subdued.

  “Mistress?”

  I look up at Sarge, a large, broad-shouldered man with a scar marring his left cheek leftover from the night he saved Sharon and me from drunken thieves. I was no more than a child then, terrified and homeless, but Sarge had been the one thing that made me feel safe. He looks scary to some, which has come in quite handy in more than one situation, but to me, he’s nothing more than an oversized teddy bear. The closest thing to a father I’ve had these last years, though these days, he’s more my advisor than parent.

  “What is it?”

  “We’re ready when you are.”

  I nod and saddle Starlight, double checking all my straps and belongings. When we’re ready, I allow one last look at Lord Tyler. He’s already watching me with hooded eyes. The amusement from earlier is gone, but there’s no rage or fear in his sharp expression. If anything, the way he looks at me seems more like a promise.

  My heart flutters against my will.

  Nudging Starlight into a trot, I lead the men out of the now-empty clearing and head for our next location. Sarge brings up the rear, and I don’t need to look back to know Lent and Lyra will scout ahead and behind us to be sure we’re not followed.

  We’re long gone when Sharon rides up beside me.

  “Interesting turn of events today.”

  Her voice is light and innocent; her expression is anything but. Life on the road doesn’t allow for more than an occasional fling, but Sharon’s always encouraged me to seek my own happiness where I can. As long as my true identity remains hidden, of course. I can’t imagine Lord Tyler as a fling, though.

  “It’s an unfortunate hiccup in our plans,” I say, focusing on the road ahead.

  Already, night has fallen around us. In some ways, that makes our travels safer--less travelers on the road to notice us. But it’s also more dangerous. We aren’t the only outlaws in the land, and others don’t have qualms about killing for their spoils.

  Before Sharon can press me for more, I give the signal to the others that we’re here.

  After that, a flurry of activity prevents more questions, and by the time we’ve finished setting up, we’re too exhausted to do anything except crawl into our tents and pass out.

  The following morning, the camp buzzes with typical morning activity. Horses are fed and watered. Cookfires are stoked. Porridge is served.

  No one mentions the stranger, and when Lyra returns at midday she simply nods at me from across the space, a signal she’s completed her errand to the village on Lord Tyler’s behalf.

  I’m not sure why I don’t feel more relieved that he’s gone.

  By afternoon, the scouts confirm we’re all clear. No trail, no one following or searching the area for our new camp. Tunk begs until I allow him to return to scout duty, and when he’s gone, I pass an hour with four of the men, going over tonight’s mission.

  It’s a simple heist along a route we’ve used before and the details aren’t complex.

  Still, I caution the others to be extremely careful.

  We can’t afford any more surprises.

  Later that night, we’re all in position when the carriage comes along.

  “Right on time,” I murmur, drawing my blade and crouching low.

  The night is nearly moonless and offers more cover than even the trees that line the road. In the shadows, I look for the jeweled crest that marks this carriage as our target. Sure enough, the shape is unmistakable.

  It’s time.

  With steady breaths, I give a low whistle to the others, signalling to them that this is it.

  A moment later, we all leap from our hiding spaces. Lent, Lyra, Sarge, and two others from the troupe emerge from the forest, crowding around the carriage and boxing it in. Sarge calls to the horses to halt and they obey with a jolt at the sight of the large man blocking their path.

  “What is the meaning of this?” a voice bellows from inside the carriage.

  “This,” Lent says as he rips open the carriage door and smiles devilishly at the round man inside, “is a holdup.”

  “You can’t rob me,” he blubbers, but Lent only smiles wider, dragging the man out and onto his feet.

  “Of course not,” Lent agrees. “It would only be a robbery if what we took belonged to you in the first place.”

  “And since it doesn’t,” Lyra chimes in, nudging the man aside and disappearing inside his carriage, “This is less a robbery and more like we’re liberating the people’s money.”

  When the man tries to protest, Sarge rounds the horses and grabs his arms, detaining him with one hand. The man huffs and scoffs until he’s out of breath--which doesn’t take very long. No one pays him much attention while we work to relieve him of his gold, and I nod at Tunk who’s still grinning over the fact that I’ve let him come along.

  “Guard him,” I say.

  “You got it, mistress.”

  Sarge lets go and joins the others, grabbing the spoils and distributing them for each of us to carry.

  The man rounds on me. “I’ve seen the posters of you in town. You’re the Jolly Jesters.”

  “It’s nice to get credit where it’s due,” Lent says, catching a bag of coins as Lyra tosses it from the carriage. He grins at the man whose cheeks flush in indignation.

  “You put that back,” he yells, an order we all ignore.

  When he starts to move, Tunk rushes in, knocking him back again with a wooden sword Sarge made for him.

  The next few minutes are filled with shouting and hurried movements as my troupe takes control. We make quick work of transferring the man’s riches from his carriage stores to our own pockets.

  Finally, laden with as much as we can carry, we depart, melting back into the trees until we’re nothing more than shadows and ghosts.

  As I hurry away, I hear the man yelling in outrage, but his angry words only make me smile. We’ve successfully tipped the scales just a little more in the favor of the people of Zyndale. If my legacy is nothing more than this--redistributing the wealth to those who need it most--I consider our mission these past years a success.

  Back at camp, we pile our treasure together and count it up.

  “There’s enough here to distribute to every hard-timer in Honeysuckle,” Lyra says.

  “And still have enough left over to eat,” Sarge grunts. Tunk nods in sober agreement. That kid can eat.

  “What about the dress?” I ask, noting the coins and jewels. There’s not a scrap of fabric among them.

  “There was no dress to be found, mistress,” Lyra says. “I looked everywhere.”

  I sighed. “We’ll have to come up with another way.”

  The following day, thoughts of Lord Tyler continue to plague my mind. I tell myself it’s a justified concern. The same I’d feel for any other citizen of the kingdom if danger were to befall them. The silver-eyed fae might be a thorn in my flesh, but he doesn’t deserve to suffer starvation.

  Late in the night, sleep has eluded me and I finally give in to my worry.

  Making my way out of camp on silent feet, I return to our previous campsite and to the tree where we left him tied. Other than the loose ropes lying in the brush, no sign of him remain
s, and my relief is mixed with a strange sort of disappointment. I lecture myself over the fluttering in my belly all the way back to my tent.

  Two days later, I’ve managed to put the handsome fae stranger from my mind as I creep along the alleyway in the village. There are much more pressing matters to focus on now, especially with the ball coming up so soon. Today’s mission isn’t one we can afford to botch.

  The others who’ve come to town are all in place. Now, it’s up to me.

  Up ahead, through the narrow break between shops, I can just barely make out Tunk as he skips along the street. When he stops and ducks into the dressmaker’s shop, I wait, trying not to worry. Tunk’s presence the other night was a test. One he passed with high marks, and today is his first true mission. He’s excited but inexperienced and if anything goes wrong--

  Shouting begins, muted inside the shop walls.

  A moment later, the shouting spills out onto the street, and I know that’s my cue.

  Moving quickly now, I duck out of the alley and onto the street, pulling my cloak tightly around my throat. My hood is low over my eyes, obscuring my hair and, most importantly, my ears.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Tunk arguing with the shop owner about overpriced fabric. I duck past them both and into the empty shop, my gaze darting around for the supplies I need. With no time to waste, I begin stuffing items into the bag strapped beneath my cloak.

  A minute later, I’m loaded down with a gown, slippers, and even a few ribbons I’m hopeful Sharon can use for my hair. Outside, the shouting has died off, but I can only hope Tunk is still holding up his end in some sort of distraction. The only backup on watch is Sarge and he won’t intervene unless it becomes life or death. Not when his face is already on Wanted posters all over the village. But the others were on a separate mission too important to abandon even for this.

  I’ve just made it to the threshold when the shop owner appears, blocking my path.

  His cheeks flame red with fury when he sees the bag bulging underneath my cloak. I look down and realize with a jolt the gown I’ve swiped is hanging out of the folds of my cloak, giving me away.

  “Just what in the hellfire do you think you’re doing, missy?”

  “Apologies, I was just coming to find you, to pay for my wares.” I flutter my lashes, but the man is not impressed. “Guards,” he shouts. “City Watch! This woman is stealing!”

  I glance behind him but Tunk is gone. Across the street, I see him watching from an alcove. When the man shouts, Tunk starts for me, but I send him a subtle shake of my head, warning him off.

  To my left, a guard comes running and I try to slip away before he can reach me. The man moves faster than I expected he could, grabbing my wrist to keep me from bolting.

  “You’re not going anywhere, thief,” he growls. “Now, give me back my merchandise before I take it from you.”

  I hesitate, trying to come up with an explanation that will get me out of this before the guard discovers my crime. If I’m locked away, there is more at stake than a charge for petty thievery. The blade strapped to my thigh burns against my skin but I refuse to do anything that will out me even further.

  “Sir, this is a misunderstanding,” I begin. “My sister asked that I pick up her gown as she’s not feeling well, and--”

  “What’s your sister’s name?” the man demands as the guard walks up.

  “Is there a problem here, Amos? Madam?” the guard asks.

  His stiff gaze lands on me and turns immediately to a look of suspicion as he takes in my dark cloak and low hood, both inappropriate for a lady, especially in this warm weather.

  “I caught this woman stealing a gown from my shop,” the man, presumably Amos, explains. “In broad daylight of all things. What’s this world coming to?”

  “And do you have proof of your accusations?” the guard asks.

  “See? There.” Amos points at the bag bulging beneath my cloak. “She’s attempting to rob me blind.”

  I snort. If only he were blind. This would have been so much easier.

  The guard frowns, eyes narrowing. “Miss, would you be so kind as to show us the contents of your bag?”

  With proper indignation, I widen my eyes. “I am appalled at such an accusation and refuse to give in to such bullying. My sister--”

  “Yes, and who is your sister, may I ask?” the guard interrupts.

  I deflate. There isn’t a single name I can give or excuse I can muster. Not now. With Tunk hovering across the street, ready to throw himself into harm’s way for me. Or Sarge, undoubtedly watching from above. The moment this guard takes me into custody, I have no doubt Sarge will attack him, adding to the charges he incurs.

  With a single bird call, I warn them both away and make ready to run for it. But the guard is faster, grabbing my arms and wrenching them behind me in a grip much firmer than necessary. Pain shoots up my arms into my shoulders, and I grit my teeth against the sound in my throat.

  With a satisfied grunt, the guard shoves me against the shop wall until my cheek scrapes the rough stone.

  “If you won’t show us willingly, madam, I am authorized to inspect you by force,” he says against my ear, the true meaning of his words sinking low in my gut.

  The king’s guards have become more and more corrupt over the years thanks to a king who encourages not only violence, but a lawlessness that knows no loyalty except to his rule. I have no doubt the guard will do with me whatever he pleases once the gown has been returned. And when he discovers what I really am, there will be only death. I pray it will be swift rather than slow.

  Either way, this is it.

  Failure.

  I’ve become so used to getting away with taking what we need, I’ve been careless. And now if I don’t come up with a way out of this mess, it will cost me and my people everything.

  Chapter 3

  My options all seem... substandard at best.

  If I fight, my troupe will end up in more trouble.

  If I don't fight, and assuming my people don't intervene against my orders, my fate is already sealed.

  Normally we have a rule to never go after stores in the villages near camp. It's too high profile and I'm sworn to protect the people, not rob from them. I've kept a list of those we've been forced to steal from, with a private vow that I will pay each one of them back once I take back the life that is rightfully mine. But to do so I need to attend the ball, and to attend the ball, I need this dress.

  If only I could convince the guard that my intentions are noble, even if my methods leave something to be desired.

  I know it’s a hopeless cause, but I give it my best try. “Can’t we work something out?” I say sweetly. “How about I bring back the proper coin for this and we call it even. I was planning on buying it when I realized I left my coin purse at home. It was merely a lapse of memory that prevented me from returning the gown before leaving.”

  As I speak I slip my hand in my pocket and crush a small packet of herbs that are scentless but have a very particular effect: that of rendering another more susceptible to persuasion.

  The guard’s pupils dilate suddenly and his lower lip trembles. He bites on it hard enough to draw blood and narrows his eyes. “I know the tricks you’re pulling.”

  Surprised by his resilience, I mumble a few elven words of light under my breath to strengthen the effects of the herbs.

  The guard stops speaking, looking slightly confused, then coughs and backs up a step. “You—“

  “Pardon me, gentle sir, but please excuse my poor sister. She’s half out of her mind and wasn’t supposed to be let alone. Her nurse will see the wrong side of a wooden cane for this.”

  The guard and I both stare at the man who has just inserted himself into this conversation. And my life.

  Lord Tyler. Again.

  “What are you doing here?” I hiss, annoyance warring with my desire to make a hasty exit without attracting more attention.

  He leans in, a smirk on his p
erfect lips. “I believe I’m saving your hide.”

  “I had it under control,” I say.

  He chuckles. “Clearly.”

  I bite my lip to keep from telling him what I think of his help as he pulls out a bag of coins. “How much to make this right, sir?”

  The guard is still eyeing me like a piece of meat he wants to sample, and my skin crawls at the vile look he gives me.

  The shopkeeper puffs out his chest. “The likes of her should not own the quality goods I sell at my shop,” he says with all the arrogance and prejudice of a dark fae born into his own little niche of privilege.

  Just like the ones who killed my parents and destroyed my home.

  My skin flushes with heat from my powers rising within me, rage and pain feeding the gifts I was born with. The gifts that would expose me for my true self and damn all who have helped me. My fingertips dance with tiny bolts of electricity, and I shove them into my pockets and step away from the men surrounding me, as I try to calm my breathing and return to my center.

  “Keep the dress. No harm met.” I glare at Lord Tyler. “Ready, brother.”

  The arrogant ass tips his hat to the shopkeeper and the guard, and takes my arm into his as he strides away like he owns the town, dragging me along with him.

  At least I’ve gotten my body temperature back to normal before Lord Tyler begins to suspect me of being stricken with the plague.

  I glance around on high alert, ready for any attack from behind, but none comes. It seems they no longer have an interest in me. For now.

  Raising my fingers to my mouth, I whistle a different bird sound to let them know to stand down. It’s time to return to camp and come up with a backup plan.

  I only have a few days until the ball.

  Not a lot of time to get everything ready. And there’s no room for mistakes in this last heist. I’ll either succeed or I’ll be dead.

  But first, I have to get rid of the man whose arm I’m gripping.

  Completely ignoring the tone of his muscles, even through layers of his cloak and shirt, I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you stalking me?”