by E. D. Walker
The Apprentice Sorceress
The Fairy Tales of Lyond
by E.D. Walker
Published by EDW Books.
Original Copyright 2019. Elizabeth Walker
Cover designed by Najla Qamber Designs www.najlaqamberdesigns.com
Sensitivity Read by Shadae Mallory
Copy edits by Red Adept Editing www.redadeptediting.com
Formatting by Polgarus Studio www.polgarusstudio.com
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No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.
All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.
Contact the author: [email protected]
www.edwalkerauthor.com
DEDICATION
To all the powerful women and the men who love them.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Also by E.D. Walker
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chapter One
The busy city streets of Aratum churned around Lady Violette like an ant hill that’d been stomped by some malicious child. “Busy today,” Violette remarked to her servant Yonca.
Yonca shrugged and switched their laden market basket to her other hand. She smoothed one calloused brown hand down the front of her apron, straightening the fabric over her linen skirts. “Another of the Northern colonies fell to the raiders a few days ago. The latest wave of refugees arrived at the city walls last night.”
Violette bit her lip and scanned the bustling market scene with new eyes. Her own party had dragged themselves here to Aratum more than a month ago when the great city of Anutitum had fallen. She’d thought this place crowded and chaotic then, but now the population of the city had almost tripled. The Tiochene raiders had continued their sweeping conquest, reclaiming the Northern colonies that had been their ancestors’ strongholds only a few generations ago.
With each new city captured by the Tiochene sorcerers, more and more Northern colonists and their allies were forced to flee. The city of Aratum was swiftly becoming the only safe harbor left in the South. And how much longer before the Tiochene finish their sweep of the Southern city-states and take Aratum too? And where can we go when that happens? Violette fidgeted with the folds of her own skirts, uneasiness bubbling in her gut at the thought of another hasty flight, another dangerous run through an enemy army.
Yonca touched her elbow, pulling Violette away from her dark memories and back to their errand. Yes. Violette straightened her spine. She still had the shopping to do. And another, far more important errand to complete as well.
The city of Aratum was so beautiful, with its airy, white columned villas and intricate tile mosaics decorating nearly every home and public space. Very different from the heavy stones, lead, and thatch used to build in Jerdun, Violette’s home in the north. She had seen much of Aratum as she wandered out and about doing errands for her liege lady.
She hardly liked to acknowledge this fact, but it was also easier for her to move about Aratum than it had been at home in Jerdun. In Jerdun, she’d been one of only a few dark-skinned noblewomen of her acquaintance. In Aratum, more than half the population looked like Violette: dark curling hair, dark eyes, warm brown skin. The experience was a bit like letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
Although lately nothing about living in Aratum seemed easy. Violette weaved through a particularly tight knot of people and reached back to clasp fingers with her maid so they didn’t lose each other. The latest batch of refugees seemed to have the fabric of the city stretched to the seams.
Someone jostled into Violette from behind. Yonca reached out to help her balance while Violette traced a hand against the small money pouch hidden in her own bodice. Still there. Good. She’d learned her first week in the city to be wary of cutpurses. And she’d learned the hard way too. She had no desire to repeat such an embarrassing lesson again.
But if not money, then—A spasm of alarm rippled through her chest, and she reached two fingers into her pocket. The soft leathery feel of vellum under her fingers reassured her at once. She’d rather be stripped to the skin by thieves than lose the letter in her pocket.
More and more people weaved among the booths of goods in the large, open-air courtyard where the daily market was held. The merchants in their booths seemed smugger to Violette of late, less willing to haggle. The food merchants, at any rate. The silk merchant sat glumly, watching the bustle of the crowd utterly pass his booth by. After all, who had any money for fripperies at such a time as this?
“Your friend is late,” Yonca murmured as they approached a fruit stall to pick over the wares.
Violette’s nerves twitched with an annoying mix of alarm, irritation, and resigned accomplishment. “My friend?”
“That Lyondi squire. Young Ned who’s been here to see us nearly every morning you’ve had market duty.”
“Squire Ned is an acquaintance from the road. We fled Anutitum together. That’s all.”
Yonca grinned, her eyes crinkling with friendly lines. “Of course, my lady.” She was forty or so, tall and wiry thin with dark skin, almost blue-black, and dark brown eyes with long curling lashes that Violette envied daily. Yonca kept her hair braided and wrapped with a colorful scarf so only the tight curling strands around her hairline showed.
Violette tilted her chin up, hoping to depress this pretension, but the effect was somewhat spoiled, as the fruit she’d been inspecting revealed itself to be overripe and all but exploded in her palms. “Oh bother.” Sticky juice and pulp were already dripping past her wrist. She’d look an utter disaster if that bothersome squire ever did show u—
A fluttery handkerchief appeared over Violette’s shoulder with a flash of white. “Good day, Lady Violette.”
Violette pressed her lips together and gently plucked the handkerchief out of the speaker’s hand. She turned as she did, wiping her sticky hand, and gave him a nod. “Hello, Squire Ned.”
Ned grinned back. He had a wide, moon-shaped face with close-set, pale-brown eyes and a small nubbin of a nose. He was wiry with muscles but slight for his sixteen years. Violette was a year younger than he and already topped him by an inch or two. His straight, shaggy brown hair grew a little past his ears, and he wore a beat-up brown jerkin half laced over a dirty white linen shirt. An unhandsome boy with no pretensions to fashion, and he’d only recently been promoted from page to squire. Really, it was laughable that anyone would think she could fall for one such as him.
She tapped her fingers against the letter in her pocket. Still, duty compels. If only Violette’s liege lady could have come up with some other scheme than this fake love affair to get her letters delivered to Ned’s m
aster.
“Any other assistance I can render you, Lady Violette?” Ned asked.
“No, thank you.” She returned his sticky handkerchief to him, feeling her cheeks heat. She always felt off balance with Ned, which struck her as monstrously unfair. He was only a squire. Why should he discompose her so when she’d met kings and never faltered?
His eyes glittered with mischief. “May I walk a while with you and act as escort? The streets are crowded today.”
She raised an eyebrow at him, annoyed at how much he enjoyed this charade of theirs, their pretend love affair. But, the weight of the letter in her pocket acting as a prod, she nodded. “If it please you. That would be most chivalrous.”
He bit his cheek, keeping his grin from growing too wide, no doubt, and gave a solemn nod in return. “That’s me. Chivalry straight to the bone.”
Violette restrained an unladylike snort and let Ned fall into step beside her as they shifted away from the fruit vendor’s stall. She kept her voice quiet so her servant wouldn’t hear them. “You’re late.”
A dimple flashed in Ned’s cheek. “You missed me.”
“I have other duties to complete today.”
“Do you now? And here I thought this was the most important task your princess set you to each day.”
Cheeks burning again, Violette turned her face away from him. Insolent boy. Still, the words stung. All the time her princess’s small retinue had been trapped in this city waiting to leave, Violette had felt more and more useless to her liege lady. Violette was young, inexperienced. She could not advise her princess on matters of state, on making their coins stretch, on finding the safest routes back home.
Violette knew how to mend torn hems, style hair becomingly, how to match the dye in her dress to perfectly pick up the color of her shoes, how to choose the best wine to pair with dinner. Violette had learned everything she’d needed to know to be the lady of a manor, the wife to a nobleman. She knew nothing at all about…surviving.
Ned shifted beside her, and his fingertips ever so slightly brushed the sleeve of her gown. “I’m sorry, Lady Violette. I’m in a foul mood today.”
She tilted her chin up and refused to look at him. “Think nothing of it.”
Ned let out a long, deep sigh beside her.
“We should make the trade,” she murmured. When she realized Yonca was watching them, Violette sent Ned a flirtatious smile.
“Aye, but not here.” He gently steered her away from the main thoroughfare of the market to one of the quieter side streets, where the pricier wine merchants had their stalls.
“How clever you are,” Violette trilled, smiling warmly at him. “The princess was saying only today she wished we had a better vintage in the house for important guests.”
“I live to serve.” He made a half bow. Ned had a braced tension about him now, a stiffness to his shoulders, and he clasped the hilt of his sword in a white-knuckled grip.
Catching some of his strain whether she wanted to or not, she drew closer to his side and sped their steps up. “Ned, what’s wrong?”
“We’re being followed.”
Violette had barely turned her head to search for spies when Ned squeezed her forearm. Hard. “Well, don’t look, my lady.”
She jumped in surprise then lowered her gaze. Of course. Stupid, stupid. “Your pardon.”
Ned paused at one of the stalls and began to casually inspect the wares, angling his body so he could see behind them. The merchant approached them, warmly smiling, dressed in a fine tunic of pale blue. As the merchant and Ned conversed over wine selection, Violette couldn’t tell if the merchant was a man or a woman. The Tiochene people were not as rigid about that as the cultures of Jerdun and Lyond were. Among the Tiochene tribes, men and women often dressed the same, and Yonca had even told her that some people would ease back and forth, taking on masculine and feminine aspects throughout their life as suited their own wishes. Violette had had a cousin back home in Jerdun who’d often stolen her brother’s clothes and gone riding in them, tearing wild through the countryside.
And her cousin had been beaten for it, badly, even though she had never hurt anyone with her adventures. No one outside the family had even known. Violette winced at the memory. Acceptance was a lesson that perhaps stubborn Northmen could learn from the Tiochene culture.
Ned traded a few coins with the merchant and hooked his finger through a ceramic jug. “Master Llewelyn’s been wanting to try a local pomegranate wine. Thank you.” He nodded goodbye to the merchant and led Violette on to the next stall. He was so smooth, so calm on the face of things.
Meanwhile, it was all Violette could do to keep her hands from shaking. “I’m sorry, Ned. I have no instincts for this type of thing,” she murmured. “No training.”
“No. Why should you?” He kept his voice low, but his face was open, untroubled, as if he really were just enjoying the day with her.
Violette let him lead her farther down the street. “You think I’m useless, don’t you? A foolish, useless girl-child.”
He gave a small, almost unconscious head shake. “I think I’m training to be a knight and soldier. I know I’d have no idea how to properly manage a household or plan a fancy state dinner. We all have our skills.” His voice softened at the end, and Violette’s throat felt suddenly tight with emotion.
He stopped at another stall and actually began pointing out promising vintages. But just as the merchant began to hope he’d made a sale, Ned pulled her away again.
“Will it be safe to exchange the letters at all?” she asked.
“Depends.”
“On?”
“On who those two men are and what they want.”
“My lady,” Yonca piped up at last. Sweat beaded the sides of Yonca’s face, and she set the market basket down as they paused. “Princess Aliénor said nothing to me about wine. It’s not on my list.” She gave the two of them a sharp look each and placed her hands on her hips as if to say, Enough of this charade.
Yonca thought she was humoring a pair of young lovers on their rendezvous, and now she was hot and tired and ready to be done with the shopping. And Violette had no way to tell her how wrong she was. The letter in Violette’s pocket seemed to pulse like a heartbeat, and her neck burned with the sensation of being watched.
“Right you are,” Ned said, shooting the servant a wry, apologetic grin. Next moment, he had turned that grin on Violette, and the breath caught in her chest. He wasn’t handsome, not by any stretch. And yet the sparkle of his eyes and the wry twist of his mouth were enough to set her heart to racing. Most inconvenient.
“Come kiss me quick, love,” Ned said. “For we’ve tried your kind servant’s patience too far.”
“Ned!” Her cheeks burned, and her heart pounded with a conflicting mix of chagrin and anticipation. They’d never taken their star-crossed-lovers charade so far before.
Ned’s mouth pinched, his eyes suddenly sad. “Forgive me, my lady,” he whispered. Then he pulled gently on her shoulder, leaning toward her, his intentions clear. It was a soft grip and a singularly ineffective embrace for a boy trying to steal a kiss.
More playacting. She sighed, fighting against a tiny wash of disappointment. She didn’t want the smelly little squire kissing her anyway. Not for real. This was all in service to her liege lady. Best make it a good show then. Grinning, she ducked away from Ned. “One kiss only, Ned! And keep your hands behind your back.”
His eyebrows quirked, and he opened his mouth to respond but then thought better of it. His gaze grew soft, rueful. He reached up and traced a feather-light touch over her hair. For a moment, his hand lingered on her neck, his fingers tickling her skin. “As my lady wishes.” He gave a short, teasing bow and made a great show of knitting his hands behind his back.
Her skin seemed to miss his warmth when he moved away. Foolish. Violette clasped her own hands together in front of her, skipping forward and laughing a little, playing the coquette.
Yonca laughed
indulgently behind them, watching the whole show.
More importantly, Violette finally caught sight of the two men farther down the alleyway. She sighed. Just as I suspected. She hopped forward one more step and swung her arms in an arc up and over Ned’s head. “Remember: one kiss only, you rogue.”
His mouth split in a smile. “As my lady wish—”
She touched her mouth to his, just to stop him claiming the last word. That was really all she’d meant to do: shut him up, throw him off balance for once. But then he tilted his head, and the softness of his lips slid against hers with a delightful friction that kindled heat in her gut. Oh. Instinctively, she molded her body to his.
“Now, now, enough of that.” Yonca’s footsteps were loud on the cobbled streets. “What the princess would say to me if she heard of this…”
Not yet. Not yet. Violette’s heart hammered as she tugged the edge of Ned’s collar and dropped her rolled sheet of vellum down the back of his shirt. “You burn yours, Ned. There’s no time to trade.” She traced her lips over his surprisingly smooth cheek, trying to make their whispered conference appear to be one more stolen embrace.
He laughed, the air from his mouth stirring against her neck. “My dear Lady Violette, I’ve already delivered my letter.”
“Wh—”
He merely winked then flicked his gaze over her shoulder to watch her servant approach. Ned held his pale, calloused hands high in mock surrender. “And with that I thank you for your indulgence, Madam Yonca. I wish I could see you ladies home safe, but I’m already late for training.” He bowed to them both, winked again at Violette, and took himself off down the street, whistling.
Insufferable boy. Violette shook her head, then froze when she remembered what he’d said. He’d already given her his letter? But when? How?