by E. D. Walker
But when she glanced down at herself, she realized she wore only a simple dress and no jewelry. No jewelry in the market was another lesson she’d learnt the hard way. These men probably took her for a lady’s maid or a merchant’s daughter.
She turned to go into the shop, seeking Yonca’s safe presence.
“Ah, don’t be shy.” One of the men caught her by the elbow, holding her in place.
Her pulse thundered, which only made her anxiety worse. Not only was she afraid of these men, she was also afraid of what her magic might do. It was like some horrible wolf chasing its own tail, gathering momentum, making her chest tight with dread.
“Release me at once.” She tugged to free her arm.
The man grinned and stepped closer, his fingers squeezing. “Don’t be like that, love.”
She felt a change, like static prickling along her limbs, and the hair on her arms rose. Too late. She tried to yank herself free again, but the stranger’s fingers dug in, bruising her flesh. “Please.”
Laughing, the man and his friend crowded in close to her, pushing her against the wall.
The ball in her chest hardened, grew, caught fire. No, no, no. She pinched her eyes closed.
A warm hand suddenly circled her free wrist. The prickles in her skin were washed away, and the tension left her like a wave receding, flowing away and down toward one familiar touch on her wrist. When she looked over, Ned stood beside her, smiling into her eyes. “It’s all right, my lady.”
“Who the devil are you?” one of the strangers barked.
Ned released her wrist and stepped forward to put his body between her and the strange men. The one who’d had her arm released her and stepped back to square up with Ned.
Ned was much shorter than her harasser, but the squire tilted his head, a smile playing about his mouth. “You don’t want to ask who I am.”
“No?”
“No.” Ned flashed his teeth at them. “Better to ask who the lady is.”
One of the strangers snorted. “All right. Who is she?”
“She is Lady Violette, handmaiden and lady in waiting to the Princess Aliénor of Jerdun. She is also, like the princess, under the personal protection of Lord Guillaume. I’m sure he’d like to hear of this. What were your names again?”
The two men exchanged uneasy glances, first at her then with each other. “We meant no offense.”
Ned curled his lip. “Yes, you did. It just didn’t matter until you found out the lady has a title and powerful friends.”
Violette poked Ned’s back. She had no wish for him to start a fight in her honor. Ned cocked his head to show he understood, but he sighed as if it disappointed him that he had to let his prey go.
“Be off with you.” He made a shooing motion with his hands. “You’re not worth further trouble.”
One of the men looked incensed and perhaps a little embarrassed to be dressed down by a younger boy like Ned. But after a tense minute, the two men did leave, disappearing away around a side street.
Once the strangers were out of sight, Ned faced her and circled her wrist with his fingers again. “Are you all right?”
His touch reminded her of what he’d done earlier. What she’d felt. That quick, calming touch that had drained away the building chaos inside her as easily as pulling the plug from a washtub.
She turned his hand over, cupping it with one of hers as she used her fingertip to trace his palm. He shivered at the touch, his hand flinching, but he didn’t pull away from her.
She looked up, and their gazes caught. He frowned, but his brown eyes were warm as they met hers. Welcoming. Kind.
She looked away, heart fluttering. “Ned, do—do you have magic?” she whispered.
“Yes, my lady.” He smiled. “But only a little.”
Chapter Six
Violette gaped at him, but as she opened her mouth to ask questions—demand answers really—Yonca emerged from the shop.
The servant smiled at Ned. “Ah, squire, you did make it after all. We thought we might miss you.”
Ned winked at Yonca. “I found myself drawn hither by some unknowable force.”
Yonca laughed. “I’ll bet. Unfortunately, our shopping’s nearly done.”
Violette flinched, her stomach sinking. She needed answers.
Ned didn’t even glance at her as he blithely smiled for Yonca, laying on the charm. “Actually, my king has sent me on an errand to your princess. Our ways lie together.”
Yonca tilted her head and glanced quickly between Violette and Ned. Violette’s face must have shown some of her inner tumult, because Yonca frowned. “My lady?”
Violette sucked a quick breath in through her teeth. “Yes. It’s all right.” She tried to convey I’m all right somewhere in there too, but still the servant woman seemed uneasy.
Yonca was clearly glad of Ned’s presence as they finished up at the market—or his sword at any rate, as a tussle broke out at one of the market stalls behind them. Yonca kept her arm looped protectively through Violette’s. “Well, children, I’ll have to finish the shopping tomorrow. Now’s no time to be out and about.”
The three of them hurried for home. Violette kept sneaking glances at Ned, but he would only smile blandly back at her, his face the picture of innocence. It made her want to shake him. How could he be so calm? How could he smile at her like everything was all right?
The princess had not yet returned from a morning ride, so Ned requested to wait and deliver his message into her hand. Violette led him into the courtyard by the fountain. There was a shady spot there with some privacy. She would’ve liked to take him somewhere truly private, but she didn’t dare sit with him behind closed doors, lest the servants gossip. The servants would have gossip enough anyway, of course, but at least her reputation wouldn’t suffer if the two of them stayed in plain view.
She could barely sit still as one of the maids brought them tea with honey and some stale biscuits. Violette kept her foot bouncing against the tiled courtyard, thankfully concealing her fidgets beneath her skirts. A lady doesn’t fidget, after all.
As soon as the servant was out of earshot, Violette yanked on Ned’s wrist and hissed in his ear. “Ned, you have magic?”
“Yes. But just a little. Like I said.” He twisted his hand free of her grip and set about making himself a cup of tea.
With a sigh of exasperation, she swatted his hands away and began pouring for the both of them. He’d unsettled her so he was making her forget her manners, her training. Truly, this boy brought out the worst in her.
As she handed him his cup—and strongly resisted the urge to spill it all over his lap—she kept her voice low and calm. “What can you do?”
He nibbled a biscuit and waved his hand airily. “This and that. Master Llewellyn says I have good discipline but not much natural ability.”
“Master Llewellyn knows?”
“Of course he knows. As soon as I suspected I might have powers, I told him.” He raised his eyebrows at her, his meaning very clear.
“I’m not telling anyone anything.” Violette flopped back in her chair and fidgeted with the handle of the teapot, turning it away then toward her. Away. Back. Away. Back.
Ned made a gesture of surrender and leaned over the platter to select another biscuit. “Master Llewellyn has been training me for a year or so. Small spells. Like I said, I can’t do much. But I can control what I have.”
Violette swallowed. Control. She had no desire to learn actual spellwork, no desire to dive deeper into this terrible power that had awakened inside her. But to control it, quiet it, maybe stifle it entirely? That was very tempting indeed. She sat forward, placing her palms flat on the table. “Teach me?”
Ned choked on his biscuit and coughed out crumbs. “What?”
Violette brushed the errant biscuit bits off her skirt. “Teach me.” She paused. “Please.”
His face crimped in a mix of horror and bafflement. “Are you mad, Vi—my lady? I meant to convince yo
u to have Llewellyn teach you.”
She shook her head so hard she nearly knocked the braid out of her hair. “No. I don’t want him to know. I don’t want anyone to know.”
“But—”
“Ned, this is my secret. You said that. I get to choose who knows. Right?”
He sighed deeply, his shoulders rolling down. “Master Llewellyn is a good man and knowledgeable. I know he would help you.”
Violette gritted her teeth. He didn’t understand. “But then Master Llewellyn will know what I am. And what are the chances he could hide it from his king? And the king from my princess? And the princess from Noémi? And on and on. If I let more people know, the danger only grows.”
A muscle ticced in Ned’s jaw, but he didn’t argue with her.
She leaned forward to hammer her point home. “Ned, my choices are not between you and Llewellyn. Right now my choice is between you and nothing. No help at all.”
He groaned low in his throat. “Because you’re being stubborn.”
“Will you help me or not?” She sipped and watched him over the rim of her cup.
Ned raked his gaze over her head to foot, his eyes narrowed as he studied her. At last, after an agony of silence, he said, “I will.”
Violette had to put down her cup as her hands began to shake. “I’m pleased.”
“And we start now.”
“Now? Here?”
“You almost lost control in the market, didn’t you, my lady?”
“Yes,” she managed to get out.
“All right then.” Ned sat forward in the chair and scrubbed his hands together. “We’ll start with the tea.”
“The tea?”
“It’s a little cold. Warm it back up.” He handed his cup across to her, and their fingers brushed. A spark leapt up between them, and Violette nearly dropped the cup.
Silly girl, she scolded herself and took firmer hold of the pottery. She made a bowl of her hands around the cup then looked at Ned for further instruction.
“The spell for heating something up is piro. Now, Master Llewellyn always says you don’t need spell words to work magic, but they can help you focus, help you drive the magic in the direction you want it to go—”
Violette set the cup down with a sharp click. “Ned, I don’t want to learn magic. I want to learn how to control it, how to stop it.”
He let out a long, drawn-out sigh and rolled his eyes. “My lady, I don’t know how to teach you how to control magic without teaching you how to do magic. All right?”
Chastened, cheeks hot with embarrassment, Violette reached for the cup, wrapping her hands around it again.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Please continue your lesson.”
Ned grinned then leaned forward to stare into the teacup with her. “All right. So you say, ‘piro’ and you call your power up, but instead of letting it bang and burn around inside you, you sort of turn the flow and direct it toward the teacup instead.”
“How—how do I summon the magic? It’s only happened when I’m scared or agitated so far.”
Ned frowned, studying some of the potted trees placed around the garden. He puffed air out of his cheeks. “It’s like…like summoning a memory for me. I think deep inside myself. I look and call and the magic…comes. Does that make sense?”
The thought of purposefully summoning her magic made Violette’s hands shake again. None of this made sense. Still, she nodded at him. Before she would try, though, she stole a sip out of Ned’s teacup to quench the sudden dryness of her mouth.
“You’ll do fine. Try now, my lady?”
Violette took a deep breath and held it in her chest. She closed her eyes, questing inward. A memory. A feeling. It sounded silly, but when she did look inside, the magic was there, waiting, like a cat coiled by the fire that perked its head up when she entered the room.
“Breathe.”
Ned’s reminder came just in time, for her chest was starting to tighten. She took a deep breath in through her nose then released it in a long sigh from her mouth. The coiled magic leapt to her bidding, warm but not burning as it moved up inside her.
Too fast. Too much. Instead of a sleepy housecat, she’d summoned a pouncing lion. It felt like a fireball rolling over her. Sweat pricked out on her temples. She tried to remember what was happening.
“Piro,” Ned murmured.
“Piro,” she gritted the word out, and it was like altering a few sticks along the bank to try and change the river’s flood. The magic coursing through her twitched, shifted, but still poured out of her like a river breaking its dam. The cup in her hand grew painfully hot. She yelped.
Something crashed in front of her, and when her startled eyes flipped open, it was to see Ned shoving the table aside and charging toward her. He slapped the cup out of her hand, and pottery smashed against the courtyard tiles.
“What happened?” Her hands stung. When she looked down, the skin was angry, with blisters starting on her thumbs.
Ned scraped a hand over his face, looking rattled. “The tea started boiling.”
For a moment, Violette could only sit there and gape at him. She’d boiled the tea. She’d boiled the tea. She’d boiled the bloody tea.
Something was building in her chest, a bubble of light, of air, and all of a sudden, a laugh burst out of her. Once one escaped, she couldn’t stop. She held her injured hands cupped a little in front of her mouth, but oh, she couldn’t stop it. How ridiculous this all was.
Ned gave her a crimped smile and gently pulled her hands away from her mouth. Her laughter stopped at the tenderness in his eyes, and she found herself breathless for an entirely new reason as he gently cradled her hands in his. He closed his eyes and murmured something under his breath. A coolness settled over her hands, and she jumped at the sensation. When she looked down, the inflammation of her hands had lessened, and the sharp pain was certainly less. They weren't entirely healed, but they were much improved.
Ned shook his head. “I’m not much of a teacher, I’m afraid.”
She flipped her hands over so their palms touched, and she squeezed his wrists. “I want to try again.”
He tilted his head, a deep crease between his brows. “Are you sure? We can try again another day.”
“No. Now.” She pushed him back into his own chair and reached far over to the table he had so hastily shoved away. Trying to lighten the mood, she shot him a smile. “After all, there’s still one teacup left.”
The worry in Ned’s eyes was too distracting. She closed her eyes again, looked inward again. The magic was still there, like a cat pacing now, awake, anxious for his dish to be filled. As she felt the magic surging to answer her summons, she pulled back instead and imagined herself reaching out, reaching for only what she needed. If her magic was like a river, a living, coursing thing that could flood her, then her will could be the dam holding it back. Instead of releasing a flood, she scooped only a cupful of magic into her hand, channeling it toward the tea, coaxing it toward hot.
She found herself pulled back to the present as the cup heated in her hands. When it became uncomfortable, she released the magic she still held, scattering it like droplets back into the river. The cup was still warm, but not too hot. Tentatively, carefully, she raised it to her lips and took a sip.
Perfect.
Ned crouched in front of her, gazing with worry at her face. “Well?”
It felt like the sun was rising inside her chest. Warmth and strength bloomed in a rush that left her light-headed. She’d done it. She’d called her magic. Tamed it. A little at least. She grinned at Ned and held the teacup out. “Try it yourself.”
Already smiling, he lifted the cup and held it awkwardly in one hand as he watched her over the rim. He took a sip, swallowed, and stared at the cup. “Needs more honey.”
“Ned.”
He laughed, and that got her laughing again. She felt as if she could bounce right out of her chair and jump her way up to the poufy white clouds spotting th
e sky.
“Ned. What are you doing here?”
They both froze at the sound of the princess’s voice. And, when Violette looked up, the princess was approaching them fast, pulling her riding gloves off as she strode forward. Her face looked pinched, worried.
Ned hopped to his feet at once and stood stiffly before the princess. “All’s well, my lady.”
The princess let out a relieved breath at that, but then her lips pursed with new tension, and she glanced between the two of them uneasily. “What brings you to my house, Squire Ned?”
He had his hands clasped behind his back, and only Violette could see the nervous flex as he stood before the princess. “My lord King Thomas asked me to deliver a message to you and await your response.”
“Oh.” The princess tensed, the cord of her neck jumping as if her first impulse—swiftly stifled—were to look around and see who might be watching them. Indeed, when she spoke again, her voice was colder, more formal. A show for any of the servants—any of Lord Guillaume’s potential spies—who might be listening. “I’m not sure what I can do for the Lyondi king, but give me his letter, please.”
Ned fumbled at his pockets for a moment then handed it over.
Violette’s cheeks heated as she realized she had not even tried to deliver the letter that the princess had given her that morning. She touched her fingers to her skirt and could still feel the roll of vellum lying there. She didn’t know how she would pass it to Ned now unless the princess decided to leave them.
Princess Aliénor stood there and read what King Thomas had written her. Her face worked for a moment, crimping with confusion. When she looked up, she cast a deeply troubled glance between Violette and Ned.
Violette dug her fingernails into her palms, tensing and retensing her fingers. She felt that roil in her gut, the growing ball of anxiety-fueled magic. She knows she knows she knows—
Princess Aliénor glanced casually around the garden. No one was in sight. She stepped closer to Ned, lowering her voice. “Ned, this letter carries nothing urgent and no special request for a reply. Why are you really here?”