by C. A. Szarek
Something darted across his face. Something emotional. Something that made her want to declare loud and fast that she was lying now.
He stared until she shifted on her feet. The apple of his throat bobbed. “Fine.”
Elissa startled. She hadn’t expected him to acquiesce.
“We leave in the morning.”
“Leave?” She was already packed. She’d known they’d go at first light, but the question had fallen out of her mouth anyway. Because it was a reminder he was going, too.
“Aye, I’m taking you to your betrothed.” Alasdair whirled around. He disappeared in his rooms, shutting the door with a thud that resounded in her head. And her heart.
Elissa’s knees buckled and she doubled over with a sob she had no right to.
Marriage.
“He didn’t mean it.”
And he’d not argued with her…much. Hadn’t insisted he wanted her. Made no declaration of love, only accused her of lying about her own feelings.
He hadn’t fought for her.
Alasdair had left her rooms. Walked away.
Like she’d demanded.
Her vision blurred and Elissa cried as hard as she had the night she’d given herself to him.
If Alasdair was only doing what she’d asked, why did it hurt so much?
Chapter Twenty-nine
The next morning arrived much too soon, and she couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding that clung to her like the fat gray clouds grouped together above. The unusual warmth of the Greenwald fall had faded. It was chilly; the wind was blowing as if her magic had called to it. The air smelled clean, but with the barest kiss of winter.
Hope it’s warmer further south.
That was the only positive thing about their direction of travel. Dalunas was far southeast, and had much milder winters than the northern Provinces.
Elissa’s ears stung with the wind’s strength as she made her way across the courtyard to where her escort party waited. Knights of the guard and men-at-arms chatted, laughed and threw quips at each other.
They seemed excited as they prepared for the journey, tossing packs back and forth and stacking supplies on the racks of the carriage they were bringing. She’d already told the captain she’d prefer to ride her gray mare than sit inside, so her mount was waiting with the other horses; she could see the horse saddled and ready.
Mischief darted ahead, wuffing a few times as if scolding her to hurry up, but his thoughts and feelings were encouraging. He, too, was looking forward to leaving, seeing the world. He wagged his tail at a few of the men, then proceeded to sniff out a perimeter around their gathering spot.
She swallowed; couldn’t even muster a smile for her wolfling’s delight. More dread hovered and she shook herself, tightening her mantel around her, squaring her shoulders. She didn’t tug her hood up because she didn’t want obscured vision but the air was cold enough to merit it.
Her new chaperone bowed deeply and Elissa took his arm when offered. She muttered a polite greeting for him, as well as Sir Leargan when the captain threw her a smile.
Sir Bowen helped her atop the gray mare’s back. Although she said nothing, she really didn’t need assistance, despite her gowned attire. She ignored his large hands around her waist. His grip wasn’t unpleasant or unwelcome, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Alasdair touching her in the same way the day she’d run away—what now seemed like ages ago. Then the other times he’d touched her body, clothed or unclothed.
Elissa shivered and pushed away the unwanted memories. She forced a smile and met the knight’s unusual whiskey colored eyes. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, my lady.” He grinned, flashing his single dimple.
She told herself to relax. And failed.
“If you get tired, alert me, and you can get in the carriage. Are you sure you don’t want to ride inside? Lord Cam left it especially for you.”
She looked at the ornate coach, carved decorative edges all over and painted in Dalunas’ bright colors. “I prefer the open air of a ride, but thank you.”
He nodded. “Well, it’s handy to have for supplies, but it’s yours. Remember that. Whatever you want, my lady.”
Elissa made herself nod as emotion hit her square in the chest.
I can’t have whatever I want.
Her magic tingled and Mischief whimpered from where he stood. He sniffed the air and cocked his head to one side when they made eye contact.
The knight paused, glancing at her wolf, then back at her. “Are you well, my lady?”
She sent a mental calm to her bondmate and forced her lips to curve upward for her chaperone. “Aye, thank you for asking, Sir Bowen.”
“You can just call me Bowen, my lady.”
“Thank you.” Elissa brushed a wisp of her hair away from her face when the wind caused it to tickle her cheek. She wouldn’t call the knight by his given name even with permission. It’d only remind her of the knight she’d lost.
Sir Bowen offered another curt nod, then he was gone. She noticed him conversing with his captain and then Sir Dallon. The other men were scattered around the bailey, but she could see that preparations were close to being finished; quite a few men were already on horseback.
What’s the delay?
When two men lead their horses from the tied group, she spotted Contessa standing alone. The mare was saddled and ready, but her rider had yet to arrive.
Her heart skipped. She didn’t want to see him.
Sir Lucan sidled up to her on the back of a sleek black mare. His horse’s closeness forced Mischief to move away. Her wolfling howled a protest. The young mage apologized to the wolf, which made Elissa give a genuine giggle. It surprised her, but was welcome, just like the knighted mage’s appearance. Maybe the lad could keep her mind off the man she told herself she wasn’t anticipating.
“Good morning, Lady Elissa. Are you well?”
“I am. How are you this morning?” She inclined her head. “What a fine horse you have there.”
His cheeks pinkened but he nodded and patted his mare’s neck. “I’m well. Thank you. She was a gift from Jorrin and Cera. Her name is Obsidian, but I call her Sid. Her sire is Cera’s Ash.”
“She’s gorgeous.” Elissa’s mount neighed and shifted. She patted her and whispered calming reassurance.
“Your horse is fine as well, what’s her name?”
It was her turn to be embarrassed. She touched her cheek. “I haven’t named her yet. The king gave her to me only before we left to come here.”
“Ah, well maybe something will come to you.”
Elissa thought of the run they’d had, and how her mare had been spooked when Tess and Alasdair had chased them. She’d made it worse when she’d lost control of her magic. “Actually…” She looked down at her mare’s gray mane. It was several shades lighter than her dark gray coat. Like Mischief, she was multihued silver.
Sir Lucan grinned. “Did you think of a name?”
“I think so.”
“I’m excited to be the first to hear it.”
She flashed a grin, feeding off his excitement. “Storm. I’ll call her Storm.”
“I love it!” The young mage clapped once. His mare whinnied and Storm echoed it, fidgeting again.
“Hush, lass. I mean, Storm. Do you like your name?” Elissa whispered, caressing the supple warm flesh of the mare’s neck. The horse calmed and whinnied again, soft this time.
“I think she approves!” Sir Lucan said.
Her smile widened, and some weight lifted from her chest. “I’m glad. I like her very much.”
One of the knights hollered.
Sir Lucan looked around. “Looks like we’re going to head out.”
“Aye.” Movement to the right, toward the castle caught her eye, then stole her breath.
Despite the fact he stalked across the bailey with a tight expression she could see even from his current distance, Alasdair was gorgeous.
His long dark hair billowed w
ith his movements and the pack slung over his shoulders made her think of his muscles. Her knight’s clothing was a mix of browns and Greenwald colors, complete with an embroidered doublet with the Province’s howling white wolf seal on it. The silver roping on his right shoulder indicated his place in the duke’s personal guard.
He didn’t look her way, but she couldn’t stop staring, even as he secured his things and greeted his brothers and the men-at-arms.
Sir Leargan was leading the party, but a mix of men would accompany them. Several knights of the guard, Sir Bowen, Sir Dallon, and Sir Kale, in addition to Alasdair as well as half a dozen other Greenwald soldiers and Sir Lucan, for his magic.
Elissa made her gaze sweep the courtyard—away from Alasdair. Her stomach flip-flopped and Mischief whimpered again, but she didn’t calm him. She glanced at Castle Aldern—a place she’d come to love, as well as the people who lived there.
I don’t want to go.
The realization was like a ton of bricks crushing her. She didn’t want to leave this place, where she’d found her place. Where she’d made friends who were more like sisters, in a way, closer to her than her cousin or little Princess Mallyn.
Her unease wasn’t wholly because of the man who’d smashed her heart.
“Are you ready?” Sir Bowen guided his chestnut stallion close.
Elissa jolted, then forced a nod.
Sir Lucan flashed a grin and a nod for her chaperone.
“We’ll ride as far as we can today, but if you need a break for any reason, you let me know.” The knight’s tone brooked no argument, proving Sir Bowen could be as stubborn, too. “Sometimes a group of men travels hard, and we’ve far to go. If we need a reminder we travel with a lady, please do so.” He smiled, showing his charming dimple.
She relaxed in her saddle. “I will.”
A curt nod was all the response she got, and he turned his horse around.
Sir Leargan called out and they moved as one, making their way through the multiple sets of castle gates.
The guards they passed saluted.
When they got out to the road, the carriage lead, with only one rider ahead of it. Elissa looked left and right. The knights surrounded her, riding in a protective formation. They’d take up the entire width of the road this way, but no one seemed to take note or break off to ride in front of her, or behind.
Sir Lucan stayed close, and they exchanged a smile.
Mischief barked and ran ahead, causing a few chuckles from the men.
“He’s going to get awfully tired if he plans to do that whole time,” Sir Bowen called. His voice was clear, and instinct told her he was right behind her. Close, on Storm’s right flank.
Elissa giggled. “He can always ride in the carriage.”
Sir Lucan laughed beside her, and so did a few of the knights within hearing range.
She settled in for the long ride and loosened her death-grip on the reins. Needed to relax so her body wouldn’t be so stiff.
Alasdair was out of sight, so she could only figure he was bringing up the rear of their party. Elissa needed him to stay where he was. She might not be able to banish him from her thoughts, but at least she didn’t have to look at him.
* * * *
He saw the wolf dart from the gates and waited, watching, expecting the other three wolves to be behind the silver beast. They didn’t appear.
The thud of horses’ hooves—a lot of them—followed instead, as well as the creak of carriage wheels.
The wolf paused, throwing a barking-howl over his shoulder as he waited for whatever was behind him to catch up.
Charis perked up when the large party came into view, exiting the castle’s gates.
Bracken nudged him, but he hadn’t missed miss a thing. “Noble carriage.”
“I agree. Dalunas colors.” Charis didn’t tear his eyes away from the group, even when he heard Bracken’s grunt in answer.
Nason didn’t comment, but he shifted his feet beside them.
They watched Castle Aldern’s gates from a safe distance, but where they could still the comings and goings. Perched behind an abandoned shop barely on the crest of the square. Many people trudged by, but no one seemed to give the place a second look. No wonder the former business—whatever it’d been—had failed. The building was small and invisible out in the open. And falling apart. The former sign hung by one nail, and the words were so faded they were unreadable.
Charis hadn’t asked questions, just darted behind it the first chance he’d been out of keen marshal purview. Bracken and Nason had followed.
It’d been two whole sevendays since he’d seen the wolf for the first time and his gut had shouted what he sought was inside Castle Aldern. He’d been contemplating how they’d get within since then.
Charis had charged Nason and Bracken with observing as much as they could and not get caught. They’d followed knights and men-at-arms to many taverns, watched them ascend countless sets of stairs with willing lasses.
Nothing had come of it.
Even the whores that lay with the personal guard were loyal to the men. No amount of coin promised had loosened feminine lips.
There was nothing of consequence in the conversations they’d overheard, either.
He was beyond frustrated, and Drayton’s patience was tried. He’d told the old mage what he thought about where the lass was, but the codger was as skeptical as his lads.
They’d seen the wolves come and go several times as a pack. Each time, Charis studied the bond to the extent he was capable. He was sure the silver wolf was bonded to the elemental mage Drayton was paying him to find.
“Look. A lass. On that gray horse,” Bracken said.
One look in her direction went from glance to stare.
A lass indeed.
Charis stared. Wanted to rub his eyes.
Magic blinded him. Had him doubting what he could see. What he was seeing.
She had to be the lass.
Everything hit at once, he didn’t need to probe or use his powers. He understood why magic—his own and Drayton’s—had failed to find her.
The protection spell covering the petite form on horseback was woven as tightly as the one covering Castle Aldern. And had the same magical trail. Both had been cast by the same mage. But her tie to the wolf was thick, brighter, as the beast made its way to her side, so Charis hadn’t been wrong. The wolf was covered in elemental magic, and he was bonded to the lass protected by a spell that made her magically invisible.
The source of both rode next to her, on a black horse. A lad, not quite a man, if his frame was any indication. His magical aura was so radiant Charis had to look away. “It has to be her.”
“Let’s get her then.” Bracken stepped forward, but Charis grabbed his thick forearm.
“Don’t be a fool.” He looked back at the party. “There are knights there. Four…no, five, not to mention other soldiers.”
“I’m no’ afraid of a good fight.”
“Neither am I.” Nason flexed his skinny hand on the hilt of his sword, but he didn’t draw it.
“And neither am I. But we have to be smart about this. You want to get paid, don’t you?”
Both his companions nodded.
“They’ll stick to the main roads, no doubt. We get the horses. Catch up. Then we wait. We watch. Attack when they’re vulnerable. Away from reinforcements.” He thumbed toward the castle.
Again, Nason and Bracken nodded. Almost made him want to remark on their rare agreement.
Charis glanced over his shoulder toward the party of knights, then back at his lads. “The dark-haired lad worries me,” he admitted.
“The skinny one riding next to the lass?” Bracken cocked a dark brow.
“Aye, it’s as if he’s made of magic.” What he left unsaid was the lad was the source of the protection spells. Charis couldn’t wrap his head around how one lad had done both acts of such power, all on his own. “I need to consult with Drayton.”
Nason
made a face. “If that’s her, we can’t afford ta miss ‘em. Need ta go now.”
“I agree.”
Narrow shoulders relaxed. “Good.”
“You two get your horses and go. I’ll consult Drayton and catch up.”
Bracken paused and studied him. “You need to tell ‘im now?”
“Aye, and not much time for it, either. If the colors on that carriage mean they’re headed to Dalunas, we need to catch them before they get too far.”
Nason shuddered; the apple of his throat bobbed. “I’ve no need ta get near Dread Valley.”
“Dalunas is a fortnight’s ride, or more.” Bracken smirked.
“But still—”
“Just go. Before they get too far.” Charis had no use for Nason and Bracken bickering. Time was of the essence, finally. “Bracken,” he called when the big oaf’s back and shoulders faced him.
“Aye?”
“Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll catch up. Only observe until I arrive.”
Narrowed eyes presented the only answer he got, but it was acquiescence enough. Bracken wouldn’t jeopardize the potential coin purse for getting the lass to Drayton alive.
He forced a breath and closed his eyes. Didn’t want to contact the old codger. His gut told him the lass was destined for blood magic. Which would make Drayton infinitely powerful.
Why do you care? Charis didn’t.
With a curse, he pushed off the side of the decrepit building and dug in his pocket for the small mirror he’d been communicating with Drayton through. He’d stolen it from his last whore at a tavern in Greenwald Main, and it fit nicely in his palm. A little large for his pocket, but he made it work. Besides, the smaller the better; that meant less of Drayton’s ugly face he had space to see.
He whispered the spellwords and waited.
The mirror started to glow, then the portal opened. Magic, appearing as an opaque cloud, slowly started to clear, revealing the dimness of Drayton’s cave. Charis couldn’t see much; the mirror he’d called to was perched high on the wall above the old mage’s sleeping pallet. That he knew from memory of the layout. It was much larger than his own mirror. A magic torch was above it, but it didn’t illuminate more than the reflection of the opposite wall. At this distance, it was just bumpy-looking and brown; undefined.