by Ella Ardent
She had been waiting for a sign as to what she should do. She’d never been indecisive before, but Marta was torn. On the one side was Regis, the passion they had once shared, the son she had borne him, the predicament he was in—partly due to her own spell. She knew he faltered. She knew he was in pain as well as imprisoned. She didn’t know whether Royce would command his execution. Though she believed Regis harvested what he had sown, Marta was surprised by the depth of her compassion for him.
Maybe it had been the wine. Maybe it had been someone else’s spell that had turned him so. She wasn’t sure.
On the other side was Lars, a man who had done as commanded against his own inclination, and won Marta’s heart against her expectation. Their love had been bright and strong, all the more welcome for being unexpected. She had mourned his loss and missed him deeply—to learn that Regis had been responsible was a shock. It infuriated her that Regis should have chosen to steal Lars’ life and cheat her of any happiness, out of his own jealousy. She could have been bitter. She could have been angry.
She was, but she thought also of the wine.
Should she help Regis, or should she abandon him to his fate, whatever it might be?
For the first time in her life, Marta couldn’t decide.
She’d been thinking about it, turning the question endlessly in her thoughts, when she heard the shell crack. And now there was this miracle, this tiny fragile creature that looked about itself with curiosity. A marvel. A gift.
A sign?
Marta stirred the fire to make the hut warmer, keeping her hand cupped over the precious little creature. Noting that she needed more wood, she dressed and wrapped her warmest cloak over herself. The chick chirped, its voice growing stronger.
She would just step outside for a moment, and grab several of the logs at the closest part of the woodpile. Then she would heat some broth and maybe convince the chick to take a drop or two.
The air was cold enough to startle Marta and she moved quickly. The sky was clear, and she doubted the day would be much warmer than the night had been. The trees of the forest were burdened with snow and there was a welcome stillness. The very air seemed to sparkle with frost. She was at the door with the logs when she heard hoofbeats and glanced back. Though the village was still slumbering, a dark horse galloped along the road. The rider must have come from the mill, or even beyond that, from the border.
The bird chirped and she made to hurry back inside, but the rider had spotted her. She heard the horse stop and stamp, but remained inside the hut, her hand over the vulnerable bird nestled against her skin.
“Hoy there!” the rider shouted and removed his helmet. He was dark-skinned, his eyes darker yet, and a great white pearl hung from one ear lobe. He wore the red of Imperium, and two women rode behind him, their hoods drawn over their heads and hiding their faces.
Marta clutched the tiny bird closer. “Good morrow to you, sir,” she said, wishing he would ride on.
“Is it true?” he demanded. “Is it true that the old king has been arrested by the crown prince, who now claims the throne?”
“It is true.”
“And what is the charge?”
“Murder.”
The dark knight shook his head. “But surely the old king will claim that he has the right to do whatsoever he will in his own kingdom.”
“Surely he will,” Marta agreed. “But the new king insists that no man should be above the law of Euphoria, even the king.”
The dark knight smiled, as if genuinely pleased by this. “Well, well,” he said with satisfaction. “The wheel turns.” He touched his heels to his horse and the steed turned quickly. Though it had obviously run far, it was still frisky and prepared to run more. At the movement, one woman’s hood fell back and the silver hue of her hair was revealed.
Hair like Argenta’s.
Hair like Lars’.
Here was Marta’s sign.
“Is it true,” she called in Noorlans, a language that hadn’t crossed her lips since Lars had been brought home dead from the mill. The two women glanced back, the second dropping her hood. They might have each been a reflection of the other, so perfect was the resemblance. And their eyes, their eyes were the familiar pale hue that made Marta’s heart clench with loss. “Is it true that there will be war with Imperium?”
“It is true, good mother,” said the one woman, replying in Noorlans and using the salute reserved for older women.
“May you be well, good mother,” said the other, raising her hand in the blessing that only those of the royal lineage could give. Marta dropped to her knee without thinking, the reflex so old and ingrained that she couldn’t stop it.
“Well, well,” the dark knight said, considering her.
Then the bird chirped and Marta quickly retreated inside. She heard the horse gallop onward as she tended the fire, and guessed he rode to the palace. When the air was warm in the hut and she had gathered a few provisions from the cupboard, she lifted out the chick. It was already stronger and she let it hop on the table, watching it with care. It took a drop of water from her fingertip and then another.
By the time the sun had risen and the village had stirred to life, the chick was in the gilded cage. The red mark on its breast was clear and its voice was stronger. Marta knew what she had to do. She dressed in her best and warmest clothes, and donned her boots. She took the spell jar from her cupboard, and secured it in a satchel, ensuring it couldn’t spill. She kicked out the fire, then tucked the chick into her bosom once again. She surveyed the hut’s interior, wondering if she would ever return, then left with purpose in her step.
She had once loved Regis. Perhaps she still did. But the one thing Marta knew with conviction was that if she didn’t help him, no one else would. The chick reminded her that good could come of bad, and that meant that Marta had to try.
She marched up the road to the palace, confident at least that Royce would grant her admission.
She couldn’t discern the future beyond that, which might mean many things including her own demise. It didn’t matter. Her son was a light in the darkness and he had taken the throne. Marta could only hope it was enough to secure the future.
Next from Ella Ardent
Her Enchanted Knight
A Fairy Tale
#3 in the Tales of Euphoria Series
Can Red free her lover from the Wolf?
Coming soon!
Visit Ella’s website
to learn more about her books.
The Plume & The Phoenix
The Plume Series was originally published in nine novellas. It is currently available in three collections (of three novellas each) and in one complete volume. The books are also available in print editions.
The Plume: The First Collection includes the novellas Submission, Surrender, and Seduction.
The Plume: The Second Collection includes the novellas Deception, Exhibition, and Exposure.
The Plume: The Third Collection includes the novellas Flashback, Switch, and Celebration.
The Plume: The Complete Collection includes all nine novellas in The Plume Series.
Some of the characters introduced in The Plume Series appear in Ella Ardent’s The Phoenix Series.
Also by Ella Ardent
The Plume Series
Submission
Surrender
Seduction
Deception
Exhibition
Exposure
Flashback
Switch
Celebration
The Phoenix Series
Revealed
Harnessed
Hunted
Haunted
Sold
Claimed
The Wedding Series
The Best Man
Always a Bridesmaid
Forever Bound
Dangerous
Seduced
Shattered
Satisfied
Euphoria
Her Dark Prince
His Lost Princess
Visit Ella’s website