Bespelled: A Fae Fantasy Romance (Fae Magic Book 5)

by Jessica Aspen

  They huddled on opposite sides of the flames. Any emotion seemed to be have leached from Ardan leaving nothing but an empty shell. He hadn’t spoken to her all day, except to warn her of danger and give directions, and even these few sparse words had been few and freezing cold.

  Wrapped in a blanket Thorn tried to choke down her dinner, but her stomach wasn’t having any of it and finally she gave up. “Do you think I’m the queen?”

  “No.” His voice sounded tired. “If you were, Aoife would have known. She’s spent nearly her entire life looking for her revenge. And there’s the Crone. She looks like the queen, and she has twice the power that you do.”

  “I look like the queen.”

  “No, you don’t. The queen is at least a thousand years old. Yes, we age slowly, but she still would look like a mature woman. You look around a hundred, maybe a hundred and twenty. You’re barely into elvatian adulthood.”

  “You seemed to have no doubts I was a mature woman last night.”

  “You’re an adult, but look at you. You’re skin is soft, your face is still slightly rounded. Compared to someone like the Black Queen, you’re a child.”

  It hurt. It shouldn’t, he was right. She was at the beginning of her life and by all accounts the Black Queen was a handsome middle-aged woman with a full-grown son who had just gotten married.

  “If she’s supposed to be a woman in her prime, why does she look so old? She was glamoured to look younger when we first saw her, but when the glamour stripped off, she was ancient.”

  “That was the Crone. The Black Queen has three faces. One was killed—the Morrigan. The other two were thought dead as well but they must have survived.”

  A deep shiver went through her. “Two. You mean there is another face?”

  “They are all the same person, they inhabit the same body. Like a shifter who can be a man one minute, then shift to an animal the next. That’s the talent Prince Kian has. He can morph into an animal shape, but it’s still him. The queen goes back and forth between the three personalities.”

  “You’ve seen this?”

  “No.” He frowned. “But many have. There’s no doubt, when you see the Crone, the other faces are locked inside.”

  “Then how did they kill one?”

  “Maybe they didn’t. Maybe they just thought they did. I wasn’t there. Maybe that woman we saw with the dark hair was the third aspect. Fuck, I don’t know. But I do know it’s not you.” He stood up and put another log on the fire and blew at it until the flames caught.

  She watched him busy himself with the chore, the cold that had shivered over her earlier making her inch closer to the fire. “So, even if somehow the three personalities are separated, I’m too young to be the queen.”

  “And too weak. The Black Queen is one of the most powerful of the rulers of Underhill. The fae rule by right of power. To keep the magic of the mists at bay, to keep a palace formed and a village, and the surrounding lands in a predetermined shape requires massive power, trust me, I know. I’ve lived with a queen like that. And the Black Queen had more than one palace and a large demesne. I felt the power in the Crone, she’s strong. You have magic, sure, but not enough to rule a kingdom.”

  “But—”

  “Give it up.” He ground out the words, rounding on her, his eyes flashing. “Aoife had you in her house, under her total control. If you were the queen, don’t you think she would have had me killing you instead?” He paced out to the edge of their campsite his stiff back telling her everything else he didn’t want to say.

  She went into the tent and curled up in her sleeping bag, using an extra blanket for a pillow. Even though every muscle in her body ached and she was worn out, she couldn’t sleep. Something was wrong. She’d known from the beginning that her powers weren’t what they should be. She had no memory of being a queen, just a princess with little on her mind but dancing, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t connected to the Black Queen.

  And the Crone wanted her. Why would the Black Queen want her? Why were their names the same if she wasn’t tied into this in some strange way. They were missing something, something vital.

  As soon as she heard Ardan settle down and his breathing even out, she got up, taking the blanket with her. Keeping her shield tight around her, she eased open the tent zipper and went outside. The moon hadn’t risen yet but the bright light of the stars was enough for her to see around the camp.

  Ardan was sitting propped up, with his back against a rock, his cloak wrapped around him and Gleam unsheathed at his side. Even sleeping, he was protecting her. It made her heart break just a little bit more to see his face relaxed into sleep but his entire body at the ready.

  He’d done everything to keep her safe. Even now, when he felt so betrayed.

  Using a bit of magic to keep her steps from making any noise, she left the wilted flower on the stone next to the saddle bags. There wasn’t much protection left in the fairy’s present, but it would keep Ardan safe while he slept this close to the edge of the forest.

  She drew her blanket around her and imbued it with invisibility. This time, when she slipped through the camp’s defenses, she made certain she didn’t trigger anything.

  It was time for her to find the Black Queen and face the truth. Even if it turned out her enemy was herself.

  THE FIRST RAYS OF THE morning sun streaming through the scattered trees woke Ardan. He sat up and stretched, miserably uncomfortable. No one should have to sleep in their armor, or sitting up, but he had no choice. He was the only soldier here and he was damned if Aoife, or the Crone, would find him unprepared.

  He stood up, sheathed Gleam, and glanced at the tent where Thorn slept, a wash of anger sweeping through him

  No. Not Thorn. Her name was Aeval, she was a princess, and the most confusing woman he’d ever run into. Yes he was angry, justifiably so, but his anger was weaker in the morning light facing the fact that this was their last day together.

  He’d been so furious yesterday, that she hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him the truth, that he hadn’t even asked her any details. Like, how was she a princess if the Black Queen had only ever had a son. And if she wasn’t the daughter of the queen, was she her sister? A cousin? Could the king have had a second child that no one knew about?

  If she was a princess, and she completely believed she was, was she in danger from more than Aoife and the Crone? Would Prince Kian want her head too?

  He’d sworn to himself yesterday that he’d get her to safety and never look back, but now, in the morning light he didn’t know if he could do it. Could he walk away from her and never see her again? Did he have a choice?

  All of these questions and more ran through his head, making it spin with confusion as he went through the rote tasks of unbanking the fire and getting new flames started. No more secrets. As soon as she rose, he was going to find out as much as she knew. And then they’d figure out where to go from here.

  Feeling a little better he went to the pack and got some food out to cook for breakfast. He had a plan. Not much of a plan, but having a plan was the first step.

  The sun got higher and still Thorn didn’t emerge from the tent. Ardan forced himself to walk over and call. “Aeval?” He flinched as he said the name. For the last year he’d been preparing himself to kill a woman named Aeval. He couldn’t call her that. “Thorn,” he called louder.

  But there was no answer.

  Reluctantly, he unzipped the tent flap and looked inside. But it was with a sinking feeling that he already knew what he would see. The tent was empty except for her abandoned sleeping bag.

  “Damn it!” He sent out feelers along his perimeter shields, but they came back with nothing. She was gone.

  Overwhelming panic took him to his knees and he began to shake.

  He raised his face to the sky, looking for answers and finding none. For the first time in his life he had no idea what he should do. There was no queen or king to tell him. No lover to demand from him. His
quest was a failure and he’d lost the woman he loved.

  She’d gone without a word. He’d take that as a message. If she could leave like this she obviously didn’t love him. The thought ripped through him, striking more pain into his already traumatized heart.

  Hadn’t he had enough of struggling to please women who didn’t care about him? Maybe he should just let her go.

  Rejected, frustrated and with his anger back to the boiling point, he doused the fire and took down the tent, packing everything in the tiny giant’s bags and then looked for the saddle bags. There, on the rock next to the bags, were the crumpled faded buttercups. All of their juice was gone and there was only a thin trace of fairy magic. But there was something else. He picked them up and a waft of memory came from them, enveloping him in the warm spicy feel of Thorn.

  His Gift had been enhanced to help him be a better guard for the queen but he’d also spent a hundred years trying to understand a woman who guarded herself and let no one in. Women like that didn’t tell you what they really felt, and he’d become an expert at seeking hidden messages. He opened his Gift and let his magic twine into the emotions that Thorn had accidentally left for him tied into the essence of the flowers.

  He couldn’t see her exact thoughts, but her feelings were there. She loved him. Loved him enough to leave him and track down the only thing that could save him. She hadn’t walked away from him in hate. She’d walked away from him to sacrifice herself.

  She was going to find the Crone.

  A confusion of love and a budding anger at her—and himself—washed through him.

  “Damn her.”

  He stared at the horizon. She was alone, with no shoes and no weapons but her Gift. He had to find her. Where would she go?

  He ran to Triton, startling the grazing steed into tossing his head into the air.

  “We’ve got to go.” Saddling and bridling took precious minutes, but he couldn’t ride on the horse in this much armor without some kind of cushion. Triton was tough, but not that tough. Abandoning the camp, he sent out a strand of tracking magic, trying to find a trace of Thorn. And got nothing.

  His heartbeat sped up and his hands went damp.

  She was out there. Alone. And without him she stood no chance against either Aoife—or the queen.

  Chapter Thirty

  Aoife seized the frail arms of the Oracle and shook him hard. “Your twisted prophecies ruined my life! None of them come out the way they should.” She was furious that she’d had to come here, that her stupid maid couldn’t manage one old man, but now that she was here she found her anger at Lena entirely devoured in her rage at the Oracle and his failure to help her get the future she deserved.

  She let him go, the force of her release rocking his chair back. She paced the narrow space left between his cluttered shelves and tables, the legs of her pants swishing with the sound of her movement.

  “Do you remember, when you gave me the prophecy of the Black Queen’s downfall? I felt the truth in every word. And it happened, just like you said it would. A MacElvy witch married the Black Prince, and together they defeated the queen. Except that downfall apparently doesn’t mean death.” She leaned back over the quivering old man, gripping the arms of his chair and staring deeply into his rheumy eyes so he’d know exactly how serious she was. “And I want that woman dead.”

  “I only say the words, my lady. The universe puts them into my head. I can’t guarantee they will give you what you want.”

  “You had better guarantee just that.” She dropped her voice down into a hiss, leaning so close she could smell the stench of too little time outside and not enough washing. “Or the next time I come here, old man, I will kill you in your sleep.”

  She waited until she was sure he understood, and then she let go of the chair arms and crossed the room to look out the window.

  This portion of the tower overlooked the open street below where people walked back and forth on their own business and the line for the Oracle wrapped around the stones of the tower and out of sight. All those people had no idea that she was up here, barely keeping her temper under constraints. She could kill him now. She’d put a spell on the woman downstairs to stall the customers and no one would know for hours that the old man was dead.

  But that wasn’t her way. She’d developed a reputation as someone who helped people, a fairy godmother, of sorts. If only they knew the true depths she’d sink to. She’d get more respect, that was for sure.

  But, alas, she’d also get less cooperation.

  “All my prophecies come true.”

  She turned back to the old man. “Then you had better tell me one now that gives me what I need.”

  “It takes time.”

  “Don’t give me that rubbish.” A blast of magic shot from her finger, striking the candle on the rickety table next to him. It burst into a bright blue flame, leaping high towards the wooden ceiling. “All you need is to open your mouth and spit out the words.”

  “I’ll do my best, your majesty.”

  “I am not queen anymore! Thanks to you.”

  “I never predicted that.”

  “But you didn’t stop it.”

  He shook his head. “That is not my Gift.”

  “Then you’d better use your Gift more wisely.” The urge to strike him down in his chair before he’d even spoken rushed through her, and her power surged.

  The old man must have seen it in her eyes because he gripped the sides of his chair in shaking fingers and lifted his face to hers. His expression of fear smoothed out into acceptance. “Do what you must.”

  Aoife reined her power in. Should she kill him?

  It would be oh, so satisfying, to eliminate the man who had not given her what she so desired. First, a baby. Then, the Black Queen’s death. But now, maybe he could help her achieve her ends.

  “One more chance, old man.”

  He nodded.

  Power filled the room, rushing around the circular walls faster and faster until she grew dizzy. It swirled in ever shrinking circles until it converged inside the Oracle. His entire body glowed with an unworldly light and a voice emerged, filled with a deep base that vibrated her bones.

  “At the time of the mid-day sun the red and black, young and old, past and present, converge. Where the red meets the black at the mid-day sun you can find the end of the Black Queen.”

  The power fled, leaving the old man slumped in his chair, his brown skin more sallow than before. He lifted a finger at her, a wicked smile cracking the wrinkles in his face and showing the gaps in his teeth. “You haven’t much time if you want to get there. It’s almost noon now. All your threats have wasted your opportunity.” And his chin dropped to his chest. His last words were barely audible. “Run, oh Golden Queen, run if you want the old woman dead.”

  At the use of her old title, Aoife’s rage grew, but he’d made it plain. She could lose everything if she didn’t move now. She’d waited too long for her revenge to let one old man stop her. She opened a portal and was gone.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Thorn used both her makeshift invisibility cloak and all of her Gift to hide her trail well. She wasn’t exactly sure where she was, but she was sure of one thing—not even fae hounds would be able to trace her.

  She’d gone miles away from the dangers of the Black Forest and reached a small valley. She’d learned a lot by watching Ardan and she used her magic to scan the area completely. As far as she could sense there was little here besides a few scrubby trees, boulders, and a handful of deer who had fled at the sight of her.

  This was the spot. It was safe. It was remote. And best of all, she had time to get the lay of the land and set up her lure for the Crone.

  When she knew all she could know about the area, she made her way to the widest, treeless section of the valley. The sun was directly overhead. She knew she couldn’t put it off any longer, but she was reluctant to get started.

  “Okay, Thorn, Aeval, whoever I am, whatever I a
m. It’s time for the final act.”

  She shook her arms out, trying to shake the nerves out with it, opened her shields a crack and sent a blast of power out. It flew up in a spout, creating a purple cloud above her head. A flock of birds flew out of a nearby set of trees, arrowing fast for the horizon. She filled her cloud with a very specific invitation and closed her wards back down. Then she found a comfortable place to sit and waited to see what happened.

  It didn’t take nearly as long as she’d thought it would. A portal opened and the dark-haired woman appeared with a satisfied smirk on her face and a wicked amethyst gleam in her black eyes.

  “Hello there, dearie. Tired of being out in the world alone?”

  “You might as well drop the glamour. I know this isn’t you.”

  “Hah!”

  A shimmer of magic passed over the other woman. In place of the sexy, low-cut dress and wildly curly black hair, there appeared the bent form of the Crone, with her wrinkles and grey hair, and a sense of so much power that Thorn took a step back.

  “I guess we have very few secrets from each other. Isn’t that so, dearie?” The old woman cackled.

  Thorn’s back was rigid. “We still have a few.”

  “Come now. I’ll forgive you your dalliance with that handsome soldier if you’ll let me put you somewhere safe. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To be safe within the bosom of your old self.”

  “I don’t even know what that means. And I can do without your idea of safety. You locked me up and left me defenseless and sleeping, for how long?”

  “You weren’t defenseless. You had the hedge and the thorns, and there was a dragon too. Besides, I had work to do and I couldn’t have your useless ass dragging around with me.”

  “What kind of work?”

  “I’ve been destroying assets of that bastard, the Golden King.” The Crone’s eyes gleamed. “He’s getting desperate now, calling on his courtiers for money and gifts. They’ll give and they’ll give and then they’ll wonder why they’re giving, and that’s when the real fun begins.”