“Welcome to A Cup of Magic!” says the woman, giving me a sweeping bow as she spreads her arms.
There are warm, cozy benches around the shop, and little circular tables, and along one wall, there are actual wooden booths with small rectangular tables covered in lace doilies and comfortable-looking, worn patchwork cushions on the benches. But the most important part of the shop is the staggeringly tall set of shelves behind the woman. The shelves hold about a million (give or take) glass jars, all filled with different herbs and teas. The scent of the shop is positively amazing, and I inhale again, through my nose, smiling at the woman as I breathe in the heady aroma of all that tea.
“Um...I'm here for Queen Calla,” I tell her, crossing the room and setting the gold coin down on the counter. “She would like her usual. And I'd like three other teas...” But I stare over her shoulder at the many, many jars. “I just don't know which ones,” I admit.
“Ah, for Calla,” says the woman, and stands up on her tiptoes to tip a glass jar down towards her from the shelf. The jar is falling one second, and then caught expertly in her hands the next as she turns around, plunking the jar on the counter with a bright smile.
“Now,” says the woman, leaning on the counter again. “As the water heats for the tea, tell me—what do you need right now?”
I stare at her. “Um...I need some tea?” I guess.
She laughs at that, the sound as clear and bright as the bell on her door. “No, no—what do you need? In your life?” she asks me, her head tilted to the side, her eyes glittering perceptively. “How is your love life?” she asks, her voice dropping an octave and becoming jokingly sexy. “How is your gold? How is your happiness?” She puts her chin in her hands and leans forward on the counter. “What do you want?”
Normally, I'd be asking her what tea has to do with happiness or money or love, but I'm on another world, so I'm just going to go with this for right now.
“I want to know that my girlfriend and I are safe and happy. And the Queen, too. And just...everyone. I want everyone to be safe and happy,” I say, taking a deep breath and letting it out. My shoulders come down from around my ears, and I relax a little as the woman's face softens with kindness.
“Good choice,” she says, and then she sets four tall mugs made of pottery in front of her, and she puts in equal amounts of the tea from the jar she took down from the shelves for Queen Calla, scooping it out into the cups with a small silver spoon.
“Queen Calla wants that, too?” I ask her, mystified as she puts the jar of tea back up on the shelf and wanders away into a back room.
“It is always what the queen wants,” she calls out. And then she reappears with a piping hot burnished metal kettle, held in her hand with a bright patchwork potholder.
“How did you know I was coming?” I ask her then, indicating the kettle that just started boiling when I arrived.
The woman smiles at me mysteriously as she pours equal amounts of water into the four mugs. “I always know,” she says, with a small shrug, and sets the empty kettle down on a flat stone on her counter.
I nod (because what do you say to that?) and run my fingers over the counter as I turn and look at a table full of washed and clean teacups and saucers.
I'm still frazzled from all of the events of the day, and the woman behind the counter seems to sense that as she turns a small hourglass upside-down to time the tea. Then she comes around the edge of the counter to stand beside me, a comforting hand resting on my arm. “Are you all right?” she asks me then, concern etched on her face.
Her words are kind, and I nod uncertainly. Well, I can't exactly tell her that I just overheard a conspiracy against the queen... I run my hand through my hair and sigh for a long moment.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “I think so.”
“You know,” says the woman thoughtfully, reaching into one of the teacups that's stacked neatly upon the others, “it's an odd time to be in Agrotera.”
“Really?” I ask her, mystified, as she takes a crystal out of the teacup...
I'm staring at her hand, then, dumbfounded.
It's the rose quartz crystal that Aidan gave me. The crystal that I know is sitting on the little bedside table up in the room that Virago and I are sharing at the palace.
The woman smiles at me mysteriously and hands me the crystal, curling my fingers around it with her other hand. “There are strange things afoot,” she tells me softly, gently. “And I know you're not from around here...”
I stare down at the little tumbled stone, confused. “You could say that again,” I whisper.
“There is a lot of talk,” says the woman, her head to the side as she stares at me with glittering eyes, “about how the Hero's Tournament will bring about the end of Calla's reign. They say it will be dangerous, and people should stay away from Arktos City, because bad things are destined to happen.” She shakes her head a little. “But it will all turn out well in the end. You'll see,” she says with a firm nod. She glances back at the counter as the last sands in the hourglass sift through. “And your tea is done, milady!” she says triumphantly, rounding the counter again to spoon the tea leaves out of the cup with that same silver spoon, tossing them into a little wastebasket expertly.
“Um...how did you get my rose quartz?” I ask her then, feeling a little silly as I palm my stone.
The woman glances up at me with a bright smile. She places pottery caps on top of the cups. “I'm a witch!” she says brightly, snatching up a little wooden box from under the counter. “I'm sorry. I should have introduced myself. I'm Isabella,” she says, holding out her hand over the counter.
I take her hand, and I shake it gingerly. “My name's Holly. And my brother's a witch, too,” I manage, and that earns an even brighter smile from her.
“He's probably a better witch than I am,” she says with a chuckle, placing the pottery cups in the wooden box. “I'm not very good at magic, but I can see some things, do little parlor tricks, like conjuring your crystal...and I make a wicked cup of tea,” she tells me, with a little wink. “I'm often up at the castle, bringing tea to the queen, so I suppose I'll see you around. But no matter what happens, Holly, stay true and strong to what you believe. Stay true and strong to those you care about. It'll all be right in the end. Promise.”
“Okay. But that...that sounds a little ominous,” I say, mouth dry.
The sparkle has gone out of Isabella’s eyes as she nods a little. “It's going to be an interesting week,” she says with a little shrug, pushing the box of pottery mugs over the counter to me. “And tell Calla that I want these mugs back,” she says, with another wink.
“Um. Sure,” I smile, lifting the box and pushing the golden coin over the counter toward her.
“Be careful, Holly,” she says, picking up the coin and depositing it into one of her apron's large pockets. Her face is solemn as she gazes at me now.
“I'll...try...” I tell her. I want to ask her if she knows anything else, want to ask her more, but it seems like this is all she's ready to tell me. So I nod goodbye, and I turn to go, ready to push the door open with my rear while I carry the box of mugs in front of me...but the door opens by itself. As if by magic.
And it really is magic, I realize, as I step through and realize there was no one on the other side to open it.
“Good day,” says Isabella, wiggling her fingers at me as she smiles.
“Good day,” I repeat, smiling to her as the door shuts behind me.
---
“That took an eternity,” Kell tells me when I'm finally back in the library of the palace, and she picks up one of the mugs from the wooden box without even looking at me, sipping at the hot tea and making a face.
“You're welcome,” I mutter to Kell with a little laugh, and then I'm glancing at Calla—Calla who looks like she's never cried a day in her life, her face a mask of pleasantness.
“Thank you so much,” says Calla then, rising from her chair and taking up one of the mugs, as well. “D
id you like Isabella?” she asks me with a small smile.
“She's very nice,” I tell her, handing a mug to Virago and then taking one myself. Virago looked so happy to see me, but then she noticed that I wasn't smiling, and now she's gazing at me with concern. I clear my throat. “I know that Virago has to keep watch over you, Calla,” I tell the queen, setting the wooden box down on the little table beside the chairs, “but can I speak to her somewhat privately?”
My stomach churns inside of me, but I really, really feel like I have to talk to someone. And Virago, of course, makes the most sense… But she hates Charaxus. I swallow, offering a small smile up to my lover, who frowns with worry as she gazes at me.
“Surely,” says Calla graciously, sinking back down onto her chair and sipping at her tea with a smile. Kell flops into the chair beside the queen, gulping down some of the tea and making another ow-that-hurts face. It's far too hot to drink so recklessly, but she's soldiering through, anyway.
“What is it?” asks Virago, when we've walked to the far corner of the library and, hopefully, out of hearing range.
I turn, and, immediately, I'm talking, my heart hammering in my chest. “Something happened today,” I tell her, holding her in my gaze, my mouth set in a narrow frown. “Something between Charaxus and Charix. I don't know...exactly what I think I heard. But Charaxus said that Charix would ‘have Calla’ by the end of the tournament,” I tell her quickly, feeling sick in my stomach.
I don't know much about Charaxus, granted. And, admittedly, the way she looks at Calla...there is genuine affection there.
But I had to tell someone what I heard. And Virago is my girlfriend, the love of my life...
Still, I don't expect this reaction. I don't expect Virago's face to become stony with anger, her mouth downturning into a sharp, hard frown.
“What happened exactly?” she asks me, her voice a low growl. So I carefully recount the events of the morning, trying to be as specific as possible, but I don't remember, word for word, what was said. I try to emphasize the fact that I'm not certain what was being discussed but that I thought Virago should know about it.
Virago glances back now, toward the queen. Kell is still lounging in the chair like she's, well, a professional lounger.
“Was anyone else there with you?” asks Virago then, searching my face.
I shake my head. “It was just me and the suit of armor,” I offer wryly. “Why? What's going on?”
“This is not the first time I've heard something of this nature,” says Virago in a hushed tone, curling her fingers around my arm. “Please… Say nothing of this to anyone, especially the queen. She couldn't endure another betrayal from one she trusts. Not right now,” says Virago, shaking her head in disgust. “I'm going to tell Magel about this, and we’ll discuss what action to take. It was right of you to tell me, love,” she says then, drawing me into her embrace.
But if it was right, then why do I feel so wretched about it? I remember the tear tracing down Charaxus' cheek as she looked after her brother. I remember the look of pain that passed over her face.
I lean back from Virago and gaze up at her. “I just...” I swallow as she searches my eyes, her brow furrowed. “I don't know. I don't know if that's exactly what I heard...” But Virago is already shaking her head.
“Charaxus comes from Furo,” she tells me gently, squeezing me tightly in her arms. “And those who come from Furo bring trouble, the whole lot of them. They are cruel, and they are bloodthirsty, and they worship the Goddess Cower. You remember the Goddess Cower,” says Virago, with one brow raised. “You bested her yourself. You should feel no sadness for Charaxus. She will get what is coming to her,” she says with a low growl.
But as I look up at Virago, I can feel something deep in my gut. Something—intuition, maybe—that warns me I've made a mistake.
“I love you,” I whisper, holding her tightly, too.
But as Virago kisses me, I can still feel that tremor in my belly, can still feel that I've done something I shouldn't have...
Something bad is afoot in Arktos City.
But I'm just not sure what Charaxus' role is in it.
---
It's no secret that, aside from me, Aphelion is the most important person in Virago's life.
Aphelion, by the way, is a horse.
But, hey, I get that. Shelley is one of the most important people in my life, too, and she has four paws. But I'm nervous as hell as I stand in front of the doors to the stable. Virago stands there beside me, her chest all puffed up with pride as she opens the door for me. She’s been waiting to introduce me to Aphelion since we got here, but we haven’t had a free moment, and when Virago got off of her guarding shift, she said it was time.
I would have rather we could have put it off a little bit longer...
I'm honestly worried that Aphelion isn't going to like me.
If you've never been in a relationship with a woman who loved her pet more than life itself, let me explain something to you: meeting that animal for the first time is comparable to meeting the woman's parents and her child and her best friend, all rolled up into one furry (or feathered, or finned, or scaled) body. That’s what it always felt like when I introduced Shelley to my girlfriends; and if Shelley didn’t like the person I was dating, it set off alarm bells in my head…
I've never been with anyone who loved an animal as much as me—until Virago.
So when Virago steps into the stable alongside me and glances down the hallway, her face radiating joy, I feel that tremor of nervousness move through me, and I pat the pocket of my dress (yes, this dress has pockets!) to make absolutely certain that I have the bits of carrots that Asha, the head cook, gave me when we went through the kitchen.
“Be careful with that beast,” she'd said, wrinkling her nose as she passed me a handful of the carrots, her brow raised. “She's a terror.”
That didn't lessen my nervousness at all.
I love horses. Growing up, I took riding lessons, and I'd entertained the idea of continuing the lessons into adulthood, and maybe owning a horse and leasing a stall in a stable in Boston… But then the reality of a librarian's salary made me fall back to Earth; I realized that just wasn't ever happening. I've never been afraid of horses (not even when the calm, docile pinto bucked me off when I fourteen years old, my body thudding into the sawdust of the arena like it was a hundred-something pound sack of potatoes), but then again, I'm not going to meet a normal horse right now.
I'm about to meet a battle mare, a mare who has been trained specifically to help Virago fight in combat situations, rendering herself as much of a dangerous weapon as Virago's sword.
I gulp some air and walk down the corridor with Virago, my knight gripping my hand tightly with excitement.
“It's been such a long time since I've seen her,” says Virago, sighing with raptures as she glances at me. “I'm so happy to have you meet her,” she repeats for the seventeenth time. “Don't worry. Aphelion is going to love you.”
That's when I hear this very distinctive banging sound. It sounds, actually, a little bit like a sledgehammer hitting an anvil over and over again. I think nothing of it; after all, we are in the royal stables. I'm assuming a blacksmith is close by. But when we walk further down the corridor, I'm beginning to realize that the banging is not coming from outside the stable or from some distant blacksmith's forge...
It's coming from inside the stable. From inside a stall, actually.
The stall that Virago stops in front of.
At that moment, an enormous dapple gray mare sticks her head out over the stall door, angling her long nose to glance toward us. When she spots Virago, she snorts, tossing her head up and down, baring her teeth at me. Now, when I say enormous, I mean eno-o-o-rmous—she towers over Virago, and she has a gorgeous gray mane, and she's objectively beautiful with her horsey muscles and her pretty coloring...
But she's also snaking her head at me, teeth bared, her eyes blazing with a heated fire of h
atred that on any animal is usually the prelude to a vicious attack.
“Aphelion,” says Virago sternly, holding her hand out to the horse from hell. “Be easy, old friend,” she says in a soft, gentle voice.
And immediately, Aphelion—because this is obviously Virago's battle mare, much to my dismay—gentles and puts her nose inside of Virago's cupped palm, her nostrils flaring.
“Come, come,” says Virago, looking up from petting her horse with shining eyes. “Put your hand on her; she will come to know you better that way.”
I've been bitten by a horse before—a really nasty gelding named Puck who terrorized a lot of the other kids at summer camp. I was feeding him a carrot one day, but it was a pretty tiny carrot, and he was pretty pissed off, in general, so he kept on chewing once the carrot was done—specifically, on my pointer finger. He didn't inflict any lasting damage, but I still remember what it felt like to have those horsey teeth close around an appendage.
But I also remember that horses can sense fear, and I'm assuming that a battle mare would be spectacularly good at smelling fear. So I take a deep breath, I lift up my hand, wincing a little (darn it, but I'm human), and I lay my fingers on her neck.
Her skin is quivering beneath my palm, and she turns her head immediately, thrusting it against my chest as she begins to sniff me all over.
It's then that I realize that she must smell the carrots.
I'm laughing a little as I pull one out of my pocket. Okay, this is normal horsey behavior that I can handle. I place the carrot in the palm of my hand and hold the palm out to her very flat (something I learned after the mistake I made with Puck), and Aphelion snatches up the carrot and crunches on it delicately, nodding her head with happiness as Virago chuckles, patting her neck on the other side.
“She likes you,” she tells me companionably then, her face beaming as she gazes at me (and, admittedly, her horse, too) in pride. “That's good. I need my ladies to cooperate together,” she says with a little chuckle, smoothing the hair on Aphelion’s jaw.
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