Entangled (Cursed Magic Series, Book 2.5)

by Casey Odell

  After a few songs and a few feet stepped on, Claire and the boy were dancing with the best of them. He may not have been the man she’d been hoping to spend the night of the festival with, but it was better than sulking for the rest of the night. Besides, she was able to finally get revenge on Mean Mr. Martis. The look on his face for the rest of the night was priceless.

  It was almost enough to help her forget about Jerrod. Almost.

  Farron was surrounded by Sallions, Possiers, and what looked like all of Soliniki’s upper crust. But he was still no closer to achieving his goal. The patriarchs of their families, Lord Gregorn Possier and Lord Seranno Sallion, were both curiously missing from their own ball.

  Trapped in the middle of another swanky affair with little to show for it, Farron was none too thrilled. He scowled, downing a second shot of liquor. He was hoping to get this whole ordeal over with as soon as possible.

  “Would you like to dance,” said a soft female voice, breaking him of his reverie.

  An attractive middle-aged blonde woman, she was a part of the group of vultures that had been eyeing him since he’d entered. He knew what she wanted, but he wasn’t in the mood. Especially not one of her ilk. Ladies, in his experience, were more trouble than they were worth.

  “No,” he said flatly before turning and walking toward the open doors to the balcony, handing his glass to a passing waiter. He didn’t bother turning to see the woman’s reaction. He knew what it would be. She could have helped him possibly, but for a price. There was always a price. He was done with that game.

  The night air was warmer in Solaniki, carrying with it traces of jasmine from the perfectly manicured garden below. Torches and candles lit a pathway that led into a tall hedge maze near the back of the property. Beyond that, he could see the ocean, the moon reflecting off the waves.

  The Sallions must have been more than rich to have such an estate. Influential, yes. But he had a feeling there was something else at play. But that wasn’t the reason he was here. If the king didn’t have a problem with it, then neither did he.

  He leaned on the marble railing, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He needed to come up with a plan.

  It was then that he heard the voices, a woman and a few men coming from the hedge maze. It wasn’t unusual for party goers to sneak off into the night, having done so himself before, but the raised voices were a cause for alarm.

  Farron perked up, focusing his attention on the faint sounds. If there was one thing he hated more than the Council, it was men who forced themselves on women. And that was exactly what it sounded like.

  Quickly, he climbed over the rail and leaped to the grass below. Ducking low, he made his way to the maze, the voices growing louder. He plunged into the darkness, deciding to go left, hoping he’d chosen correctly. The woman couldn’t afford for him to be wrong.

  With a few more turns and a couple of dead ends, he finally reached the spot. He peered around the corner. Certainly enough, three men stood around a woman with blonde hair and a deep colored ball gown. The men all wore suits, making them all the more despicable. Gentlemen, they were not. There was a reason Farron had never considered himself one of them.

  “For the last time,” said the woman, her voice strong and heavily accented. A native of Solaniki perhaps. “Leave me alone or I will have your head.”

  “You did follow us in here,” the taller, dark-haired man in front of her retorted, his voice free of a noticeable accent.

  “Under false pretenses, I assure you.”

  The tall man reached out then and grabbed her by the wrist.

  She slapped him immediately. “Get your hand off me!”

  Farron was taken aback for a moment. Perhaps she didn’t need his help after all. Fiery women were another weakness of his.

  He pushed the thought aside. He needed to help her before things got out of hand. He stepped out from behind the hedge finally and moved quietly up to the shorter blonde one closest to him, and without anyone noticing, slipped an arm around his neck and began to squeeze. He yelped, drawing the attention of the others. The woman took the opportunity to knee the tall man in the groin, twisting out of his grip.

  Farron smiled. He liked her already.

  The man in his grip grew slack and he let him fall limply to the ground. The third one started to back up slowly, throwing up his hands in surrender. Farron’s smile grew even wider. Did he actually think he was going to just let him go?

  He glanced at the woman.

  She just crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow. “Well, are you going to do it, or should I?”

  “It would be my pleasure, my lady.” With two long strides, he was upon the man, drawing back his fist and punching him in the jaw, sending him to the ground. Farron then grabbed the tall man and drew him up to eye level. “You three better not show your faces around here again or you’ll have me to deal with.” The woman cleared her throat loudly. “Or her.” Farron nodded in her direction. “Now take your friends and go.” He shoved the man backward and he stumbled into the hedge.

  After some awkward scrambling, the two men picked up their unconscious friend and hobbled back out of the maze. Their state would surely raise some questions. He had been hoping to escape any extra attention this trip. He hoped his new friend was somewhat influential.

  “And who might you be, mien savíour?”

  Farron bowed in the elegant sweeping motion his brother was so fond of doing. “Aedán Lyran.” He glanced at her and paused, noticing her beauty for the first time. Her blonde hair shone even in the dim light of the moon, her eyes a lighter color, green perhaps, with full lips and an even fuller bosom. He tried not to look, but it was hard not to notice the curves her dress so graciously accentuated.

  “A pleasure, Mister Lyran.” She extended her right hand out to him.

  He took her hand and bent to kiss it, but paused again when he noticed a soft purple glow emitting from it. A dark mark started to form along the back of her hand, twisting and swirling like smoke into a flower-like design.

  The woman gasped, snatching her hand back, her eyes wide.

  Farron was just as shocked. It couldn’t be. Was that… magic?

  “What—? What is this?” the woman exclaimed, saying a few more words in her own language.

  “Magic,” he whispered, narrowing his eyes as he studied her. Just what was she?

  “But I thought…” She drifted off, too distracted to finish her thought.

  But she didn’t need to. Farron knew exactly what she was going to say. “It did,” he answered her. “But maybe not entirely, it seems.”

  Her eyes met his then, calming slightly. The glow started to subside a bit.

  “It may be best to keep this a secret, for now, Miss…?”

  “Sallion,” she said. “Lianna Sallion.”

  Farron raised an eyebrow. His new friend could prove rather valuable indeed.

  It was over.

  She was sure of it. She should have seen it coming, but she had been too blinded by her own feelings to notice. Had there been any signs? She’d gone over her memories again and again, but still, she couldn’t recall anything. They’d been fine. Happy, even.

  It had been two days since the dance. And still, she hadn’t seen nor heard from Jarrod. Not even catching a glimpse of him on his nightly patrols. Her mother had warned her such a thing could happen. That men could just leave without a moment’s notice, that they could grow tired or disinterested. It was a possibility after all; she was just a barmaid. But still. They had seemed so happy together. There had to be some sort of explanation.

  And that was exactly what she was going to get. Claire was tired of moping around the house and tavern. Tired of the pitying eyes her mother and Laura had been giving her the past few days.

  So, Claire quickly got dressed, pulled on her boots and braided her hair. Her eyes were still puffy from all the crying, and she knew she looked as terrible as she felt. But she didn’t care. It would help in makin
g him feel guiltier. If he even felt guilty to begin with.

  A twinge of pain struck through her chest at the thought and she fought the urge to just crawl back into bed. No, she had to find out why. She pushed the thought aside and hurried down the stairs before she could change her mind.

  Mother was just finishing up her tea when she entered the kitchen. The bright sun outside the window told her it was around noon.

  “How do you feel?” Mother asked, concern written plain on her face. When she had found out what Jerrod had done to her, Claire had been afraid her mother would seek him out and murder him, given the look on her face. And she would have gladly joined her.

  “Better, I suppose,” Claire answered. And she was, physically. Mentally, well, that was a different story. “Do you need anything from the market?”

  Her mother just looked at her, eyebrow raised. She knew when Claire was lying. She could never get away with it. “Would you like me to go with you?” she asked, her voice dropping to a more sinister note.

  Claire gulped. “N-no, I’ll be fine. I promise. I just—” Her own voice faltered, the familiar sting coming back to her eyes. “I just have to know. If he’ll even see me…”

  “Well if he doesn’t, I’ll make sure that he does.”

  She just nodded and slipped out the back door. Even though it wasn’t directed at her, her mother’s threat sent chills down her spine. They always did.

  After visiting the guard’s barracks and the captain’s headquarters without any luck, Claire finally found him. Along the western side of town, nestled between the corn fields and buildings, was a long yard reserved for members of the defense squad to practice in. Hay targets dotted the far side of the lot, arrows protruding out of them, while wooden sentries stood to the left, dressed in armor and equipped with shields so the guards could spar with them. The clang of metal echoed through the air as two men fought with each other. A few other men stood to the side, cheering and watching.

  Claire ignored them and instead focused on him. Her heart started to beat faster, and her stomach sunk lower and lower. Jerrod stood on the far side of the yard, his back to her, pulling back the string to a bow, dressed in plain clothes, not in the armor the rest of them wore. She thought about turning back and fleeing before he could see her. Could her heart really handle what he would have to say?

  Balling her hands into fists, she took a step forward, then another. Her feet propelling her toward him as she fought with herself every step of the way. She didn’t want to know, but deep down she truly did. Besides, it was already too late. The men had taken notice of her and had started to whistle and call out to her. Some she recognized from the tavern.

  She was almost upon him when he finally turned around. His face grew slack with shock, his body freezing up. He looked paler than usual with dark circles under his eyes. At least Claire knew already that he had restless sleep since she’d last seen him. A sign of guilt if there ever was one. Either that, or he was too scared to sleep from fear of her mother. She wasn’t sure which scenario she liked better.

  “C-Claire,” he stuttered, his green eyes wide.

  Claire kept her hands clenched at her sides, her face and body as still and guarded as the wooden soldiers. If she did anything else, she would break down and cry right there in the middle of the yard.

  Jerrod was the first to move, dropping down to his knees. He hung his head down low as his shoulders and back hunched forward. “Whatever your wrath, I truly deserve it,” he said softly.

  “Is…” she started, but had to take a deep breath to gather herself. “Is it over?”

  He looked up at her, his eyes pleading and… scared? “Is that what you want? I won’t blame you after what I did.”

  Claire was taken aback. Wasn’t that what he wanted? She wasn’t sure what to say to him. Her head was spinning and beginning to ache.

  Jarrod slowly rose to his feet and took her hands into his. “I’m so sorry, Claire. You don’t have to forgive me, but at least allow me to explain.”

  She nodded. It was the reason she’d sought him out, after all.

  “Come,” he said and began to lead her out of the yard. The other guards started to whistle again as they passed, but they quieted when he gave them a sharp look.

  Silently, Jarrod led her through the tall corn stalks. They headed west, to the edge of the forest. After about ten minutes of walking, the corn gave way to an open field that lay before the trees, and she was finally able to see where he was taking her. There was a small pond along the edge of the western forest, bordered by weeping willows planted generations ago. It was a quiet spot they had been to together multiple times in the past. It was a happy place. A place unsuited for what was about to happen.

  Jarrod finally let go of her hand when they reached the pond. The water was shallow, barely two feet deep, but it was calm and serene, with lily pads sprinkled across its surface. The long sweeping strands of the willows formed a green wall around them. It was their own little world. At least, that was what they used to say.

  “Claire,” Jarrod began, turning to her. Raw emotion played on his face, but it wasn’t exactly good. Sadness, mostly, with a sprinkling of regret. “I am so sorry for what I have done. I should have contacted you, but I was scared. After I couldn’t make it to the dance, I was scared that you may never want to see me again. I wouldn’t blame you if you never do want to…”

  Claire was quiet for a moment. “What do you mean you couldn’t come?” Her heart beat furiously. Was this all just a big misunderstanding? Or was she just getting her hopes up?

  “The captain,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was getting ready to go meet you when the captain sent a message. He said that if I wanted to advance my rank I had to miss the dance and go deliver a message to Captain Breagar in Rosthum…”

  Claire’s brows scrunched together as she tried to make sense of it. Rosthum was an even smaller town to the northwest, another independent entity to the Lendonian Crown. What he was saying could have been true, but why couldn’t the captain have sent someone else? Her sadness was quickly being replaced by anger. “Why didn’t you let me know then?”

  “I did, or at least I tried. I had asked Logan to deliver the message to you, but he must have gotten drunk and fell into a woman’s bosom along the way. He was the only guard on duty that night because of the dance.” Jarrod sighed heavily. “I knew I should have never trusted him.”

  “But why you— why did the captain have to send you?”

  “Because he has had it out for me ever since I stood up to him and started making the nightly rounds past your tavern. He’s not exactly fond of us, if you don’t recall.”

  “So, you really don’t want to end things?” she asked, still a bit confused.

  “Oh, Claire.” He stepped close to her and grabbed her shoulders lightly. “That’s the last thing that I wanted. I was petrified once I found out Logan never told you. I didn’t know what to do. I am a cowardly man…”

  “You!” Claire exclaimed. She couldn’t hold in her emotions any longer. She hit his chest with her fists. “You could have told me sooner! I’ve cried nonstop these past two nights! I waited all night for you at the dance!” Tears started to stream down her cheeks and she started to sob uncontrollably out of anger, out of relief. “I even danced with Mean Martis’ nephew!”

  Jerrod’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at that, followed by a slight grin. “And he didn’t die of a heart attack?” Jarrod hugged her tightly to him, wrapping his arms tightly around her shoulders.

  She stiffened at first, but quickly gave in, burying her face in his chest. “So, you still like me?”

  “Of course,” he breathed. “In fact, that’s the whole reason I want to improve my rank so badly.” He drew back slightly and looked down at her. “I was going to give this to you at the dance…” He dug in his right pocket and brought his hand up between them.

  Claire gasped, covering her mouth with both her hands. It was a key.
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  Simple brass with a red ribbon tied around it, it was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen. Not because of what it looked like, but what it represented. ‘A key to unlock the future together,’ they say. It was the traditional marriage proposal in Stockton. And she was finally being presented with one. A simple barmaid could find love after all.

  The tears started to come even faster, only this time they were of happiness. So many emotions bubbled up inside her, she wasn’t sure what she should do with herself. She wanted to laugh, and cry, and shout, to yell at him for being so wonderful and foolish at the same time.

  Claire launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, then started peppering his face with kisses, his cheeks, his forehead, then finally his lips. “Yes, yes, yes,” she whispered.

  “You don’t hate me then?” he asked when he had time to breathe.

  “Oh, I do,” she replied, smiling. “But isn’t that what a wife is supposed to do?”

  “I guess I’ll just have to make it up to you then,” he said, beaming just as much as she was.

  “Oh, you will. And don’t you ever do that to me again.”

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