Bride by Midnight

by WINSTEAD JONES, LINDA

  Lyssa wondered if she occasionally thought herself in love with Blade simply because he made her feel good, on those few occasions when they’d... well, call it what you would, he had been inside her in more ways than one. But when she tried to imagine any other man in her bed—in her body—she could not. Would not.

  Making love.

  Lyssa found she was anxious to change the subject. How could she explain to her friend that Blade had come into her life as a temporary solution and now he didn’t feel temporary at all? Love had never been a part of the plan, so why did the words “making love” feel so right? Yes, best to avoid that particular subject.

  “If you don’t teach me how to cook, I will be a poor wife indeed.”

  That was all it took to get Edine started. A pie, stew and a quick bread. Lyssa watched, trying to absorb it all. She and Edine talked the entire time, their conversations flitting back and forth between culinary pursuits, children, parents, the weather and new shoes and husbands, with barely a breath between subjects. Perhaps their constant conversation was the reason Edine’s hand slipped and she cut the palm of her other hand, a deep cut from which blood began pouring.

  Edine dropped the knife and stepped away from the table, staring at the sliced flesh and the blood that filled her palm. “Damnation!” Without lifting her head to look at Lyssa, Edine lifted her uninjured hand and pointed to the hearth. “There’s a basket of bandages and ointments next to the small pot.”

  Instead of fetching the basket, Lyssa reached out and grabbed her friend’s hand. “How bad is it?”

  “Bad enough. It stings like the devil! And look at all the blood.” Edine grimaced as she grabbed a linen towel and placed it under her hand so blood wouldn’t drip on her floor.

  Acting on instinct, Lyssa took Edine’s hand in her own. The already bloodied linen dropped to the floor. The cut was deep, the gash too severe to be mended by ointment and a strip of linen. Lyssa’s mind momentarily turned to doctors and stitches and weeks of immobility.

  And there it was again, that green fog that floated above the wound, an unnatural glow much like the one she’d noted above Madam Azar’s knee. Without thinking, Lyssa laid her other hand over Edine’s and tightly enveloped her friend’s damaged hand.

  Lyssa’s body twitched a bit. A glimmer of green light slipped from between her fingers. Cold fire, just like before, along with a sensation of... power. Edine jumped, and she tried to pull her hand away, but Lyssa held on tight. Just a few seconds, that was all the time she needed. As soon as the light died Edine jerked her hand away. She stepped back, wiped away the blood from one hand with the other, and—pale as milk—she held up her hand, palm facing Lyssa.

  The blood remained, but the cut was gone.

  “How did you do that?” Edine whispered.

  Lyssa licked her lips. If she had known an appropriate curse word, she would have used it. The only word that came to her was no. No, no, no, no. She wanted to deny that which was right before her eyes, she wanted to run and hide.

  “The damage was probably not as bad as we thought....” she said, her voice weak, unconvincing even to her own ears.

  “Even if it was just a scratch, it shouldn’t be gone.” Eyes widening, Edine moved back, and around, putting the table between her and Lyssa. “You’re a witch—or a demon.”

  Lyssa thought about denying the charge, but how? She had done what she had done. For weeks she’d tried her best to ignore all the signs, to dismiss what she saw and felt and experienced. She could not ignore this, much as she would like to.

  “Just because I happen to have some magical abilities, that doesn’t make me a demon. And... there are some good witches, you know.”

  Edine shook her head. She looked at the floor, at her hand, at the food on the table. She looked everywhere but at her friend. “You know how I feel about witches and magic. No good can come of this! Why did you never tell me?”

  I did not know. “Edine, please...”

  “Get out.” Edine shook, then turned away, presenting her back and dropping her head. She sobbed, once. She cowered in fear. Fear!

  Without trying to explain, without attempting to defend herself, Lyssa turned and ran.

  Chapter Twelve

  Blade found himself wishing that Lyssa would return from her friend’s house sooner than she’d said she would. She was not needed here, not on such a quiet afternoon, but he still waited anxiously for her to walk through that door.

  For the past two nights she had slept in their big bed alone, and he had slept before the fire in the main room. More rightly, he had attempted to sleep. He’d dozed, he’d dreamed, and he’d had to force himself to keep his distance.

  Why? He did want Lyssa. That was undeniable. Though he had used the argument, he didn’t stay away from her because he was afraid she might find herself with child. Not entirely, at least. That was already a possibility; one he could do nothing to change. In that bed, in her arms, he could see and feel the man he had become slipping away. He could feel his hate fading. In her bed, life became... good.

  Blade had never imagined himself a shopkeeper. He didn’t care for being indoors all day, for having a ceiling above his head rather than the sky, but working for Lyssa’s father was not the huge sacrifice he’d expected it to be. People came and went all through the day, laughing and gossiping as they shopped. When Lyssa was there, he enjoyed watching her participate in lively discussions, and listening to her laugh. He even held his breath on occasion when she caught his eye for a long, torturous moment. Without her present, the shop continued to function, but it was not as bright as it was when she was there.

  As if she brought the sky inside with her. As if she was life itself. Foolish thought. Impossible.

  If he’d believed he could sneak inside the palace and do what needed to be done without being caught before he killed Volker, he would have done it without a second thought. Living with Lyssa was painful in a way he had never imagined. What had seemed like a perfectly logical plan less than two weeks ago now seemed to him to be the most foolish decision he’d made in years... and he had made more than his share of foolish decisions in his lifetime.

  Cyrus Tempest was a good man, a devoted husband and father, all in all a decent sort of fellow. But there were moments, snippets of time, when the shopkeeper looked at his daughter with an odd expression in his eyes, with an odd tension in the set of his shoulders. There was love, yes, but was that also... fear? Surely that was a misinterpretation.

  Blade had thought, on more than one occasion, that Cyrus did not look after Lyssa as diligently as he should, but then, she was a grown woman and should not need a father to look out for her. A husband, however... yes.

  Their marriage was not real. Not in any way that mattered. Legally they were man and wife. They shared a home, they had shared a bed, and dammit, he liked her.

  But she affected him deeply in ways that he could not allow to continue. Marrying her, using her as his way into the palace, had turned into a complication. He could not afford to be distracted by her presence each and every day. He definitely could not afford to want her as desperately as he did, every night and every day. She was a means to an end and nothing more, but there were moments when it seemed as if they were creating so much more....

  Another delivery would be made to the palace next week. Cyrus was awaiting a shipment of fabrics from the Northern Province, and a few were already promised to Empress Morgana. Blade could not imagine why anyone would need as much fabric as the empress apparently purchased, but if those purchases kept the Tempest shop healthy and Cyrus in enough coin to support his family, then who was he to care?

  As ardently as Blade tried to dismiss his wife, he had been compelled to talk to Hagan, to make sure that no matter what happened, no matter what her father thought or did when the truth came out, Lyssa would have a home. He would not rest in peace if he didn’t know she would be safe and well.

  The time came to lock the doors of the shop, and still Lyss
a had not returned from her friend’s house. She’d said she would be back well before closing time, so where the hell was she?

  “Lyssa should be here by now,” Blade said. In spite of the worry growing inside him, he sounded more grumpy than concerned.

  Cyrus shrugged his shoulders. “The girls probably lost track of time, or are in the middle of baking something and don’t want to stop until they’re done. Girls.” The older man smiled as he shook his head. “Lyssa and Edine are girls no longer. They’re women, fully grown and married.” Standing outside the locked door of the shop, Cyrus looked up at Blade. “She’s fine, I’m sure of it.”

  Blade was not sure. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all. Something was wrong. He felt it in his gut where he usually felt nothing but hunger, anger, and a newly reignited desire. “Where is Edine’s house?”

  Cyrus pointed. “It’s not far from here. Two streets down, one over, turn left. Her cottage has a bright blue door. It’s the only blue door on the street so you can’t miss it.” With that Cyrus gave Blade a dismissive wave and said goodbye. His own house and his own wife were right next door, so he didn’t have far to go.

  Blade followed the directions he’d been given, his strides long, his worry growing with each impatient step. He didn’t worry, not about things like this. He worried that he would die before he killed Volker. He worried that his soul had been tainted by murder—but not enough to regret what he’d done. Lyssa was just a bit late, and that was not a reason for concern. And yet, he could not walk fast enough. Soon he was knocking on a blue door, wondering why he had felt compelled to come here, why he had not just gone home and waited. It wasn’t as if Lyssa couldn’t find her way there on her own.

  His knock was answered with a sharp cry. “Who’s there?”

  The hairs on the back of his neck stood up in warning. That was not a happy response. And it was not Lyssa. “Blade Renshaw. I’m looking for my wife.”

  The door opened a crack a few seconds later, and Edine peeked around the edge of the blue door. Her face was pale, her eyes wide. “Lyssa is a witch,” she whispered. “I never knew. I don’t think she did, either. Did you know, when you married her?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Blade said, defending Lyssa even as his mind recounted all the unusual events of the past weeks, including the fact that she had never answered him when he’d asked her straight out if she was a witch.

  Edine poked a hand through the opening in the door and presented a perfectly ordinary palm. “I cut myself. Deep. Blood was everywhere, but Lyssa healed it with a touch.”

  Lyssa had talked about mending an old woman’s knee, and while he’d tried to dismiss all the things she claimed to know... all these things together painted a clear picture. Magic existed. It always had. And while magic was not prevalent by any means, most accepted it without fear unless a half-demon was involved. But there were still some—ignorant fools—who were frightened of all magic. Edine was obviously one of them.

  “I should think you would be grateful that she healed you of a serious injury.”

  “You know nothing of magic,” Edine cried, clearly agitated. “One who can heal can also wound. Two sides of the same coin, two aspects of the same magic. No unnatural power comes free! There is a cost, always. A price to pay. I love Lyssa, she was my best friend....”

  Was. “But you are afraid of her now.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know.” With that, Edine slammed the door in Blade’s face. From beyond the blue door he heard a sob and a soft, “I’m sorry, so sorry. Oh, God, what have I done?”

  He turned away from the house, from the foolish woman in it, and took two steps toward the cottage he’d called home since taking a wife. But then he stopped dead still in the middle of the street. She was not there. He knew it without doubt.

  With a sharp about-face, he headed away from the palace that sat at the center of Arthes, away from the cottage Lyssa should have fled to when she’d left her friend.

  Blade took long strides, and soon he was running. He should not know in which direction Lyssa had run, but he did. He should not care, but he did. Witch? Yes. More?

  Without a doubt.

  ***

  Lyssa sat on the soft ground and leaned against a tree. She was out of breath, her eyes burned after shedding far too many tears, and her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it. She’d torn the hem of her dress not long after entering the forest, and along the way had dragged that hem through the mud. Her hair had fallen from its once neat style, and strands fell over her eyes and across her cheeks, but she didn’t bother to brush them away.

  She hadn’t seen anyone since entering the forest at a run, not looking back, not understanding why the shadows and the trees called to her. The thicker and darker the woods became, the harder she ran. All she could think of was escape. She’d fled the city, fled Blade’s rejection and Edine’s hate. She’d run until she could not run any more, until her legs ached and she could hardly breathe.

  Where was she? She’d left the boundaries of Arthes a while back, had run into the woods as if she were being chased by wild animals rather than her own fears, and now... now darkness was approaching, closing in on her, and she could not walk another step, much less run any more.

  There was so much green all around, dark green and light, new growth and old. Some of the trees that grew here were ancient, so old she could not even begin to guess how many years they had survived in this forest. Others were new, fragile and wispy. She stepped carefully over gnarled roots that rose up out of the ground, and finally leaned against a tree. It was as good a place as any to stop, she imagined. She sank to the ground and leaned her back against the solid trunk.

  There was color here, as well as an abundance of green. There were red berries and yellow wildflowers. The occasional butterfly.

  Edine, the best friend Lyssa had ever known, was afraid of her. She would never forget the expression on her friend’s face, the horror, the disbelief.... It had been worse than a physical blow. Was that why Blade did not want to touch her again? Was he afraid of her, too? Being alone would be better than this, better than being feared by those she loved, being cast out because she had powers she could not explain. The power to heal was a fine one, was it not? So why was everyone afraid of her?

  Maybe because they, like she, didn’t know what other powers waited just beneath the surface.

  Since the age of fifteen, every decision she’d made had been colored by Vellance’s dire prediction. Alone. Her father and Sinmora. Edine. Blade. She had tried to use them all to ensure that she would never be alone, but the truth was, she had no one. Her father and Sinmora had each other, and their baby. Edine had her family, as all Lyssa’s other friends had families. Like her, Blade had no one. Unlike her, he wanted no one.

  All she’d ever desired was a normal life. Love, a family, a quiet existence. A home, laughter at the end of the day, someone to lean upon in bad times and celebrate with in good. She could have none of that... not now. She was a witch, and no one would ever love her, not the way she wanted to be loved. When her father and Sinmora found out what she was, they wouldn’t want her in their home, wouldn’t want her around their child. Just like Edine, they would be afraid.

  She would end up like Vellance, living in the forest, begging strangers for assistance, scaring those she met with dire predictions and toothless smiles. Perhaps now and then she would meet someone who needed healing, and she would use the gift she’d found. But once they’d benefitted from her ability, those she healed wouldn’t want her anywhere near them. Like Edine.

  Of everyone she knew, Edine was the one person she had never expected to hurt her....

  Lyssa heard Blade coming long before he called her name, knew without doubt that it was him thrashing through the forest and scaring away all the small creatures. The larger ones, too. He was moving straight to her, drawn by the bond they shared, though he did
not know it. He had been called into the forest because she had unknowingly trapped him with her witch’s powers. Blade was compelled not by love or friendship or caring but by magic. Dark or light? How was she to know? She had not asked for this. It was just there.

  She should hide. Well, she could try. Could she hide from Blade, or would he find her wherever she went? Day or night, forest or city... he would be drawn to her.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, long before he was close enough to hear her. “I did not know.”

  She didn’t move from her place at the base of the tree, only sat and waited. When Blade stepped around a thick-trunked tree and saw her, he stopped and stared down with what looked to be concern on his face. It wasn’t real concern, though. It was magic. She had bound this husband to her, captured him as surely as if she’d manacled him to her bed. He breathed hard; his eyes were narrowed. No bond or magic was necessary for her to discern that he was annoyed that she’d drawn him all the way out here, away from his quest, away from the scheme that had brought them together.

  “There’s something very wrong with me,” she said.

  He stepped closer and offered her a hand. A big, warm, strong hand. She did not take it, tempting as it was. “Come along,” he said. “It will soon be dark.”

  Lyssa shook her head and looked down at her knees. “I can’t go back. Everyone will know what I am. If not now, then... it won’t be long. Edine will tell, and Madam Azar will hear and then she’ll tell everyone about her knee, and... and everyone will hate me. I will be alone, just as the witch said. It was not enough to marry before I turned twenty-three. I did something wrong.” Or else there had never been a chance for her, and the witch Vellance had simply offered false hope.

  She thought Blade might try to force her to stand, that he might grab her and pull her to her feet and throw her over his shoulder... but instead he sat beside her. Close. He was tired and muddy, too. Maybe he just wanted to rest a moment before heading back to town.