The cauldron effect, p.47
The Cauldron Effect, page 47
“Yes,” Mary said with a grin.
LIE.
Oh, this is fun. Wantley thumped his tail. I like this game. Ask me a question.
“Do you have a question for Wantley?” Mary asked Hugh.
Hugh faced the dragon. “Do you think I plan to harm Demelza Talon?”
Yes! Wantley replied and growled.
Llyr’s band remained silent.
No! Wantley corrected himself. I think you mean to bring her a present.
LIE.
Wantley rolled over on his back on the roadway and gurgled his laughter.
“I believe he’s changing his opinion of us,” Mary said with a smile.
“You are amazing.” Hugh grinned at the frolicking dragon. He shook his head as if in wonder and murmured, “I think I love you.”
Mary’s heart skipped. Did he mean it? Please mean it! And then the fact of his fingers pressing into her shoulders, along with her mark’s utter silence, sank in. He does love me! He could deny it all he wanted but the truth had been revealed.
Hugh, too, must have forgotten his hand rested on her shoulder. He suddenly looked at her as the implication of that silence dawned on him. He snatched away his hand. “You are dangerous.”
“Only to warlocks who play games with the truth.”
Mary smothered her laughter. “I’m sure you should be safe, my lord. Simply refrain from touching me.”
HUGH PUT A GOOD FIVE feet between himself and the bewitching Mary. He couldn’t believe what he’d admitted out loud. She wielded an incomprehensible power over him and he wasn’t referring to her remarkable truth-detector.
Wantley sat up and held out his claw.
She extended her palm until they connected. Glancing at Hugh, she patted her shoulder.
Time to link back.
He hesitated, unsure he ever wanted to risk his thoughts being opened for dissection. Yet, touching her was exactly what he’d yearned to do since their first meeting. In fact, touching Mary Bryght’s shoulder was the least of the things he wanted to do with her. Now that thought plagued him, he put a further five feet between them.
“My lord,” Mary said in a firm tone, “as distasteful as this apparently is for you, Wantley insists we speak.”
With a disgruntled groan at his cowardliness, he gave himself a mental cold bath and stomped over. Besides, aside from Wantley’s wishes, he had no intention of giving up touching Mary, which was the one activity he’d found pleasure in since his father died.
With firm resolve, and marshaling his mind to not think about anything he’d later regret, he laid his right hand on her delicate shoulder.
A shudder of pleasure went through him. Apparently, forbidden fruit was extra tasty. He grew more sympathetic to that foolish Christian mythology about Adam succumbing to Eve’s temptation. Until now, he’d thought the story brimming with hyperbole.
Their eyes met and Mary glanced away, mouth twitching as if to suppress a smile.
Vixen. She knew she had him over the anvil and delighted in her power.
“What troubles you, Wantley?” she asked.
Do any of you mean to harm Demelza?
“No.” She turned to Hugh.
Mouth set in a grim line, and said, “No.”
Wantley looked over at Atalie.
No. Atalie said.
Must touch Wise One, Wantley said.
“Whom is he talking about?” Mary whispered to Hugh.
“That’s Atalie’s name for you.”
Mary frowned at the cat. “How odd.”
“I thought it appropriate.”
At his nod, Atalie leaped to sit on Mary’s free shoulder.
Once Wantley re-spoke his question, she responded, No.
Llyr’s mark remained silent, gently cooling Mary’s skin.
Wantley nodded with satisfaction. Then I will introduce you to Demelza.
“Thank you, Wantley,” Mary said.
Please wait here. I shall inquire if the lady of the cottage wishes to speak to you.
With that veiled warning which suggested that if Demelza didn’t want to see them, whether they meant her harm or not would be immaterial as far as Wantley was concerned.
Sounding like stampeding cattle, the dragon raced on all fours around to the back of the cottage.
Hugh released his grip on Mary’s shoulder and stepped away, his thoughts on Wantley’s protective behavior toward Demelza Talon. In friendship, Hugh valued loyalty above all else. “He makes a good dragon guard.”
“He does indeed.” Mary pulled her coat tighter
He wanted to pull her close to offer her his warmth. He folded his arms to curb that foolish impulse.
At least it had stopped raining. The moon had moved out from under cloud cover but sat low on the horizon. Dawn wouldn’t be long in coming.
A sudden strong wind blew through the clearing, whipping their clothes and hair, but then died as abruptly. The lead carriage horse neighed, reminding him of his promise to feed them for working harder and longer than any team should be forced to. Whether or not the witch deigned to come out, these animals were due food, water and rest.
He first dropped the spell around the carriage. His shoulder muscles dropped as if a tight knot had been released. He was as exhausted as the animals. He’d yet to confront the witch. He untied his stallion first from the back, and then worked on the carriage horses.
Mary led each beast as it was freed toward the open courtyard in front of the cottage.
This seemed the perfect time to straighten out any misunderstanding Mary might harbor regarding his feelings or their future. “About what I said earlier.”
“You did not mean it?” Returning to his side, she raised an eyebrow in challenge. “It’s too late for that, Hugh.”
Though it hurt to say it, he had to. He could not in good conscience allow her to raise false hopes. “Demelza can act as your chaperone tonight so your reputation should not suffer.”
She looked as unhappy as he felt at those words. In an odd way, that cheered him. It shouldn’t, but it did. She wanted him, too. Misery did indeed love company.
“I’m sorry, Mary, but there can be no relationship between us.”
“Your mother disagrees with that estimation.”
“My mother is an interfering...”
“...loving...” she said.
...Deserter, Atalie finished.
He’d forgotten his familiar still sat on Mary’s shoulder, until she turned as if she’d heard the cat’s remark. Mary reached up to pet his cat and the two looked as if they communicated in silence. Hugh wasn’t sure he cared for Atalie speaking to someone other than him.
Then Atalie leaped off her shoulder and strode over to purr and rub along his shin, imparting what she’d learned from Mary about how much his mother cared for him.
He listened with disbelief and then glanced at Mary. Though he’d made up with his mother before he’d left the inn, some grievances couldn’t be forgotten. “What possible reason could my mother have had for never coming to visit her son in over fifteen years?”
“I don’t know Hugh, but I do know that she loves you. Perhaps it’s time you asked her why?”
Sound advice, though it wasn’t a topic he looked forward to broaching with his mother. Then he remembered how frightened she had looked before he left. How tightly she’d held onto his hand. His heart ached to see her again, as painfully as it had when he waved goodbye to her at seven years of age.
The sooner they finished this visit with Demelza Talon, the sooner he could get back on the road to the Blue Swine and ensure his mother was safe. Until then, he relied on Benson to watch over her. He hoped that trust was not mislaid. Unlike with Wantley, Benson’s loyalty was still in question.
Chapter 16
Grassington, North Yorkshire
Beverley, a Herb Paris plant, snorted. “How often have I heard that?”
“Heard what?” Stanley, her neighbor, yawned and stretched his four perfectly matched broad leaves. It was still dark; the sun hadn’t peeked over the horizon.
“He said ’I love you.’ A warlock, no less. Such twiddle twaddle. Love lasts no longer than the length of my stem.”
Since neither of them was taller than the shin of the tallest human, he guessed she exaggerated to emphasize her point. A point she had been tediously making since the first day she sprouted.
Stanley sighed at life’s unfairness. A field of grass to grow in and his seed had to germinate beside this disagreeable grump. He sometimes wondered if when her seed landed, someone had spilled vinegar on the spot. Trust her to grow through poison.
“Love, shmove!” Beverley spat, sending a droplet of water winging toward Stanley’s stamen. He ducked.
A cool wind swished by, stirring nearby leaves. Dread rode that night air as if death had emerged to view the lay of the land.
“Hush!” Stanley whispered to his foolish neighbor. The Holy Mother was a staunch defender of love in all its guises. He’d heard that those who decried that emotion particularly irked her.
“Don’t hush me, Stanley Paris. I have a right to my opinion. Love is nothing but a waste of time.”
The wind picked up, bending stems, waking the entire field and swirling dust into the air.
Stanley tried to follow the wind’s path. Was it coming closer or moving away? When Beverley first began her rant on this subject, he had prayed SHE would be too busy to notice Bev’s blasphemy. After all, Her Holiness had the whole world to tend to. No such luck. That wind was headed their way. “Now you’ve done it.”
“Done what?”
“Caught HER attention. Bad enough you keep me up morning, noon and night with your negative attitude. Anyone with a pittance of sense knew not to talk about ‘love’ during the bounteous months of spring when SHE is fully awake.”
“I didn’t bring it up. If you hadn’t been snoring, you would have heard that warlock mention he was in love.”
“HE SAID HE THINKS HE LOVE HER.”
The glorious voice bathed Stanley in shivers of panic. The Holy Mother was the giver and taker of the breath of life. Since he’d already been born, that only left one option. He scrunched, hoping to hide beneath the bed of plants surrounding him.
Beverley nudged him. “Did you say that?”
Idiot! In the barest of whispers, he said, “SHE did.”
“Oh!” Beverley straightened to her full eleven inches and fluttered her green leaves in the moonlight. Then, as if attempting to prove his theory that she lacked a speck of sense, she shouted, “Oh, Holy One! I would like to discuss an overblown matter called love. Being a wise being that sees all the unhappiness love inevitably causes before it withers and dies, you must surely agree that love is a sham.”
There was a collective gasp as if all the plants around them uniformly inhaled their breaths.
LOVE. IS. NOT. A. SHAM.
The wind blew so hard, Stanley and every other Herb Paris bent over until their flower petals kissed the ground.
“Bev, shut up,” Stanley said, lying prostrate.
“But love is so fickle,” the idiot replied. “Love is...”
LOVE IS A REFLECTION OF ME.
The wind vanished.
Stanley straightened and looked around. Prepared to give his annoying neighbor a blistering piece of his mind, he turned to her and looked up. And up. Bev’s stem rose toward heaven. In concern, he said, “Bev, you up there?”
“I seem to have grown,” she said in a cowed voice.
He observed her for a moment. “Well, you did say love lasts no longer than the length of your stem. I suppose SHE decided to show you that exaggeration is a poor strategy to use to get to the truth of a matter.”
ONCE HUGH HAD RELEASED the last of the horses, he took down the carriage lantern and walked over to a lush bed of four-leaved plants beneath an ancient oak. With a wipe of his hand, he converted the bedding plants into hay. All but one obeyed his spell’s compulsion. That remaining plant was so tall it seemed to shoot up toward the heavens like the trail of a fireworks rocket. Must be the witch’s doing.
Hugh stepped out of the way of the hungry horses. While they ate, he tapped the ground with his foot until a pool rose up from which they could drink.
Mary came over to study the unusual plant. “I’ve never seen one that tall.”
“It’s likely meant as a warning of what could happen to those who invade Demelza’s privacy.”
“That isn’t it.” Mary said, rubbing her arm. “Though I cannot imagine what it is.”
“Speaking of unusual wonders, what is that thing on your forearm? How is it connected to your ability to tell the truth of a matter?”
“I suppose there’s no point in hiding it any longer.” She began to undo the button on her sleeve.
The cottage front door opened.
Hugh silently cursed. What rotten timing.
An inside light outlined a woman with a broom stepping out.
Overhead, Wantley flew by, swooping low enough to startle the horses as he sounded a heart-wrenching cry of despair before heading off into the darkness.
Hugh looked at Mary, but she seemed as startled as he by the dragon’s sudden change of mood.
A snap of the woman’s fingers and a sconce beside the doorway lit, highlighting her face. “Wantley tells me you wish to speak to me.”
She didn’t look any happier than the dragon. Like most Wyhcans, she was tall. In a face wreathed in wrinkles, her dark blue eyes were frosty with ill temper.
Witches! Nothing about a warlock ever pleased them. While Hugh might get a thunderbolt thrown at him if he opened his mouth, he suspected Mary could gain them entry.
Capable of sweet-talking homicidal magical barriers and difficult dragons, surely a surly witch would be putty in Mary’s hands. With a tilt of his head, he indicated she take the lead.
She nodded and stepped forward, hand extended. “Good evening, Mistress Talon. I am Miss Mary Bryght. My companion is Lord Flint, a warlock. The Prince Regent arranged with your coven for us to speak. I hope you were consulted about the arrangement?”
“Were you not given news that I was unavailable?”
“As the matter is urgent, the prince felt we should follow you north rather than await your return.”
“How unfortunate. I’ve nothing to say to you, so you may both leave.” With a stubborn set to her jaw, she retreated into her cottage and began to close the door.
Hugh folded his arms, not in the least surprised and a little relieved. No entry meant he could honestly tell the Council he had no access to destroy her records.
“Please.” Mary laid a restraining hand on the door. “We’ve come a long way and faced a ravenous demon to reach you. Will you not even listen to our request?”
“A demon, you say? And you lived to tell the tale?” Her eyes widened with the first hint of interest. Her gaze flew to meet Hugh’s gaze. “You saved her.”
It was a statement, not a question. There was also an insulting hint of disbelief behind the words. Had she expected him to leave Mary to die at the first sign of trouble?
Both her low opinion of his character and her assumption about Mary’s escape were wrong. “Miss Bryght saved herself from the demon.”
Hugh was still rattled by that extraordinary fact, so it wasn’t surprising to see the lore witch look taken aback.
“I wouldn’t have defeated Jinny Greentheeth if she hadn’t been distracted by Lord Flint chasing after us,” Mary said. “Also, he stopped the runaway horses, brought the carriage to a safe halt and then he expended a great deal of magic to heal me from a terrible chill.”
“Did he?” Mistress Talon now sounded downright puzzled. “You two have had a remarkable adventure. You may enter on the condition you tell me the entire tale and not leave out one bit of the story.”
Now she sounded like a true lore keeper instead of a hermit.
“We would be pleased to do so,” Mary said.
Still, the witch blocked the doorway, as if debating the wisdom of her invite. Finally, she stepped aside and fully opened the door.
Hugh shook his head with wonder. Mary had done it again. Tamed another lion.
Stepping over the threshold felt as if they’d passed the final test, received permission to cross the drawbridge and were entering the fortified castle.
Hugh hoped this palace’s reigning queen was both sane and safe, but considering their recent luck and Wantley’s anguished cry as he departed, he doubted it. As a precaution, he flexed his fingers and called his staff to hand.
OFFERING TO OBTAIN refreshments, Demelza Talon left Mary and Hugh in her parlor with one command. “Don’t stray.”
Mary had no wish to go anywhere. This room was akin to her vision of paradise. Everywhere, on tables, chairs, shelves, even on the floor, books took priority of place.
Lighted lamps hovered near the ceiling, spreading a bright glow about the room. Whenever she approached a book, a lamp would drop to shoulder level to light the page. Each descent sent a thrill up Mary’s spine. She opened and shut books just to see the lamps in motion.
No wonder the witch was protective of her home. Anyone who entered would never want to leave.
On the walls, symbols swam in a sea of pale-yellow wallpaper. She reached for an elliptical sign and it flitted away. “Oh!”
“Wards,” Hugh said and frowned at a couch covered in stacks of teetering books. “To keep out intruders.”
He lifted an armful of volumes and dropped them next to a pile on the floor. He offered her the cleared spot but she declined, too excited to sit still. “Please rest, Hugh.”
With a resigned shrug, he slumped onto the seat, his gaze fixed on the open empty doorway. He looked tired but his hand still loosely clasped his staff.
Ever her guardian.
I want more. The desire sprang unbidden, distracting her from the room’s magical toys. I want him to declare his love for me. Not in the dark, in private and able to take it back with his next breath, but in public, without inhibition or second thoughts. I want...A geyser of hot emotion bathed her in frustrated passion and left her shivering with sorrow.
