by K. M. Shea
“Er, that’s not what I meant,” Snow White said. “Isn’t your master part of the Veneno Conclave—as all magic users are? Given the political ramifications, I’m not c-certain they would approve of your actions.” Snow White paused for a moment.
Curious what the princess would say, Angelique peered back at the princess over her shoulder.
Snow White anxiously tugged on her cloak, unaware of Angelique’s scrutiny. “And I understand that you would want to prioritize finding your master. I feel the same way about my stepmother, even though it has become clear to me the state of our country isn’t quite what I thought it was.”
Whatever doubts Angelique had about helping Snow White, all of them died at the princess’s sincerity.
Besides Quinn, in first meetings, even the royals she’d become friends with (like Elle and Gabrielle) made assumptions. It was never a question of if Angelique should help them. It was an expectation.
That Snow White—so desperate to save her stepmother that she’d run away and was wandering around the forest on the slim hope of finding these Seven Warriors of hers—genuinely understood that Angelique would want to prioritize Evariste said wonders about her character.
Yes, I’m going to do everything in my power to help her.
Even if she didn’t know Angelique was an enchantress, the fact that Snow White was able to empathize so completely shocked Angelique, she couldn’t help but glance at Pegasus.
The constellation still lurked in the shadows, waiting.
Angelique cleared her throat, then pushed back a branch of a pine tree. “I have a hunch that if I help you with Queen Faina, I might uncover a clue about my master’s whereabouts.” She waited until Snow White passed before releasing the branch—which left the pleasant smell of pine on her hand. “And as for the Veneno Conclave, they can go throw themselves into a manure pile for all the good that lot has done.”
“I see.” Snow White shivered, and her big blue eyes were again wide with surprise. “Um. If I m-might ask…”
Angelique forged ahead as she waited for Snow White to continue.
She didn’t, but Pegasus disappeared beyond a particularly large fir tree.
That must be where the house is.
Angelique glanced at the still-silent princess. “Spit it out,” she said—more as an offering of advice than as a command.
“How are we going to find the house?” Snow White asked.
Angelique marched up to the tree Pegasus had disappeared behind. “What do you mean?”
“I looked quite thoroughly for their home, and I couldn’t find a sign of it,” Snow White said.
“No trouble there.” Angelique pushed her way through the fir tree’s prickly branches. “We’ve already found it.”
Angelique gestured to the whimsical but slightly misshapen cottage once Snow White struggled her way through the firs’ branches.
It was harder to make out the stone cottage in the darkness of the forest, but there was no mistaking its steeply pitched roof and almost hat-like shape.
Angelique paraded up to the front door, purposely leaving Snow White behind so she could look for any sign of Pegasus.
His star-studded hide was nowhere to be seen, thankfully.
At the edge of the clearing, Snow White finally stirred. “How did you…?”
“I saw it earlier,” Angelique said. “Given its secret location in the forest, I worried it might belong to a mage—or worse, someone cursed—so I gave it a wide berth. But after hearing the description of your Seven Warriors, I suspect it is likely their home.”
As Angelique wrapped her knuckles on the door so hard it made her hand sting, Snow White hurried to join her—nearly tripping on the huge pile of logs stacked in front of the cottage.
The princess twitched her red cloak into place and did her best to stand tall as they waited for someone to answer the door.
Angelique scowled at the cottage door. “I don’t hear anything.”
“Perhaps they are gone?” Snow White suggested. “Based on what I heard in Hurra, one could conclude they travel frequently throughout Mullberg to put down magical monsters…”
She trailed off as Angelique circled around the small but sturdy building.
There was no one in the stables—no horses, either—and behind the house, there were some barrels, crates, and more logs, but no sign of life.
When Angelique reached the front of the house, she pressed her face against one of the windows, her nose smudging the glass.
She couldn’t see much of the cottage’s innards—the only light was what little bits of orange were shed by the hot coals that burned in the fireplace. “Yep, they’re gone. It looks like they’ll be back, though. The coals in the fireplace are still hot and glowing.”
Snow White backed up and peered at the roof. “Should we wait for them? Or perhaps we should go to Hurra since we have no way of knowing how long it will be before they return.”
Angelique considered the door with an eye that had recently become proficient at breaking and entering. “Nah. We’ll just break in.”
Snow White’s voice went so high, she sounded like a mouse. “We’ll what?”
Angelique shrugged. “I’m not willing to sit out here in the cold because your seven heroes are off being do-gooders.”
Snow White clutched the throat of her cloak. “But it might not even be their home!”
Aww, is this what I used to be like before I lost all sense of civility? How cute.
Angelique patted her shoulder in a soothing gesture. “We’ll figure that out when we get inside, and if we’re wrong, we can leave.” She tugged on the door and frowned. “Locked.” She poked a finger at the iron keyhole for emphasis.
“How unfortunate. We should go.” Snow White started to turn around.
But Angelique had spent too many winter days breaking into Chosen strongholds to be so easily dissuaded—or to care about silly things like being rude. So, she kicked the door in with a roar, driving her heel into the wood right by the lock—a tip she and Quinn had learned after nearly breaking their heels on one of their first solo excursions without Elle.
The door cracked—the lock breaking through the wood, freeing it and warping the door’s frame—and the door swung open.
Angelique dusted her hands off in satisfaction, nodded, and marched inside.
Snow White gaped at the door while Angelique made a quick inspection of the place.
It had the undeniable smell of men—dirt. There was a tangy, spiced scent as well, which kept the place from reeking. When the light of the starfire illuminated the main room, she could see neat stacks of food, copper pots and pans hung from nails pounded into the wall, and enough weapons to outfit a squadron of soldiers meticulously arranged on enough racks. Sprigs of herbs hung upside down from the ceiling in an orderly manner. When Angelique passed underneath them, their tangy scents filled her nose, and she spied a shelf on the wall stacked with wooden dishes and clay mugs.
“I am reasonably sure this is the right cottage.” Angelique made a closer inspection of a weapon rack—the cleaned and sharpened blades called to her magic. “If not, we’ve stumbled on the home of a murderer.”
Snow White with her good manners stepped inside and tried to close the door, but the door no longer fit in its frame. “Um,” she said.
Angelique turned in a circle and found a staircase near the back of the cottage.
It appears this main floor is their cooking and eating facility. Do they sleep upstairs, then? Perhaps one of them is slumbering—though they’d be very bad warriors to sleep through a break in.
Angelique thumped her way across the wooden floor. “You should add a log and some kindling to the coals and dry yourself out,” she called back to Snow White.
She clomped her way up the stairs, which led into a railed-in loft that was littered with straw-stuffed mattresses, bedrolls and the like, all of which were made with dirtied linens.
Yep. Definitely the sort of house
keeping I’d expect out of seven men. Whoever the neat nut is that organizes the kitchen must not care about his sleeping arrangements.
As Angelique inspected the beds, she heard Snow White on the main floor. Apparently the princess had worked up the nerve to tend to the fire as Angelique suggested, because soon a fire crackled in the brick fireplace, and a warm orange light filled the cottage’s lower floor.
Angelique picked up a limp pillow and tossed it on a straw mattress that appeared to be losing its stuffing out a gaping hole in its side. “Yep, this is it. Between the various bedrolls and straw mattresses, we’ve got seven sleeping spots. But I thought you said some of these men are lords?”
Snow White replied, but she was too quiet for Angelique to hear.
“What?” Angelique bellowed down to her, shouting over the rustic railing made of thick branches stripped of their bark and hammered into the floor.
Snow White stirred by the fireplace. “Some of them are.”
Angelique peered at the misshapen beds. “If that’s so, then they are downright rooting in dirt compared to their usual standards.” She trotted down the staircase, jumping the last few steps. “That’s good news for you. Only men with iron-shod standards for heroes would do something like this. If you cry a bit, they should be willing to help you.”
Snow White huddled by the fire. “Um.”
When Angelique drew closer, she could finally hear the princess’ teeth chatter, and noticed how the lower half of her skirt was drenched. “You’re more wet than I realized. You really ought to change.”
“I haven’t any extra clothes with me,” Snow White said.
Angelique glanced up at the loft. “You could borrow something from your future heroes.”
“No, thank you.” Snow White’s quiet voice was unmovably firm.
She might be scared, but she’s got a backbone to her.
Angelique inspected the chairs and table positioned around the fireplace. “I don’t blame you. Their clothes and linens reek—I don’t think anything in here has been cleaned in a decade.”
A wooden bench and several straight-backed wooden chairs that were worn smooth with age but had the Mullberg ram carved into them were positioned around the fireplace, providing places to sit.
A long wooden table with benches was settled closer to the kitchen. And now that Angelique was more carefully inspecting the area, she saw a tiny writing desk covered with papers, inks, and quills, and a small bookshelf—which, besides the weapons, was probably the most expensive feature of the cottage and the clearest display of the Seven Warriors’ noble birth.
Angelique poked around a neatly organized pile of crossbow bolts and a set of throwing axes, but frowned when she found a barrel that was overflowing with what looked like rolled-up painting canvasses.
“Are they art enthusiasts?” Angelique wondered. She prodded the canvas-filled barrel, then passed under the herbs again—which nearly covered up the dirty scent of the linens upstairs—when she found an empty easel and saw smears of paint that decorated the floor.
Apparently these warriors have genteel hobbies?
Snow White leaned against the bench by the fire, exhaustion making the dark circles under her eyes pop. “Who knows.”
“Hmm.” Angelique glanced at the wall that housed all the cooking implements, her eye twitching when she saw flickering blue flames outside the nearest window.
She squawked and smacked the window.
Pegasus sneered at her through the glass pane, and his mane briefly glowed brighter before he turned around and disappeared into the gloom of the forest.
Angelique glanced back at Snow White, but the princess thankfully had her eyes closed.
Good. Hopefully Pegasus realizes we’re staying for the night and goes back to the sky. If not, I’ll talk to him when I sneak out to notify Severin. I’ll keep the night watch, though. With black magic lurking in Queen Faina, there’s no telling if she’ll send someone after Snow White.
Angelique patted her herb-covered satchel, then went back to inspecting the weapons as she waited for the Seven Warriors to arrive or for the sun to rise.
Angelique glanced at the exhausted princess as she chewed on a carrot that was fairly sweet despite being quite shriveled.
The more I think about it, the more I see that this isn’t so bad. The Chosen have to be behind Queen Faina’s behavior. Working with Snow White, I might be able to capture one of them, and since they’d have to be stationed in Juwel, it seems to me that they would know where Evariste is. I can more safely find Evariste without having to call in Emerys and the elves, and we’ll get a black mage to question as a bonus—whom I will refuse to hand over to the Conclave until we’ve gotten all our questions answered.
She finished her carrot and fished another out of the “Seven Warriors’” supplies. Yes, I can be strategic enough to help Snow White and benefit from this as well. This isn’t a setback.
Angelique straightened when she saw movement outside. For a moment she thought Pegasus had come back, until she heard the muffled neighs of horses.
She crunched on the carrot and called out to Snow White, “Your Seven Warriors have arrived. Looks like they’re stabling their horses in a lean-to behind the cottage, and then they’ll be in.”
“What?” Snow White stirred from her spot by the fire like a cat.
Angelique peered from Snow White, to the “Seven Warriors” outside. All of them looked handsome, competent, and appropriately storybook-like. Perfect. I’ve done this enough times to know we can play to that. “No, no—you should stay there. If they find you sleeping by the fire, it will underline your innocence.” Angelique absently chewed on her carrot.
“What?” Snow White paused for a moment. “Are you eating their food?” She sounded scandalized—how adorable.
Angelique ambled away from the small window. “Just go back to sleep—or pretend to.”
Snow White ignored Angelique’s perfectly valid advice—a pity—and sat up just as the cottage door swung open.
Seven cloaked, brooding men crowded the cottage door—the very picture of an epic legend someone—not Angelique—would enjoy.
“Hello.” Angelique waved to them with her half-eaten, shriveled carrot. “Welcome home!”
One of the doubtlessly daring young noblemen elbowed his way to the front of the group, waving an unsheathed sword. “Who are you?” he demanded.
Chapter 19
Angelique pushed down her magic, which had perked with interest at the sight of his weapon. It had been restless since entering the cottage given all the blades the warriors hoarded.
Maybe I should have practiced my magic drills irregularly. It seems it has gotten cheeky from daily use.
“Never mind that.” Angelique bit off another hunk of carrot. “You lot are a bunch of pigs. You’re lucky it’s not summer, or your pigpen would have been irredeemably claimed by flies and bugs.”
“Angel!” The princess whisper-hissed from her spot by the fire, then shrank under the fierce gaze of Swordy.
Angelique chewed her carrot. “Oh, yeah. That’s your princess. You probably ought to bow or something.”
One of the warriors in the back of the pack asked, “Who is inside?”
“A mad woman.” Swordy took a step forward. Angelique could tell by the way he held himself he thought he was frightening.
Hah.
Angelique snorted to herself in amusement as the warriors chatted and only became re-interested in the conversation when the warrior in the back made his way to the front and dramatically flipped off his hood, revealing a perfectly fine face and shiny brown hair. His kind eyes settled on the princess, who was still sitting in front of the fire. “Snow White?”
“Hello, Marzell.” Snow White stood and smiled—enhancing the beauty of her contrasting eyes and hair with a sweetness one didn’t see often in people.
“What are you doing here, and who is your friend?” The warrior—Marzell, apparently—peered at Angelique as
he entered the cottage.
At least Angelique thought he was watching her—she’d lost interest in the reunion and was looking for more food. She absently waved at him as she squatted down and lifted a cover off a wicker basket.
Marzell continued, “That is to say, Your Highness…why are you here?”
“It is a long tale,” Snow White’s voice faltered.
Angelique looked away from the basket of potatoes—which had been improperly stored so they had sprouted and were no longer edible—and glanced back at the warriors.
One of the warriors—a tall, broad-shouldered one with sunny blonde hair and a smile that would have let him join the ranks of the Arcainian glut of blonde princes—popped through the doorway. “Did you say princess? Oh. It is her.” He flashed his variation of the “handsome-nobleman-smile” Angelique had seen far too often the past few years. “Have you also fallen prey to my handsome good looks and legendary reputation?”
“Shut your yap, Aldelbert,” Swordy said.
“I take offense to that tone!” someone behind Marzell objected. “Apologize to My Lord!”
“Why don’t you make me?” Swordy scoffed.
“Princess,” Marzell glanced back at the warriors crowding him. “Please allow me to introduce you to my friends. The one with the sword is Oswald—he’s the third son of Lord Lowenstein.”
Swordy—or Oswald, it seemed—finally put his weapon away and shook his head, making his shaggy strawberry-blonde hair flop into his eyes.
He reminded Angelique of a wolverine with the scrappiness of his build and the way he seemed ready to attack.
Snow White was still using her pretty manners. She nodded like the princess she was, then said, “How do you—”
Oswald snorted—sounding even more like a wolverine—and thumped across the cottage.
“Uncouth mutt,” one of the other warriors muttered.
Oswald spun around. “What did you say, wimpy?”
A warrior with dark hair—possibly black—and a slight build and pale complexion that gave him a more fragile appearance placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Say that again,” he said in a low, emotionless voice.
