Forgotten Magic (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 3)

by Melinda Kucsera

“There’s—I mean, yes, I’m pregnant, but this is more the result of two-ships-passing-in-the-night, that kind of thing.” When he didn’t reply, still parsing through what that meant, she added, “There’s no beloved.”

  Simith managed a neutral tone despite the gleeful thumping of his heart. “I see.”

  “Right, so if it’s okay with you, I’d rather,” she paused and glanced sidelong at him, uncertainty in her dark eyes.

  “Speak freely, Jessa.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want this to get awkward between us. We know things about each other that we never shared. I don’t want to overstep or invade your privacy.” She fidgeted. “Would you rather act like we haven’t seen one another’s memories?”

  Ah. Now he understood. Thoughtful of her to offer a choice. He should’ve extended the same earlier.

  He drew his shirt over his head and approached. “I believe pretending we are ignorant of each other would incur the awkwardness you spoke of, rather than prevent it.”

  She exhaled with a pleased nod. “Me too.”

  “Then we are in agreement.” He smiled. “Why do you wish to imply we are bound to each other?”

  “They’ll be less likely to separate us, for one, and second, I don’t want them to blame you for this link between us. The last time you were here they treated you like garbage.”

  Simith slid his wings through the slits in the back of his shirt, using the moment to loosen the sudden tightness in his throat.

  “The last time I returned was to bear Rimthea’s body home. They were rightfully distressed.” And he’d done his best not to dwell on his father’s disdain or his mother’s condemnation on that final day.

  “They said her death was your fault, that you convinced her to avenge your brother.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell them she was the one who convinced you to go to war after Cirrus died.”

  The lump in his throat grew. Simith focused on lacing his shirt. He didn’t want to talk about this. “I chose to preserve their opinion of her.”

  She paused. Pushed her hands into her pockets. The uncertainty had returned. He’d created the awkwardness she’d hoped to avoid. Wonderful.

  “We will tell them we intend to be bound,” he said, his voice cooler than he’d wish, but he couldn’t seem to warm it. “This way, when we untangle ourselves, none will speak ill of you once you return to your world and the marriage never goes through.”

  “Does it matter? I’ll never hear any of it.”

  “But I might, and I will not abide it.” He scanned the area where his clothes had been set. Whoever had brought them here hadn’t left his sword behind. Concern stirred in his stomach. He stepped to the edge of the loft. “Come, let us find out what has occurred while we slept.”

  Jessa was eyeing him curiously when he turned to extend a hand. She didn’t take it right away. “I can manage the climb down.” She peered over the edge, then straightened with a smirk. “Hm. No ladders in a winged society, I take it?”

  “Correct,” he answered, finding the warmth that’d drained from his voice returned when she put her hand in his.

  Carrying her in his arms, Simith descended with an easy flap of his wings and landed lightly by the door. He set Jessa on her feet. Her face had gone as white as mountain snow, startling him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” she gasped.

  Eyes wide, she clapped a hand over her mouth and threw the door open. Simith followed after her, but she didn’t make it more than three steps before dropping to her knees. Sweat broke out at her temples.

  He crouched beside her, unsure whether to touch her. His hand hovered over her lower back. “Is it the child? Should I fetch a midwife?”

  Jessa replied by throwing up.

  “Child?” came an astonished whisper.

  Simith looked up and found his mother standing before them.

  Chapter Two

  On a rational level, Jessa knew she’d gone through worse things than puking in front of a fake mother-in-law-to-be, but just then, kneeling over her morning sickness while Simith offered a quiet, “Mother, I greet you,” she felt this had to rank in one of the top spots. It was enough to make her queasy stomach threaten revolt again.

  “Jessa?” Simith sounded worried.

  “I’m okay.” She didn’t look up yet. This was so embarrassing. “It’s just normal first trimester symptoms. I’ll be fine in a second.”

  “You need not hurry.” Simith’s hand settled between her shoulder blades and moved in small, comforting circles. “I’m certain some portion of your discomfort is due to the sleep spell.”

  His voice held an edge, though not directed at her. The pause that followed churned as sharply as the nausea twisting her innards.

  “We received no warning of your arrival,” his mother said, her tone equally edged. “What outcome could you expect when we saw those tracks and found you had filled our sanctuary with prisoners?”

  Simith’s hand on her back stopped. “The trolls are not prisoners. I pray you have not treated them as such.” He stiffened. “Or alerted the fairies to our presence.”

  She scoffed. “To tell the fairies would be the same as killing them. Since you have been away so long, it’s only natural you’ve forgotten that we do not deliver death to others with as much ease as you.”

  Jessa’s eyes popped open at that one. Wow, his mom really wasn’t holding back.

  If her salvo affected him, Simith didn’t show it. “Precisely. I do not take prisoners.”

  “That’s what we realized. The trolls awoke before you. They told us a strange tale of last night’s events.” Her voice grew unsure. “As did your other companions.”

  Katie and Relle. Steeling herself, Jessa eased back to sit on her heels. She put a hand to her stomach, but everything stayed put down there for the moment.

  The pixie standing alongside them looked so much like Simith, Jessa would’ve known her for his mother even if she hadn’t already seen her in Simith’s memories. The same high cheekbones. The same forceful brown gaze. Her long, sandy brown hair had locks of bright white and flowed freely around her shoulders with sprigs of yellow blossoms and shiny agates strung through its strands. She wore a plain, lightweight dress, though a hint of shorts peeked below the skirt line, with leather sandals strapped to her feet.

  She also wore a speculative look in her eyes as she regarded Jessa. It didn’t stretch the imagination to know what questions she had.

  Jessa smoothed her hair to ensure it covered her round ears. “Are my friends all right?”

  “You can come and see for yourself. They remain at Hollow Hill. We were about to bring more food to them.”

  Food. The thought made things turn in her belly. She exhaled through her nose and slowly got up. Simith stayed near, but didn’t crowd her. She appreciated that he let her scrape herself together on her own, especially with the humiliating puddle of sick there on the ground.

  “Is it a long walk to Hollow Hill from here?” she asked, but when she inclined her head to take in the landscape, she had her answer.

  From windswept cliffs, Jessa had a billy goat’s eye-view of the moorlands. Winding ledges with broken sections scattered down to the bluff’s base, some with entries carved into the dark-green stone like the one she and Simith had exited, but nothing as ambitious as a path. There would be no walking down.

  “I will descend more gently than I did in the loft,” Simith said, as though he heard her silent whimper. “That was thoughtless of me.”

  She mustered a wan smile. “As long as you won’t get mad if I mess up your clothes along the way.”

  His mouth quirked up on one side. “Agreed.”

  His mother watched them in silence. Deciding to take the initiative, Jessa extended a hand.

  “It’s good to meet you. I’m Jessa.” She paused. “Of Skylark, Michigan.”

  Her stern brown eyes warmed a degree. She stepped for
ward, clasping Jessa’s forearm instead of her hand. “I am Liri of Drifthorn.” She released her. “I have not heard of your homeland before.”

  “It’s, uh, on the other side of the Jaded Grove.”

  “Is it indeed?” Liri glanced at Simith and back. “You are with child?”

  “Yes, about seven weeks along.”

  “The beginning can be difficult. Some ginger tea will help. I’ll arrange it.”

  “That would be wonderful.”

  “Is my son the father of your child?”

  “Um.” The blunt question startled her. No one could accuse his mother of beating around the bush, that was for sure.

  Simith touched Jessa’s arm to draw her back a step, his voice low and clipped. “We did not come here by choice, and our greeting was less than amicable. You will not question her thus.”

  Liri’s gaze hardened once more. “Shall I put the question to you, then?”

  “When last I visited, it was made clear that news of my life was no longer welcome.”

  “When last you visited, the only news was of the killing fields sprawled behind you. Now your enemy tells us you shelter them from harm, that you seek peace. Beside you walks a companion with child. The winds of your life have changed.”

  Simith’s glare was unrelenting. “As ever, I am only of interest to my kin when the weather is to their liking.”

  Jessa felt a pang in her chest to see them fight like this when they’d been so close in his childhood. Both hid their pain so well behind resentment. She wanted to interrupt. She wanted to tell them this anger didn’t matter, that although they felt lost to each other, they weren’t really. But they wouldn’t understand. No one truly knew what it meant to have no family until they were gone forever.

  Still, Jessa couldn’t help but try. Simith only hurt himself with this argument. She reached out and took his hand.

  He looked at her. Whatever he saw in her face made his gaze gentle. His thumb brushed across her palm as he drew and released a deep breath. He turned back to his mother, but before he could speak, another pixie landed beside her.

  “Liri,” she panted, grasping her by the arm. “Fairies come. They fly the banners of the triad.”

  She pointed, and in the distance a group moved through the flat fields of heather.

  “Do they approach Hollow Hill?” Liri asked.

  “No, the patrol says they haven’t gone near those paths.”

  Cool reserve settled over Simith’s face. “How many strong?”

  The pixie sent a nervous glance his way. “Just the triad and their guard. Half a dozen, I’d say.”

  “Any of our kind?”

  “Just one. A scout, by the look of him.”

  Simith faced his mother. “Where is my sword?”

  Liri flashed him a sharp look. “Do you plan to battle them all on your own? Even your blade cannot defeat so many single-handedly, and fairy magic is stronger than ours.”

  “You deny me the means to defend myself?”

  “Your father has your blade and leathers,” she said, articulating the words slowly as if he struggled with comprehension. “If you will calm yourself, you’ll see you cannot kill your way out of this trouble. There are ways to send them off that don’t incur bloodshed.”

  “Mother,” he bit out. “They would not have come unless they suspected my presence.”

  “That much is true, and the consequences will be all the worse if they find you. Remain here. I will say no more.” She and the other pixie departed with a flutter of wings.

  Simith cursed. “She would have it both ways—to treat me as a child and an outsider at the same time.”

  “Maybe she’s right and they’ll move on if they don’t find you in town,” Jessa offered, but she harbored the same doubts.

  They watched as the banners entered the cluster of hamlets by the bluffs as the minutes passed. His mother and the other pixie arrived. A conversation between them and the fairies ensued.

  Tension rippled off Simith like steam. “I can’t stand here idle.”

  “Then let’s not. Can we get closer without being seen?”

  He cast her a grateful look. “Yes.”

  Closer, unfortunately, was still some distance away behind a rock formation. Heather fields just didn’t lend themselves to any helpful cover for spying. The exchange between Liri and the triad continued, but they were too far to hear. The expressions on the three more elaborately clothed fairies at the forefront didn’t look all that receptive to whatever Liri was saying. The fairy guard dismounted.

  Simith coiled his legs beneath him as if he intended to rush out there. Had he forgotten he wasn’t armed?

  An idea sprang into her thoughts, and Jessa gripped his shoulder. “Can you make me look like a pooka again?”

  “What?”

  “Glamour. Can you do it? There’s no time to explain.”

  He appeared ready to argue, but shook his head before bringing his hands to her face. Feather-light, his calloused fingers traced over her nose, her brows, her chin. With danger brewing close by, his touch shouldn’t have sent a shiver of goosebumps over her skin, but it did. He threaded his hands into her hair, thumbs brushing along her jawline, over the shell of her ears, and back down her neck. She almost closed her eyes. His gaze caught hers, sparking with intensity as he touched her mouth, and traced a slow line across her lower lip. Then he lowered his hands.

  “Done,” he whispered.

  Jessa reminded herself to breathe again, and managed to nod. “I’ll be right back.”

  She scurried along the side of one of the houses to approach from an unexpected. The fairies’ voices reached her ears.

  “Well then, matron? You’ve no explanation for the feast we see prepared here?” one of the still-mounted fairies asked, tone heavy with sarcasm. “Or is it that you have something to hide?”

  The fairy guard surrounding her moved closer.

  Jessa scrambled around the corner and stepped out behind Liri. “It’s a celebration for me.”

  Blades were drawn and arrows nocked. Jessa’s hands shot up, the rest of her introduction vanishing from her mouth. Thankfully, Liri maintained an enviable poker face.

  “Yes, it’s a celebration, Lord Jarrah.”

  The one Liri spoke to curled a lip at her. “For what conceivable reason would pixie hamlets celebrate a pooka’s presence?”

  The deception flashed back into Jessa head. “Because I’m a maker of verse.”

  That gave them pause, as she’d hoped it would. She hadn’t forgotten the reverence in Simith’s eyes when he spoke of poets. They are held in high esteem, he’d told her. Jessa hoped that esteem qualified for feast-making, or this charade would end badly.

  Jarrah glanced at the two fairy women mounted alongside him. When they shrugged, he narrowed his eyes at Jessa. “State your name, pooka. Perhaps we have heard of you.”

  “I doubt it. I don’t get around much.” She offered a cheerful grin she hoped didn’t appear as strained as it felt.

  “Your name,” he demanded.

  “I’m Jessa…Cottontail.” Oh God, she sucked at improvisation.

  “This is of no consequence,” one of the fairy women of the triad said, her voice so bland one could almost miss the scorn in it. “What care we if they celebrate inanities such as these. Flix.” She gestured, and the pixie standing nearby stepped forward.

  “My Lady Florian?”

  “If Simith did come here, where might he be hiding if not in his hamlet?”

  “Hollow Hill,” Flix answered, his blue eyes haunted.

  “Very fine.” She flicked her fingers. “Go see if he is there and report back.”

  His features twisted, but he departed almost as soon as she gave the command. Jessa prayed Simith knew to go after him or the jig was about to be up. The knuckles of Liri’s fingers whitened where she had them laced behind her back.

  “Have you any further questions for me, good fairies?” Liri asked, as pleasant as ever. “As
Jessa mentioned, we are arranging a feast for her and there’s still more to be done.”

  Lord Jarrah’s mouth pulled into a humorless smile. “I’m afraid that shall have to be postponed. We have not come simply to locate one deserter knight.”

  “Then, for what other reason?”

  “To add to our ranks.”

  Liri’s shoulders stiffened, and dread trickled into Jessa’s veins.

  “How do you mean, my Lord? There are none here who wish to take part in the war.”

  “That is no longer a choice.” Lady Florian smoothed a wrinkle on her silky tunic. “We are poised to commit the legion to a frontal assault on the trolls’ homeland. Their army is diminished, but they are far more familiar with the rocky territory than we.”

  “Since the vanguard is made up of pixie-kind, we need every one of you to serve to ensure our victory.” Lord Jarrah gestured to the pixies standing beside the cottages. “This will be the killing stroke against the trolls. An end to the war, just as so many of you have long said you desire.”

  The young pixie who’d warned Liri of the fairies’ arrival stepped forward, an angry set to her jaw. “We desire peace, not annihilation. None of us will kill for you.”

  Lady Florian sent a glance at the nearest fairy soldier. In an eyeblink, he was upon the pixie, forcing her to the ground face-first. His blade rested against her neck.

  “What are you doing?” Liri gasped, lurching toward them. Jessa barely managed to pull her back in time. More fairies drew their swords.

  “Hear us,” Lord Jarrah raised his voice to the startled pixies watching in horror. “If any of those we deem suitable for the battle refuse to fight, they will be killed, their homestead set ablaze, and their children conscripted in their place.”

  Lady Florian gazed down at them from her mount, her golden eyes as cold as a winter sun. “Come without struggle and give us your true names for our command, and we will spare your homes. We will spare your elderly, your infirm, and your children. Do not take our mercy for granted.” She pointed. “Form a line there and let us begin.”

  Liri turned to Jessa, pulling her close. She spoke in her ear. “They won’t take you. Get to Hollow Hill and tell the others who guard the trolls not to emerge. Tell Simith not to follow us.”