Touched by his request, her mouth curved in the first smile she could remember in ages. “I’ll give you one of my favorites. It’s not by me, but a poet named Emily Dickinson. Is that all right?”
She wasn’t ready to say any of her own work aloud, the sound of it still too much to bear.
“It would be an honor,” he said.
Jessa stepped forward and took his hands. It didn’t feel right to have any distance between them. He sought something from this. She wanted him to find it. Closing her eyes, she readied her mind, voice, and mouth. Then, she opened them and began.
“‘Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.’”
The rhythm emerged soft as a secret while the sunflowers watched on and the night sky brightened toward dawn. Her heart thudded wildly. The words…She hadn’t just recited them like she’d done so often in her class. She’d felt them. They danced in her chest, little sparks of light and life. For the first time since the plane crash, a wisp of hope reached through the numbing grief. If a shard of her broken heart had survived, maybe she did have something to offer the tiny ember growing within her.
“‘Sweetest in the gale is heard.’” Simith stared at the ground, his face so still it gave no hint at the thoughts behind it. He released her and pulled free a knife from his bandolier. Slender with a silver luster, it was beautiful. An intricate leafy scrollwork, stained in green, twined the metal from blade point to hilt. He kissed it once, then closed her fingers around the grip.
“A token,” he said softly, both hands encasing hers. “Take this and flee no more, Jessa of Skylark.”
They stared at each other, something unspoken shifting in the air between them. Then he strode to the cavity of earth at the base of the tree. With a flutter of his dragonfly wings, he positioned himself above it, casting her one final glance before plunging down and disappearing from sight.
The world tilted violently. Jessa toppled over with a gasp. Clutching her belly, she rolled to her side, but couldn’t get up. Her strength drained away. The new scar on her leg burned and unnatural fatigue towed her under. She tried to call for help, but her eyes slipped closed before she could utter a sound.
Continue the story with the next installment, “When Day Fades into Night.”
After Simith returns to his world, Jessa discovers the magic he used to heal her had the wayward effect of fusing their life forces. If they aren’t reunited to untangle them in time, both will die. Pick up Wayward Magic, book two in the trilogy, today!
About the Author
A child of two cultures, Anela Deen, a hapa haole Hawaiian girl, is currently landlocked in the Midwest. After exploring the world for a chunk of years, she hunkered down in Minnesota and now fills her days with family, fiction, and the occasional snowstorm. With a house full of lovable toddlers, a three-legged cat, and one handsome Dutchman, she prowls the keyboard late at night while the minions sleep. Coffee? Nah, she prefers tea with a generous spoonful of sarcasm.
For more information about the author, please visit: https://amidtheimaginary.wordpress.com/my-books and don’t forget to 1-click Wayward Magic now to read more by Anela Deen!
The Greatest Sin
A Sacrifice of Blood
Lee French and Erik Kort
Illusions can hide anything. Those crafted by a master can even hide themselves. Algie, first introduced in The Greatest Sin 2: Harbinger, comes to life as never before in “A Sacrifice of Blood.” His past illuminates his present with a crack of thunder and the slash of a knife.
Lee French & Erik Kort
In the world of The Greatest Sin epic fantasy series, a teenage boy and his grandmother face a home invasion on a stormy afternoon by the sea. With neither capable of fighting toe-to-toe, they'll have to use their wits and their knowledge of the house to defeat a band of murderous thieves.
A Sacrifice of Blood
Bright, fleeting splashes of white light threw sharp shadows across the board of the strategy game between Algernon and his grandmother. Rain lashed the single, small-paned window in an unceasing clatter. The boom of thunder rattled art pieces hanging on the walls, clinking tiny pieces of colored glass together.
Algernon stared at the game pieces, looking for the move his grandmother wouldn’t expect. He saw several options, some more predictable than others.
Grandma Katona sipped mint tea from her cup decorated with geometric designs in purple. She sat closer to the crackling fireplace than Algernon with a plush purple blanket over her legs. As ever, pearl-tipped pins held her white hair in an immaculate bun. More pearls graced her neck on an elegant string of golden knots.
“You know what to do, Algie, you just don’t want to do it. That’s your elf blood holding you back.”
He sighed because he’d asked her to stop calling him “Algie” at least two hundred times already. Little boys had silly names like that. Algernon considered himself a man even if no one else did yet.
As soon as one person took him seriously, others would do the same.
“I prefer to consider my options before committing.” He reached with his left hand for the tallest of his pieces on the board and refused to watch Grandma Katona for her reaction.
Sometimes, she showed him her true feeling about a potential move.
Other times, she played him for a fool with such deft ease he hated himself for his gullibility.
Once he touched the piece, he withdrew his hand again. That move felt right yet looked like a mistake.
“If you’re going to take forever anyway, be a dear and go refill my cup.” Grandma Katona offered her teacup to him.
Any other time, she would ring for a servant to handle such a menial chore. The wretched storm had kept everyone from reaching their house on a cliff. They had only a cook for the day because Ernold lived with them in the otherwise empty servants’ quarters.
The man could’ve lived on the third floor with the family, but his knees gave him too much trouble climbing stairs.
At least they had no concerns about starvation. His father, the source of that elf blood in Algernon’s veins, always insisted upon keeping plenty of food on hand. Frequent winter storms often cut them off from the nearest village for days at a time. Father had no intention of losing his only family to something as petty as lack of food.
Algernon flashed his grandmother a mild glare and changed his mind again. He picked up the piece.
Before he was allowed to move it, he had to practice casting an illusion by showing Grandma Katona what he meant to do.
With the piece in hand, he closed his eyes and breathed. Constructing illusions took focus and intent.
He knew what he needed to do to make it work.
Once he felt centered, he opened his eyes and held his hand over the empty space left by the game piece. A very fake version of the piece, translucent and far too yellow, appeared on the spot.
Before he could growl in frustration, Grandma Katona murmured, “Don’t give up. Take what you have and keep building.”
He poured power into the fragile construct, willing it to become real without becoming real. No, he didn’t want another piece!
The power spun out of his control like it always did. His illusionary piece turned to goo and collapsed. Yellow muck slurped and spread over the game board. It swarmed the other pieces, filling the gaps between without moving them.
When he stopped forcing power at it, the goo dissipated.
If he could only attack the board with combat magic, he’d succeed. Though his control remained shaky for th
at, he at least could make it work.
Boots scuffed on the wood floor of the hallway. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” an unfamiliar woman said as she entered the room.
With a defeated sigh, Algernon turned to see the interloper.
She crossed the room wearing tight-fitting clothing with an excessive number of straps and buckles, all in brown and black. A short brown cape draped over one shoulder, giving her the feel of a character in a swashbuckling adventure story. The two-foot blade strapped to her thigh and another, shorter one hanging from her belt completed the look.
Algernon tried to peer past her. He hadn’t heard the front bell chime, nor did he see a servant arriving late to introduce this woman.
In the hallway, full of shadows from the gloom of the storm, he thought he spied one more figure, or perhaps two.
“Who might you be, dear?” Grandma Katona asked.
The woman smiled as she entered the room. She carried herself with confidence and strength, two traits Algernon knew to treat with respect and wariness.
“I might be a friend,” the woman said. “If you could both show me your hands, I’d appreciate that.”
Much like he did when his mother asked to see anything in particular, Algernon reflexively moved to hide his hands. Especially the right hand with its matte ring matching his tawny skin tone.
“Our hands,” Grandma Katona echoed. She kept her grip on her teacup and tucked her other hand under her blanket. “In my experience, friends introduce themselves before making requests.”
“Oh, of course. How silly of me.” The woman smiled again, this time with all the warmth of a stalking wolf. “Hello, my name is Jannil. My men and I will be robbing your house tonight. If you could stay sitting quietly for the duration, that would make everything much simpler. And also show me your hands so I can inspect your rings for value.”
Algernon blinked at Jannil. His mouth ran dry and his pulse sped. On the few occasions his fencing tutor had suggested he consider how nefarious actors might assault the house, this option had never occurred to him.
In his head, Algernon leaped at the woman, took her blade in her surprise, and used the hilt to crack her skull and knock her unconscious in a swift, fluid motion.
He doubted his training enabled him to carry out such a bold, daring strike. Had he a weapon of his own on his person, he thought he might manage it. Assuming her people in the hallway had no weapons trained on him already.
For all he knew, she carried a poison vial up her sleeve, ready to crack it in his face at the slightest provocation. Magical shields would certainly also foil such an attack.
His ability to sense magic as yet only worked when he could focus. In this situation, he had no ability whatsoever to focus.
Grandmother Katona, Algernon’s primary magic tutor, had no such difficulties.
Whatever she said or did, Algernon would follow her lead and instruction.
“In that case, if this is intended to be a polite robbery, I suppose we can comply.” Grandmother Katona set aside her teacup and held up her hand. “I don’t suppose you’d care to inform us how you gained entry?”
Jannil raised her brow. “Are you under the impression this is a locked-down fortress?”
“No, child, of course not.” Grandma Katona chuckled. “I only wondered if we’ll need to repair any windows or doors in your wake.”
Jannil leaned forward and pointed at Grandmother Katona’s hand still under her blanket. “No, we’re not animals. But you may want to change the locks. Let’s see those hands, granny.”
Except during parties and other rare occasions, the servants kept the outer doors locked. If Jannil thought they needed to change the locks, she had a key. Only the servants and residents had keys. Knowing his mother and father traveled elsewhere, as they often did, Algernon suspected Jannil had taken a key from a servant.
He wondered if she’d hurt the servant in question. Despite their positions as employees of his grandmother, Algernon liked the servants. They had served Grandma Katona for many years. She considered them part of the family.
So did Algernon.
They needed to find Ernold. As soon as possible. Algernon hoped he hadn’t checked to see who’d opened the door.
“Of course, dear.” Grandma Katona raised her hand with a flick of her wrist.
Algernon had seen the gesture at least a hundred times, often as part of her efforts to train his still-nascent magical capabilities.
He reached across the small table with the game board to put his hand on his grandmother’s shoulder and keep track of her.
Darkness spilled from Grandma Katona’s fingertips, spraying in Jannil’s face and filling the room in moments.
Jannil grunted in surprise. Grandma Katona took Algernon’s hand. She tugged him to the side. He followed her.
“He never said anything about mages,” Jannil growled. “Get in here! Find them!”
Instead of fleeing the room, Grandma Katona pulled Algernon to the corner. They stood together, taking as little space as possible. Algernon pressed his back to the wall and concentrated on keeping his breathing slow and even.
The darkness dissipated. Jannil, another woman, and two men stood in the room, facing the fireplace and scanning everything. Both men and the second woman wore thick, brown clothing, padded enough to offer some protection in a fistfight. Like Jannil, they carried blades.
These people had expected a decrepit old lady and a useless boy.
All four of the would-be robbers slid their gazes over a masterful illusion concealing Algernon and his grandmother.
Someday, Algernon would gain the skill to craft illusions this impressive with only a moment’s thought. They would stay illusory and not become real constructs.
Lightning flashed. Thunder swiftly followed. Algernon squeezed his grandmother’s warm hand.
Thankfully, Jannil and her people failed to notice Algernon and Grandma Katona’s shadows on the wall behind them. Grandma Katona could only conceal so much.
“Dammit,” Jannil grumbled. “They slipped past in the darkness. If that ass Miru had given me more time to prepare, we would’ve known to expect a damned mage.” She growled in the back of her throat. “Search the house. Never mind trying to take granny. If you find her, just kill her. The boy is what we’re really after anyway. Look for the ring while we’re searching anyway.”
“What if they’re running for it?” the second woman asked.
“In this weather?” Jannil snorted. “They don’t even leave the house when it’s pleasant out and they have six servants around to wipe their asses. We’ll split into pairs. Benny with me. We all check this floor. Then we go down and you two go up. Check anywhere that seems like a hiding spot and, apparently, watch for odd shadows.”
The other pair nodded and left the room.
These people had come for Algernon. They also wanted a ring.
If they wanted only one ring, he knew which one. The plain band on the ring finger of his right hand possessed magical properties of a unique, highly coveted variety.
Not coveted to him at the moment, of course. The ring couldn’t help him throw a better punch or dodge a sword. Instead, it could heal wounds.
Many would kill for such a treasure.
Grandma Katona rubbed her thumb across the back of Algernon’s hand to touch the ring. She knew what they wanted too.
Jannil scanned the room one more time, muttering under her breath too low for Algernon to hear over the blood rushing in his ears. With an irritated huff, she stalked out of the room. Benny followed her.
Their boots clomped down the hallway.
“Steady, Algie,” Grandma Katona murmured.
Algernon nodded. He would not panic.
He knew why people might come for him. Grandma Katona had money. She owned ships conducting trade among the islands to the south of their home on the coast of South Cascain. His father had the rare gift of healing, and his mother’s skills with fire an
d destruction turned heads.
His value to someone like Jannil, or this Miru she cursed, consisted entirely of what his family would do to prevent harm to him.
Jannil’s words about Grandma Katona meant she wanted something from one or both of his parents. She hadn’t come for money.
Or, at least, she hadn’t come primarily for money.
Algernon doubted Jannil would pass up the opportunity to acquire small things of high value. No doubt, she or her people would find and take the small stash of coins in his bedroom.
“We have to get to Ernold before they do,” Grandma Katona whispered.
“What if they already did?”
She patted his shoulder and stepped away to give him more space to breathe. “Then we have to find out.”
They needed to reach the kitchen with four people pawing through the house.
“I can still fit in the dumbwaiter,” Algernon said.
“It’s too loud.” Grandma Katona shuffled across the room, her steps too soft to make noise.
He supposed Jannil would check such an obvious escape option anyway. Algernon replaced his game piece on the board, taking the move he’d intended before the interruption.
Maybe they could finish the game later.
Grandma Katona peered around the frame of the doorless entry to the hallway. The room had only the single exit. To reach the kitchen on the ground floor, they had multiple options.
The other end of the hallway spilled into a grand, sweeping staircase leading to the ground floor. Closer to the room, the servant stairs wound in a tight spiral from the family’s suites on the third floor to the cellar. Between both, nestled among larger sitting rooms and overnight guest rooms, a set of common-use stairs ran from the roof to the ground floor.
Outside, the cellar had a second entry for deliveries. Algernon could climb from an open window to reach the ground. Grandma Katona could do no such thing.
Magic Underground: The Complete Collection (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 4) Page 9
