I pay the woman and leave her shop, rounding the back, clutching Kella’s package in my palm.
Gavin is a common enough name. There could be hundreds of Gavins in this kingdom alone.
My heart won’t have it, though. My Gavin said he was from here, from this very village. It’s him. I know it.
I come to an abrupt stop when I spot the achingly familiar man on a bench. My guard sharpens a blade on a stone like he’s been seated there all his life. His foot works the treadle, keeping the wheel in motion. Sparks fly, but Gavin pays them no attention. He’s shoved his sleeves up past his elbows, revealing tan, muscular forearms. He has facial hair, too, though it’s more stubble than beard—as if he perhaps shaved a few days ago, and now he’s growing it out again.
Sensing me, he pulls the blade back and glances over. Our eyes lock, and my heart forgets to beat.
“Brynn,” Gavin breathes, abandoning the blade as he stands. My heart suddenly remembers it has a job to do and pounds double-time in my chest.
I think of the way we parted, the words I whispered into the wind. He read them on my lips; I know he did.
“What are you doing here?” I finally demand, my mind reeling.
His gaze shifts down, to the dagger on the bench. “Sharpening a blade.”
“I can see that.” I huff out an impatient breath. “But why are you here?”
He looks back up, trapping me in his light blue gaze. “I swore my blade to you. Surely you don’t believe I’d desert you that easily?”
“You’ve been here since we parted?”
My guard nods toward the shop. “The smithy belongs to my aunt and uncle. I grew up in this forge.”
I look away, overcome with emotion. After several long moments, I say, “Marcus left the night I arrived. He only just returned this morning.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
A wry almost-smile tugs at his lips. “I’ve been keeping an eye on the manor.”
“If you knew he was gone, why didn’t you call on me?”
And just like that, his smile is gone, replaced with a blank look that’s too careful. And I know why, and it kills me. It’s because of what I whispered when I thought I was losing him—because he doesn’t return my feelings.
“I see,” I say, turning away, not wanting him to see the humiliation on my face.
“No…” He comes up behind me, hesitating once he’s near. “Brynn.”
I clench my eyes when he says my name, hating the way his voice deepens as though I mean more to him than I do…and loving the way his voice deepens as though I mean something to him.
With a low curse, he steps closer. Though we don’t touch, I can feel the heat of his chest at my back, the way he stands tall behind me, strong and sure. Startled, I begin to turn, but he stops me. “Don’t,” he murmurs. “It’s easier this way.”
His words tickle the back of my neck, sending a shiver up my spine. I go perfectly still.
“Did you mean it?” he asks, his words barely a whisper.
I could play it off, tell him I was caught in the moment. Or I could admit the truth. Moments pass, each longer than the last.
“Yes.” My pulse thrums, and my muscles beg me to move. Run. Do anything other than stand here.
“We can never be together,” he murmurs, but as he says the words, he shifts closer. “Not truly.”
“None of that matters, though, does it?” I ask, my voice nearly shaking. “When you feel nothing for me but duty.”
He lets out a short laugh—one that’s dark and wanting. It makes my stomach tie itself in a thousand knots. “You don’t truly believe that, do you? Surely a girl who reads stories of romance, who immerses herself in poems of love and longing, must know when she owns a man’s heart.”
Slowly, feeling as if my ears have cruelly deceived me, I turn. Gavin doesn’t stop me this time. Neither does he shift back or look away. When we stand this close, I must tilt my head up to meet his eyes. I feel dwarfed, but in the best way.
This man—my guard, my friend, my heart—cares for me?
Feeling bold for the first time since he turned me down in the orchard, I press my hand on his chest, desperate for a connection.
His eyebrows twitch, but he doesn’t fight me. Slowly, he raises a hand to my hair, cupping my head. I hold my breath, waiting. For what? I don’t know.
But I wait.
His thumb barely brushes over the tattoo that’s finally healed. Softly, he murmurs, “You realize your mark says I’m not allowed to touch you?”
Everything has changed between us. It started the night we ran, built while we stayed together in Heston, and now…
He’s here. For me.
There’s no denying it—even I couldn’t imagine this.
“I don’t care,” I say, my voice breathless.
“You’ve never cared.” His eyes flicker with indecision—something I don’t care for at all. He begins to back up, to put space between us. “That’s why I must care for you, my lady.”
I grasp his forearm, yanking him back, keeping him close. “Use my name, blacksmith. Not a title I all but abandoned.”
He stares at me, a silent challenge. I refuse to give in this time. He’s not going to destroy this when it’s only begun. After several long moments, he thankfully relents and tugs me into his arms. I go warm when he lowers his lips to my hair. It’s not a kiss, not exactly. But it’s close.
“You want the truth, Brynn?” he whispers. “All of it?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
Gavin hesitates for so long, I think he’s changed his mind. Then, so quietly I almost can’t hear him, he says, “I adore you. You snared me the moment I laid eyes on you.”
I go perfectly still, dumbstruck by the admission. Desperately wanting him to keep talking, terrified he’ll lose his courage if I look up, I stay tucked against him, my eyes focused on his neck.
When I don’t move away, he lowers his mouth to my ear…almost, almost touching his lips to my skin. “In my mind, I’ve kissed you a thousand times, held you a million. You are everything I’ve ever wanted, and I meant it when I swore my life to you.”
I cling to him to stay upright. I’ve longed to hear these words for years now, imagined them in a thousand different scenarios. Never were we standing in the middle of a hot, dirty smithy.
But it’s perfect. Completely, utterly perfect. We could be standing in a pig pen, covered head to toe with mud, and it would still be perfect.
“But, Brynn,” he continues, his tone changing, “the fact is we are worlds apart, whether you like it or not.”
I jerk my head up, not liking where this is going.
“I’d be with you if I could.” He searches my eyes. “But we’re from different stations. There is no future for us beyond you as my lady and me as your knight.”
And, ever the lady, I shove my palm against his chest, pushing him away as I growl like a mountain cat. “Gavin!”
He steps back, giving me room, looking amused and…not. Because he’s just as frustrated as I.
“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been in love with you?” I demand, not caring if I’m the first to use the word. “Do you know how many years you’ve owned my heart and my mind?”
“Four,” he says without hesitation. “From the time you were too young to know better.”
I stalk forward and press my finger to his chest. “And now I’m twenty, and I do know better.” I pause, letting my words truly sink in. “Don’t you understand? I simply don’t care.”
11
What have I done? I didn’t mean to admit this much, but when Brynn found me and looked like I’d stabbed a knife in her back, I lost my mind.
Now she knows how I feel, and she’s a woman determined. If she keeps this up, I’ll end up winding my hands through that hair that’s taunted me for years and kissing her until we’re both breathless and senseless and doomed.
And where will that lead us? I meant what I sa
id—we have no future. How can’t she see it? She’s impulsive, stubborn, and romantic to a fault, and she thinks it doesn’t matter. But it will, eventually. Daughters of earls don’t marry guards.
And a sorceress? She might as well be royalty.
My world shattered the moment she stepped out with that mark because I knew there was no more pretending. Before our barriers were very real—but invisible. Now they’re there for all the world to see.
Thankfully, before I do something stupid—something that can’t be undone—someone clears her throat from the entrance of the open-air forge.
We whirl around, the picture of guilt. Brunhilda watches us with an expression that perfectly matches the one my mother wore the night I showed up with Brynn in tow.
“I came out to see how the two of you were getting along, but it seems you’re doing just fine.” Unlike Mother, there’s a hint of wry amusement in my aunt’s tone.
Brynn flashes me a look, one that tells me this conversation is far from over, and then she excuses herself, perhaps embarrassed…but most likely only irritated we were interrupted.
“Good day to you, my lady,” Brunhilda calls, betraying the fact that she heard too much of our conversation. Once Brynn has escaped, my aunt turns back to me, raising a brow, a mischievous expression on her face. “I missed home, Aunt Brunhilda,” she says in a mocking tone, mimicking our conversation from when I arrived. “It’s time I visited for a season, live a bit of life with family.”
“All right, you’ve made your point.” I turn back to my bench.
“You fooled me. I can honestly say I had no idea the one you loved was that mad sorcerer’s pretty new apprentice. Silly me—I thought you were talking about your dear aunt and uncle.”
I run my finger along the blade, testing it, choosing not to respond.
“You’re right, you know,” she says, her tone softening. “There’s no future for the two of you. She’s a bird; you’re a badger. You don’t belong together.”
“I think you mean I’m a fish.”
“I gave you some credit—made you an animal with a bit of bite. Plus, let’s face it—you’re hard to get close to.”
I reluctantly meet her eyes, trying not to smile.
“Did you give her the nails?”
“We didn’t get that far,” I admit.
“Ah. Well, I charged the girl for forty-seven, and I owe her three more. Get on it.” She smirks. “You can deliver them when you’re finished.”
I shake my head, though I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t grateful for a chance to see Brynn again. I don’t like the way we left things. If I have just a little more time, I think I can talk sense into her. She might not like it, but eventually, she’ll see it’s best if we keep a professional distance.
Brunhilda pauses on the way back to the shop and leans against the half wall, knocking her knuckles on the rock. “Got to give the girl a bit of credit, though.”
“Why’s that?” I ask, though I should probably keep my mouth shut.
“Not many noble ladies would throw themselves at a man covered in soot and grime. Just something to think about.”
“Brunhilda…”
“Especially when the man in question is prickly and likely to push her away.”
“I’m not prickly.”
“Like a porcupine.”
“Have you met Master Marcus?” I ask abruptly, changing the subject.
She grunts.
“When did he move here?”
“A little over a year ago. He bought the land from Baron Ryert. That rundown cottage became a manor overnight.” She shakes her head. “Most unnatural thing you’ve ever seen.”
“In general, what do you think of him?”
“The few times he’s been in, he’s been polite enough, I suppose. Though he’s not exactly friendly. Your young lady seems like the last sort I would expect to serve as his apprentice.”
“I don’t like it.”
Brunhilda frowns and slowly nods as if we’ve just made a decision together. “Then you best keep an eye on her.”
12
I realize halfway back to Marcus’s manor that I walked off with Gavin’s package from the girl in the goods shop. I suppose I could swallow my pride and go back, but I made a lovely exit, and I don’t want to ruin it. I’ll just have to give it to him the next time I see him. Hopefully Kella won’t ask him about it in the meantime.
A wave of irrational jealousy washes over me, and for one fraction of a moment, I debate tossing the small parcel in the bushes.
Then I realize I’m behaving like a cow, and I dismiss the thought. I have no reason to be jealous.
And it’s certainly not Kella’s fault she’s taken with my guard. If there’s anything I can sympathize with, it’s that. Unfortunate, though, that the first person I met in the village is in love with the same man as I am. I don’t claim to know the future, but that seems like a surefire way to end a friendship before it can begin.
I’m so lost in my thought, I don’t notice the man ahead until he’s already seen me. He turns, and his golden blond hair catches the sun in a way that makes me stop abruptly.
“Hello,” he says, lifting a single brow, frowning slightly. He’s taller than Gavin, lean and slender, with quiet, graceful strength like a mountain cat. He’s armed only with a dagger, and though I don’t sense danger, I know what he is, and it makes me wary.
I bow my head, showing him reverence. “Elf.”
He lets out a sharp laugh, one void of humor. “Most in these parts wouldn’t recognize me.”
“I’m from Morgenbruch.”
The man is quiet for a moment, and then he softly says, “Are you? What part?”
“Levinfeld.” Which happens to be right on the edge of Tillendall—the kingdom of the reclusive forest elves.
“Ah.”
I move forward, daring to pass. “Good day to you, sir.”
“Wait,” he says, stopping me before I am free. “How is your queen?”
The question takes me by surprise, and I lift my head to meet his gaze. “She is well, as far as I know.”
“And her daughter?” He stands unnaturally still as if he’s holding his breath—as if the question is more than merely courteous.
I shake my head, trying to form an answer. “The princess Rapunzel is lovely, the darling of the kingdom.”
“Good.” His expression softens. Then to himself, he says again, “Good.”
I nod and push my hair behind my ear, ready to leave him. He seems like he’s going to let me pass—until his eyes narrow at my mark. “Stop,” he says, his tone harsh for the first time. “You’re a sorceress.”
“An apprentice only.” My pulse quickens, and the first pinpricks of fear run down my skin.
“Who is your master?” he demands.
“Master Marcus—” What was his full name? “LeBrail,” I say, grateful to remember.
The elf’s expression hardens with recognition, and he takes an unexpected step forward, making me stumble back. He begins to say something, but I don’t catch what because there is a shout from behind us.
I turn and find Gavin jogging down the path, smudged and sooty like a blacksmith but moving like a trained guard. “Step away from the lady,” he says, his voice cold and hard.
The elf’s eyes flicker with frustration, but he immediately puts space between us. “I meant her no harm.”
“And yet you frightened her,” Gavin says, looking like he’s going to challenge the man right here.
“Gavin, no,” I whisper under my breath, taking his arm. He doesn’t know what he is. My guard is not from Levinfeld—and likely didn’t listen to the local gossip while living there—and surely doesn’t expect to find an elven man here, so far from their territory.
“I’m looking for a friend,” the elf says, all but ignoring Gavin as his eyes bore into mine. “She’s just a little taller than you, raven hair, ivory skin. Beautiful. Have you seen her?”
“No,�
�� I whisper.
His face falls, as do his shoulders. Momentarily, he looks like a man of a hundred years. Somehow, I feel he was expecting a lie—was hoping for it. But I gave him the truth, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. Desperate, he presses, “Are you certain?”
“I think it’s time you were on your way, traveler,” Gavin says, pressing closer to my side.
The elf studies Gavin, taking him in—deciding whether he’s a threat. Then he turns back to me. “If you see her, please tell me. I’ll be staying at the inn in Whiteshire for a season.”
He then leaves, walking the path toward the village. Gavin stares after him, his eyes narrowed and suspicious.
“What are you doing here?” I ask the guard, drawing his attention back to me.
“You forgot your nails,” he says, reluctantly looking back.
Disappointed, I accept them and put them in my basket with the others.
“Are you all right?” he asks, still looking unsettled.
“I’m fine.” I look down the empty road. “Do you know what he was?”
“What he was?”
“Elf,” I whisper, scared to say it any louder.
Gavin jerks his face toward me, his brow scrunching. “No. Elves are dark-haired, and that man was fair.”
His words take me by surprise, and I almost laugh. “What are you talking about? Of course they’re not—they’re golden, every one of them.”
“I’ve seen them myself, my lady, and I assure you, they are dark-haired, with eyes of blue or gray.”
“I’ve seen them myself, and I swear—that man is an elf.”
We stare at each other, both wondering if the other has lost their mind.
“Thank you for the nails,” I finally say, my stomach clenching. Then I walk away, toward Marcus’s manor.
“Brynn, stop,” he says, clasping my shoulder. I whirl around, startled by the contact even though we were so much closer not long before. “Please,” he says, his eyes pleading with me.
The Sorceress in Training: A Retelling of The Sorcerer’s Apprentice Page 7
