Rune steps in. “He spoke Eva’s name and spirited her to the faerie realm. I was there—she faded before my eyes. The last words I spoke to her were my solemn vow that I would find her—but I haven’t been able to track her down.
“I begged your queen to say my name, which ripped the magic from my very soul, so I could go after her. I wandered that wretched, forsaken realm for three years before I found a trio of half-mad faeries who were willing to send me back here so I could find Marcus and follow him directly.”
I blink at the foreign information—names and faerie realms and things I certainly do not understand. Elven lore just happens to be something my father never let me study. Ironically, he said it was as worthless as poetry.
“But you can’t follow Marcus,” I say slowly, sorting through the pieces and dwelling on the information that makes sense. “Because of the wards.”
“Exactly.”
A loud chorus of laughter rings out from the tavern only two buildings down. Rune frowns and jerks his chin toward the inn, to the darkened shadows of the side garden, asking me to follow him there. Though still reluctant, I do as he asks.
“That’s why I need you,” he says when we’re shielded from prying eyes.
We’re quiet for several moments. Rune gives me space and time to mull over the fantastic information he’s very quickly thrown at me.
“Faerie realm?” I finally ask, incredulous.
“It sounds unbelievable—I know, trust me—but it’s real. And Marcus is holding Eva there somewhere.”
“Even if I do believe you—which I haven’t decided yet—it doesn’t matter. I’m finished. Done. I’m going to the Sorcerer’s Council tomorrow to request another apprenticeship…or resign completely if they refuse.”
“Why?” Rune demands, oddly concerned. For a moment I see a flash of something—something that makes me wonder if he wasn’t a different man years before. Perhaps there was a time he was less jaded and abrupt, compassionate even. “What did Marcus do to you?”
I shake my head, knowing it would be foolish to share too much. “He didn’t do anything. I’m just no longer comfortable studying under him.”
Rune drops his head into his hands, looking very much like a man at the end of his rapidly fraying rope. “I need you, Brynn. I have to find her.”
I study him. The pain on his face causes an ache deep in my core. “All right.”
He looks up, his eyes intent. “All right?”
“I’ll stay—”
Pure, unadulterated relief lights his face as he cuts me off, saying in a rush, “You have no idea how grateful—”
I hold up my hand. “But only for a short time. I’ll see what I can find.”
Shaking my head, I wonder what I’ve done. Back to Marcus’s manor? I must be a fool.
“I’ll walk you back as far as I am capable,” he says.
“All right,” I agree, glad for his company. “And you can tell me your whole story on the way.”
He draws in a breath, lets it out slowly, and together, we leave the village and enter the dark forest. “It all started with a troll…”
21
The rational part of my brain is having a very hard time believing Rune’s story. I’ve never, not in my life, heard of a faerie realm. Surely if there were such a place, I would have read about it at some point.
The other part, though—the one that was unsettled by the way Marcus looked at my hair when he changed it—has bothersome suspicions that the elf might be speaking the truth.
I’ve gone through the manor, looking for signs of Eva. I feel like a snoop, rifling through drawers and desks, shuffling through anything personal I might find. It’s no surprise that I come up with very little. Marcus doesn’t seem the sentimental type.
After I finish a quick sweep of the library, I pause in front of his study doors. I have no desire to go inside, but where better to find something Marcus wants to hide? I steel myself and turn the knob only to find it locked.
Interesting. Marcus must have decided he didn’t want me wandering in again. Why is that? What’s he hiding?
Or perhaps he doesn’t want to return to an infestation, so he decided it was best to keep me out.
I’m just debating whether I’ll risk peeking into the sorcerer’s bedchamber when there’s a knock at the front door. I whirl around, startled by the noise.
With my heart in my throat, I hurry to the entry and take a subtle peek through the side drapes. Then I rush to the door and fumble with the lock before I toss it open.
“Gavin! What are you doing here?” So relieved to see him, I throw myself at the guard, wrapping my arms around his middle, taking comfort in his solid embrace.
He places his palms on my shoulders, pushing me back to arm’s length, and gives me a stern look. “Your new friend told me it would be prudent to check on you, make sure you made it home last night.”
“What else did Rune tell you?” I demand.
Gavin raises a brow, his face still stern. “Nothing. What were you thinking walking to the village in the night? I told you these woods are dangerous after dark.”
Matching his irritation with my own, I say, “I was thinking you were going to be back when you said you would!”
Remorse softens his stance. “I should have been.”
“Why were you late?” I demand.
It’s not like him. I know it’s ridiculous, but I worried all night that something happened, that he was lying dead somewhere on the side of the road.
Gavin briefly lowers his eyes and presses his lips together, almost as if he’d rather not say. Whatever it is, it must be bad. What was he doing that he’s afraid to tell me?
Dread builds in my chest, making it heavy and cold. “Did you…meet someone?”
What else could it be?
He gives me a wry look, snorting out a scoffing breath, and offers me several brown paper packages—ones I hadn’t noticed he was holding.
“What’s this?” I ask, focusing on the bow.
“The top is the coffee you requested. The other is for you.” He stands straighter, as uncomfortable as I’ve ever seen him.
Cautiously curious, I untie the twine and slide it off the parcel. The paper falls open, revealing an old book and a wooden box.
“They’re truffles,” Gavin explains, motioning to the box, his voice tight. “Like the ones you’re partial to in the shop in Levinfeld—the chocolatier made them for you himself when I explained which ones were your favorite. And the book…well, it’s poetry.” He clears his throat. “Because you like poetry.”
He brought me a gift from Heston.
Unable to speak because my throat is tightening, I tuck the box under my arm and open the book, browsing through the pages. It’s an entire collection of love sonnets, some long, some short. A few of the pages are loose, making me think the book was read often.
Gavin clears his throat again and flips through the pages, taking me to the very front. He motions to a handwritten note, a sweet vow of love written long ago. “I saw that, and I thought… Well, I thought you might like it.”
My eyes sting, and my stomach flips. “I like it very much,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
“Honestly?” He stands straighter as if bracing himself for rejection.
I let out a wavering laugh, wondering how he could even question it. “Yes. More than any gift I’ve ever received.”
“Good.” He gives me a curt nod, clearly relieved. “I’m glad.”
“Is this why you were late?” I ask, thankful my voice has almost returned to normal.
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Gavin. Truly.”
“You’re welcome.” His tone turns solemn, and I know we’re about to return to our former subject. I don’t know how he’ll react, but we must discuss what happened last night.
“You can come in,” I say. “Marcus and Mrs. Stone are gone.”
“Rune told me that as well.” He walks inside, eying the house, th
en looks back at me. “You’re not wearing your robe.”
I glance down at my gown—the simple gray one I wore the day my carriage broke down on the road to the college. I found it this morning while poking about the house. It was folded and bunched behind a table near the back door, in the small room where Mrs. Stone keeps her washing basin and cleaning supplies. It looks like it had been shoved back on accident and then promptly forgotten about. I took it outside, gave it a good shake, and brought it to my room.
“I don’t see any reason to wear my robe while Marcus is away,” I say, wondering how I’m going to broach the subject of the missing elven woman. Gavin is going to think I’ve gone mad.
I think I’ve gone mad.
“We need to talk.” I lead him into the seldom-used parlor.
It feels strange having Gavin here. I swear just his presence alone takes up half the room. I carefully set my precious gifts on the end table and wring my hands, unable to face him. “I don’t know where to start.”
Gavin stands taller, placing his hands behind his back like he did when he and his fellow guards lined up for Father’s inspections. I look at him, gauging his mood.
He tilts his chin up, his face void of expression. “Is it about Marcus?”
“Yes, actually.” I turn away again, rubbing a hand over my face.
“Perhaps it would be best if you just came out and said it.”
“To be honest, I’m not sure how you’re going to react.”
For a moment, he’s silent. Then, in a tone that’s almost cold, he says, “I understand.”
I turn back, confused. I hadn’t even begun. “You understand what?”
His stance softens marginally, and he looks away, shaking his head. “I knew there was a chance you’d develop feelings for the sorcerer—he’s your equal. And I suppose he’s handsome. Judging from this manor, he’s very—”
“Gavin,” I say, cutting him off, both disgusted at the idea and morbidly amused that he would jump to that conclusion. “Let me speak.”
“There’s no need to coddle me. If you’re worried I will abandon my duty to you because you’ve fallen for Marcus, you’re wrong.” I open my mouth to reassure him, but he cuts me off yet again. “I swore an oath, and I intend to keep it no matter who you give your heart to.”
“Are you finished?” I set my hands on my hips. “Do you think you might let me talk now?”
He gives me a solitary, curt nod, but just as I’m about to assure him I have no romantic feelings toward the possibly evil sorcerer, Gavin growls and stalks forward, taking me completely by surprise. “Actually—no. I’m not finished.”
I take several steps back, startled. I end up bumping into a chair and stumbling, swinging my arms in a futile attempt to keep my balance. I’m about to fall right on my tail when Gavin reaches out to catch me, snaking his arm around my waist, jerking me flush against his chest. I stare at him, eyes wide, pulse leaping, elated butterflies rioting in my stomach.
“I understand why we can’t be together—you know I do,” he says low. “And I respect you for admitting that we can’t. But you are not a fool, and I will not allow you to choose that snake of a sorcerer.”
“You won’t allow it?” I grasp hold of his tunic, wrapping the fabric in my fist, yanking him even closer.
“Brynn, I swear—”
“GAVIN!” I stand on my tiptoes, making him look me directly in the eye. “Listen to me!”
He snaps his mouth shut, practically vibrating with anger.
“For the last time, I’m telling you, it is not up to you or my father or Marcus to decide who I love—who I will spend my life with. That is my decision—my decision alone.” I stop abruptly, making sure I have his full attention. Then slowly, practically growling the words, I say, “And, Gavin, I choose you. There’s never been anyone else. And there never will be.”
Gavin’s hands tighten at my sides as his gaze bores into mine. Several seconds pass, each more charged than the last.
Suddenly, with an urgency that’s been building for four long years, Gavin yanks me closer, pressing us flush. His eyes search mine one last time, and then…
His lips are on mine.
For a second, maybe two, I’m so overwhelmed, I freeze, unable to believe that it’s actually happening.
Our Moment. Our kiss.
It’s so much better than I ever dreamed.
Then I come to my senses and kiss the man back. My hand finds his hair, and my fingers wrap in the short strands just as I’ve dreamed a thousand times since I was sixteen years old. Gavin pulls me closer, and I’m lost to sensation.
His stubble scrapes against my skin, making me crazy. He smells like soap and soot and man and forest, and I will remember this moment forever.
After several blissful seconds, we break apart, staring at each other. Gavin’s beautiful eyes are hooded, and his cheeks are flushed. My heart races, and emotion crashes over me like waves on an ocean shore.
Never in my life could I have pictured a more perfect first kiss. At least it was perfect until an odd, stray sob escapes me, and tears leap to my eyes. Which is, quite honestly, the most embarrassing thing I could possibly do.
Abruptly turning in Gavin’s arms, I press one hand to my mouth, mortified, and scrub the tears away with my other. “I’m sorry,” I gasp, laughing though I want to die. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Slowly, Gavin turns me back and pulls my hands from my face. Then, with a gentle touch, he wipes away the stray tears with the pad of his thumb. “Are you upset or happy?”
“Happy,” I say, shoving his hand away because the sweet gesture is just making it worse. “You wouldn’t believe how long I’ve waited.”
He lets out a dark laugh and pulls me into a tight embrace, resting his chin on my head. “You might be surprised.”
Thankfully, the tears ebb, and I wrap my arms around him, terrified that if I let go, I’ll lose him again.
“So…what were you going to tell me?” he asks after several minutes of perfect, quiet bliss.
I groan against his chest, shifting closer, deciding I don’t want to see his face while I do this. Not only do I have to tell him what Rune and I discussed, but I must also somehow convince him that the elf is actually an elf.
“When I came into the village last night, Rune told me Marcus gathered an army of trolls three years ago, kidnapped his beloved, stole her elven magic, and is currently holding her hostage in a faerie realm. I agreed to help find her.”
Gavin goes completely still. “I’m sorry…what was that?”
Reluctantly, I meet his eyes. “Perhaps we should find Rune and let him explain.”
He lets go of me and steps back, looking highly skeptical. “Perhaps we should.”
22
As soon as I wake, I know Marcus has returned. Mrs. Stone clatters about in the kitchen below, creating an awful racket. Early morning sunshine peeks through my curtains, brightening the room with spring light. It’s golden and cheerful, and it does its best to bolster my mood. I stare at the ceiling for several minutes, wishing Rune hadn’t convinced me to stay.
Gavin and I spoke with the elf—and what a tense conversation that was—but my guard is not convinced. In fact, the only reason he didn’t scoff was due to the trolls’ role in the tale. You see, the year Rune’s friend Greta became queen, Morgenbruch was plagued with the beasts—and they rarely find their way into our kingdom. And then one day, quite suddenly, they disappeared. No more cottages destroyed, no more travelers attacked.
If Marcus was controlling them in hopes of finding Eva, it seems logical he would leave us be as soon as he claimed his prize.
I sigh and toss back the blankets, brushing my fingers over the worn cover of my new book that lies on the stand by the bed as I rise. After washing up, pulling back my hair, and donning my sorceress robe once more, I leave my room.
Nerves coil tight in my stomach as I step into the dining room. Marcus was only gone five days this tim
e. Just as if he’d never left, he sits in his usual spot, reading as always. He pulls his attention from the pages when I walk in the room. His eyes brighten as if he’s pleased to see me, and I’m plagued with doubt. I haven’t found anything to prove Rune’s words to be true.
And the wicked spell?
Perhaps it’s an ancient family text, leftover from a time long ago? A piece of history and nothing more.
“Good morning, Brynn,” Marcus says as I sit. “Milk any cows while I was away? Try your hand at mining?”
His flippant attitude eases my fear but makes the doubt grow. I unfold my silken napkin and smooth it over my lap. “You were listening.”
“I was.”
Unsure what else to say, I focus on the table setting and clasp my hands in my lap.
“Did you read the book?”
I nod.
As if he doesn’t believe me, he narrows his eyes. “And if I were to quiz you?”
“Be my guest.”
He chuckles under his breath. “What else did you do in my absence?”
Snooped around your home, looking for signs that you are an evil madman, capable of kidnapping elven royalty.
“I started polishing the silver. There is a lot in the manor, and much of it is looking tarnished.”
And it’s true. Gavin pointed out that if I were caught going through Marcus’s things, it would be easy enough to explain away if I had a cleaning cloth in my hand. Of course, my guard had to show me how to polish silver, as I’ve never done such a common thing in my life.
“You must have been bored,” Marcus says.
“It seemed a better pastime than reading aloud.”
This time the sorcerer laughs, and once again, that pesky doubt nearly suffocates me.
Mrs. Stone comes in with her tray, serving our breakfast—sticky, tasteless porridge sprinkled with seeds and berries, as usual. I suffer through it, wishing I could go back to the dry slice of bread I’ve had the last few days.
“I have another book for you—spells suitable for novices,” Marcus says. “You will begin your formal training today.”
The Sorceress in Training: A Retelling of The Sorcerer’s Apprentice Page 13
