Betrayal and Yearning_A Fantasy Romance

by Eve Redmayne

  Grif spun around, dark eyes wide. “What the hell—”

  “A little help here?” Braum rasped, coughing fitfully.

  Grif dropped his sword unheeded to the ground and raced forward. Using his bare hands, he heaved and pulled at rocks.

  “Don’t just stand there!” Griffin yelled, voice cracking with emotion as his men approached. “We’ll get you out,” he assured Braum.

  The muscles in Grif’s neck bulged, and his teeth gritted with effort as he tore at Braum’s prison. Though a head shorter than Braum, his shoulders were just as wide. His fingers slid along the sharp edges of rock and soon dripped blood. “What happened? Are you alright?” Grif asked.

  What could he say? Well, dear friend, a strong magic possessed my new wife, Jessica, when I tricked her into marrying me, and then she tried to kill me. Right, that’d make perfect sense to a dwarf who didn’t believe in magic, and Grif was more skeptical than most. So, he said nothing.

  Face ashen, Grif halted and asked again, “What happened?”

  Braum blinked against the rain. “I married Jessica several days past,” he blurted. “I tricked her. She didn’t know what she was doing.”

  “Shit!” Grif slashed at the black hair plastering his face as water dripped from the end of his aquiline nose. “That’s a sacred oath! You can’t just use it on a girl without her knowing it.” He spat the words, appearing sorely tempted to punch Braum. Or perhaps leave him there. “Then what?” The other men continued to work, pretending not to listen as Grif pulled at the rocks nearest Braum’s face.

  “I realize it was a mistake, but at the time felt it the only thing I could do to keep her safe from the elf.” Water sprayed from his mouth as he spoke in icy puffs. Already the temperature had dropped, summer’s grip on autumn gone.

  “Then?”

  “She did this to me,” he finished lamely.

  Grif looked like he’d swallowed a bitter potion.

  “It just happened,” Braum continued. “I can’t say how, but I ended up like this.” He’d explain in better detail when they were alone. He couldn’t have his men thinking he’d lost his bloody mind.

  “We’re not going to get you out like this.” Grif scanned the monstrous pile of rocks and then his men’s raw hands. He yelled for someone to go get help from the keep. “And bring back a pallet.”

  “What about a lever?” Braum suggested through chattering teeth, his body wracked with cold.

  Grif nodded once, and one of his men set to felling a tree.

  Together, they jammed the trunk in a gap between rocks and pushed with all their might. Nothing budged.

  “Try again,” Braum shouted, straining from within. Anguish gripped his chest; was Jessica’s magic keeping them from freeing him?

  With equal parts panic and desperation, they heaved. But nothing gave. Redoubling their efforts, they labored, backs stretched, faces contorted. Eventually, the men fell away, breathing heavily.

  “Move, damn you!” Grif yelled and caught a stone with the heal of his boot. It creaked, and his brows rose. Teeth gnashed, he kicked it again, and again, until suddenly, it popped free. “How the hell did that happen?” he sputtered.

  “Who cares how, keep doing it,” Braum slurred, his eyes drooping. Even the pain might not keep him awake for much longer.

  The men readied themselves for one more try, their movements stilted from the chill. Each man sported bloody welts, and mud soaked beyond their knees, but none voiced a complaint.

  “HEAVE!” Griffin shouted, water splashing across his face.

  Feet dug into the sodden earth, they leaned in, grunting, and cursing on white breaths. Then, something shifted.

  Encouraged, they gave one final push, muscles shredding from the effort. The mound shuddered, and before their astonished eyes thundered to the ground—Braum along with.

  Boulders crashed into his broken body as he slid free, but by the grace of his gods, he wasn’t buried again. The bulk of the rocks stayed put, a testament to their solidarity.

  The men fell to their knees and tossed rubble from Braum’s body.

  At his head, Grif palpated Braum’s neck. “The muscles are stiff but otherwise fine.” Hurriedly, he inspected Braum’s spine. “Everything’s intact.” He laughed with relief and counted seven broken fingers, multiple cracked ribs, and a dislocated shoulder.

  Braum grunted as Grif yanked his shoulder back into place. “For a second, I felt lucky my best friend is a surgeon, not anymore. God’s prick that hurts.”

  “Shut your bellyaching,” Grif snapped, surveying the damage below Braum’s waist. He swallowed. “Multiple breaks… both legs. Rock shard… upper thigh.” He meticulously catalogued each injury, his tone even and distant. “I need splints,” he called to the hovering men, ripped off his shirt, and wrapped Braum’s torso.

  “Your shirts,” he demanded when the men returned, carrying sturdy branches, and swiftly splinted Braum’s legs. Once finished, Grif wrapped Braum in his cloak. With nothing else to do but wait, the four men huddled shirtless, protecting Braum from the freezing rain and sharing what body warmth they had between them.

  Braum’s eyelids drooped mercifully.

  “Where the hell’s the rescue party?” Grif muttered between shudders.

  And despite the freezing rain, Braum succumbed to fitful dreams.

  Braum awoke with a start, jerking upright, only to clasp a hand against his ribcage. “Dammit!”

  When he could finally breathe, he pried one eye open and blinked against the light threatening to split his skull. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead, and he fought the urge to vomit. His vision cleared a fraction, and he realized he was in his bed. Grif had gotten him home.

  “Son!”

  He turned his bleary gaze to his mother as she burst through the door, Grif close behind.

  Bessy fussed over him, tucked the fur blanket tighter around his shoulders, and brushed sweat-dampened hair away from his forehead. With her motherly administrations complete, she asked how he was doing.

  “Like hell,” he responded weakly.

  Her eyes narrowed at his language. “What happened? Where’s Jessica?” She settled beside him, clucking over his various cuts and scrapes.

  “Mum…” He brushed her hands away. A scowl darkened his face as he tried to sit up, but failed. He didn’t have time for this. “Get the rest of the family and I’ll explain.” His voice was raspy, his chest ached, and because he hated himself for what had happened, he only wanted to explain himself once.

  “Well!” she stood in a huff and smothered a sob into a handkerchief. “I’m sorry if you don’t want my help.” Back straight, she bustled from the room, muttering about ungrateful sons who didn’t love their mothers.

  “Don’t move your legs,” Grif warned, voice deadly serious as he laced his arms around Braum’s chest and helped him upright. “I’ve braced them in hopes they’ll knit back together, and I won’t have to amputate.”

  “Good morning to you, too.” Braum glared at his friend with his one open eye, hand clasped tightly against the other. The thought of having both eyes open, unbearable.

  “You should be dead,” Grif hissed and tossed his cloak onto a chair. “The only reason I haven’t cut off your blasted legs yet is the rockslide kept you immobile enough your bones didn’t break through the skin and fester. Surprisingly, the damned rocks helped realign your bones.”

  “Remind me to thank my wife later for the favor.”

  “I could kill you right now.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t.”

  Teeth clenched, Grif ripped the blanket from Braum’s legs, swallowing audibly at the purple mess of lumps and lacerations. “It’s not good.”

  Without a word, Braum leaned back, praying for Jessica’s safety. He couldn’t give a shit about himself. What if the elves found her? What if she died from her wound?

  When his family entered, Grif pulled the blanket back up. Braum shifted, feeling his neck redden, and explained
what he’d done. From his false marriage to the fact they’d consummated the sacred ordinance, and about Jessica’s possession.

  Silence hung in the air. Bessy sat, hand over her mouth. Brindle paced back and forth, looking like he needed a drink. And his brothers stared at him like he was daft.

  “You fool!” Bessy hissed, eyes narrowed to thin slits. With her sacred amulet clutched tightly, she began to murmur. All eyes shifted to her when she slammed her hand against the chair’s arm.

  “Gods, son, a sacred oath? It’s no wonder the child wrought havoc upon discovering your deception—intentionally or not.” She shook her head, braids bouncing, and stood. “I would’ve done a bloody piece worse if it’d been me.” Muttering, praying, and cursing in tandem, she rounded the room, knuckles white about the amulet.

  Finally, she nodded and walked to the door. With her hand on the latch, she said over her shoulder, “We need the wizard,” and left.

  Braum clutched his head with both hands, shielding his eyes. Bessy mistrusted magic more than most dwarves. Her own mother had died at the hands of a witch when Bessy was a child. So, if she believed they needed the help of a wizard, then they must be very desperate indeed.

  ***

  Whipple’s mouth quirked as the royal family approached on horseback. As a sign of respect, he stood from the gourd patch, a small pile of ripe squash at his feet. His smile deepened as Bessy pulled her amulet free of her bodice and kissed it.

  Smoke plumed from the chimney of his small, but sturdy, house tucked into the woods just outside of Grayweather’s protection. He liked his privacy so living outside the dwarven kingdom’s walls and walking to work each day had been the perfect solution.

  Still clinging to her amulet, Bessy’s golden eyes skimmed the garden, the woods, anywhere but him. Finally, she spoke. “We need your help, wizard.”

  It wouldn’t do to openly enjoy the queen’s asking him for help, so Whipple tugged on his beard and banished the smile. A member of the Stoneforge household since he was a lad, he’d had to fight to stay in his own home after Bessy had married Brindle and moved to Grayweather.

  The new queen had accused him of plotting with witches to madden her, mere weeks after the marriage. She’d complained of disturbed sleep, nightmares, and punishing headaches by Whipple’s hand, and had ordered him banished. Luckily, Brindle ordered an investigation and when a colony of bats was removed from the paneling in the queen’s room, her health returned. Though, to his recollections, she’d never apologized for her accusations.

  Her gaze dipped to his and he saw red-rimmed eyes.

  “Braum is near death and Jessica missing,” she said bluntly, her fingers worrying a loose string on her skirt. Her voice thickened as she continued, “Only the gods know how, but she became possessed of magic and retaliated against Braum when he tricked her into marriage. It was a damn fool move, I know,” she said, clearly sensing Whipple’s sudden anger, “but that’s the young for you. I feel we may need your abilities to save her from herself. The same magic that tried to kill my son gravely injured her. Help us find her?”

  Clarity struck Whipple. Several days past, a magical pulse had rammed him like a bolt of lightning. While not in possession of inborn magic, the pulse had still used him, stealing his powers of intuition, observation, and leaving him weak as a new babe for an entire day. Instinctively, he’d known it was fae magic. Turns out, it had been Jessica’s fae magic.

  “Of course, of course,” he quickly agreed, and, with some effort, Forde hoisted him onto a horse.

  As they rode, Bessy filled Whipple in on all the details Braum had given her.

  With his understanding of the fae, Whipple’s eyes grew misty. Feisty and curious, Jessica would wield the gift of magic responsibly—once she got the hang of it and stopped trying to kill her husband.

  It didn’t take long before they descended into the glen where the marriage ceremony had taken place. Magic still lurked in the area, throbbing in waves of green and yellow.

  Whipple fixed his gaze, drinking it all in, and stumbled off his horse. Hat in hand he quieted his companions with an impatient wave as a yellow pulse drifted toward him, attracted like a bee to nectar. His breath lurched to a halt as the pulse suddenly rushed him, plunging into his chest.

  He cried out, his heart palpitating from a power surge, unlike anything he’d ever known. As his knees met the ground, he knew his lifelong dream had come true. Fae magic had found him. In bursts of liquid heat, true magic flowed through his veins. Tears of joy stung his eyes while, at the same time, his heartbeat began to quake from the up-swell in energy.

  Concern twisted his gut, realizing this must be how Jessica obtained the fae powers. Hopefully, she’d tolerated the shifting forces better than he.

  Fallen leaves swirled about his trembling body. His mouth worked silently as the pain built until he could think no more.

  “Holy forge,” Bessy hissed as a breeze rushed passed. Klieg frowned at her, and she shut her mouth with a SNAP.

  Within moments, the winds ceased, and Whipple collapsed onto his stomach, gasping. The entire glade screamed silently but for the rushing waters drowning his labored breaths.

  Firm hands helped him sit. Though quicksilver shots of pain flowed under his skin, Whipple focused on Klieg, kneeling beside him. The dwarf prince’s face suddenly paled and pupils dilated. His head jerked toward the dark woods, sensing something. Whipple sensed it too but was unable to place the threat. It was different from the fae magic that lingered, darker.

  Body tense, Klieg turned back and asked, “Do you know what happened to Jessica?”

  With no time to waste, Whipple grasped the young man by the shoulder. “The fae have claimed her”— he managed, but before he could finish, began to wheeze.

  An energy pulse wound its way to his heart, and Whipple clutched his chest. Unable to speak for the burning, his hand went slack as he battled to breathe.

  Klieg frowned, as though trying to make sense of Whipple’s words. “The fae have claimed her?” He rubbed a hand over the dark stubble on his chin. “Is that what wizards believe happens when somebody dies?”

  No! Whipple tried to shake his head, but his body simply quaked, all motor-control gone.

  “Very well,” Klieg nodded, face grim, “Jessica’s dead. She didn’t manage to kill my brother before but may succeed when I give him the news.”

  Then, as though pushed, Klieg suddenly fell forward, landing atop Whipple. He scrambled upright, face ashen and looked around. “What was that?” he breathed.

  “What, son?” Brindle asked, taking a step closer, hand on his battle-axe.

  “Something pushed me.” Klieg stood and rubbed his chest.

  “It’s only you and the wizard there,” Forde said from beside the rockslide.

  Mouth agape, Whipple blinked rapidly. Though his vision was blurry from lack of air, he distinctly saw a shadowy haze beside Klieg. His throat rattled as he tried to warn them, but the darkness drifted into the prince’s body, and the two merged into one as Whipple stared on in horror. Klieg’s eyes flashed green for a brief second, then shifted back to gold.

  Afraid he’d done more damage than good, Whipple closed his eyes and let himself fade away, unable to hold on any longer.

  CHAPTER 16

  Inside her loft bedroom, Willow sat on her bed and watched the night fade through the windows flanking her cottage. Tucked inside the Wild Woods, this was her place in the world, built with runes carved by her own hand into the timber supporting the walls. Symbols designed to keep her home free from harm. Here, she answered to nobody but herself.

  The bed was small but big enough for her. She turned a jaundiced eye toward her bedmate. Jessica had rolled over, taking the patchwork quilt with her, leaving Willow exposed to the early morning chill. With only one bed in the house, the two women had shared, snuggling for warmth.

  She shivered and noticed the fire below had gone out but for a few still-glowing coals. Willow tugged her share of th
e quilt back.

  Jessica flew upright, suddenly roused from sleep. As though unsure where she was, her head shifted from side to side, eyes aglow.

  Aware the magic was in possession right now, Willow swallowed thickly, wondering how she could help Jessica control her own powers? It was a question she’d have to figure out and fast. It was dangerous having a magical spark around.

  “Jessica?” she said haltingly and handed back the quilt.

  A scream pierced the quiet morning, ripped from Jessica’s lungs.

  Willow shrank back. Her arms flailed when she found herself no longer on the bed but falling to the floor.

  Hands alight with flame, Jessica loomed above her. Willow swallowed a gasp as she glanced down at the fireplace, now stone cold.

  “Get off the bed,” Willow warned, not wanting her bed to burn.

  Jessica didn’t twitch even as a tendril of smoke drifted upward.

  Willow leapt up and suffocated the orange glow, using the quilt itself. But a small ember flipped through the air and landed on a stack of notes beside the bed. Flames flared, licking greedily at the fuel.

  Unable to move fast-enough, Willow raced around the bed and stamped out the small fire with her bare feet. “Shit, shit, shit,” she gasped and hopped away. She looked back at Jessica’s hands, fully engulfed in flames, and resting on the feather mattress. For the love of—

  She launched herself at Jessica, throwing them both off the bed. They crashed to the floor, a tangle of limbs. Nightshirt in hand, Willow smothered Jessica’s hands. “Stop it!” she scolded and stood in a huff, shaking down the singed garment. “Are you trying to burn the house down?”

  Jessica sat a moment, a blank look on her face. She finally blinked and ran her fingers through the mass of brown hair, pushing hanks away from fearful gray eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.” Her voice was small as she tucked her knees up to her chest like a child. “Oh gosh, I don’t even know how to control my own body.”