The Apprentice Sorceress

by E. D. Walker

  Violette gritted her back teeth, fear and anger swirling like a sickening ache in her stomach.

  The soldier let out a curt laugh. “See, the little jade doesn’t even deny it.”

  Ned made a hasty step forward, shaking Violette’s hand away so he could grip his sword with both palms.

  Violette shot her hand out, bunching up a handful of his tunic to hold him back. “Don’t, Ned.”

  “I will not allow him to speak so to you.” Ned gritted the words out between his teeth and never took his eyes off the stranger or his men. “I will not allow anyone to do so.”

  Violette cast her gaze back the way they had gone. The beach was empty as far as she could see in both directions. Either the others had walked too far, or she and Ned had while looking for a likely tide pool. There was no help within sight, perhaps not even within calling distance. The wind and the waves crashed loudly behind her, a chaotic pounding that made her want to slap her hands over her ears.

  “Enough of this. We are charged with keeping the peace.” The stranger kicked his horse forward. “You two get the whelp. I’ll get the girl.” The man dismounted and strode toward her down the hill. His eyes were flat, his mouth pinched with a hard resolve that made her tremble.

  “Stay behind me,” Ned tossed over his shoulder as he raised his sword.

  She’d seen too many battles lately, too many dead bodies, too much violence and fear and blood. A bitter, copper taste spread over her tongue as her heart pounded with alarm. Her breath came short and aching out of her lungs, and her heartbeat thundered in her ears loud enough to drown out the ocean. Too fast. Too fast.

  Something snapped inside her, and her hands began to tingle, like a sleeping limb coming to wakefulness. Heat gathered in her belly, as if a great ball of flame were rolling and building inside her. “Ned—”

  Catching the fear in her voice, Ned glanced behind.

  One of the riders rushed them and struck with his sword, bringing the hilt down hard on Ned’s head with a meaty thump. Ned folded onto the sand like a broken doll.

  The ball of heat inside Violette grew, pulsed like a living thing trying to break free, and she screamed from the pain as her skin seemed to stretch, burn. She glanced down, expecting to see her dress, her hair aflame as her whole body throbbed with heat. But only a vague light pulsed off her skin—a blue luminescence that looked much like—

  “Spellfire!” One of the strangers yelled. “She’s a witch.”

  Chapter Four

  “What? I’m not a witch.” Violette shook her head, stumbling away from the men approaching them. She curled one hand around her aching belly, which did no good. Everything in her ached and burned, her muscles twitching. What’s happening to me? Tears stung her eyes. “I’m not.”

  The leader stared at her out of narrowed eyes and shuffled forward two careful steps, reaching down for the hilt of his sword.

  “Stay back.” Violette flung her hands out, and for a moment it was like she’d tossed the fire away from herself. The air rippled around her. She could feel the chill in the breeze again. A great rumble sounded, and the men surrounding her wobbled and stumbled. The sand slipped as the ground rose like a cresting wave under their feet.

  An earthquake? But Violette felt nothing under her own feet.

  Ned shifted on the sand a few feet away, groaning.

  “Ned.” But when Violette darted toward him, the leader pushed himself to stand. Mouth white with tension, he drew his steel with both hands.

  “Stay back.” She felt that release again, like a flame rolling over her and away. Some strange force seemed to lift her attacker up from beneath and throw the stranger away to the ground. Violette’s throat went dry, her belly cramping and shivering with pain. She doubled over, crossing both hands against her gut, pressing at her innards, trying to make the pain stop. What’s happening?

  “Mercy!” One of the bullyboys cried and threw himself to the ground near enough that she jumped away, startled. “Mercy, Mistress Witch.”

  Witch. Violette blinked. Her throat was dry, her chest tight as if she’d just run for miles. Witch? “I—no. I…”

  “Mercy.”

  “Witch!” The leader had reclaimed his footing. He whipped his arm back and flung his dagger at her, the blade flipping end over end—a flash, blinding her, a clang of steel as Ned swung his sword to knock the dagger out of the air.

  The leader voiced a frustrated roar and dug his own sword out of the sand, advancing on her and Ned.

  She felt that horrid power building inside her again, building, building—

  Oh, it was like having to vomit and trying to hold it in—

  Painful. Impossible. Too full. Her breath huffed out of her in a rush that left her trembling. With a great crack, the air seemed to spark around her and everyone else on the beach was knocked down again. Even poor Ned.

  Her knees gave way, and she fell backward, landing on her rear with a thump and a spray of sand. Next moment, an ocean wave washed over her lap, and a shocked gasp broke from her throat as her now-wet skirts clung to her legs.

  Ned was the first to rise as he staggered toward her, his face a ghostly white. He fell to his knees beside her, oblivious as his hose and his tunic were quickly soaked by the rising tide.

  Violette whirled back to face their attackers, crouching awkwardly as the rising tide hit her again. The one who’d been begging mercy clawed his way upright then took off running away from her. The other two quickly followed him, not even looking back.

  The leader had been knocked over and hit his head against a rock. The sight of the blood shocked her, but he was blinking his eyes and groaning.

  Her hand sank into the soft, wet sand, and she wobbled as the water stole ground out from under her palm, throwing her balance off. The hiss of the waves was loud in her ears, but the sharp salt scent of the sea helped clear her head.

  “We have to go.” Ned’s hand, gritty and chilled from the water, found hers, and he gripped her fingers. He hauled her up, slinging an arm around her waist to steady her.

  Violette couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from the ringleader where he lay dazed on the ground. His blood was soaking into the sand, turning it dark. She’d never…never hurt anyone before. Have I hurt someone now? What was happening? What have I done? “What about him?”

  Ned shook her gently and tucked two fingers under her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Violette, they will return. They will find us. We need to go.”

  Another wave hit her, splashing against her thighs and sending a spray of water up her back. Her nerves felt the same, icy and chilled. Still, she let Ned tow her up the sand dunes back toward the road.

  They were both shivering as they walked, their clothes soaked, but it was more than that, of course. Shock and fear and hurt. Ned had a gash on his head.

  Her stomach felt still uncertain, her body aching as if from a fever. Her nerves…frayed would probably be the best term, and her mind was all ajumble like a poorly packed trunk, tossed about, contents all disordered.

  “What happened, my lady?”

  The question hit her like a punch, and she found herself breathless as she opened her mouth to reply. What was there to say? How could she deny what had happened?

  Ned kept them moving, and the long walk became a slog with her wet skirts dragging, her ruined slippers sinking into the sand.

  “Did you know you could do that?” He darted a look at her, his brows knotted—whether in concern or fear she couldn’t tell.

  “I didn’t know.” Her voice came out hoarse, too quiet. She swallowed and tried again. “I don’t know.” She flipped her hands over, staring at the pale part of her palms like they were a stranger’s hands suddenly attached to her wrists. Truly, they might as well have been.

  “You must speak to Master Llewellyn,” Ned murmured. “He’ll know what to do.”

  She pressed her hands tight to her mouth as shivery hot fear rolled through her. “Ned, please don’t tell anyone a
bout this.”

  “What?” He was shocked enough that he actually stopped to gape at her.

  She studied his face—even paler than usual after their ordeal. A trail of freckles stood out starkly on his cheeks. The gash on his head had stopped bleeding.

  It occurred to her suddenly that he wasn’t afraid of her. He should have been afraid after what she’d done on the beach. She was certainly afraid of herself. But not Ned. No, dear Ned, sweet Ned, was afraid for her.

  It made something ache inside her, a catch in her throat, a prickle in her eyes. She looked away from him and started walking again. “I don’t want anyone to know.”

  “But—”

  “It’s never happened before. It probably won’t happen again.”

  He gave a very ungentlemanly snort at that. Which she ignored. “My lady, Llewellyn can help you. He should be told.”

  Except it wouldn’t just be Master Llewellyn. It would be the princess and Noémi. King Thomas. Person after person would find out if she widened this circle of knowledge beyond just her and Ned. People would find out about the danger lurking inside her. “Do you have female magicians in Lyond?”

  “Midwives.” Ned shrugged. “Temple women.”

  “And sorceresses? Any noblewomen who do magic?”

  “No—oh.” His gaze cut to hers then dropped to the ground.

  Violette hugged her stomach, cupping each of her elbows with her palms. “In Jerdun, there are the temple wives too. The celibate women who serve the will of Lady Fate. Some low-ranking noblewomen have pursued magic as a calling, acting as a court magician to a duke or something similar.” She swallowed. “But these women don’t marry. And they are not treated as, as women.” Only this morning she’d been so desolate to have only two paths to choose from—service or marriage. If her secret were revealed, she would have no choices at all.

  She’d had an older cousin she’d played with. Evangeline. A sweet girl who used to braid her hair. Who hadn’t teased her for her unruly curls or darker skin as some of the others in her aunt’s family had done. Evangeline had been odd in their family too and also teased for it. One day, several of Evangeline’s usual tormentors had returned home with burns and bruises. Evangeline had come home, looking rattled but strangely triumphant. She’d never told Violette what had happened, what she’d done. But by the end of the week, Evangeline had been sent by their aunt to the local temple, and she’d been promised to the order as a novice. Had Evangeline possessed magic too? Was shipping her off to the temple the family’s way of keeping her power a secret? No one would want to marry into a family with magic women. They might pass the taint in their blood on to their children. After all, it was better to have a barren wife than one who might give you witch daughters.

  “It’s your secret,” Ned said, startling Violette from her gloomy reverie.

  “What?”

  He gently placed his hands on her shoulders. They stood almost nose to nose, he short for a boy, she tall for a girl. His eyes were brown, utterly common and utterly mesmerizing in that moment. “It’s your secret, my lady. Not mine. You must do as you see fit. But should you need my service at any time, I am yours to command.”

  His words pulled on something deep within her. It felt like wings fluttering, a captive bird having the cover pulled off her cage and gingerly turning toward the light.

  “In fact,” Ned continued, “I think I can hel—”

  “Violette! Goodness, what’s happened to your dress?” The princess’s voice.

  Ned retreated from Violette and knit his hands behind his back. His face became as blank as a fresh-cut stone.

  Violette winced and pulled her own mask back into place, almost imagining she could feel the tug of ropes and pulleys inside her, as if greeting the princess with a calm, pleasant face was a physical weight she had to lift. “Oh, my lady.” Violette let out a trill of laughter. “So clumsy. Ned tripped and took me down with him. We’ve had a horrible soaking, and he bumped his head.”

  “You all right, Ned?” King Thomas asked, cuffing the boy on the shoulder. Ned gave a curt nod and kept walking toward their horses.

  King Thomas was an older man—older than Noémi even—but very handsome with dark brown hair and kind blue eyes. He had a soldier’s body, strong and tall. Violette could understand, just a little, what Princess Aliénor might find appealing about the foreign king.

  Princess Aliénor clucked her tongue and clasped Violette’s hands, chafing at them to warm them up. Violette had to restrain an urge to pull away, scared she might accidentally magic the princess. Hurt her. Still, she bit her lip and let the princess tug her toward their horses.

  “Violette, did something happen on the beach with Ned?” Princess Aliénor kept her voice low, but Ned clearly heard her, for a red flush stained his cheeks. The princess’s face was scrunched with worry. “Did the boy attempt a familiarity? Did you have to defend yourself?”

  Violette rocked back, her cheeks heating.

  Ned’s head snapped up, and he raised his eyebrows at Violette.

  She looked away, looked away from them all. “No. No, it’s—it’s as I said. We fell.”

  King Thomas cleared his throat. “Thank you for your faith in my squire, Princess Aliénor. We Lyondi noblemen are not known for being lustful brutes, you know.”

  Violette had to hide a chuckle behind her hand as she and the princess exchanged knowing looks. There were plenty of ballads in their homeland of Jerdun about lustful Lyondi brutes. The subject was practically its own genre.

  The princess flicked a dismissive hand. “The boy is young, and Lady Violette is very beautiful. I wouldn’t trust a Jerdic squire to hold the line if he were left alone with her.”

  “I wouldn’t trust a Jerdic squire with much of anything at all,” Ned ground out through his teeth.

  “Ned.” King Thomas’s voice was weary.

  Violette bit her cheek, and damn Ned for making her want to laugh at a time like this. She clenched her hands into fists. “I would just like to go home and change. Please, my princess.” Tingles had started along her arms, a feeling uncomfortably similar to what had happened on the beach. She was terrified to erupt in spellfire again now in front of everyone.

  The princess squeezed her hand. “Of course. We must get you home at once.”

  The rest of their party were assembling, corralling their own horses and mounting up. Violette almost blundered right into Master Llewellyn as he brought her horse over for her. Startled, she looked right into his startling, ice-blue eyes and felt her pulse jump with alarm. He was the very last person she wanted to see right now.

  “Are you sure you’re all right, Lady Violette?” he asked, his voice soft and kind. “Are you sure you feel well enough to ride?”

  He doesn’t know. He can’t. Master Llewellyn was merely expressing gentlemanly concern for her after she’d fallen in the sea. But I need him to go away. Not to look at her with his too-keen eyes. Not to see.

  She tilted her chin haughtily up. “I’m quite well, Master Llewellyn. But thank you for your concern.” Rude. Her chest burned with embarrassment as she brushed past him to stick her foot in her stirrup.

  “I am ever at your service, Lady Violette.” The magician bowed as he took himself off to his own horse.

  Dread flowed heavily into Violette’s gut. She was shaking again as she pulled herself into her saddle and stole a quick breath, trying to keep calm. It won’t happen again. She was fine. Everything was fine.

  Yet even as she had the thought, a hard lump seemed to lodge under her sternum, a roiling, boiling knot that made it hard to truly catch her breath. It won’t happen again. It won’t happen again. It won’t…

  Chapter Five

  A few days later, the princess had another letter for her to deliver to the king, so Violette had to venture into the market. Ned would be there somewhere. The standing arrangement was that Ned would check in at the same spot in the market every day and wait just in case Violette had a letter to del
iver.

  She’d slept poorly ever since the day on the beach, and after everything that had happened, she dreaded seeing Ned.

  Yonca had looked worried that morning when they’d set out together to market, and Violette quickly figured out why. Everywhere they went, a new tension lay heavy in the air. People were out and going about their usual business, but they did it quickly, with none of the usual chitchat. And when Yonca started haggling with the fish seller, both women were sharp, uncompromising. Violette had thought them friends.

  As they left the fish seller’s stall with half their usual order for almost the same price, she touched Yonca’s shoulder. The older woman cast her a harried, half-exasperated glance. “Yes, Lady Violette?”

  “Why is it like this today? What’s happened?”

  Yonca worked her mouth a minute. Violette thought she saw the woman restrain a sigh. “It’s the new laws, my lady. And the way they’re enforcing them. Lord Guillaume and Lord Jean have been raiding homes and conscripting men into service to defend the city. People are missing, families are being split up…there’ve been a few brawls already. Better we do our business quick and get back home so we can lock the doors behind us.” Even though the other woman’s face was pinched with tension, she still spared a kindly look for Violette. “I’m sorry, my lady, but if your squire doesn’t show up soon, we’ll have to get home anyway.”

  “Of course.” Violette’s nerves jangled like discordant bells, and she looked about her at the crowded streets with new alarm. Hurry up, Ned.

  Their next stop was the butcher, who had a shop not a stall in order to keep her meat from rotting in the sun. Violette told Yonca to go inside without her while she waited by the entrance and scanned the crowd for Ned.

  “Well, you’re a pretty thing. What’s your name, love?”

  Violette recoiled against the doorway of the butcher’s shop as two strangers approached her. They wore chainmail and surcoats for one of the minor lords in the city. They might be knights, might even be the lord himself and one of his men. They were noblemen anyway, or near enough they should know better than to speak to her so.