The Apprentice Sorceress

by E. D. Walker

  The magician lay on the bed looking pale and clammy with sweat, but he smiled when she ducked through the doorway. “My lady, I’m glad you’re awake.” Llewellyn made a beckoning gesture with his hand. His fingers quivered.

  “Are you all right?”

  His mouth quirked. “I’ve been stabbed, my lady.”

  “Right.” She cleared her throat. “But I mean…”

  “Am I going to die?” He gave a weak shake of his head. “Not today, it seems.”

  “Lord Guillaume will keep looking for us. He has to kill King Thomas if he wants any chance at marrying the princess.”

  “Yes.” He tapped her hand, and she glanced up to meet his eyes. “How is your head?”

  Her stomach clenched as she remembered the night before. “Fine now.”

  “But last night?”

  “I lost control.” She shook herself, trying to banish the images from last night of her magic spiraling out of control. “Have I—have I lost the ability to control my magic?”

  “No, no. You just tried to do too much.” Llewellyn clucked his tongue. “Keeping Guillaume’s men down, letting our men up. All the while, I’m sure your head was splitting.”

  She gave a hollow laugh. “Like someone had cracked it with an axe.”

  Llewellyn’s hand clenched against the covers. “I wish I’d been able to help you. I wish I could help now.”

  “Is King Thomas going to try to rescue the princess?”

  Llewellyn winced. “Yes. What else can he do?”

  “Wait? Hope for better chances?”

  “No. That will only give Guillaume more time to gather forces, shore up his defenses. And if he manages to get her back to Jerdun, then all hope is lost. We’d never be able to smuggle her away then.”

  Violette bit her lip. “But what can he do now? His men are injured, and the palace is heavily guarded.”

  Llewellyn held his empty hands out in a gesture of surrender. “King Thomas will still try. I wish I could stop him, but I know he will try. If I could get out of this dratted bed, he wouldn’t be able to stop me going with him.”

  Violette nodded mutely, her stomach aching with worry and fear. Surely Ned was too badly injured to go on such a foolish mission with his king? Wasn’t he? She twisted her hands together, her thoughts running in a panicked cascade. An ache started at her temples.

  Llewellyn’s hand snaked forward to catch her fingers and squeeze them. “Perhaps you should return to Ned?”

  She huffed out a laugh. “For my good or his?”

  “Both, I think.” Llewellyn lowered his gaze from hers, his brows knotted together. “I’m sure King Thomas won’t take Ned with him. Not for something like this.”

  He took Ned into a war. But Violette bit her tongue. “I’m going to sit with Ned again, but do you need anything first?”

  “No.” Llewellyn pressed her fingers once, weakly, then slumped against his pillows. His eyes fluttered closed. “Damn this wound. Damn Guillaume. Damn my king for bringing us to this accursed place.” His voice grew fainter as he wound down from this litany.

  “Rest, Master Llewellyn.” She started to leave then, on impulse, spun and dropped a kiss on top of the magician’s head. “I’m glad your king dragged you southward,” she whispered. “I should be very sorry not to have known you. All of you.”

  Llewellyn swallowed again and nodded.

  She tiptoed out of his chamber and went to sit with Yonca.

  ***

  She and Yonca made themselves useful helping the healer tend the wounded, preparing food, even just talking to the knights to take their minds off things. Not all the men spoke Jerdic, so Violette got a chance to practice speaking Lyondi.

  After a while, Violette left Yonca and went to see if Ned was still sleeping.

  When she poked her head in, Ned was awake and King Thomas was sitting with him, but the king unbent his crossed legs and stood as soon as he saw her. “Here’s fairer company for you, Ned. I don’t mind yielding my place.”

  “You’ll—you’ll come back again, my king? To talk?” Ned’s voice was so soft, so hopeful that Violette’s heart hurt for him.

  King Thomas gave Ned’s cheek an affectionate pat. “Of course, lad.” With that, the king left to check on his other injured knights.

  Ned’s eyes were a little glazed with fatigue, but he grinned at Violette’s approach.

  She gathered her legs under her and reached out to trace his cheekbone. “Hello again.”

  He grinned, the smile spreading slow but wide until his teeth showed.

  Something twisted inside her as she looked at him. A bittersweet pleasure. A healing kind of pain. She wanted to tell him to take care of himself, not to follow his king blindly into any battle he chose. She wanted to ask him to run away. She sat next to him and smoothed the wrinkles out of her jerkin instead.

  Ned tucked two fingers under her chin, gently forcing her to look at him. “Before the fight, before I was injured…I asked if I was too late. I hope I’m not. I hope you’d like to be…friends.”

  Friends. Violette swallowed an unhappy sigh. “Is that what you want?”

  He voiced a low, unhappy grunt. “What I want and what I can have are usually different things. I’ll settle for whatever I can have. From you.”

  She held her breath, her heart hammering so hard she could feel the beat of it in her neck. “Ned, I tried to kiss you, remember?”

  “When the healer was stitching me up, I wished I’d let you kiss me, but it didn’t seem fair to you.”

  “Oh.” She tilted her head to the side. “And what about now?”

  He jumped, his fingers twitching in her grip, and he stared at her with wide, hopeful eyes. “What do you mean?”

  She slid closer to him until she could feel the puff of his startled breath against her cheek. “How would you feel if I stole a kiss now?”

  His breath stopped for one beat, maybe two. Then he gave a light, happy laugh and leaned back to mock-glare at her. “How dare you, my lady. I’m an injured man.” He licked his lips, his gaze darting to her mouth. “Anyway, I haven’t the strength to properly kiss you back.”

  Oh. He made her want to skip down the street and laugh and roll around in this bubbly, happy feeling like it was a field of wildflowers. “We’ll have to do this again later then. When you have more strength. But for this moment—” She didn’t wait, didn’t think, didn’t hesitate, just leaned forward and pressed her mouth tight against his.

  His hand came up, cupping the back of her neck, and he angled his head so their lips slid together with delicious friction. She opened her mouth, breathing his breath with hers, and hummed with happiness.

  Ned shifted again then grunted with pain.

  Violette pulled away, their lips smacking apart so loudly that she felt her cheeks heat. “Are you all right, Ned?”

  He chuckled. “I never thought I’d be too injured to kiss you, my lady, but…well.” He winced and leaned back against his pillows, holding his side.

  “Why do you do that?”

  “What?”

  “Call me ‘my lady’? I’ve told you to call me Violette.”

  His cheeks flushed a deep, splotchy red. “Ah, y’see—”

  A crash from the front of the building startled them both before he could finish. Violette started to rise, but Ned caught her arm in a bruising grip. “Wait.”

  Yells and cries started up, followed by the clang of blades.

  Violette shook Ned’s hand off her arm, and he was too weak to stop her. She rushed to the door in time to see enemy knights charging through the villa’s courtyard, heading toward the injured.

  She ran into the hallway, and Yonca tried to intercept her by catching her with an arm around the waist. “Child, no. Don’t—”

  “I have to.” Violette twisted out of the older woman’s arms and hurried toward the attack, her shoes clicking against the tiles.

  “Get back!” she yelled in Lyondi. King Thomas and his men skidded back
ward, some voluntarily, some pushed by her magic. Then, as it had the night before, Violette’s magic leapt to answer her again—not with any spell she’d learned but with her intention. “Wall.”

  A line of tiles sheared up off the courtyard’s floor and clicked into place to form a floating wall in front of Lord Guillaume and his men. Lord Guillaume roared with impatience and tried to punch one of the tiles away. It felt like someone tapping at her ribs, trying to get her to shift—an annoyance, but not enough force to move her. Another tile spun free from its mortar and flipped end over end to fill the hole in her “wall.”

  An ache started at her temples, and Violette closed her eyes, biting her lip to distract herself. It wasn’t that her head hurt badly. Yet. It was the fear of what would happen if that thread of pain grew, if it widened to the great throbbing flood that had nearly destroyed her last night.

  Someone brushed her shoulder, and she turned her startled gaze on Master Llewellyn.

  “May I?” he said, gesturing toward her wall.

  She looked to King Thomas, who had one shoulder under Llewellyn’s arm, propping up his friend. Llewellyn couldn’t even stand on his own.

  Shaking her head, irritated, she looked away to focus on her wall. “You’re too weak to do any magic, Master Llewellyn. I may not know much, but I’m learning there are limits.”

  Llewellyn made an irritated noise in the back of his throat. “I have more training than you, my lady.”

  “And a hole through your body.”

  One of the uninjured Lyondi hurried toward King Thomas. “We’re surrounded, my king. They’ve circled the building. All of our uninjured men are holding the back door against these attackers.”

  Violette’s wall was the only thing saving the injured from being slaughtered. She took a long, slow breath in. I can do this.

  She had to.

  “Lady Violette, we have to—” Llewellyn opened his mouth to argue some more.

  But Lord Guillaume cut through their talk as he bellowed, “Lady Violette!”

  She flinched, and her line of tiles trembled in the air as if they might fall. Too much was happening. She needed to focus, and none of these damned interfering men would let her.

  “Lady Violette,” Guillaume said again. “Come out and surrender yourself.”

  “What?” The tiles fluttered like leaves dropping from a tree, but Violette managed to steady them again.

  “Surrender yourself to me, and I will spare these Lyondi men.” She could hear the smugness in Lord Guillaume’s voice even though her floating tiles hid his face.

  “Never,” Ned answered for her as he creaked over to stand beside Violette, supporting himself against the wall. Yonca bustled to his side and wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him standing. Ned nodded thanks then called out, “I’ll kill you where you stand, Guillaume.”

  Guillaume snorted. “The squire, is it? Whelp, make your threats when your voice has deepened and then I might worry.”

  Ned’s jaw tightened with anger.

  “Lady Violette, if you don’t come out to me, I will be forced to fight my way in to get you.” Guillaume’s voice was like the slice of a blade. “I will not be merciful to your Lyondi friends if it comes to that.”

  “Why do you want me?” Her mind was whirling, flipping through options, plans.

  Guillaume tapped one tile loose and peered through the small chink at her. The opening was just wide enough to frame his face like a portrait, and he grinned. His red-gold hair glinted like treasure in the sunlight, lighting him like some prince from the book of fairy stories she’d left back at the villa. He was tall, handsome, charming…and I still want Ned. The thought hurt. It didn’t seem likely she would get to keep Ned now.

  “Princess Aliénor may be the richest woman in Jerdun,” Guillaume said, “but I think you might be the most powerful, Lady Violette. I want you at my side. I’ve lost the South, but I have grand plans for the North. I want to marry you, Lady Violette. In case you’re worried about my intentions.” His eyes crinkled with laugh lines, and it made her a little nauseous that he could be so light, so charming while he threatened to kill every man in the building to get to her.

  “Over my dead body.” Ned spat.

  Guillaume flicked a contemptuous gaze over Ned from top to toe. “That doesn’t seem like it will be difficult to arrange, boy.”

  A red stain had spread on Ned’s shoulder. He’d opened his wound again hobbling out here to defend her. Master Llewellyn likewise was white as snowfall, his skin shining with a layer of sweat. King Thomas was here, and the wounded knights, but Lord Guillaume’s men outnumbered them and were hale and hearty into the bargain.

  He must have sensed what she was thinking, because Ned staggered forward to trace her cheek with his thumb. “Lady Violette, you know I would gladly die defending you,” he whispered.

  The words were like a physical blow, piercing straight to her heart. It wasn’t the Lyondi knights’ duty to protect her. Steeling herself, Violette peered at Lord Guillaume through the little window in her wall. “If I go with you, you spare these men. Not today, but forever. And if you mean to marry me, that means you can release Princess Aliénor and Lady Noémi as well.”

  A vein throbbed in his forehead. “You demand a heavy bride price from me, Lady Violette.”

  Drawing her shoulders back in her best imitation of the princess, she lifted one finger. Another, heavier, tile pulled itself loose from the ground with a crack and spun toward the opening where Guillaume looked in. “Well, I bring a valuable dowry, do I not, Lord Guillaume?”

  Just as the new tile was about to fit into place, hiding Lord Guillaume from view again, he flung one hand up. “All right, all right.” Exasperation dripped from his voice. “I agree to your terms. Now come out and meet me. My men are not fond of Lyondi knights, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to hold them off long.”

  “A moment.” Violette closed her eyes, composing herself. The tiles vibrated in the air behind her as if they were a reflection of her inner strife.

  King Thomas, Llewellyn, and Ned all started talking at once:

  “You cannot do this!”

  “This isn’t safe, Lady Violette—”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  That last from Ned made her stop short, and not just Violette but the king and his magician both fell silent. Yonca stared at the squire with wide eyes.

  Violette crossed to him and cupped his face in her hands. Yonca stepped back and tapped her shoulder in passing. Violette felt a little zip of power but ignored it. She leaned close to Ned, trying to memorize every freckle on his sunburned nose, every shoot of green through the lively brown of his eyes. “Ned, you can’t go with me.”

  His jaw set with mulish resolve. “I’m not telling you that you can’t go, my lady. It’s your choice to make, and I respect that. Much as I don’t like it. But if you go, then I’m going.”

  “You’re injured.”

  “I can walk.”

  Tears pricked her eyes and rolled down her cheeks with a suddenness that left her gasping. “Guillaume means to marry me, Ned.” Just saying the words stung like a slap.

  Ned’s nostrils flared with some strong emotion, although his jaw remained tight. “Then I’ll carry your bouquet for you, but I’m not letting you go alone.”

  She pulled gently on the back of his neck so he would lean toward her. When their noses were touching, she eased forward to press her lips against his. He sighed against her mouth and snaked an arm around her waist to draw her closer. More tears flooded her eyes, and she blinked them free, her cheek chilly now with its sheen of saltwater. She broke their kiss and pressed her forehead against his. “I love you, Ned.”

  His arms tightened around her. “I—”

  She stopped his words with another kiss, and he was smiling a bit cheekily at her when they broke apart this time. “It’ll be all right,” Ned murmured.

  “Yes. It will.” She tapped her thumb against his forehead. “Sleep.
”

  She wasn’t quite ready for how bonelessly he would drop—or how heavy his short and wiry form was. But still she managed to catch him halfway to the ground and ease him the rest of the way down without hurting herself or Ned.

  “He will not thank you for that, Lady Violette,” King Thomas remarked.

  “I don’t care,” she snapped. “He can be mad at me for the rest of his long, happy life once you have him and my princess safe back in Lyond. Master Llewellyn, can you—”

  She gasped with guilt as she turned toward her wall. Yonca gazed drily back at her with one hand held out, holding the wall of tiles in place. “Oh, Yonca, forgive me.” Violette had utterly forgotten to hold her own spell in place while she’d been talking with Ned.

  Yonca chuckled, although her eyes were pinched with concentration. “It’s all right, child. I managed to stop your spell unraveling. Lord Guillaume’s said he won’t attack us, but I think I’ll just leave the spell right where it is until he and his men are gone. You’re a foolish girl, but brave. Be careful.”

  Violette opened her mouth, although she couldn’t seem to fit everything she wanted to say, everything she thought she owed Yonca into words. She settled for a simple “Thank you.” Which was at least all encompassing if a trifle incomplete.

  Yonca seemed to understand the sentiment behind the words, because she gave her a kind smile. “Good luck, child.”

  Master Llewellyn eased up and leaned against the wall beside Yonca. “Mistress Violette. You are strong and smart and capable. I do not believe Lord Guillaume will easily get the best of you if you keep your wits sharp.”

  “Thank you, Master Llewellyn.” Tears threatened to choke her, but she sucked a ragged breath in, fighting to maintain her composure.

  King Thomas touched her shoulder. His brow was furrowed, his voice tight. “I’m not sure I should let you go.”

  She tossed her head. “You are not my liege. Princess Aliénor is.”

  His eyes crinkled with amusement. “Fair enough. Kind Fate smile on you, Lady Violette.” He leaned forward to kiss her cheek, but as he did so he whispered, “Wherever you go, remember: you are not alone. As soon as I can, I will do everything I can to help you.”