The Apprentice Sorceress

by E. D. Walker

  Princess Aliénor tilted her head to the side with a sly smile. “Fernand, brother dear, don’t you wonder how I managed to land this ship in your courtyard?”

  Fernand flinched and cast a worried glance at the ship, but he said nothing.

  Princess Aliénor’s voice dripped sweetness. “I have a powerful magician in my service. And I will leave them on Catarlia to act as a protector of my island. That resource also I will deny to Lyond—if you bless my marriage to King Thomas and send us on our peaceful way now.”

  For the first time, King Fernand looked around at the entourage Princess Aliénor had brought with her. His eyes skipped over Noémi and Violette, though, and he gazed at the Tiochene captain with a dark, suspicious look.

  King Fernand looked up at the hull of the ship shadowing his face and dripping saltwater onto the stones of the courtyard. His face blanched. “I suppose I have no choice but to agree.” He brushed a hand down the front of his tunic and visibly straightened to a kinglier stance. “Who do you name as regent of Catarlia? Your cousin Guillaume perhaps?”

  Violette bit back a snicker.

  Princess Aliénor’s face remained impassive. “No, alas. He decided to remain in the South and continue the fight to reclaim the colonies there. No, I name Lady Noémi of Orullion to be my regent and caretaker of Catarlia. A duchess is traditional on Catarlia now, after all.”

  King Fernand’s face twisted as if he’d bitten into something sour, but his gaze drifted again to the hull of the ship floating lazily in his courtyard, ready to squash his men to paste if necessary. He huffed out a deep, reluctant sigh. “So be it. Come swear the oath of fealty now, Lady Noémi.”

  Noémi hurried forward and sank to her knee in front of the king. Violette braced herself for some form of treachery, but King Fernand made quick work of the oaths, and before she knew it, Noémi had kissed his ring and been declared the new duchess of Catarlia.

  Even Princess Aliénor seemed a little surprised at how easily that had gone over.

  King Fernand made a dismissive gesture with his hands, looking weary and peeved. “Go then. Have your Lyondi king. Bear his brats and live a long, miserable life in that cold, barren waste. I’ll be happy never to see you again. Catarlia is the real prize.”

  The princess gave a scornful snort. “I thank you for your mercy and your generosity, King Fernand.” She led their party back toward the ship. The captain and Noémi started up the ladder, but the princess paused with her hand on the first rung. “One thing, Brother Fernand, if you should ever look to my island with a covetous eye, remember this flying ship. Remember the magician who’s sworn to defend Catarlia for me. Catarlia will not be without protectors. Even from you. Good day, King Fernand, and goodbye.”

  King Fernand’s nose wrinkled with disgust, but he whirled away to storm into his castle before the last of them had even finished climbing the ladder.

  As Violette hauled herself up and over the side of the ship, she watched King Thomas take the princess into his arms. Aliénor was shaking but smiling at him as if he’d hung the sun in the sky just for her. King Thomas tucked his hand under her chin. “Now we go home, my love. It is time to make you my queen.”

  The princess laughed. “Yes, but first Catarlia.”

  ***

  The trip to Catarlia was a quick day’s sail from the mainland. They arrived at the island a little after dawn the next day and were able to immediately put into port. The princess stared at the glowing white stone with tears in her eyes then gave Violette a sad smile. “I almost don’t want to leave the ship. It’d be easier not to step foot on the island at all than to step foot only to turn around and leave again so soon.”

  “Just keep hold of King Thomas’s hand. Then you’ll remember what you’re sailing toward.”

  The princess hugged her and sniffed juicily. “Wise advice, Mistress Violette.” She beamed at Violette, as proud as if she herself had attained the rank of sorceress.

  As soon as they entered the city, everything became a whirlwind. The princess sent for all her vassals and the lesser lords who owed her fealty, and she made arrangements with her household to pass responsibility to Noémi and Violette. Noémi, for her part, bore everything with a stoic face. It was only in private that she revealed her nerves to Violette.

  Noémi had taken to pacing often and twisting her wheat-colored braid through her fingers over and over again. “A duchess? And of Catarlia! The richest lands in all of Jerdun. What is the princess thinking?”

  Violette forced her to sit on one of the plush chaises littering her new apartments. “She’s thinking that no one would be better suited to this task. Lady Noémi, Duchess of Catarlia. It sounds very well to my ears.”

  Noémi hugged her tight. “With her trusty sorceress, of course.”

  “Yes.” Violette too had new responsibilities to shoulder and learn. But she was excited by the prospect and only a little terrified, so that was all right then. And at least she would have Yonca with her to continue her training.

  Yonca had been named a lady in waiting to Noémi, and she’d taken to the post with great skill and dignity, in addition to her other, secret duty of teaching Violette. At least for a little while. Yonca and the sea captain had come to some sort of understanding on the trip, and Violette suspected it was only a matter of time before her teacher would sail off into a new adventure without her.

  All told, it took a week for Princess Aliénor to transfer her authority to Lady Noémi. There was a ball and a great many feasts and, on the final day, a boisterous parade of farewell to escort Princess Aliénor back to the ship that would carry her off to Lyond. On the whole, the mood of the crowd was celebratory. The people of Catarlia had never much liked Prince Philippe, and it was so clear that King Thomas worshipped their princess that they were willing to let her go.

  Ned had already told King Thomas of his intention to stay in Catarlia their first night after the welcoming feast. “I figure King Fernand will find out Lady Violette is the sorceress soon enough. She’ll need a bodyguard and a champion of the court, I think. I’d…I’d like to stay and be her champion, my lord.”

  “Well, but a squire can’t be court champion,” King Thomas said.

  “I, well, but…”

  “Kneel, Squire Ned.” King Thomas had smiled kindly and drawn his sword.

  Violette had restrained a squeal of excitement.

  Ned had stood there looking as if the king had struck him. “My lord?”

  King Thomas chuckled. “Kneel, lad, so I might dub you.”

  Red flamed across Ned’s cheeks, and he bent to his knee so quickly he bruised it on the tile—as he proudly showed Violette later. “I don’t deserve it, my lord,” he murmured. “I’ve not been your squire more’n a few months.”

  “And in that time, you’ve helped me secure the hand of my lady love, won your own fair lady’s love, and, oh yes, saved my life. I can’t think of better credentials for a knight and, as you say, Catarlia and its ladies will need a defender. I’d like it to be you.” The king touched Ned on both shoulders with the flat of his blade. Gently, King Thomas placed one hand atop Ned’s head and intoned the oath of the knight. Ned blinked, tears tracking down his cheeks. “There is your oath.” King Thomas pulled Ned to his feet and engulfed him in a tight hug. Properly, Violette knew the king was supposed to cuff Ned at this point, but instead the king kissed him soundly on both cheeks then cupped Ned’s face in his hands. “See that you remember it.”

  “I will, my king.”

  King Thomas ruffled Ned’s hair, blinked a few tears free, and pulled him close for another hug.

  Standing on the dock beside her now, Ned wore a blue sash with a seal proclaiming his knighthood for all to see.

  They hugged and kissed the princess and the king and Llewellyn and bid them all safe journeys, but eventually the time for goodbyes passed, and they had to actually let the travelers board their ship. The princess, the king, and the magician all stayed on deck waving goodbye until
the ship was only a dot on the horizon. Violette, Yonca, Noémi, and Ned had likewise lingered and stood waving until their arms were tired.

  Noémi swabbed both of her cheeks dry with one of her new embroidered handkerchiefs. “Well, my loves, I’m back to the palace for a meeting with the steward.”

  “I’ll join you, my lady.” Yonca gathered her skirts in one hand, already handling her heavy Jerdic gowns with the grace of an expert.

  Violette traded a glance with Ned. “Should we—”

  Noémi cut Violette off with a wave. “No, no. Time enough for business tomorrow. Take today to enjoy yourselves.” She wandered away with Yonca back to the fancy coach with the duchess’s seal on the door.

  Violette let the ocean breeze dance in crisp coolness over her cheeks. Ned’s hand slid into hers, warm and dry, and she squeezed his fingers. He smiled at her, the light glinting in his warm brown eyes.

  She tugged on his hand, leading him toward the beaches nearby. “Shall we see if Catarlia has any tide pools?”

  He laughed, throwing his head back with joy. “Lead on, my lady.”

  “With pleasure, Sir Ned.”

  The story continues in The Beauty’s Beast, the next book in The Fairy Tales of Lyond.

  Click here to read the next book in the series:

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00J1CRJAW

  Read on for an excerpt from The Beauty’s Beast,

  E.D. Walker’s compelling follow-up to The Apprentice Sorceress…

  The Beauty’s Beast

  Available Now

  Once upon a time…

  Is that how all the stories used to start? After all this time, all this solitude, I’m not sure what I remember anymore. What is real?

  Once upon a time I was a man. I remember that much. Not just a man but a knight.

  Remember that. Hold to that.

  A knight I was, cherished by the king himself. Respected. Renowned. The most beloved knight in all the land. A hero.

  But now I am a beast. What honor I possessed has disappeared along with my fine clothes and gold-etched armor. Along with my titles and honors and lands. Along with her…

  All lost, all gone, and now…

  The wolf’s upper lip curled back over his fangs, and a low rumble escaped his throat. Were it still a human throat, the growl might have passed for a rueful chuckle. From the throat of a wolf, the sound was little better than a deep snarling.

  And now? And now what? He bounded out of the cool shade of his den. His paws sank into the wet, spongy ground beneath him as he ran through the forest, fighting to outpace his thoughts. Normally he hid himself from the light of the day. The sunshine brought back too many memories of what he’d been—and hammered home all too forcefully what he was now.

  Today he found no rest wherever he went. All his soul searching only stirred up a restless, painful energy inside him. When you are a beast, what good is there in trying to think like a man?

  Echoing growls from his ribcage reminded him of what his human thoughts had distracted him from for too long: wolf, man, or otherwise—he was hungry.

  ***

  Lady Kathryn understood where her duty lay. She truly did. The hitch, though, the tricky part, the twisty trouble was…well, she was having a difficult time convincing herself that her duty was to do her duty.

  The royal court of Lyond had not taken part in a hunt since the marriage of the Princess Aliénor from Jerdun to their King Thomas a month previous. Kathryn had been one of the queen’s ladies only since Aliénor’s marriage, but in one short month Kathryn had grown very fond of her queen. She would do almost anything for her, but…did it have to be hunting?

  Riding had never been one of Kathryn’s favorite pastimes. When her father had gambled away the funds necessary to keep their horses, the loss of her late mother’s mare had caused Kathryn only a small touch of regret. She certainly liked horses, and riding could be pleasant, but this—this neck-or-nothing tear through the woods, the bouncing and jostling, that she could not like.

  Meanwhile, the great brute of a horse below her kept ignoring all her most urgent instructions. Clearly, the horse recognized who was master, and it certainly was not the featherweight astride his back, pulling at his reins. He had his head now and would not have slowed for a rider twice as skillful as Kathryn. With an angry whinny, the horse broke from the group of hunters and careened wildly off into the forest.

  Teeth jarring together, branches whipping her face, Kathryn clenched her legs around the horse’s sides and fought to hold on. Unfortunately, a bare moment later, she tumbled forward off her horse’s neck, the ground rising up to meet her. “Oof.” She lay stunned in the damp leaves, the musty smell of the dirt thick in her nostrils.

  Meanwhile, the careless beast who’d tossed her galloped gleefully back to his stable for some oats and a good brushing down.

  Kathryn pushed upright with a groan. “Oh dear.” The hunt was on, and her companions would probably not miss her for some time. When the world stopped spinning, she stood with the aid of an obliging tree trunk and took in her surroundings. The lush forest possessed a heavy covering of brush on the ground, clustering around the roots of the tall trees.

  “Help!” She put a hand to her chest, trying to calm her still-hammering heart. “Anyone? Hello?”

  The forest swallowed her cries. The only sounds around her were the gentle rustlings of wind in the trees. She swallowed her fear, stifling it, and started walking, hoping someone had noticed her difficulties and come looking. She would be having a very long day if they hadn’t.

  A strange noise caught her attention, and she tilted her head to listen. Barking, horses, and—the high-pitched howl of a wolf? She froze. I thought we hunted the hart this day. This thought was swiftly chased away by another and rather more alarming one: They’re coming this way.

  The crashing of hooves through the underbrush filled her ears, along with the bloodthirsty cries of the hunting dogs and the triumphant shouts of men.

  She stood at the edge of a small clearing. A hoyden in her youth, Kathryn was out of practice now and had a little difficulty maneuvering with her hampering skirts. Nevertheless, she swung herself up quickly enough onto the first branch of the nearest tree.

  Just in time too. The king and his entourage, having trapped their quarry at last, thundered into the clearing, their giant horses trampling over the place where she had been standing.

  ***

  The wolf smelled the dogs before he heard the sounds of the hunt echoing in his forest. The hounds scented him before they gave chase, howling and baying while they tracked his progress through the woods. His werewolf’s scent, and the stench of magic about him, always drove poor beasts like hunting dogs mad.

  Ah, well. The wolf believed himself rather smarter than even the wiliest hunting dog and had tricks enough to bring himself safely home. He stretched his muscles and broke into a run, shoulders flexing, muscles singing at the exercise.

  He caught a hint of smell then—the merest breath to fill his nostrils. But it was enough. A spasm of grief choked him, and a whine broke from his throat. The wolf stopped. He could not have moved if he’d wanted to—and he did not want to.

  My king, he thought, just before the hounds caught up to him. He ran then, cursing himself as he darted between the trees and slogged through the tangles of underbrush. Idiot. You let one smell on the air distract you long enough for the dogs to get your scent. Now what are you going to do?

  Befuddled and at war with himself, he fumbled through his escape, stumbling, taking wrong turns. His baser instincts pulled with every fiber of muscle for him to slip away and lose himself in the forest, foiling this hunt as he had so many others. Yet his human heart, and what parts of his head it still had sway over, urged him in the other direction—back to the humans. Back to the king.

  His hesitation, his dreadful indecision, gave the hunting dogs the edge. The wolf wore himself out running from them and from himself. If he didn’t focus—and soon—th
e dogs would get him.

  ***

  The swift hounds chased him for hours, wearing the wolf down, tiring him out so he would be too weak to give more than a token fight at the end. He remembered this tactic well from when he had been the hunter on the horse. He winced remembering all the poor beasts his prized hounds had chased down for him and the terrified, fatigued animals he had put to death as a man and ceremoniously carved up to feed to his hunting dogs.

  At least I know what happens next.

  The largest of the hounds caught up with the werewolf, pacing along beside him. The hound’s rasping breaths rang loud in the wolf’s ears. Dog and wolf were of similar height, though the wolf’s body had more weight to it, larger muscles.

  The hound, a whipcord of wiry strength with jaws of iron, pounced on the wolf. The werewolf dodged, and the deathblow meant for his neck fell instead to his shoulder. Searing heat erupted along the wolf’s side, and he snarled. The hound thrashed and bit down again with bruising strength.

  With true remorse as the wolf remembered how fond he had been of his own hounds, he savagely locked onto the dog’s neck. With a bone-shattering crunch, the wolf snapped the dog’s neck and ripped its throat open.

  Gurgling, eyes rolling back, the dog fell dead to the soft turf of the forest. Even as the wolf mourned the beast, he reveled in the metallic stench of the dog’s blood and savored the hot broth. Yet he did not linger long over his kill as the other dogs caught up to their dead leader. The thunder of hooves and the jeering calls of men echoing among the trees meant their masters weren’t far behind.

  With a whimper, he leapt into motion again, his long strides making his injured shoulder flare with pain. The wolf’s stomach rumbled from hunger. He could still taste the hound’s blood in his mouth, mingling with some of his own. His body ached from fatigue.

  His wounded shoulder betrayed him, and he stumbled. Falling, he rolled across the spongy earth, kicking up the rich scent of mud and the sharp tang of broken greenery.