Her Master's Hand

by Korey Mae Johnson

  Still, getting Ashcroft to talk about his feelings wasn’t exactly easy. Wizards were conservative about talking about matters of the heart to start with, and add that natural inclination to the fact that Ashcroft was a grumpy, millennia-old wizard with a pension to hermit himself for decades at a time… Full-disclosure was sometimes a tall order.

  “No,” Ashcroft snorted, looking down at the peaceful-looking head on his lap. “She has spell-sickness. Once she gets a good rest and we get some sugar into her, she’ll be bouncing off the walls right as rain, ready to get into more trouble.” He rolled his head back. “You should get some sleep yourself, old boy. You look like hell.”

  “I can’t sleep,” Moriarty growled, picking more dirt out of his fingernails. “Are you insane? I won’t be able to sleep ever again! I’m going to be tracking my sons day and night if I have to if I get them home safe.” He sighed with exhaustion. Please, lord, let me just get them home safe…

  Ashcroft pressed his lips together for a moment, but then looked out the window. Apparently he didn’t know what to say. Moriarty didn’t know what he wanted Ashcroft to say. Possibly he wanted Ashcroft to assure him that his children were fine and healthy, but Moriarty wanted to believe that too badly. He had to prepare himself for the worst.

  He had to stop thinking about this. “Talk to me, Ashcroft. Tell me all this.” He waved toward the girl. “Tell me what this is about. Get my mind onto something that’s not whether my sons are alive or dead, for God’s sake. I haven’t seen you for years—we shouldn’t have a journey this quiet!”

  Ashcroft huffed and told him of the story between himself and Maili—who she was, how they’d met. All particulars, no feeling. Time, places, words, goals. That’s all Ashcroft gave him.

  “So, she’s not really the warlord’s wife,” Moriarty finally ascertained, crossing one leg over the other. “The marriage wasn’t consummated,” he added when Ashcroft gave him a wince of confusion.

  “No, no. Hoel said that her marriage was; the night she ran away, her husband told Hoel that he had consummated it.”

  “Yes, but I thought we were believing your little witch now,” Moriarty replied, wiggling his fingers in the air over the witch’s face. “And she said that she stabbed him in the neck and ran that night after being beaten. So, essentially, their marriage is still entirely on paper.” He shrugged. “Not that it really makes much of a difference. Even I have dabbled with a couple of warlords’ wives in my time.” Of course, Moriarty had had the wives of all sorts of men back in the day. Especially before he’d met Ashcroft, married women had been Moriarty’s favorite fare; until the recent few decades, married women were the only ones with experience in the bedroom.

  “Yes, but…” Ashcroft hesitated uncomfortably. In the smallest of gestures, Ashcroft brushed his fingers against Maili’s upper arm.

  “Oh. So you’d feel better about your feelings for the girl if she was already taken,” Moriarty observed.

  “Shh!” he hissed quietly in response. He looked down at Maili, seeming to want to make sure she was still sleeping, and then talked much more quietly. “I don’t have feelings for her.”

  He held back a snort. He didn’t mind calling a spade a spade, even if Ashcroft was avoiding the obvious. “Of course you do. She reminds you exactly of Charlotte. I know this, because she reminds me of Charlotte, right down to that scratchy voice and those odd eyes of hers. Not to mention that she’s able to burrow under your skin as easily as a tick. Throw in that she’s a Byndian and smells exactly the same as Charlotte? We’ve got probably the closest match to the girl in the known universe. Hell, she’s probably a sister. Has the same blood in her veins.”

  Ashcroft scowled. “Don’t you dare talk about Charlotte,” he snapped.

  Moriarty leaned back, crossing his arms. “And why not? She was like a sister to me. An annoying one that I wanted to move out, granted, but a sister nonetheless. Hell, legally she’s even my sister-in-law. I can talk about her if I want!”

  Ashcroft didn’t punch him in the face, which was a good start—in the past Ashcroft wouldn’t have hesitated. The man had a devilishly good right hook, too.

  Instead, Ashcroft merely glared at him.

  “Don’t act like I didn’t see you give her a spanking when I walked up,” Moriarty added simply. “And you can’t deny it—you wouldn’t spank her if you weren’t attracted. You’d have ignored her, held her back at a distance.”

  Ashcroft’s eyes squinted at him even more. At least he wasn’t denying it.

  “It’s called a second chance, Ashcroft. Win over Hoel, marry the girl, and keep her barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen like I do mine.” He grinned at the idea of Alice—who did often cook, sometimes even barefoot, and there was something deliciously sensuous and womanly about her when she was carrying his children. Just thinking about it made him ache to give her more of the same.

  And just that quickly, melancholy washed over Moriarty again. How could he give his wife more children if they couldn’t properly care for the ones they had?

  Ashcroft seemed to have sensed Moriarty’s mood drop, or else he would have never added, “Well, it’s not so easy. I can’t get Charlotte out of my mind. It’s too soon.”

  Moriarty, happy to take this conversational olive branch, snorted, “Too soon? It’s been twenty years, master. She’s not coming back. Maybe finding this girl is fate’s way of helping you move on. Just kiss her, and you’ll see that Charlotte won’t just pop into your mind. I promise you that much.”

  Ashcroft’s cheeks suddenly flushed red and he looked out the window.

  Moriarty moved forward in his seat. “Master? Did you miss a part in your story?” he asked, just knowing by Ashcroft’s countenance that something juicy had to have occurred.

  “I might have… already kissed her. Outside her house… in the gardens… but nobody saw it. It was just… it was just one of those moments,” Ashcroft admitted, his shoulders looking rigid and stiff with defensiveness.

  “You kissed her?” Moriarty asked flatly, startled. “You kissed her outside the house where a demigod lives and guards her?” He suddenly moved his head to the side and eyed him skeptically. “Really?” That was a pretty boneheaded move for the wizard he knew!

  “I’m not proud of it. I don’t know what came over me, either, so don’t ask me to explain it—but the entire time I felt I was betraying Charlotte’s memory—”

  Moriarty waved his hands in the air. “Wait, wait, wait,” he said, simply unable to believe his ears. “The entire time? As in it wasn’t a moment. It was a time.”

  Ashcroft pursed his lips for a second. Moriarty could practically see Ashcroft’s blood boiling underneath his scarred surface. “What I did and did not do with Charlotte is none of your business!”

  “You mean what you did with Maili,” Moriarty corrected, waggling his eyebrows.

  Ashcroft reached over and shoved Moriarty hard, before Moriarty could even react to it. In response, Moriarty only blinked at him, unable to comprehend how Ashcroft still had such a sore spot about Charlotte over all these years. “Damn it all, Ashcroft! I was only teasing you!”

  Maili had woken up by Ashcroft’s sudden movement. “What happened?” Maili asked, looking dazed and panicked as she sat up. “Moriarty?”

  “Nothing. Your wizard just has the worst temper in the world,” he sneered. “Not to mention that he has no sense of humor whatsoever.”

  “I’ve noticed that,” Maili said, although there was a touch of sympathy in her voice. “I blame you for it, though. He’s only been my wizard for ten days. He’s been your wizard for centuries. You could have at least instilled in him some small notion of a good joke.”

  “Stop it,” Ashcroft said, folding his arms. “And I’m nobody’s wizard. Makes me sound like a pet when you say it that way.”

  Maili looked mischievously up at Ashcroft. “I could make that work. Would belly-rubbings and scratching behind your ear make you more amenable? Because I could do th
at,” Maili offered.

  Unable to control himself, Moriarty barked out a laugh at the mere image.

  “If only it was that easy to get me to do your bidding, my girl,” Ashcroft said—actually teasing back. That was absolutely startling! Charlotte had tried for months to make Ashcroft more jovial when she was alive, but Maili seemed to be able to make substantial progress in just ten days.

  “Papa said you can train anything. Why not a wizard?” she asked.

  “Ha! You’re the one who needs obedience training, bratling,” he said, even putting a hand on her knee. Moriarty was quite sure Ashcroft didn’t even know that he was doing it, since the move was so casual.

  Maili had noticed the small gesture, obviously, but she seemed to enjoy the attention. “Ashcroft, if you’re on my side, I will do anything you ever ask of me.”

  Ashcroft snorted. “Empty promises. As soon as I inspect that husband of yours, I have a feeling you’ll all but disappear, despite how hard getting rid of you seems to be at the moment.”

  Moriarty might as well not even be in the carriage, he thought. Ashcroft wasn’t paying him any mind at all. Ashcroft’s attention, every speck of it, was focused on the girl.

  She crossed her arms and sleepily leaned in toward him. “Believe me, I don’t forget my friends so easily.” She crossed her arms, folding her hands over her forearms for warmth.

  “Are you cold?” Ashcroft asked, concern in his voice.

  “Kind of.”

  Ashcroft immediately opened his cloak and removed it until it was covering her body. She was now fully snuggled in. “There,” he said with satisfaction.

  “Good wizard,” she mumbled, rubbing his torso through his shirt.

  Ashcroft snorted and even smiled at her, then he looked forward and seemed immediately irritated by Moriarty’s presence. “Don’t say a word,” Ashcroft mouthed in warning.

  Moriarty raised his hands defensively, as if to say he wouldn’t dream of it. It was still hard not to allow one small smirk through, however. That he couldn’t help.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ashcroft had been to elf kingdoms before. They were normally pretentious little citadels with paved cobblestone roads and pointy-eared children playing in the streets. The castles there would have turrets that seemed to touch the sky, and would shine because of whatever strange, illustrious, over-pretentious, and rare stone that the elves preferred to show off their kingdoms with. They were normally hailed by wealth, health, warmth, and light.

  The wind elf kingdom was unfortunately not like the usual elf kingdom. It was dusty, dirty, and poor. The castle was the same color of the sand around it except for the bright orange domes that peaked all their highest points upon their castles and towers, each topped with spike-like minarets that disappeared into the white, hazy sky.

  The citadel in the center of the kingdom was surrounded by a stone wall. Beyond that wall was the reek of sickness, dust, and death.

  “I bet it would be affordable to invest in real estate here,” Moriarty muttered, clenching onto the carriage’s door handle and then walking himself out before the Fluvian could assist, letting the door shut with a crisp ‘bang’ behind him.

  “I don’t know whether or not to like him,” Maili admitted when Moriarty stepped outside, peering in the direction he’d left.

  “I’ve known the man for the last seven centuries and I often find myself unsure about that as well,” Ashcroft replied, trying to give her a teasing glance, except she was focused on the window. For some reason, he found himself staring at her for a long moment. He had long ago decided that she was pretty, but he was beginning to realize that he didn’t just like the looks of her. He liked her mere presence; it made him feel calmer, more settled, less depressed and forlorn. She made him feel more in control of his own happiness than he had felt in a great long while.

  In another moment, the Fluvian opened the door for them. Knowing that Maili was uneased by the creature, who admittedly looked more like an enchanted object than like something with thoughts and feelings of his own, Ashcroft exited the carriage first and then immediately turned to help Maili out so that she didn’t have to take the hand of the statue-like man.

  Once Maili put her hand into Ashcroft’s so he could help her down, however, he enjoyed the sensation of her skin’s warmth enough that even after she was out of the carriage, he didn’t relinquish the hold right away. He held her hand in his as he turned to the Fluvian and said, “Wait here. We have to check something, then if all’s well, we’ll collect our things.”

  The Fluvian bowed, indicated that he understood, and Ashcroft led Maili toward the kingdom. They were never going to catch up with Moriarty at this point—he was already nearly to the castle. He was jumping over ill elves lingering along the street path, knocking beggars out of his way, and sidestepping anyone who came up to ask what he was there for.

  It seemed obvious that Moriarty found these people as not much of a threat, and Ashcroft quickly agreed. There certainly wasn’t any way that Moriarty’s children were here—these people were dying; it seemed impossible that they would have the strength to journey out and do the deed. Their journey had been a waste. Still, they were here. They might as well make absolute certainty.

  “This is a waste of time,” Ashcroft sighed aloud as they walked through the gates.

  “Don’t be so sure,” Maili said, looking about.

  “What’s not to be sure about? They’re more likely to start eating each other than leave to kidnap a couple of cross-bred boys,” he argued.

  She merely shrugged, even grinning, “I have a good feeling. Five quid says that we’ll find them here.”

  He snorted and said, “Just coming out here cost over fifteen million quid.” Before she could respond to that, however, he added, “But it is quite an easy bet so yes, I will take it.”

  “Well, I did suggest me just taking the wind-way,” she reminded saucily as they walked forward. She was using her tattered umbrella as a walking stick.

  “You know, my last ward never even figured out the wind-way and I was perfectly happy with that. Her grandfather flattened himself to a pancake that way. Not to mention lightning, which seeks out umbrellas…” he let himself squabble.

  “Don’t say ‘my last ward’ as if I’m your new one,” she bickered. “I’m not a child. God knows, I’m probably near forty.”

  “Prove it.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Exactly. You act like a seven-year-old.”

  “Well, that would make you kissing me scandalous, indeed…” When he glanced at her, he could see that she was actually enjoying arguing with him. She was teasing him.

  He rolled his eyes and grinned. “Well, unlike Hoel, I find it difficult to ignore your curves.”

  His smile disappeared as a guard approached them. “Who goes?”

  “Lady Maili DeHoel,” Maili said before Ashcroft could even move his lips. Her tone was extremely peevish as she added, “And you’ll do well to take us right to your lord.”

  “Hoel!” the elf echoed, his eyes going round like dinner plates. He took a step back and bowed. “Follow me, m’lady!” he said, and immediately spun and began clearing a path for them.

  Ashcroft’s eyebrows popped up near his hairline, impressed. “Normally I have to give some sort of explanation and song-and-dance before I go in to see a king,” Ashcroft admitted to her.

  “Well, demigod trumps master wizard,” she explained as if reminding him of the rules to some sort of card game. “Papa tends to pull a lot of water in the elf communities…”

  “Have you… met many kings?” he asked, beginning to wonder if her connections were as high, or even higher, than his own.

  She shrugged. “Not many. Only about twelve or so. Why?”

  He swallowed. He should have known how entirely out-of-his-league she was; she was Hoel’s ward, after all! Damn it, why did he kiss her? It only brought something tragic to a head—and that was that even if Damen were not an iss
ue, Ashcroft would be damningly hard-pressed to have Hoel’s blessing to even court her, let alone marry her.

  He felt like ice water had been dropped on his head. How could he be even thinking about that? He didn’t want to marry the chit! She was nothing compared to what Charlotte was—well, perhaps she had higher connections and was probably more educated, but she wasn’t Charlotte!

  He dropped her hand as they stepped around a beggar and didn’t re-attach himself to her.

  “Remember,” she said, leaning toward him and speaking quietly. “I haven’t seen this king in fifteen years, and I assure you that he doesn’t know I’m a witch. Perhaps it would be better if he not know. Papa certainly doesn’t want anyone to know.”

  Ashcroft felt himself protectively bristle at that. “You want to be a witch, don’t you?”

  Charlotte hadn’t wanted to be a witch. She had thought it was nothing but a bother, but he thought that Maili appreciated power and responsibility. “Of course I do, Ashcroft. But I don’t want to frighten people or make them uneasy, either. It’s a horrible look you get—you know, that look when they realize you’re a race they hate.” She grimaced.

  “Just because there’s a lot of ignorance out there doesn’t mean you should be ashamed of who and what you are,” he told her, then took her elbow to guide her through a crowd, intent on keeping the guard that they were following within their line of sight. “You’re a unicorn amongst our people. You have powers that our kind would kill for; powers to harness the elements, to save lives. Don’t be ashamed of yourself just because they don’t understand that you’re more important than the eldest of all royalty.”

  She was quiet, and when he looked back, she asked, “Is that how important you think you are?”

  He snorted. “My dear, any archivist could be me with a thousand years of study and experience under their belt. You’re the only one left of your kind.”

  She bit her lip. “I’m not a good witch. I don’t know anything yet,” she reminded him quietly, her eyes dark with embarrassment.