Cove swings down. Before I know it, I’ve dropped the lock and he’s pulling me to his chest and into the shadows beside the brick wall.
His lips meet mine in a frenzy, and while I know I should fight, the sensation is too much, climbing up my legs, my arms, my chest, reeling me to him.
“Cove,” I say once he breaks away, breathing hard.
“I’ve found us passage,” he says, thumbs scaling my jaw. “On a vessel bound for Sicilia. But we must leave tonight.”
I stare at the street beyond him. “Tonight, I can’t—I promised Christabel I’d finish her order.” It’s so close. I just have to complete the detailing. And after thinking it over, I have to ask her about the H on that flower.
Cove bends his gaze to mine. His eager blue eyes are pleading. “It’s tonight or not at all. My father is away on business—it’s our best chance to sneak away. This vessel leaves at sunset. Please, Perdita. Come with me.”
“What about Florizel?”
He continues stroking my face. “I mean as little to her as she to me. I’m just a wealthy conquest. I assure you, our elopement will be a blessing for her as well.”
A thousand reasons tumble through my brain. Reasons to stay. Reasons to go. I want to adventure, to see the world. I wanted to go with Christabel—I’m about done with her items. And Argento—I can’t leave him with nothing but a goodbye note. Not with a broken fence and a crumbling farm. What kind of gratitude would that be for all he’s done for me?
But Cove. The way his glances say more than words ever could, the way he touches me, the way my soul alights just being near him. His warm breath touches my neck.
“The moon, Perdy,” he whispers. “Let me give you your moon.” His lips close beneath my ear, and then he’s off, mounting Ember and riding away.
* * *
Argento sits near the fireplace in our home, his feet wrapped in thick woolen socks made from our sheep. He cradles a steaming mug in his hands and stares at the flickering flames.
“You’re back early,” I say, surprised to see him here so soon. “Hard day today?” I take the rocking chair opposite from him. He nods.
Cove’s request has tormented me all day, so it’s a relief my stepfather has returned from the mountain. I’ve got a decision to make, but I need answers first. The best place to start is the beginning.
“Can I ask you a question, Argento? You told me you found me as a small child. How?”
His glassy expression shatters. He blinks, looking older than I’ve ever seen him. “What?”
“How did you find me?” I ask. “You’ve never really told me.”
Argento takes a deep breath and stares into the fire. “It’s time to rest, Perdita. We both have a lot of work to do tomorrow.”
“Please. Please tell me.”
“It was seventeen years ago. A terrible ordeal. I found you in a basket by the wayside where one of the king’s retainers had fallen sick. I offered to care for you.”
Good heavens, it can’t be. I go rigid. “The king’s…retainers…Why would I have been with the king’s second man?”
“Perdita, I—”
Slowly the cogs settle, each chinking into their places. Seventeen years ago, a baby girl went missing. A baby girl born in a prison.
Dashing upstairs, I throw a few items into a pack and scribble a hasty note, just in case. I know Argento will understand. He’s got to. He’s still in his place by the fire when I come back down again. I lean in for our usual quick kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me. I love you, Argento. I can’t explain now, but I have to go.”
* * *
I don’t bother re-saddling Ivory but instead swing myself onto her bare back and charge down the hill. I don’t stop—not for the wagons, not for citizens crossing the streets. One woman carrying a basket stumbles backward, the contents toppling out. I go straight to Christabel’s lavish home.
“It’s me, isn’t it?” I say, not bothering to knock. “Queen Hermione. I’m the baby she lost so long ago.”
Christabel stares out the window. Several extravagant chairs trimmed with lace adorn the space. “He told you, did he?” she asks.
I stride deeper into the room. “How long have you known?”
“I was there when the retainer brought you,” Christabel says. “When the horrible news was shared, and we saw the Sicilian royal seal in your basket—along with that flower—Argento and I knew no one could know. So he brought you here, raised you, and I helped in any way I could. I was in no position to be a mother to you, not when I had my own child to look after, but I offered…financial assistance when needed. Until you began blacksmithing, that is.”
I think again of the statue, and after several stretched moments, I speak.
“Cove asked me to run away with him.”
Christabel’s mouth falls open. Seeming to realize this, she closes it. Her teeth click. “Does Argento know?”
I shake my head and sink into one of her fancy chairs. “I don’t know what to do. But I don’t want Cove to know the truth about my parents. Not yet. His father despises me. I don’t want to suddenly be welcomed with open arms simply because of my birth status. I don’t want the praise, the glory I know will follow should word leak out. I don’t want to be the king’s lost daughter. Argento is all the father I’ll ever need. I told him so in this.”
I hand Christabel the note explaining everything, including the money I left for him in the basket where my maps are. Sadness strains her eyes as she takes it.
“I understand.”
I rise and hurry to her. “Then you know this has to die here. Queen Hermione’s daughter stays lost. Promise me. Please, Christabel.”
She laughs. “I had hoped to present you as a lady at court in England. But this Cove Rutledge—you love him?”
Words don’t come for several beats.
“I barely know him,” I say.
“But you want this.”
“I do,” I say, surprised that it’s the truth. “I want to be with him. I like him. He’s kind to me. He makes me laugh, makes me feel like I’m important. I want to find out what love is. And with the way things are I can’t do that here.”
“You could make this simple, you know. Tell the truth. Argento and I could help. You still wouldn’t have to appease Cove’s father. The two of you could still marry, could still make it.”
I shake my head, remembering the statue. Her sadness. Her loss. “I know what would follow. I don’t want to return to the man who betrayed and killed my mother.” I’ll never call King Leontes my father. Never.
“If you do this—run off and marry that boy—you know you’ll have to eventually tell him the truth.”
“I will. When the timing is right, I will.”
Her green eyes meet mine. She squeezes my hand. “Very well. Hermione’s baby is lost.”
I hug her. “Thank you, Christabel. Oh, and I left you a crate back at the barn.”
* * *
I ride hard. Sunset illumines the horizon with rays of gold and orange. Ivory’s flanks quiver beneath me, but still I push her until I arrive at the dock. Gulls caw and flitter from stacks of cargo to gather on the ropes blocking the dock from the ocean.
I dismount and search. People flock thicker than sheep in a pen, carrying baggage, hauling sacks on their shoulders, hugging goodbye. I scan every face, hoping each one that turns will instantly transform into Cove’s. This is beyond ludicrous. But I don’t care.
Christabel’s question resounds. Do you love him?
Love—it’s a maze I’m ready to navigate my way through. He had every chance to take advantage of me in that darkened mill. He could have hurt me or worse, but he didn’t. Cove has been nothing short of incredible. He’s jeopardizing his father’s respect—his own inheritance!—for me. And I want nothing more right now than to be where he is. Wherever he is.
The instant I wake every morning he emerges, rising from the sections of my brain whe
re he’d been haunting my sleep. He never leaves my thoughts. I can’t imagine anything better than being with him during the waking, not just the dreaming.
My pulse thrashes, people board the vessel, and still there is no sign of him. Has he been detained? Maybe his father heard of our plans somehow and has chained him to their estate. Christabel—maybe she’s right, maybe I should reveal the truth of my birth.
Just as my hope begins to falter, the crowd breaks, and I see him.
Shining like a bonfire in the fading sun, he stares out across the flecks of light on the water’s surface. One hand on the rope, the other hefting a pack over his back. He’s dressed down in common trousers and a tunic, and a hat over his unruly hair. He blends so perfectly no one would suspect his true status.
I’m ready to leap toward him, but I force my stride to a regular pace.
“It’s blue,” I say to his back, elated just to be near him.
Cove turns, and his eyes alight. He looks windswept and rugged, the way he looked the night I met him. It’s pure agony to only stare, to not reach out and touch.
“What is?” His gaze scans over me and takes in the pack in my grasp.
“My answer,” I say. “I’d choose the color blue.”
“Blue,” he repeats, a smile spreading on his beautiful mouth. “Your favorite color? You know how I feel about that.”
I shake my head. He stares off into the horizon, and I take in the scruff along his jawline, the confident lilt of his posture, the sunlight kissing his temples.
He gestures to the rippling waves crashing toward our vessel. “The ocean is very beautiful. And the sky. It would be difficult to live in a world without their hue.”
The sun sinks lower as the final boarding call sounds, long and low.
“No,” I say. “Not the ocean or the sky. Your eyes. If I had to live in a world completely devoid of color, I’d want to see the gleam in your eyes more than anything else.”
Those eyes alight with a mixture of surprise and delight. He crushes me to him.
“You’ll come with me?” he asks into my hair, holding me tightly. “Be my wife?”
“Yes,” I say, the word expanding in my chest. “Yes.”
We embrace for a moment longer. Then together, we turn and join the throng of people flocking to its gangplank. I’ll tell him of my parents. When the time is right, I’m sure we won’t hold anything back from each other.
But for now, it’s time to board a ship.
A Witch's Life
Adrianne James
Conceal me what I am, and be my aid
For such disguise as haply shall become
The form of my intent. I’ll serve this duke.
Thou shall present me as an eunuch to him.
It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing
And speak to him in many sorts of music
That will allow me very worth his service.
What else may hap to time I will commit;
Only shape thou thy silence to my wit.
—Twelfth Night
Chapter 1
Josephine sat in the middle of the room in a tall oak chair. It was killer on her back, and the cushion—if you could call it that—had lost its oomph long ago and her butt was beginning to tingle. With a sigh, she looked around the room at the women sitting in a circle surrounding her. Her mother, grandmother, aunts, and every other coven member. She was the youngest.
Her mother had cornered her that morning. Told her to be ready for her first job for the coven. Her training was over, and it was time to join their ranks in protecting their legacy and the members. She still didn’t know what exactly that meant, but she was ready. Her powers had always been stronger than the average witch her age. While most women didn’t become full members until they were nearly twenty, here she was at 16 being given her first task.
“It is time,” Sarra, the coven leader, said. A silence fell over the room and Josephine could feel the magic in the air tickle her skin in the most delicious way. It was euphoric, and in that moment, it was stronger than she had ever felt it. It was the first time she had been welcomed into the circle, into a meeting of the coven. “Today, we recognize Josephine Delavine as a member of this coven. Her training complete far sooner than her years. We shall start the initiation, unless you object?”
Her attention was brought back to Josephine in the center of the room. Object? Why would she object? This is what she was born for. The powers coursing through her veins would only grow in strength once she was bound to a coven. A coven was stronger than a family.
“No, I am ready.” She tried to keep it cool, act like an adult. But the smile that played at her lips couldn’t be contained, and she found herself bouncing slightly in her chair. Instead of being scolded, Sarra smiled back at her and nodded her head.
“Let us begin.”
The women around her closed their eyes and held hands. Slowly, their bodies began moving in a circle, all as one. Sarra began to hum, then was joined by the witch next to her in a slightly deeper note, and so on until the room was encapsulated by the tones. Faster and faster their bodies moved. The humming turned to chanting in a fluid transition.
“Sanguis. Vinctos. Potsestas. Donec Mors.Sanguis. Vinctos. Potsestas. Donec Mors.Sanguis. Vinctos. Potsestas. Donec Mors.Sanguis. Vinctos. Potsestas. Donec Mors.”
Blood. Bound. Power. Until death. The words flew from their mouths in unison, their bodies still moving in a circle. Josephine could feel the power radiating from them, seeping into her. She knew what was coming. She was prepared for the explosion.
A knife appeared in front of Sarra. She released one hand from the circle, the chant never fading from her lips as she gripped the handle. She placed the tip of the sharp blade against her wrist that still held the hand of her coven sister and on sanguis, pressed in. Her blood spilled to the floor and a smile lit her face through the words. The knife was passed from witch to witch who followed in their leaders footsteps. All that was left was for Josephine to summon the knife and plunge it into her heart.
The magic that flowed through the room and in the blood now coating the blade would heal her and at the same time, tie her to the coven surrounding her. They had all done it. With the same knife. Why was she so frightened?
Josephine’s eyes found her mother. Proud eyes shone back at her and with a nod of her mother’s head, she was ready. Summoning the knife was simple. It flew through the air and into her hand in less than a minute. Blood coated the handle, but she held tightly. Her eyes slid closed as she turned the tip to her chest. The sharp blade nicked her skin as she waited for the proper time, and as the group chanted Donec Mors, she plunged it into her beating heart. Light filled her eyes, sound ceased to exist, and a power she had never known possible entered her body, sending her crashing to the floor, and everything went black.
Magic hummed beneath her skin before the light returned to her eyes. It was delicious. She almost didn’t want to open her eyes and share this feeling with anyone. Even though they all knew what she was experiencing, she didn’t want to share it.
“Josephine?”
Her mother’s voice broke through her silent paradise. With a deep breath, she opened her eyes. It felt as if she were seeing the world with new eyes. Colors were more vibrant and her fellow coven members’ auras were glowing brighter than she ever imagined possible.
She sat up, a smile growing on her face. Her coven was silent, all watching her. But instead of making her feel uncomfortable like just moments before, she felt nothing more than pride.
“I never expected it to feel like this.” Everyone laughed and nodded their heads in agreement. Becoming a member of a coven was more than being a witch. It was tapping into the powers of everyone. What brewed under the skin was no longer the only magic available. She was now connected to every woman in the room.
“You were brought into the coven early for a reason. Yes, you are a powerful witch, but we needed someone young enough to complete this assign
ment.” The coven leader stood and walked toward her. Her hands clasped in front of her and her voice grew serious.
Josephine sat a little straighter and looked from Sarra to her mother and back again. Standing on steady legs, she nodded her head. “I’m ready. Whatever you need, whatever our coven needs, I will get it done.”
“Our coven has been at war with a group of warlocks for almost a century. The last major battle happened when I was just a child. We lost half of our witches. It has taken this long to grow, to become strong enough to retaliate. We have a plan that will stop them from ever acting against us again. And that plan is completely in your hands.”
Josephine had known of the war. It was a story she had heard over and over her entire life. She had been raised to hate the Warlocks of the North Sea. She detested even the thought of them. “What do I need to do?”
“You will become one of them.” Josephine locked eyes with her leader. She was just brought into the fold and now they are casting her off?
“What do you mean?”
“We will funnel our magic, all of it, into you. This way, you can use glamour so strong that even they won’t be able to tell the truth. You will become one of them, using your magic sparingly, just enough to make them want you. Then, you will find out anything you can to help us finish the war, once and for all.”
“You want me to be a spy?”
“Yes.”
“Won’t that leave you vulnerable?”
“Not as long as you complete your mission. They will never know we have no defense, and you will be the one who is remembered for years as the one to end the carnage and find justice for our fallen.”
The thought of everyone depending on her sent worry running through her veins. She knew she couldn’t say no, she wouldn’t. With a nod of her head, they began.
Chapter 2
A boy walked down the boardwalk that lined the sandy beach. His hair was short, yet wavy and a dull sandy blond, his eyes, a silver grey. But more than that, he no longer had to wear a bra and the feeling was so freeing, he never wanted breasts again.
Never Be Younger: A YA Anthology Page 14
