by K. M. Shea
Briar quoted the phrase she had grown up with. “You can spend money when you die!”
“Exactly! Uck—” Donaigh swayed when Firra chopped him in the neck.
Firra was a beauty with sleek black hair, full lips, and dark eyes that glittered with affection. Her hair and eyes held hidden flickers of dark blue, much like her magic. “Welcome home, Briar.” She briefly hugged Briar and kissed the side of her head. “Have you found any targets for your Easy-and-Carefree-Life plan?”
Briar wrinkled her nose. “No.”
Firra clicked her tongue. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Nonna also stood and put her hands on her hips. “Mage Firra—you of all people should know not to promote such foolish behavior!”
Briar jutted her lower lip for show. “It’s a worthy goal.”
Donaigh laughed uneasily—as he always did whenever Briar mentioned her plans for the future. “Quite so.”
“Are you spending the night?” Briar asked when the mages stepped back.
Firra groaned and stretched her arms above her head. “I’m afraid not. We have to do another sweep of the woods.”
The corners of Briar’s mouth tugged down. Spying a stack of freshly laundered blankets, she got to work folding them. “You seem to be doing a lot more patrols these days.”
Firra and Donaigh had been frequent visitors to the household as far back as Briar could remember. They had been friends of Nonno’s—even though they were perhaps now in their mid-thirties and Nonno was a retired guard—and they were the local representatives of the Veneno Conclave.
Usually representatives had creative or functional types of magic—like water purification or storytelling. Oddly, both Firra and Donaigh possessed combat magic—though with all the patrols they were holding perhaps that was why the Conclave had assigned them to the area in the first place.
Donaigh plopped down in a chair and ate an apple. “The deep woods is an uneasy place these days.”
Firra fussed with the badges on her shoulder that marked her as a fire mage. “It’s nothing to worry about, but we don’t want to take any chances. Arcainia was lax, so a witch was able to catch the royal family off guard last year.”
Briar folded a blanket, then put it away in the chest by the ladder that led to her loft. “I remember—she turned the princes into swans. But Arcainia is across the continent. Surely you are not concerned about Sole. Unless…you think something will come for the princess?”
Everyone knew about the cursed princess of Sole. An evil magic user had cursed her to prick her finger and die—though with the help of an enchantress, the curse was modified so she would only fall into a deep sleep. She had been spirited off as a result, and supposedly none knew where she was. Briar pitied the poor thing, wherever she was, mostly because she was another example of why no sane person would want to be a royal.
Donaigh shrugged. “It is in our best interests to root out any crooked or evil magic users—for the sake of both Sole and the Veneno Conclave. We want no mistakes.”
Nonna rubbed her hands together—something she did whenever she was upset. “But you needn’t worry about such things, Briar.”
Briar stood on her tiptoes and stretched her arms high so she could fold a blanket in half. “But as a citizen of Sole, it should concern me. If someone offs the princess, it will be disastrous for the country.”
Nonna made a strangled noise.
“Who told you that?” Firra asked.
“Isaia’s tutor. And Isaia—though in far fewer words.” Briar draped the half-folded blanket over the back of a chair so she could properly line up the corners. “Isaia is forever telling me to take note of current events and to stay informed so I can be a productive member of society, but that will only be good if I can achieve my Easy-and-Carefree-Life in Sole—which is looking less likely. I was thinking perhaps I should start targeting merchant heirs.”
“The best merchants are from Ringsted,” Donaigh said with great loyalty. Though he had been taken in by the Veneno Conclave at a young age, even the great magic academy hadn’t been able to entirely mute the sing-song brogue of his birth country.
Nonna shot him a murderous look. “I would thank you if you would keep your advice to yourself, Mage Donaigh.”
Donaigh smiled broadly. “And selfishly hoard up my great knowledge? Your image of me, Nonna, must be quite low.”
Firra chuckled—a low and husky sound—though when there was a knock on the door, tiny blue flames flickered at her finger tips.
“Come in,” Nonna called.
The door creaked open, and Briar’s childhood friend, Isaia, stooped slightly to look through the doorway. “Is Briar ready for our lessons?”
“Almost!” Briar grabbed a stack of three books and abandoned her apron. “I’ll search the coop for eggs when I get back, Nonna.”
“I can handle that,” Nonna said.
“No.” Briar said firmly. “That step up into the coop is too difficult for you. I’ll collect the eggs.” She kissed the old woman’s weathered cheek, then stopped to hug Firra and Donaigh. “If you come in the evening next time, I’ll make dinner for you. Take care!”
“Of course, I shall be ever watchful of my dear sister,” fair-haired Donaigh declared.
“And I of my dear brother,” dark-haired Firra said.
Nonna gave the pair another withering glare. “Why do you insist on your tomfoolery? The whole county knows the two of you aren’t related.”
“What? How could they doubt it?” Donaigh gasped.
“Don’t listen to them, Donaigh. You cannot be adopted—not when we look so similar,” Firra—his opposite in every way—said.
Briar rolled her eyes at the familiar banter and ducked out of the cottage, closing the door behind her as Donaigh began reciting their imaginary family tree. She discreetly glanced down at her plain gown to make certain it looked presentable, then smiled up at Isaia. “Sorry for the wait.”
“Not at all,” Isaia said gravely. He was the tallest man she knew and quite possibly the quietest, as well. The stillness of his temperament made it easy to overlook him, as he was prone to lurking in the background whenever possible. His raven-black hair and clean cut features gave him a noble bearing, but it was his sea-green eyes that Briar delighted in. His eyes gave away his thoughts…when he let them.
The young ladies of Sir Roberto’s manor giggled over his lean build and subtly handsome looks, but Briar privately thought they entirely missed Isaia in their observations. Being with him felt almost like walking with a legend. His belief in chivalry and justice carried over into every part of himself, from the way he walked to his carefully monitored actions.
Isaia was a country knight and served under Sir Roberto—the knight who presided over the lands where Briar and Nonna lived. He had been friends with Briar since he became Sir Roberto’s charge at age fourteen, when Briar was only ten. Even at that young age, he was levelheaded with an enthusiasm for honor.
The young knight held out his hand, taking Briar’s books when she passed them over. He bowed slightly, then started off in the direction of Sir Roberto’s manor.
Briar walked at his side, unbothered by his taciturnity. Instead, she found it soothing. Thinking of Prince Johann, Briar asked, “Is there supposed to be an envoy from Erlauf to Sole?”
Isaia held back a branch so it wouldn’t smack her in the face. “None that should pass by your cottage. Why?”
“I met a young man this morning when I was in the woods. He claimed he was the second prince of Erlauf,” Briar said.
Isaia furrowed his brow. “How deep in the forest were you?”
“Fairly deep,” Briar admitted. “I was searching for strawberries. Even though it’s past their season, you can sometimes find them in the heart of the forest at this time of the year.”
He stopped walking. “You were there with this man, alone?”
Briar tucked a lock of her chestnut hair behind her ear. Though she knew better, hope shive
red in her chest. Was he jealous? “Yes.”
Isaia frowned, a rare gesture that made his face look stony. “You should know better than to approach strange men in such an isolated area. It’s dangerous.”
Ahh, yes. Safety-minded as always. Not jealous. Briar raised her eyes to the heavens. “He wasn’t going to do anything to me, Isaia. He was clearly from Erlauf—they tear men to shreds if they touch a woman wrongly.”
“You were safe this time, but it will not be that way every time.” He started walking again, though based on the way he eyed the forest, he seemed to be considering breaking off from Briar so he could make a personal sweep of the area.
“I would only approach a man if he looked normal, and I was certain I could escape him. I had your knife with me, and I know the trees better than the king’s foresters. Besides, you’ve made me practice self-defense maneuvers so many times I could do some of the moves in my sleep.”
“You only know a few drills. You could be easily overpowered,” Isaia said.
“Why are you so worried?” Briar hopped a log. “Nothing happens in our sleepy bit of Sole.”
“You take unnecessary risks, and Sole is not as safe as you would think.”
Briar held in a tired sigh. Though his words sounded protective, she had heard him repeat them enough in the last few years to know they were only that of a concerned friend. As much as she dreamed and hoped, Isaia had firmly categorized himself in that role. (It was his upfront refusal to see her as anything else that had forced her to launch her plan for an Easy-and-Carefree-Life. She would much rather marry Isaia, but he wouldn’t have her.)
Still, having him as a friend was preferable to not having him at all. When he achieved the rank of knight, she had worried he would leave Sir Roberto’s service. But he had been knighted years ago and still showed no signs of wishing to leave.
“I’ll be more careful,” Briar promised.
Isaia smiled with his sea-green eyes, then surged ahead on the trail. “I will hold you to your word.”
Briar grimaced at his back, peeved he had outsmarted her, as usual. Isaia valued honor. If Briar broke his trust, it would be like smashing his heart. So now she would have to be more careful in the woods.
It wasn’t long before they reached Sir Roberto’s hold.
Sir Roberto himself stood in front of his manor, frowning fiercely while he read a letter and a dog sniffed his boots. The wiry man sported a ruddy complexion and a soft spot for those in need.
He was “new” to the land—at least by the standards of his subjects. He had been declared the new lord of the area when Briar was just a toddler after the previous knight had died without an heir. Still, the people liked him, and he was a fair man.
He stuffed the letter inside his doublet as Briar and Isaia joined him and replaced his frown with a smile. “Isaia, Briar Rose, is it time for your lessons already?”
“Yes, sir,” Isaia said.
Briar swiped her books from Isaia’s lax grip. “Greetings, Sir Roberto!”
“You be sure to give the tutor what for,” Sir Roberto said. “I want him so questioned and flummoxed he thinks he’s been reviewed by a university panel!”
Since Sir Roberto had hired a tutor for Isaia, he had invited Briar to join his charge. He said he was paying the tutor a prince’s ransom, so he wanted to get his money’s worth. Briar enjoyed it. It was a chance to spend more time with Isaia, which was one of the reasons she was such a diligent student. (It helped that Briar listened avidly in hopes of using her thorough education to snag herself a rich husband, and that the tutor was an absolute zealot for knowledge.)
“I believe today we are studying mathematics and tax laws,” Briar said. “I didn’t see why I should have to learn such a thing, as it didn’t seem useful. However, the tutor pointed out that when I am a rich, married woman, I’ll need to know how to calculate my taxes to the very coin and cite every possible deduction so I can make the amount as small as possible.”
Sir Roberto coughed and busied himself with patting the hunting dog that leaned into him. “Is that so? Knowledge is power, I suppose. So go forth and…”
“Limit my taxable income,” Briar said.
He must have really loved the dog, for he crouched down next to it. “Yes. That.”
“Briar, we should go,” Isaia said.
“Right. Good bye, Sir Roberto!” Briar followed Isaia into the manor and almost ran into the steward’s daughter. They exchanged pleasantries—though Isaia didn’t stop.
Briar hurried after him, smiling at the footman and bookkeeper when she passed them. The bookkeeper, a young man about Isaia’s age, blushed and bowed deeply to her, under the influence of her looks.
Briar was clever enough to realize that some people were nice to her because of her “physical attributes,” as the tutor would call them. She wasn’t an exceptional beauty—her chin was too square and her forehead was too high—but it didn’t matter much, because she knew how to use what she had been given.
Most squarely in her favor were her violet-blue eyes, and as most of the populace had black or dark brown hair, her chestnut locks were rather eye-catching as well. When topped with a healthy dose of self-confidence and a smile, she knew she went from pretty to beautiful. Unfortunately, Isaia didn’t seem to share this sentiment.
Briar shook herself from her musings and darted through the door Isaia held open for her. They had beaten the tutor there, so Briar had a moment to shift her books around. “Sir Roberto must have received some bad news in that letter.”
Isaia cleaned off his slate and began writing a new math problem on it. “There was an incident near the border with some goblins.”
Briar recalled the Erlauf prince and his story. “That’s not surprising. I thought Erlauf has had an influx of goblin attacks. I would think it a blessing they have bothered us as little as they have.”
Isaia’s expression didn’t change, but Briar saw his fingers tighten around his piece of chalk. “It’s not a blessing.”
Deciding not to push it, Briar fell silent.
Everyone is getting overprotective and easily frightened these days. It must be the Princess Rosalinda. They fear for her pretty little head with the end of her curse looming. How irritating! Briar flipped open a book, nursing resentment against the cursed princess of Sole.
True to her word, the next time Briar Rose found a possible beau for herself, she made certain to approach him only when he neared the edge of the forest, close to farming fields. Luck was with her, for, after chatting with the young man for some time, he admitted he was the eldest son and heir apparent of a small barony.
“You have a marvelous steed,” Briar said. She smiled when the large gelding sniffed her hair then brushed her cheek with his whiskery lips.
“He doesn’t normally like strangers,” Briar’s newest target, Franco, said. He offered her a dimpled smile. “You must be quite the woman to so easily win his approval.”
Briar giggled—a sound she moderated so it was airy and light compared to the guffs of her belly-deep laughs. “And you must be quite the rider to be able to control such a spirited mount.”
“I trained with the Magic Knights of Sole for a summer. They are masters in the saddle,” Franco said.
Briar didn’t have to feign admiration as she glanced at him. “The Magic Knights? That must have been incredible.”
“It was—incredibly painful,” Franco joked. “They demand perfection from any students they take on, but they are just as demanding of themselves.”
The Magic Knights of Sole were an elite class of warriors. Many of them were of noble blood, and all of them were top-notch fighters. Magic Knights took vows to protect the people and the peace of Sole, and they were specifically used against magic-based or magic-using foes. The royal family bought Magic Knights anti-magic armor and magic-charmed weapons and gear, even though the knights were considered independent of the crown and were able to govern themselves.
Esteem-wise, Magic
Knights were about on par with a count—though the highest members of the nobility still looked down upon them because they worked. It was a ridiculous complaint to lodge against the guardians of the country.
Briar patted the horse then stepped back so she could give Franco all of her attention. “I’ve only seen Magic Knights in parades and at the occasional festival, but they’ve always struck me as duty bound and incredibly capable. If they took you on, even for a summer, you must be an amazing fighter.”
“I’m a fair hand with the halberd, but I have much to learn yet.” Franco’s smile was sweet.
She was beginning to wonder how she could ask him if he was going to have an arranged marriage—she was starting to suspect he was, for in her experience, the only males this kind and pleasant were already spoken for—when she heard another set of hoof beats.
She swiveled just in time to see Isaia halt his dapple-gray mare a stone’s throw away. She scowled. He was either going to lecture her about talking to strangers, or stare down Franco until he grew uncomfortable and left—as he had with several previous targets.
She was surprised when Isaia only glanced at Franco, then settled his gaze on her. “Flea and Fly got loose.”
Briar stiffened. “What?”
“They’re in the herb garden.”
Briefly scrunching her eyes shut in irritation, she swung back to Franco. “It was lovely meeting you; I hope you return to the area. If you’ll excuse me, I have something I must see to!” She hurried for home, internally cursing the properly-named goats with every step she took.
Of course the sassy goats would ruin her opportunity with Franco. No matter how she wanted to stay, animals always took priority. If she didn’t care for them, she and Nonna wouldn’t eat! (Nonna insisted this was not true, and that they still had money left from Nonno’s years as a soldier, but Briar knew sooner or later that money would run out, and sloppy management would only hasten their demise.)
She risked a glance over her shoulder, hoping she would be able to give Franco one last encouraging smile, but the two young men faced each other and appeared to be holding a wordless conversation, for first Franco bowed, then Isaia.
