Shattered Magic

by Rebecca York

“Why did you lie to me about yourself?” he asked.

  She made a scoffing sound. “Why did I lie? Look at yourself. You’ve tried to kill me. You’d bring your army to do the same to my people.”

  “Yes,” he spat out.

  Her expression was defiant. “People fear what they do not understand.”

  “Witchcraft. And any sane man is right to fear it.”

  She licked her lips. “What I can do is not what you call witchcraft.”

  “What do you call it?”

  “Skills of the mind.”

  “Like moving rocks with your hands at your sides.”

  She answered with a tight nod.

  “I should kill you and be done with your scheming.”

  She kept her gaze steady on him. “I have heard there is a test for a witch. The people throw her in the water. If she bobs to the surface, the water has rejected her, and she is a witch. If she sinks and drowns, she was innocent. That is the way the world treats women accused of witchcraft.”

  “With good reason.”

  “Grantland, think of what you are saying. Think of the logic. She’s dead either way.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You called me Grantland. You’ve known that all along?”

  Panic suffused her features. “No. I looked in your pack. I saw the coins you carried. And your ring.”

  She might be telling the truth or not. It hardly mattered. She would die in this cave, and he would go home to his father and tell him he knew of a nest of witches. That was his duty.

  “Why were you moving the rocks?”

  “When I found out who you are, I knew I had to get away.”

  He couldn’t let her escape. But how to dispatch her?

  He pushed himself up, feeling a small rock near his hand. Moving his fingers, he grasped it, then let it fly. The missile flew, struck her in the head, and she went down, unconscious on the cave floor.

  He was across the space between them in a trice, snatching up rope from the supplies he’d left on the floor. Before she could stir, he bound her hands, then her feet, and dragged her near the fire pit where the light was best.

  As he stared down at her, seeing the blood drip down her forehead where he had struck her, his heart squeezed. He had wounded her.

  But he had reason, he told himself. He had thought her sweet and innocent. She had proved otherwise.

  The logic of that unsettled him. Was he saying she had proved herself evil by moving rocks? She hadn’t hurt him. She had only tried to get away. Or so she said.

  He felt more confused than he ever had in his life. More confused than when he had slipped out of the castle and gone away to reconsider whether he really wanted to be the next king of Arandal.

  Now he knew he must go back and warn his father. But he must get information from her first.

  * * *

  Rowan moaned, and her eyes blinked open. Her head throbbed, but when she tried to raise her hand to her temple, she found her arms bound. Her legs were bound, too.

  Something wet and sticky had run down her face. She suspected it might be her own blood.

  Fighting tears, she stared up at the man who had made such tender love to her.

  “What have you done to me?” she whispered.

  “I’m going to make you tell me where to find your cursed people.”

  “You’ll have to kill me first.”

  “If it comes to that.”

  The stark look in Grantland’s eyes made Rowan’s heart skip a beat, then start to pound in double time.

  She was sure he did mean to kill her, yet she could probably stop him. She could loosen her bonds and get away. She could hurl boulders at him.

  Even as she pictured defending herself, the idea of harming him sent a wave of sickness through her. And if she injured him, then what? Go back to working at the pile of rubble? She didn’t know if she was capable of that now. Her head hurt too much.

  Making a deliberate decision, she lay where she was, staring up at him.

  He came down on his haunches beside her and began to untie the tabs at the front of her shirt. Carefully he peeled the sides back, exposing her breasts.

  Mortified, she turned her head aside, unable to look at him.

  “Don’t.”

  “I’ve seen them before,” he said, his tone offhand.

  When he pressed the point of the knife against the top of her right breast, she whimpered and turned her head to look at him again, fighting tears—and fear.

  “Don’t,” she said again.

  “Tell me where to find your nest of witches.”

  She would never reveal the location of her village, but she began to speak.

  “My people are not witches. They simply have powers of the mind.”

  He made a scoffing sound, then pressed the knife against her flesh, drawing a bead of blood.

  The sudden pain made her gasp, but it also helped to keep her mind steady.

  “What do you think a witch is? Someone who makes her neighbor’s cow sicken when they have a dispute? Or kills her babe?”

  When his expression hardened, she went on. “My people would never do that.”

  “Never? Then why do you speak of it?”

  “Because of tales we’ve all heard from the men of my village who travel into the world. And from the old stories.

  “A hundred years ago, the king in Arandal heard reports about witches. He was on the watch for them. Then his soldiers came upon some of my people building a dam. But they weren’t doing it the way men from Arandal would. They were using mental powers to hold back the water of the river while others moved timbers, much as you saw me moving the rocks. The soldiers set upon them. Some of the men tried to fight. Others went to get help. The soldiers slew many, and the rest took their families and fled far from Arandal. They found a place to live.”

  “Where?”

  “I won’t tell you.”

  In answer, he pressed the knife into her skin again.

  “Don’t. Please.”

  “Tell me where to find the nest of witches.”

  She began to speak once more, her words hurried. “We were happy there. We made a life for ourselves. Until a stranger came. A man of evil. He came into the village, and it was clear he had powers few people possess. He used those powers to fool my people into thinking he was like them. He said he wanted to live among them and help them prosper. But if such a thing as an evil wizard exists, it is he.”

  She kept her gaze fixed on Grantland, seeing that he was still listening.

  “He’s worked his way into the ruling council, when really, he wants to abolish the council and rule the village on his own.” She gulped. “And he wants me in his bed. But when he touches me, I look at the tattoo of a snake on his hand, and I want to throw up. That’s why I ran away.”

  Grantland’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned toward her. “You’re lying.”

  “About what?”

  “The snake tattoo.”

  “Why would I lie?”

  “You picked that up from my mind,” he threw back at her.

  She tipped her head to the side. “You may think so, but the only thoughts I have access to are my own.”

  “So you say,” he answered.

  But he spoke slowly, and she saw something in his eyes. A small change. What had she said that caused him to doubt what he was sure he knew?

  “This man, how did he persuade the leaders of your village to trust him?”

  “He has a rare ability to make people think he’s telling the truth when he’s actually lying.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I’ve felt the power of the silent messages he sends out. But somehow I see through them. My sister does, too. I don’t know why.”

  She tried and failed to read his expression.

  “Describe him,” he demanded.

  “He is tall. Well above average height. His hair is dark and worn very short. His eyes are light blue. Like ice. But his face looks open and honest, be
lying the state of his mind. He has a bulging stomach, from eating too much food.”

  “His name?”

  “Telman.”

  Grant’s gaze sharpened. “He’s at your village now?”

  “I think so. From time to time, he leaves.”

  “When was the last time he left?”

  She wondered why his questions had taken this tack, but she tried to answer. “Six months ago.”

  Grantland make an angry sound. “I know him.”

  She tried to wrap her mind around that statement. Had Arandal sent Telman to them as a spy?

  Grantland’s next words dispelled that notion. “He went to the castle while he was gone from your home place and extorted money from the king.”

  She stared at him, hardly able to believe what she was hearing. “What?”

  “He promised my father he would identify those in the kingdom who were discontents. He never did it, but the king paid him anyway.”

  “So he has harmed Arandal as well as my people.”

  “I knew from the lofty way he comported himself that he had further evil plans as well. If you take me to your village, I can dispatch him,” Grantland said.

  “I doubt you can do it by yourself.”

  “Mayhap I will need your help.”

  “Why should I help you?”

  “Because we will both gain from eliminating an enemy.”

  “You have me tied up.”

  “I will free you.”

  She considered showing him she could have pulled her hands free any time she wanted to do it. Instead, she waited while he undid the ropes that held her down.

  Sitting up, she quickly pulled the front of her shirt together and redid the ties. Then she touched her hand to her forehead. When she looked at her fingertips they were sticky with blood.

  Grantland turned away. Rummaging in his pack, he pulled out a square of cloth, which he took to the river. Bringing it back, he knelt and carefully washed the blood from her forehead.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said stiffly.

  “You thought I was your enemy. You still do. Now you suddenly want my help. What about all the nonsense lodged in your head about witches?”

  “It’s not nonsense,” he answered hotly.

  “Then why would you possibly trust me?”

  He looked torn. “Because sometimes a ruler must weigh options and make hard choices. I have a chance to do something important for Arandal, and must take it. And you have an opportunity, too. You can prove my notions are wrong, if you help me in this.”

  “Mayhap.”

  His eyes blazed. “Why would you refuse?”

  “For the reason I already gave. I will not reveal the location of my village to you unless I have your pledge that you will not harm my people.”

  “I will pledge it,” he said quickly.

  “You were running away from Arandal.”

  “Not running,” he objected. “I needed to get away by myself.”

  “But you carry the ring with the royal crest.”

  “I am the crown prince.”

  She had hoped to trust him. Now she needed firm assurances. “Then you must swear on that ring and under threat of being cursed by Holder that you will do nothing to harm the people of Valleyhold. That you will send no army against them.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, then picked up the ring and pressed it to his lips. “I swear it.”

  She nodded slowly, but there was more at stake than her own welfare. She must trust the safety of her people to his honor. It was a hard choice, yet if she knew anything about him it was his adherence to honor. That had been his guiding principle.

  “Can you break down the wall of rubble?” he asked.

  “I think so.”

  “Then do it.”

  “Not yet.”

  His voice turned gritty and she knew he didn’t like having a woman dictate terms. “You have further demands?”

  “We must think of the dragon who chased us in here. He can attack us at night. To be safe, we must have enough hours of daylight to travel to my village. And it will be rough going. I came down the mountain. We will have to climb upward all the way.”

  “Can you remove part of the rubble now, and leave part for the morrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you trick me earlier,” he asked suddenly. “When you fell in the water, did you think to seduce me?”

  “No. That was real.”

  “But when the rubble fell on you, that was your trick?”

  She felt her face heat. “Yes.”

  “Thank you for admitting that.” He kept his gaze fixed on her. “Why did you seduce me?”

  She swallowed hard. “Telman wanted me for his wife, but I had to be a virgin to marry him. He was so sure of himself that he was bold with me. He told me what my life would be like with him, and I feared the future enough to run away. Then I met you. I liked you. I saw your good qualities. I knew that if I made love with you, Telman could never claim me.”

  She had been brutally honest, but she knew from his expression that he still didn’t completely trust her word. He had been her lover. Now she felt a wall between them, even though they were making plans together based on their opposition to a common enemy. And when they had dealt with Telman, whatever personal connection she and Grantland had shared would be severed.

  Tears stung her eyes. She turned away and blinked them back, pretending to study the wall.

  “Stand back,” she said, focusing on a high boulder. She felt strange about having Grantland watch her, and when she gripped the stone with her mind, it wobbled, then landed on the cave floor with more force than she’d intended.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. “You’re making me nervous. I know you’re thinking of witchcraft when you watch me.”

  “I’ll go away and let you work,” he said, his voice sharp.

  She fought tears again. It had been so good between them. Not only making love. All the little things they had shared, until he had discovered that she was what he thought of as a witch. That was what he called her. She simply thought of herself as having been gifted with hidden talents. But she wasn’t going to debate it with him.

  * * *

  Grantland picked up a brand. Toward the back of the cave he’d seen some wood piled by someone else who had used the place for a shelter. He should bring it now, to keep the fire going.

  He found the wood and carried some back, glancing at Rowan. She had her back to him, and she was lowering another boulder to the ground, this time with more skill than she’d exhibited when she’d thought he was watching. In fact, the way she brought it gently down was graceful. Even elegant.

  She swiped her arm across her forehead, then looked up at the rubble again, and moments later another chunk of rock floated toward the ground.

  The performance sent a shiver down his spine. All his life he’d heard about witches, been warned of their powers and their evil intentions. But she was nothing like what he’d imagined.

  Still, his anger had surged when he’d seen what she was doing in secret. She’d been trying to get away. But why not?

  Look how he’d treated her when he thought he had to get information out of her. The image of her bound on the cave floor with her shirt untied made his face heat.

  He wasn’t the kind of man who hurt women, yet she’d provoked him.

  Now he had to keep his temper and work with her to kill their mutual enemy. And after that?

  He supposed she could go back to her village with Telman out of the way.

  Why did that thought make his chest tighten? He should be glad to be done with her, yet a part of him wondered what could have been between them.

  Nothing!

  He was the crown prince of Arandal, and she was a witch who lived in a hidden village with others of her kind. They would separate and that would be the end of it.

  He put more wood on the fire, then went to the spot along the river that he’d used for fishing. He ca
ught two more trout, cleaned them and carried them back to the main cave.

  Rowan was still working on the wall. A large pile of rubble lay beside her, and in a few places he could see chinks of light coming through the rocks that blocked the cave’s entrance.

  He could also see her wavering on her feet and was afraid she might hurt herself if she worked herself to exhaustion.

  “That’s enough for now,” he called out.

  “All right.”

  She walked to the edge of the river, knelt down and splashed her hands and face with water.

  When she returned to the fire, he could see her skin was flushed from the effort she’d been making.

  Neither of them spoke while he cooked the fish and divided it between his tin plate and the skillet. The silence continued during dinner.

  Afterwards, she washed the plate and pan as she had done the day before, then carried his blanket back to his side of the fire. The tasks completed, she lay down on her own blanket, curled on her side with her back to him.

  He wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure what it would be.

  That things would be different if she weren’t a witch? But she was.

  Chapter Seven

  Light woke Grantland. When he sat up, he saw a passageway through the rubble at the mouth of the cave.

  “How long have you been up?” he asked Rowan.

  “Long enough to clear a path. It’s still early. We should leave as soon as we can.”

  “You should have called me.”

  “Why?”

  “I could have helped move the rocks on the ground.”

  She shrugged. “I still have cheese and bread in my carry bag. We should eat, then leave.”

  Again they ate in silence, then packed their things.

  When she started for the entrance to the cave, he held her back.

  “Wait.”

  He stepped outside, allowed his eyes to adjust to the light, then inspected the scene. When he was sure no danger lurked nearby, he motioned her out.

  “Which way?” he asked.

  She pointed up the mountain and started making her way up the slope. He followed.

  They kept up a steady pace, stopping by a stream to drink when the sun had climbed part way up the sky. He was impressed with her ability to keep going. She could march as well as any of the soldiers he knew.