“Ingrid, we must go now.”
Ingrid didn’t answer, wouldn’t look at him. She remained on the grass on all fours, staring hard at the dead wizard. Energy snapped in the air, overwhelming Tyr’s senses with the perfume of fresh greenery and rich earth. He gave Ingrid more space, watching in fascination as she dug her fingers into the ground. The earth beneath the wizard collapsed into a deep pit and the earth churned as if stirred by an unseen hand, swallowing the dead magic-user.
“Ingrid?”
She looked at him then, and her green eyes shone like the sun viewed through emeralds. She didn’t object when he pulled her to her feet, half-dragged her after him until she ran on her own. They raced back into the mountain.
Word of the king’s death had obviously already spread. There were no dwarves in sight tending to the tedious chores of a servant. Tyr’s guess was that they were taking the opportunity to gather as many precious gems as they could to hoard away before the new king arrived. Few things spread as quickly as news of an open throne among ogres. Tyr’s pulse sped up. They had to get out now.
“How will we get back to the ship? The king would have sunk our boat as soon as you refused to leave.”
Ingrid’s voice was winded from the run, but not so much that Tyr couldn’t make out the thread of fear. Understandable considering she couldn’t swim.
“Have faith in Smalls,” Tyr told her confidently. “He will be waiting for us.”
They slowed as they entered the cave and reached the glittering path that led down to the water. Ingrid pulled on his hand and he turned to find her staring down at the gem-studded rock. He looked behind her, half-convinced he’d find the ogre guards bearing down on them, but the cavern remained empty.
“Ingrid, we have to hurry.”
“I only need a moment.”
She laid her hand on the stone and a pulse of power rippled from where she touched the rock. The stone vibrated, then cracked. Fractures spiraled out, and Tyr stared dumbfounded as jewels popped free like dolphins playing in the waves. Ingrid scooped up a few handfuls of the stones and filled her skirt.
“Payment for your men,” she explained. Her breathing was labored, as if that magic had taken the last of her energy. She swayed on her feet. “I won’t be witness to a mutiny just because your crew thinks you’ve dragged them about for nothing.”
Tyr scooped her up in his arms, ignoring her small sound of protest. Before she could react, he dropped a kiss on top of her head, joy and other emotions filling his chest until he thought he would burst. He strode down to where the water lapped at the rock, holding Ingrid like the precious treasure she was. “Your understanding of pirates is eerily accurate.”
“I hope so.”
The last line was said almost under her breath, and the words sounded…sad? Tyr frowned at her, but didn’t get a chance to question further. A welcome sight met his eyes when he looked out into the sea and saw that his ship was indeed floating where he’d left it.
“By the gods, Smalls did it.” He laughed and squeezed Ingrid against his chest. Sure enough, they weren’t waiting two minutes before a small life boat came into view from behind an outcropping of rock.
“Captain!”
The relief and joy on the man’s face warmed Tyr’s heart and put a smile on even Ingrid’s face. He started to put her down, then thought better of it and cradled her more securely in his arms.
“Haste, Mr. Smalls, we may have outworn our welcome!”
The first mate grinned and kept his eyes on his captain as he maneuvered the boat as close to the rock as he could manage. Tyr crept into the boat as carefully as he could, holding Ingrid all the while. He was somewhat surprised by the sound of his own voice murmuring reassurances into her hair, curling his good hand around her body for as much security as he could offer. He sat in the boat and kept her in his arms, urging her to put her head against his chest.
There was approval in Smalls’ eyes as he watched Tyr offer what comfort he could to Ingrid as they made their way back to the ship. Tyr caught him looking at them, and offered a smile of his own in return.
“You’ve done well, my friend.”
Smalls grinned. “I knew you’d be back, Captain. Just drew it out for suspense, a bit of showmanship, eh?”
“Indeed, Smalls, indeed. What’s life without a little suspense?”
They both laughed, but Ingrid remained quiet in his arms. Tyr didn’t press her, just held her close, doing his best to mitigate the toss of the water. When they reached the ship, the men made short work of raising the small boat, working efficiently and with surprising care to bring the dinghy’s passengers back onto the deck.
No one said a word as Tyr silently carried Ingrid to his cabin. Behind him, Smalls barked out orders to set sail. There was a rustle of activity that followed him as he entered the cabin, then faded as he closed the door behind him.
He laid Ingrid down in the soil with her back against the largest of the apple trees. She drew in a deep breath and half melted against the trunk, the corners of her mouth curling up in a small smile.
“You know,” she said softly, “as strange as this sounds, this room is starting to feel like home.”
Tyr blinked. “It is?”
Ingrid opened her skirt and started removing the gems she’d taken from the ogre’s cave, setting them in a pile next to her. Tyr ignored them, turning his attention to the tree instead and selecting a perfect red apple. As he sank his teeth into the sweet fruit, he caught Ingrid staring at him.
He chewed and swallowed, then cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, would you like one as well?”
The smile on her lips twitched. “No, but thank you.” She leaned back against the tree and closed her eyes only to open them a moment later. “Actually, if I could have just a bite?” She wrinkled her nose. “I think I can still taste the blight of that cursed wizard.”
Tyr scowled and offered her the apple. “Good riddance, I say. A fouler creature I don’t recall.” He watched her take a bite of the apple, taking the time to admire the stunning picture she made, leaning against the tree, surrounded by soil and gleaming red fruit. She looked like she belonged.
His stomach tightened. It wouldn’t last, of course. The magic that had brought these trees into being would fade, and eventually the sea air would kill them, coat their leaves in salt until they dried out. Suffocated.
Just like you will if you stay.
“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly.
She looked at him over the apple, took another bite, and offered it back to him. “I’m fine, really. Just tired. You?”
“My dear Ingrid, I feel better than I have felt in the entirety of my memory.” He hunched down beside her, accepting the apple and helping himself to another bite. “I’m stronger than I’ve ever been, and even after all we went through, I’m not the least bit tired.” He dragged his gaze from the apple and met her eyes. “What did you do to me?”
Ingrid smiled, plucked the apple from his grasp. “Vitality. An infusion of my power. Think of it as turning your body’s internal calendar from winter to spring.” Her face softened and she raised a hand to trace the laugh lines around his eyes, twirling a lock of golden blond hair around her finger. “It’s permanent.”
Not for the first time in her presence, his mouth offered words that he hadn’t intended to say. “After I take you home, I’ve an errand to run for the vampire prince. Payment for his aid in getting to you after the blue-bearded one’s rude interruption. When I’m done, I’ll be coming back to Midgard. To you.”
She stilled, her finger still wrapped in a lock of his hair. “Oh?”
He pulled his hair free as he looked away, not wanting to see what emotion might pass her face when he continued. If it was anything other than happiness, he’d rather not know. “I’m not expecting a cup of tea this round, or even a smile. I don’t expect to be forgiven for…well, everything. And I’m not such a fool that I think you’ll change your mind just because the
ordeal with the ogres showed what a perfect team we are.”
The apple tree creaked as if she’d reclined against it again. “You’re serious?”
He grinned at her then, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t pretend you didn’t see it. We made short work of stone-face and his rotting wizard.” He cleared his throat. “If you’ll forgive me one more thing in a long list of offenses?”
Suspicion drew lines around her eyes, but there was a definite glint in the green depths that was very heartening. “And what would that be?”
“I love you.” A weight lifted from his shoulders, the freedom of saying the words out loud, the words he’d asked her to say before she’d meant them only that morning. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “I find that I can’t imagine any sort of future that comes close to what it would be with you. Even if you banned me from the orchard, or forced me to help you tend the land without allowing me even one apple, I would rather sit on your doorstep and wait for your forgiveness than sail this cursed sea another day longer than absolutely necessary.”
Ingrid held her breath, but didn’t sit up, didn’t lean closer. “The sea won’t be so hard on you now. As I said, that magic is permanent. You’ll be as you were when you were twenty.”
He settled closer to her, dared to take one of her hands in his. “It doesn’t matter.”
There was something in her eyes now, an intensity that fed the feeble flame of hope burning bravely inside him.
“You could have your own orchard anywhere you pleased,” she said quietly. “You have money, and you know how to tend the trees.”
He drew her up onto her knees, his heart rising when she came to him. “But you would not be there. And I meant what I said. I love you, Ingrid.”
She let him fold her into his arms, her heart pounding hard enough for him to feel it through the layers of their clothing. “I love you, too,” she whispered finally. “And if you don’t come back to me after doing that vampire’s bidding, I’ll be on the next ship to hunt you down.”
He pulled back then, surprise and humor melting the rest of the tension from his shoulders until he felt he could fly. “You’d board a ship for me?”
She looked around at the trees. “Properly equipped, it’s not so bad. Just needed a woman’s touch.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Just to be clear, if I’m forced onto a boat to find you, you won’t be happy when I do.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Woman, you sent me into a vat of boiling oil. What more is it you think you can do to me?”
He kissed her until she stopped laughing.
Epilogue
The firebird watched the ship sail away from its perch at the edge of the cliff, its back to the carnage of smoldering ogre flesh, newly healed earth, and the dissipating aura of dead necromancer. The billowing white sails drifted along like squared clouds, carrying the pirate and the witch farther and farther toward the horizon. A happily ever after fit for a fairy tale. It pressed its beak together, sinking its talons deeper into the rocky earth.
“He left me.”
Indignation blossomed in its chest, hot fury at being cast away like a common barn owl. Left behind. Too unimportant to remember. Probably tossed over in favor of another apple.
“Arrrggghhh!”
Golden feathers puffed into the air as the firebird attacked its own down, ripping out fluffy golden quills and flinging them into the air. After a few moments of furious action, it stood there in fuming silence, bits of fiery orange and gold floating down around it as it glared at the retreating pirate.
“I didn’t want to go anyway,” it told the dead ogres cooking to ashes over the fire. “I hate sea air. Makes my feathers stick together.” It narrowed its eyes. “He didn’t deserve me anyway.”
The ogres said nothing, their jaws long gone, burnt to black dust by the hunger of the sacred flames. The firebird fluffed out its remaining feathers, gathering its composure. Really it was all irrelevant. Even if the pirate had taken it with him, it wouldn’t have stayed. A questing beast never stayed, was never caught or imprisoned. It was their fate, their purpose, to wander. To seek out those souls who needed a good shove down the path to a greater destiny.
“I have a sacred duty,” the bird told the retreating ship. “I’m important. Far too important to waste any more time with you.”
It flared out its wings in a grand show that had made more than one human fall to his knees in awe. The sunlight touched its feathers, turning them to living flames. It basked in its own glory for a moment, turning its head slowly in either direction to give any chance observers a proper look at the radiance of a firebird.
“It’s time to choose another,” it announced to the world. “Time to pluck a single feather from my own resplendent body and—”
Suddenly it stopped talking. Slowly, very slowly, it cast its gaze around. Golden sparks caught its eye and it looked up in time to see the golden feathers it had ripped out in its moment of frustration disappear into the sky. It squinted after them, holding perfectly still.
“One, two, three, four, five…” It sighed and let its wings sag to the ground. Five feathers. Five feathers released simultaneously. Five individuals waiting for a glimpse of gold, a pretty lure that would drag them into chaos before flinging them to their destiny.
“Five idiots,” it muttered. “And I have to deal with all of them.”
It huffed out a breath through its nostrils and pivoted on one foot before marching over to the fire still burning hungrily beneath the nearly-empty cauldron. Careful not to step in the puddles of oil that might taint his talons with ogre remnants, it eyed the ogres’ bodies to see if there was any meat that might be salvaged. If it was going to deal with five fools at once, it was going to need its strength.
THE END
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Preview of ALL FOR A ROSE
Book One in the BLOOD REALM series, the spin-off of the BLOOD PRINCE series
Maribel jabbed the knife into the slab of meat and began viciously sawing off the fat and flinging it into a bowl. It landed with a wet plop! The sound was not nearly satisfying enough to appease Maribel’s growing temper.
“I wasn’t staring.” She savaged the piece of beef into small chunks, hurling them into the oiled cast iron pan heating on the oven. “Why would I? It’s no big deal.” Her teeth clenched in frustration. “Half… Half…” She pursed her lips and slammed a fist down on the cutting board. “Oh, for pity’s sake. Say it. Half serpent.”
The word hung in the air like an accusation. Maribel drummed her fingers on the cutting board, jaw jutting out as she glared at nothing in particular. After several moments of silence, her shoulders slumped and she cast a glance at the oven.
She should have been more excited that Daman had an oven. She hadn’t seen one since her family had been wealthy enough to have a full kitchen, and even then she’d spent limited time in that area of the house. It hadn’t been until they’d lost all of that and she’d begun cooking for her family herself that she’d started dreaming of using one. Now she finally had her chance, and she couldn’t enjoy it properly because she couldn’t quit thinking about her sour host. She grasped the knife.
“It’s been weeks,” she informed the would-be stew. “Weeks, and every time he deigns to speak with me I get to bear the brunt of his atrocious mood swings.” She stabbed the raw meat and resumed butchering it. “If he didn’t want to go on a walk, he should have said so! It wasn’t as though I was trying to underline the fact that he…”
She tripped over the words in her mind, tiny voices in her head screaming she was being rude until she forcibly shook off her embarrassment. “Don’t be a ninny, Maribel,” she told herself firmly. “Say it. He hasn’t got any legs.” The knife thunked into the wood on a particularly enthusiastic jab. “That’s no reason we can’t get along. I’m not judging him for it, there�
�s no reason for him to be so blasted sensitive.”
The meat sizzled, oil flying off in angry sputters, wrenching Maribel out of her reverie. She gritted her teeth as the oil splattered against her arm, tiny droplets burning her skin. “If anything, I should be the one who doesn’t want to try and get along with him,” she told the vegetables. “Every chance he gets, he steers the conversation to Corrine. I’m sure he thinks he’s being subtle, but men in general are lost when it comes to subtlety and that’s apparently even more true for men who are…” She glared at the angry red spatters on her arm. Say it, Maribel, it’s no big deal. You’ve already said it once. “Half serpent,” she finished.
“Wyvern.”
A squeak exploded from Maribel’s lips. She whirled around with the knife held out in a defensive pose, silver blade shining in the light pouring into the kitchen from the open door and the great cooking fire in the hearth.
Daman loomed in the doorway, his strange silver eyes glinting in the light like polished silver coins. The draconic scales of his lower body shimmered as muscles shifted, and Maribel cursed the blush that heated her cheeks as she became painfully aware that Daman was naked. The fact that he had no…parts, showing should have made it easier—but it didn’t. The arm holding the knife sagged as she scrambled to tear her mind away from wondering things no lady had any business wondering about a man who was not her husband.
“What?” she demanded.
“Wyvern,” he repeated evenly. His deep voice rolled into the air like approaching thunder. “Not serpent.”
Maribel tried to follow the conversation and failed. The fierce heat of her embarrassment had obviously boiled her brain past the point of functioning. Anger obligingly rose to take the place of logic, but before she could let loose a scathing comment, Daman spoke again.
The Pirate's Witch (Blood Prince) Page 15
