by Colt, K. J.
While she was pondering this matter, the man she was dancing with stepped closer to her. “What is your name?” he asked, leaning toward her. She could smell ale on his breath and a hint of something that reminded her of Esther’s stew.
“I am Gala,” she told him, moving away just a little.
He gave her a wide smile. “Very nice to meet you, Gala. I am Colin.”
Gala kept following the dancers’ movements, getting better and better with every step. In the meantime, her dancing partner kept fumbling and missing steps. It didn’t matter to her, though; she still found dancing to be a lot of fun. “You’re amazing at this,” Colin exclaimed when she executed a particularly complex move without missing a beat, and she grinned, pleased at the praise.
The song ended.
“Can I have the next dance?” Colin asked.
Gala nodded her head in agreement. The song that was starting next was even nicer than the first, slower and more melodious. However, before she could start moving to the music, her dancing partner stepped closer to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the other dancers doing the same, the men coming up to the women and putting their hands on the women’s sides and shoulders.
Gala frowned, taking a small step back. She didn’t want Colin that close to her. Something about this felt extremely wrong. There was only one person whose hands she wanted on her body, and he was back in Turingrad. “I changed my mind,” she told Colin politely, backing away further.
“Oh, come on, it’s just a dance,” he said, smiling and reaching for her. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, and she could feel the moist heat emanating from his skin. It made her stomach turn.
“Get your hand off me,” Gala ordered, tugging futilely at her wrist. He was physically stronger than her, and she was starting to feel anxious at the dark excitement visible in his eyes.
“Oh, come on, don’t be like that . . .” He was still smiling, but the expression didn’t seem the least bit friendly anymore.
“Let go,” she said a bit louder, and saw some people look their way. Her heart was pounding like it was about to jump out of her chest, and she felt like her skin was crawling from his touch.
“Don’t be such a grouch,” he muttered, pulling her closer. “It’s just a dance—”
At his refusal to let go, the volatile brew of emotions inside Gala seemed to explode, her vision blurring for a second. It was as though something inside her lashed out at Colin, and she could see him stumbling back with a look of shock on his face. A vile smell began to permeate the room, and Colin’s face twisted with something resembling shame and fear.
Her wrist finally free, Gala felt an overwhelming urge to not be there. And as Colin took a confused step toward her, she found herself standing just outside the dance floor, behind Maya and Esther.
“We should go,” she said, still feeling sick from the encounter—and shaking from the knowledge that she’d inadvertently done sorcery again, teleporting herself in full sight of all the dancers.
Esther turned toward her, looking startled. “Where did you come from? You were just there, dancing with that lad—”
“I want to leave,” Gala told her, rubbing her wrist where she could still feel the disgusting sensation of Colin’s touch. “I didn’t want to get close to him, but he grabbed me—”
“He grabbed you?” Maya gasped. “Why, that bastard . . . You should’ve kicked him in the nuts!”
“It looks like she did something to him,” Esther said, staring at the dance floor with a worried frown.
Casting a quick glance in that direction, Gala saw Colin walking off with a strange gait. “Let’s go,” she said, tugging at Esther’s sleeve. “I want to leave. He might be coming this way.” She felt unsettled and disturbed, and she wanted to get away from this place as quickly as possible.
“Of course,” Maya said, throwing a glare at the young man. “Let’s go home, so you can get some rest.”
Gala nodded, wanting nothing more than to experience the sleeping activity again. From what she’d felt before, it was not unlike some of the experiences she’d gone through in the Spell Realm.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Barson
HEARING A KNOCK, BARSON GOT up from the chair where he was reading and went to open the door. It was one of the rare times when he got to relax in his quarters, and he was not happy about the interruption.
His mood didn’t improve when he saw Larn standing outside. The expression on his future brother-in-law’s face was rather peculiar.
“Come inside,” Barson said curtly. He could already tell that something was amiss.
Larn stepped into Barson’s room and closed the door behind him.
“Well?” Barson prodded when Larn didn’t seem inclined to speak. “What did you learn?”
“So far, Ganir has not left the Tower,” Larn said. “He’s been mostly in his office, and there have been a number of people going in and out.”
“That’s not really news.” Barson frowned at his best friend. “It’s always that way with the old man.”
“Well, yes,” Larn said, his tone uncharacteristically hesitant. “But one of his visitors this afternoon was, um, Augusta.”
Again? Barson could feel his frown deepening. Why would she see Ganir twice in one day? He knew there was no love lost between them.
“There’s one more thing.” Larn looked increasingly uncomfortable.
“What is it?”
“You won’t like this one . . .”
“Just spit it out,” Barson said, his eyes narrowing. “What is it?”
Larn swallowed. “Remember, I’m just the messenger—”
Barson took a step toward him. “Just say it,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. It had to be something bad if his friend was so afraid to tell him.
“As you requested, I asked a few of our men to keep an eye on Augusta today, after her first meeting with Ganir,” Larn said slowly, “and as it so happened, a couple of them were at the market when her chaise landed there.”
“And?”
“And they were able to follow her when she took off again. She only flew a few blocks and then landed in front of a house.”
“What house?” As far as Barson knew, there were very few houses located so close to the center of Turingrad. It was a highly desirable location, and every house in that area was more like a mansion, owned by the most powerful sorcerer families. One sorcerer in particular came to mind—
“It belongs to Blaise, the man she was supposed to marry,” Larn said, confirming Barson’s hunch. “She landed in front of it and went inside.”
“I see,” Barson said calmly. His insides were boiling, but he didn’t let anything show on his face. “Anything else?”
“No.” Larn looked relieved at Barson’s lack of reaction. “The men couldn’t stay there for long; they had guard duty at the Tower and were only at the Market to pick up a few things. However, I asked one of our new friends to keep an eye on Blaise, just in case.”
Barson nodded, still keeping his expression impassive. “You did well,” he said evenly. “Thank you for that.”
“Of course.” Larn turned to walk out, then looked back at Barson. “Should they continue to follow her as well?”
“Yes,” Barson said quietly. “They should.”
His control lasted long enough for Larn to exit the room. As soon as the door closed behind him, Barson headed to the corner where a sand-filled potato sack was hanging from the ceiling. His hands clenched into massive fists, red-hot jealousy filling every inch of his body. Unable to contain himself any longer, he lashed out, punching the bag over and over again, until his knuckles were sore and sweat ran down his back. Pausing, he ripped off his tunic, and then continued, venting his rage with furious blows.
A light jasmine scent reached Barson’s nostrils, bringing him out of his mindless state. The bag in front of him was slowly deflating, the sand trickling out through a tear made by one particularly ha
rd strike.
Turning, he saw Augusta sitting on his bed and watching him. She must’ve just entered his room.
“Augusta, what a pleasant surprise.” He forced himself to smile despite the anger still flowing through his veins.
She smiled back, but the expression on her face was strangely distracted. Was she thinking of him, that sorcerer bastard she had been engaged to? Barson drew in a calming breath, reminding himself to tread lightly. Augusta was fiercely independent, and she wouldn’t take kindly to being spied upon or questioned like an errant child.
Oblivious to his dark mood, she was looking around the room now, studying it like she was seeing it for the first time. “Some light reading before exercise?” she asked, gesturing toward the book he’d left lying on the chair.
“Yes,” Barson managed to answer evenly. “I found a new gem in the library archives. It’s about the military exploits of King Rolun, the ancient conqueror who united Koldun.” He was glad for the small talk, as it was enabling him to push aside his jealous fury and think. The fact that Augusta was in his room chatting about books was a good sign. If she had gotten back with Blaise, he doubted she would come here so casually. She didn’t look uncomfortable or guilty, either. Barson considered himself a good judge of people, and he couldn’t feel any duplicitous vibes coming from her. She was distracted, yes, but it was more like she had a lot on her mind.
As though to confirm his thoughts, she turned toward him with a warm smile. “You like those old stories, don’t you? I never pegged you for a scholar before.”
“I like learning about old military tactics,” Barson said, watching her closely. He still couldn’t see any sign of guilt or regret on her face. She was either an amazing actress or her visit to her former lover had been purely platonic.
Augusta’s smile broadened. “Did you know that King Rolun’s blood flows through my veins?” she asked. “Most of the old nobility is descended from him.”
“No,” Barson lied. “I didn’t know that.” Rolun’s blood flowed through his veins, too—not that anyone cared about it these days. Barson had known about Augusta’s lineage from the very beginning; she was one of the few sorcerers whose family was of noble origin, and he could see traces of her heritage in her high cheekbones and regal posture. It was one of the reasons he had been so attracted to her in the first place.
“You’re descended from him, too, aren’t you?” Augusta said, surprising him. “Wasn’t your mother from the Solitin family?”
Barson stared at Augusta, wondering how she had known that. It wasn’t a big secret, but he hadn’t realized she was sufficiently interested in him to study his background. “Yes,” he said, watching her reaction. “That’s right. Back in the day, we would have been a perfect match.”
Her eyes gleamed brighter. “Indeed, oh my noble lord,” she murmured, “we would have been an excellent match . . .” And holding his gaze, she gave him a slow, bewitching smile.
Barson’s blood heated up again, but this time for a different reason. He didn’t know what took place during her visit to Blaise, but it didn’t seem like the sorcerer had satisfied her needs.
It would be Barson’s pleasure to fix that promptly.
Before he had a chance to do anything, however, Augusta rose gracefully to her feet. “I had a horrible day,” she said softly, untying her shiny brown hair and letting it fall to her waist. “I think I may require your unique skills, warrior.”
He didn’t have to be asked twice. Taking a few steps toward her, Barson closed his fist around the bodice of her red dress, pulling her toward him. The fragile silk ripped in his grasp, but neither one of them noticed as Barson channeled the remnants of his fury into a deep, hungry kiss.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Blaise
BLAISE STARED AT THE DEVASTATION in his study in shock and disbelief, his heart still pounding from his encounter with Augusta. She had found out about Gala—she, who had always been against anything she couldn’t easily comprehend, against anything that could upset her way of life. In hindsight, he shouldn’t have been surprised that Augusta had voted for Louie’s punishment. Like the rest of the Council, she had felt threatened by his brother’s actions—and there was no doubt that today she had been terrified by the very idea of Gala.
The floor and walls were black with soot, and Blaise’s desk was nothing more than a pile of ashes, testifying to Augusta’s wrath. But the worst thing about this was not what she had done to his study—it was what he feared she would do to Gala. If the Council believed Augusta’s story, they would be looking for Gala in a matter of hours.
Blaise felt a strong urge to hit something—preferably himself, for letting Gala go off on her own. He should’ve never left her alone at the village, no matter how much she wanted to see the world as an ordinary person. Now she was there unprotected, with only two old women for company.
He needed to be there with her.
Casting a glance around the study, Blaise saw that his Interpreter Stone had survived Augusta’s fire. Picking up the still-warm rock, he rushed downstairs to his archive room, where he kept most of his pre-written spell cards. It was lucky that Augusta had only destroyed his most recent work and the bulk of what he needed was still available.
Taking as many potentially useful spell components as he could, Blaise left the house and got on his chaise. His mind was filled with one thought: getting to Gala before it was too late. Even now Augusta could be talking to the Council, convincing them of the ridiculous idea that Gala was dangerous, and there was no time to waste.
He was flying for a half hour when he noticed something strange behind him. In the far distance, there was a small dot on the horizon—almost like a bird, except it was too large to be one. Blaise cursed under his breath. Was he being followed?
There was only one way to tell. Taking out a few spell cards, he prepared an eyesight-enhancing spell and fed the cards into the Interpreter Stone. When his vision cleared, everything was sharper; it was as though he was an eagle, able to spot even a tiny insect crawling on the ground far away. Turning his head, Blaise peered into the distance.
What he saw made his blood run cold.
There was another chaise flying behind him—a sure sign that he was being pursued by another sorcerer, since no one else could fly these things. However, it wasn’t Augusta, as he’d initially suspected. This particular chaise was grey, and the man sitting in it was someone Blaise didn’t recognize, which meant he couldn’t have been a sorcerer of note. Not that the man’s aptitude for sorcery mattered in this case; if he could fly, then he could also likely handle a Contact spell—and the Council might even now be aware of where Blaise was heading.
Looking away, Blaise stared straight ahead, his mind furiously searching for a solution. He wanted to protect Gala, not lead the Council straight to her. He couldn’t let them follow him to the village—which meant he had to make them think this trip was about something else.
Subtly adjusting his flight path, Blaise directed his chaise toward a famous carpentry shop located on the outskirts of Turingrad. Since a lot of his furniture got destroyed, a new desk and some other items might actually be useful. And if Augusta had told the Council about her fire spell, then ordering new furnishings should hopefully seem like a normal thing for Blaise to do.
Getting home after the carpentry store, Blaise began to pace, trying to think of what to do next. In a way, it was good that Gala was away from here; the first place the Council would look for her would be his house. Unfortunately, the second place would be the villages in his territory—exactly where she was right now.
The crazy idea of teleporting himself to the village came to mind, but he immediately dismissed it. Writing a spell as complex as that would take a long time, and would be extremely dangerous. If he miscalculated even a tiny bit, he could easily end up materializing in the ground or inside a tree—and then Gala would be left without anyone to protect her.
No, there had to be something e
lse he could do.
To start off, Blaise decided, he needed to warn her and her guardians of the potential danger. They had to leave the village and go some place where the Council would not think to look for them, while he figured out a way to join them there.
Going to the archive room, he pulled out his cards and began working on a Contact spell—a way to send a mental message to someone far away. It was a fairly complicated spell, one that would have been a pain to do verbally. Now, however, with written spell-casting, it should only take him a few minutes to pen a message and the details of the person he wanted to contact.
Sitting down at an old desk, he composed a message to Esther:
“Esther, do not be alarmed. This is Blaise and I am using the Contact spell I told you about once. To prove my identity, as we agreed on that occasion, I am mentioning the time you caught me spying on my father. Now listen to me carefully. I have reason to fear for Gala’s safety. She is in danger from the Council, and I need your help. Please take her to Kelvin’s territory. I know about his reputation, but that’s precisely why Neumanngrad might be the last place they would expect her to be. Please use whatever money you need—I will pay for everything. Stay at the inn on the southwest side of Neumanngrad when you get there, and try to be as inconspicuous as possible. I will hopefully join you soon.”
The next thing he did was compose a message to Gala. He wasn’t sure if the Contact spell would work with her, but he still intended to try. His message to her was shorter:
