Blood Magic and Brandy, page 25
“Clever witch,” she said. “Valerian, seed of the poppy, and shadow viper venom, brewed at dusk in rainwater collected from a grave. A spoonful of the Living Death in a bottle of brandy is enough to cause extreme fatigue and a wasting, unpleasant death. This brandy has much more. If the lordling had consumed another sip, I could do nothing for him.”
“You cannot prove I had anything to do with that bottle, fairy bitch.”
Before anyone could blink, Hyssop held a leaf-bladed silver dagger to the baroness’s throat. She dug in the tip and a single drop of crimson blood dripped down the woman’s neck.
“Show some respect.”
Jocelyn gulped once more and held her tongue.
Rane’s heart fluttered. Had she heard Hyssop correctly?
“Godmother, does that mean you can do something for Nevar?”
“Perhaps,” Hyssop said. “He still breathes, and he should continue to do so for long enough to get the truth from his wicked, wicked stepmother. She will have the answers you seek.”
Without even looking, the fairy found Captain Jadran standing in the shadows and crooked a finger at him. Almost against his will, his feet carried him toward her.
“Escort the baroness to the fountain in the middle of the castle grounds. My magic is strongest when surrounded by the elements, not cooped up in stone, metal, and glass.”
Jadran grabbed one of Jocelyn’s elbows, and Commander Miren grabbed the other. Jadran looked at her with surprise.
“She killed someone in this castle. Her fate is my responsibility. Not to mention the trauma she caused my daughter,” Miren said.
“You cannot do this,” Jocelyn said, struggling against their firm holds. “You have already determined my guilt. This is not a trial.”
“Shut up.” Hyssop turned her cold eyes on the baroness and waved a hand. Jocelyn’s mouth moved soundlessly. The blood drained from her face, and her body sagged in the grasp of her two escorts as they dragged her out of the room. The royal family followed, a macabre parade out into the night. Rane carried a lantern and brought up the rear.
The fairy’s dress glowed a luminous blue in the dark as she led them into the center of the castle grounds, to the fountain where Nevar had almost kissed her. The only thing brighter was the nearly full moon bathing the gathering in ominous silver light.
“Hold her there.” Hyssop pointed at a spot equidistant from the fountain and the tree line. She kicked off her shoes, delicate sandals that appeared to be made of spider silk.
Jocelyn flailed her feet wildly and tried to pull her arms away. Commander Miren and Captain Jadran were well versed in escorting those who didn’t appreciate the courtesy. The baroness only managed a few glancing blows, neither slowing nor bothering her two guards.
“Come here, Ranunculus.”
Rane approached, careful to keep out of Jocelyn’s way. Hyssop held out a hand, and Rane stopped an arm’s length from her.
“Raise the flame as high as it will go,” Hyssop said.
With a satisfied smile on her lips, the fairy turned up her hands, opened her mouth, and sang. Later, Rane couldn’t describe the song, but it was the most beautiful one she’d ever heard. Hyssop’s voice wove its way through the air, around the fountain, and into the ground. The flame of Rane’s lantern pulsed in time to the song, and the vibrations traveled through her body, changing the rhythm of her heart. Betony swayed in time to the music with eyes closed, and her hands mimicked the fairy’s.
Golden motes of light appeared in the air and swirled around them. Green sparks joined them from the ground, red from her lantern, and blue from the fountain, a veritable fireworks show of a fairy’s natural magic, drawn from the four elements. They spiraled around Hyssop, a cyclone of color and power. She lifted her arms to the heavens, and the colored particles funneled into her body. The fairy’s skin glowed, an opalescent shimmer in the night.
“Bring forth the witness,” Hyssop said in an otherworldly voice.
Betony escorted a trembling Alize to the fairy.
“This will not hurt, child.” Hyssop held a finger to the young woman’s temples. She muttered a word that sounded like a song, and Alize’s eyes flared in the dim light.
“I remember,” Alize said dreamily. “I remember the bell for the ambassador’s room rang. When I arrived, the baroness stood next to a guard. She handed me a drink. I became dizzy, and the next thing I remember is waking up next to the guard.”
“Was Nevar there?” Rane asked.
“No.”
“Thank you, Alize,” Hyssop said.
The strange light left the young woman’s eyes, and she slumped into Bet. The princess escorted the maid to the side and helped her sit on the ground.
Hyssop stepped close to the baroness and placed her hands on the woman’s temples.
“Now, Jocelyn, Baroness of Otero, you will speak true.” Her voice roared with constrained power.
The baroness stopped struggling, and her body went still as a statue.
“Who poisoned the young lordling?” A great power threaded through Hyssop’s words and lodged itself deep in Rane’s belly.
“I did,” Jocelyn said in a flat tone. No emotion showed on her face or in her words.
“Who else did you give the Living Death?”
“My husband.”
A collective gasp went through the small audience. Nevar had been right. His stepmother had wanted the power for herself and would do anything to keep it.
“Did you kill the guard?”
“No.”
“Did you arrange his death?”
“Yes.”
A long finger tapped her godmother’s pursed lips. Rane opened her mouth to demand how, but Hyssop raised a hand to her, as though following her line of thought.
“Did you pay someone to kill him?”
“No.”
“Did you spell someone to kill him?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“The maid.”
Commander Miren’s grip tightened on the baroness, who showed no sign of registering the pain. Had she been free to do so, the commander would have slit the woman’s throat.
“How did you enchant the maid?”
“A potion and my mirror.”
Hyssop’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “A mirror?”
“She has a small hand mirror she’s never without. Perhaps she has it in a pocket,” Rane said.
The fairy gestured to Jadran. He pulled out a small, round object from the baroness’s pocket. At a look from Hyssop, he handed it to Rane. Slightly smaller than her palm, the gold case was etched in an intricate design of entwined flowers with dark enamel berries. She’d recognize belladonna anywhere. One of her first lessons in woodcraft had been on the deadly beauty with a poisonous berry that would kill painfully.
“Open it, child,” Hyssop said, “and tell us what you see.”
Rane did as she was bid. The case opened easily, revealing a small mirror on one side, but instead of reflecting her face, the mirror showed her an entirely different scene.
After a moment of shock, she described to the others what she saw. “I see Nevar’s body on the table in the Council Chamber. Bash still stands guard.”
“A Spy Glass. Interesting.” Hyssop frowned.
“What’s a Spy Glass?” Rane asked.
“With a drop of blood, the user can spy on a person. Combine that with a sleeping potion, and you can take control of someone’s body. Wherever did you find it?” Hyssop asked the baroness.
“A tinker passing through Otero.”
“His name?”
“I never asked.”
“Something to pass along to the Queens.” Hyssop tapped her fingers together and changed tack. “Who taught you magic?”
“An old crone who lived outside Castle Otero.”
“Who else have you spied upon while in Avora?” Rane asked. Jocelyn remained silent.
“Answer the question,” Hyssop ordered.
“My husband. My stepson. And the crown princess.”
“Why?” Rane asked. Hyssop repeated her question.
“I ensured my husband remained bed bound, and I never trusted Nevar was as lazy and uninterested in politics as he let on. I suspected the crown princess was working with Nevar.”
“I only have another moment before this rotten excuse for a woman fights off the spell I have wrought,” Hyssop said.
Her father nodded and allowed the fairy to proceed.
“Where is the antidote?”
“In my workroom in Otero.”
“Dammit,” Hyssop muttered.
“What is the antidote?” Rane asked, unable to keep her mouth shut or desperation out of her voice.
“The antidote takes weeks to prepare, child. Your Nevar doesn’t have weeks.”
“Fuck.”
“Indeed.”
“Language, Rane!” her mother admonished.
“Mother, if ever there was a time for swearing, now is it,” Ebon said, coming to his sister’s defense.
Queen Beatrice wasn’t pleased, but kept her mouth closed, tacitly acknowledging Ebon’s point.
The light on Hyssop’s skin faded, barely perceptible. Jocelyn twitched in another attempt to pull away from her captors.
“Our time is up, I see,” the fairy said. “You have damned yourself, Baroness. Your fate is now in the hands of the King of Lorea.”
“No. You forced the words out of me,” Jocelyn said, eyes wild.
“I only forced you to tell the truth. Not one lie came from your lips.”
“Magic is not evidence.” Spittle flew from her mouth, and she fought the restraining hands even harder, to no avail.
“Perhaps not in Teruelle, but the laws of Lorea allow for magical testimony,” King Rowan said. “Between Alize’s testimony, the forged note, your mirror, and your own confession, we have enough for a trial. I have the authority to detain you until we can make arrangements with King Armel.”
“No!” Jocelyn lost it as Jadran and Miren dragged her back toward the castle. “You bitch! You wanton, stuck up hellion. When I get out—”
With a cold glare, Commander Miren slapped the baroness across the face.
“I thought you did not strike your captives,” Hyssop whispered in Rane’s ear.
“Father will give her a warning, but there are extenuating circumstances. Perhaps it’s not legal, but it is understandable,” she explained.
“You humans and your rules. There’s always an exception.” Hyssop shook her head.
“Is there no other antidote?” The words fell from Rane’s trembling lips.
“There is not.”
“Then I claim my boon, Godmother. Restore Lord Nevar to health.”
Hyssop placed a finger on her bottom lip and studied Rane. “I will do so if you answer me truly. Do you love him?”
Rane glanced around, but no one paid them any mind. Jocelyn’s indignant screams carried through the castle grounds, and her family huddled near the fountain, discussing who knew what.
“What does it matter if I do? I can’t be with him.”
“Oh, child, love always matters. In fact, it is the only thing that truly does.”
Licking her lips, she admitted the one thing she’d kept buried deep inside, knowing it would only cause her pain.
“I do. I love him.”
“I will grant your boon.” Her godmother smiled her first genuine smile of the evening. For an instant, the fairy’s skin glowed in a rainbow of sparkles again. The magic flowed over her and condensed at the end of one fingertip. Hyssop raised the finger and traced Rane’s lips. “Go. The magic fades quickly.”
“Thank you, Hyssop.”
Without a look back, Rane sprinted back to the castle as though chased by the all the monsters in the Argent Forest.
Chapter 31
Death was surprisingly verdant. And noisy.
Many voices washed over Nevar as he floated through the afterlife. Since childhood, he’d been told God would judge him at death. If found wanting, all that was left was a quick trip to the fiery bowels of hell. If he met God’s expectations, his reward would be peace and bliss in heaven.
At peace, his cares dissolving into the verdant haze, Nevar assumed this must be heaven. He’d laugh if he could. Since he couldn’t, he drifted along in this tranquil state, waiting for whatever might come next.
The scent of rosemary suffused his now-limited perception with the faint undertone of horse. Rane. He would have smiled had he a body. Did she still carry his heart? It would be good to be whole before God collected him.
A pinpoint of warmth began where his forehead would have been if he’d still been alive. It spread over him, first a sweet ache followed by prickling pain. His eyes flew open as his awareness planted itself back into his body. His lungs inhaled a deep, cleansing breath, and the world came into focus.
By the world, he meant Rane. Her lovely, heart-shaped face hovered over his, and her eyes brimmed with crystalline tears. Her dark curtain of hair closed them off from their surroundings.
“Where am I?”
Through still-numb lips, the words were as clear as he could make them. They sounded as if they came from a tired, drunken version of himself.
“In Avora,” she said, a faint smile on her lips. “Everything is okay. Your name has been cleared, and Jocelyn will pay for her crimes. She’s confessed to everything: the murder of the guard, the magical coercion of Alize, and your attempted murder.”
“You’ve been a busy princess.”
“You have no idea.”
Nevar cupped her cheek—holy God, he had hands again! He was then gifted with a big, wet swipe of the tongue from a highly enthusiastic Bash.
“Bash!” Rane said, her cheeks coloring beautifully.
“Miss me, dog?”
Bash woofed, gave him another lick, and trotted off to the fireplace. She curled up, still keeping guard over them both.
“She did. I did, too.”
“What happened?”
“Jocelyn poisoned you. I located an antidote, of sorts.”
“Of sorts?”
“Fairy magic.”
Fairy magic? It was a little too much. He could get the complete story later, when his body and mind were more cooperative.
“Kiss me again? On the lips?” he asked instead.
She obliged, and the salt of her tears mixed with the sweet taste of her mouth.
Rane pulled away and locked her gaze to his. “I never got the chance to tell you something. If you’d died, I would’ve regretted it for the rest of my life.”
His heart thumped in his chest. “Oh?”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Nevar rested his forehead on hers, and peace settled on them. He loved and was loved in return. What else could he possibly want? Maybe the odd trip to Lorea would be enough. Maybe he’d grow wings and fly home.
Someone cleared their throat loudly and with annoyance. Rane pulled back.
“What is going on?” King Rowan’s voice carried through the room, a little too loud for his newly awakened senses. Nevar grimaced.
“He’s awake,” Rane said, a smidgeon of mirth in her voice. “Hyssop gave me the antidote. I was administering it.”
“Ah.”
Heavy footsteps approached. Nevar sat up and blinked, clearing the residual haze from his vision. He was on the massive table in the Council Chamber. King Rowan, Queen Beatrice, Rane, and both her siblings stood next to it. Nevar swung his legs over the edge of the table, and a wave of dizziness crashed into him. He caught himself before his legs buckled, almost slipping back into the green nothingness of the poison.
“No, no, please don’t,” Queen Beatrice said with alarm.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said. He decided not to add that if he tried again, he’d merely end up back where he’d started.
“We owe you an apology for assuming your guilt with little evidence to support it,” King Rowan said.
“I didn’t give you much help on that front, but my stepmother left me little choice. She threatened my family. I’ve seen how you and your family act. What would you do to protect them? I did what I could while giving myself a chance to live.”
“You are welcome back to our court. I will send notice immediately to King Armel.”
“What will happen to Jocelyn?” Did he truly care? No, but he did want to ensure she never interfered with him or his family ever again.
“If she is tried under Lorean law and found guilty, the decision will rest with me whether to imprison or exile her.”
Lorea was more merciful than Teruelle. If Jocelyn were tried at home, her life would be on the line. Nevar wasn’t sure prison or exile would be enough to keep her from abusing power again, but it wasn’t his call. It would have to do.
King Rowan sighed. “And now, our negotiations must begin again.”
The queen placed a hand on his arm. “We made a fair agreement once. It won’t take nearly as long this time. It’s a pity Otero needs Lord Nevar now that Hyssop has exposed the baroness’s crimes.”
“What do you mean, my lady?” Nevar’s mind raced to keep up, but it was like reading a thick text immediately upon awakening. He couldn’t quite connect the dots.
“Your stepmother was dosing your father with the same poison as you,” the queen said quietly, but with a hint of a smile on her face. “A much lower dose. It should clear his system in the next few weeks. He will be fine but weak for a while. Someone needs to handle the business of Otero while he recovers.”
Nevar failed at suppressing the wide smile forming on his face. He didn’t want to leave but hearing his father would be fine after all this time was news almost too good to be true. It seemed everything was coming up roses. Except he’d be far away from Rane, and they still couldn’t be together. He was no longer a wanted fugitive, but that didn’t change the difference between their stations or his responsibilities at home. What could Nevar possibly offer worth giving up their daughter’s hand in marriage?
