Magic and Miracles, page 21
“Keeping the gardens safe, sir,” one of them answered, raising the lamp higher. Noting Orion wasn’t alone.
“I am safe enough. Away with you both.” He didn’t have the ability to persuade or command with his voice. Not a magical ability, at any rate. But he had the duke as his example, and when he pitched his voice just right, he sounded as coldly authoritative as his sire.
“Sorry, sir. Didn’t mean to interrupt, sir.” The servants backed away, taking their lamp with them.
Orion stood still and silent until their footfalls faded away. Then he stepped back enough to look down at the woman he’d shielded from view.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “Whoever you are. I didn’t think of what would happen if someone accused me of theft. They are flowers—but rare and valuable. I should have considered that possibility.”
He shook his head at her explanation. “A simple mistake. But the consequences could have been dire.” She didn’t know who he was. His mask and hood, his change of posture and voice, assured that she wouldn’t. He opened his mouth to identify himself.
“Are you Fey?” she asked suddenly. “I have little experience with Fair Folk. Please forgive me if there is a thing I ought to do and haven’t yet done. I assume a curtsy is in order, at the least.” Immediately, she dropped into a charming curtsy more fit for a prince than for Orion.
He shifted uncomfortably but considered his options for a moment. If she didn’t know who he was, if she saw him only as a rescuer, he might gain more information than he had when he’d spoken to her before. She didn’t want to speak to the duke’s offspring, illegitimate or not, but she might be freer with a stranger.
He didn’t clear his throat. Better to keep his tone low, his voice dry. “What warning did you receive?”
4
In the soft moonlight dancing upon the garden foliage, Elara gazed up at the mysterious figure who had saved her from potential disaster. His question hovered in the air, waiting for her answer.
“I was told to never make a deal with High Fey,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, still unsure of the true nature of her savior. “That it could lead to consequences far beyond my understanding.”
“That is wise advice,” the man replied, his voice low and measured, giving her no hint of his identity. Yet he seemed oddly familiar. “Deals with the Fey often come at too high a price.”
Elara’s fingertips went cold, and she tightened her hold on the stems in her hand. “I’m grateful for your intervention. I wasn’t thinking about the implications of taking flowers from these gardens.”
He looked at her from behind his mask with an unnerving intensity. “It’s also dangerous to express gratitude to the Fey.” He sounded severe. “Why were you collecting these blossoms? What purpose could they serve you?”
She hesitated, debating how much to reveal, but his protective presence and the intelligence in his eyes encouraged her. “I’m gathering a bouquet to present to the duke. I hope to ask for his leniency and patience.”
His lips turned downward beneath his mask. “Leniency? From the Duke of Sutton?”
Elara sighed, a sense of resignation washing over her. This man already held her fate in his hands, were he to take the story of her garden theft to her captor. “My father and I are in a precarious situation. He’s not well, consumed by memories of his past. He presented himself to the duke, claiming he could transmute flora into gold. I fear the consequences when we fail to prove his claims.”
The man remained silent for a moment, seemingly to consider her words. “That is indeed a grave situation.”
“Yes,” Elara agreed, her voice weak with worry. “Hence my attempt to gather these flowers. If I can enhance them with a touch of magic, just enough to encourage patience, perhaps it will buy us time to find another way out of this predicament.”
He considered her words, his posture reflecting a contemplative stance. “You have magic, then? The ability to influence through plants?”
“A modest talent,” she admitted, feeling suddenly vulnerable at having revealed this much to a stranger. “I’ve used it before, to help in small ways. Never for something this significant.”
He nodded slowly, as if weighing her words. “It seems you are in dire circumstances indeed. And in need of aid.”
Elara couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope at his words. “Do you have any advice? Any knowledge of how to navigate this treacherous situation?”
He paused, his gaze lingering on her with an unreadable expression. “I may not have immediate solutions, but I understand. Be cautious in your actions. Your approach must be clever and well-conceived.”
A sad, weak laugh escaped her lips. It wasn’t the answer she’d hoped for. “Good advice. But that hardly helps matters. Perhaps it would be better to make a deal with a Fey, if there are any at this ball who would show my situation even the smallest measure of compassion.”
The stranger turned still as stone and looked like a statue in the silvery moonlight, except for his eyes. They flashed, gleaming in the darkness, as he stared at her. “You would risk it? Even after being warned of what such a deal could mean?”
“I would. I see no other way. I know nothing of alchemy, and my father is in no state to contribute to the work beyond making endless notes. My only ability lies in plants, and I cannot imagine how to make gold from green and growing things.”
Her rescuer spoke in his dark, low voice. “I’ll help you. If you want to make a deal.”
Unable to see his ears, or anything else that might give away his ancestry, she didn’t know if he was Fey. And she didn’t care. She was desperate. He knew it, too.
“What sort of deal? I have little to offer in exchange for whatever magic can accomplish what I need.”
“Magical deals rarely work on the basis of monetary value.” The stranger’s gaze seemed to pierce through the shadows, focusing intently on her. “It must be something of value to you. Something that belongs to you, freely and absolutely.”
Elara’s mind raced. She had so little of material worth, but then it dawned on her—the one item she held dear, a connection to a past filled with love and warmth. She’d already removed her gloves to skulk about the garden, not wishing to stain the fingers green.
“This is my most treasured possession.” She held her arm toward him, turning it to reveal the simple brass clasp that kept it secure about her wrist. “My sisters made it for me. As a parting gift.”
The stranger observed the trinket, the moonlight glinting off the delicate glass beads. There was a moment of silence, a heavy pause where the air itself had stilled.
“I accept your offer,” he finally said, voice surprisingly gentle. “This bracelet, in exchange for my assistance.”
Elara hesitated for a moment, the weight of her decision pressing down on her. Yet, the necessity of her current situation left her with no other choice.
“Could you—? It’s difficult. To unclasp it. I bent the catch not long ago. Would you please remove it for me?” Her cheeks burned as she asked, holding her wrist up higher.
He removed his gloves, tucking them away in his cloak, then one of his hands—larger, warmer than hers—slid beneath her wrist and turned it, his touch gentle and feather-light. Then he carefully undid the clasp, his fingertips brushing the sensitive skin of her arm. The beads slid across her wrist as he took the only physical reminder she had of her sisters.
Handing it over felt like letting go of a part of herself. But the safety of her father and their future hung in the balance, as well as that of her sisters, who were dependent upon the funds she sent to keep the goodwill of their reluctant kin.
Elara looked up into the stranger’s obscured face, searching for some assurance she hadn’t made a grave mistake.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I hope this will be enough.”
The stranger nodded solemnly. “I will do everything within my power to aid you.” He bent closer to her. “I promise.”
As he tucked the bracelet into his cloak, Elara felt a chapter of her life close and an uncertain new one begin. She had made a deal that might change her fate forever, and the weight of it settled around her like a snow-sodden cloak.
5
Madness. Orion had succumbed to absolute madness.
After he’d shown Elara a servants’ door for her to return to her rooms with her stolen flowers, he’d gone back to the ball. He still had to keep up appearances. Inwardly, he cursed himself.
He’d all but pretended to be a High Fey, someone capable of wielding great magic, of changing fortunes, all because a woman’s heartbreak had shown so clearly in her eyes. Not even the High Fey could do what the duke wanted. Orion knew well enough that the Duke of Sutton had spent decades searching through magical tomes and relics to find such secrets. They didn’t exist.
How would he fulfill his promise to Elara? There was a chance he could help her escape. And her father, too. But to what end? The duke would hunt them down and punish them for making him look like a fool.
Elara needed protection from someone more powerful than the duke. Orion wasn’t that person. Even if he managed to achieve his goal, if he perfected the use of firestone for a less expensive, healthier alternative fuel, that would only be enough to secure his financial independence from the duke.
Orion weaved through the crowd, lost in his thoughts, when a figure in an elaborate pirate costume, complete with a tricorn hat and a mock cutlass at his side, bumped into him. The man’s pointed ears, a distinct sign of his half-elf heritage, peeked out from beneath his hat.
“Pardon me, friend,” the pirate said, his voice light with the merriment of the evening. His eyes, a striking shade of green, twinkled with unspoken tales of adventure and mischief. One might almost take him for a real pirate.
Orion, recognizing the man despite his costume, let a small smile crack his stoic demeanor. “No harm done, Callon.”
The pirate paused, peering more closely at Orion. “Do I know you, sir?” His tone was playful, yet there was a hint of genuine puzzlement.
Orion lowered his voice. “It’s me, Callon. Orion.”
Callon’s eyes widened in recognition, and a broad grin spread across his face. “Orion! By the stars, I didn’t recognize you. Playing the mysterious stranger tonight, are we?”
Orion managed a half-hearted chuckle. “Something like that.”
Callon clapped him on the shoulder, his smile fading slightly as he noted Orion’s tension. “You seem troubled, my friend. The weight of the world on your shoulders, even at a ball such as this. Come, now. Even if it’s your less-than-benevolent father throwing the event, you can still enjoy yourself. And at his expense.”
Orion glanced around, ensuring they weren’t overheard. “Things are somewhat too complicated for that at the moment.”
The half-elf nodded sagely, his expression turning more serious. “I understand. I’m no stranger to unpleasant machinations of kin and court. If it’s worse than the usual, I am here to give aid. You know that, do you not?”
There was a comfort in Callon’s words, a reminder of the friendships Orion had outside his father’s shadow. “Thank you. That means more than you know.”
The half-elf’s expression lightened again, and he gestured with a theatrical flourish. “Let us not dwell on shadows this evening. The night is young, and there are tales to be told, dances to be had. Perhaps a duel or two with these noble blades.” He shook the hilt of his mock cutlass with a laugh.
Orion allowed himself a smile. “If a duel could solve my problem, I would take you up on that.”
“That bad, is it?” The half-elf’s eyes momentarily darkened. “We cannot speak plainly here, obviously.” Callon tipped his head toward a knot of people, several of them ladies, watching their conversation with curious looks. “But after, come to my house. We can talk. It’s been too long.”
Orion agreed, and they parted ways.
As Callon disappeared back into the throng of the ball, Orion stood for a moment, watching the dancers swirl in a blur of color and laughter. The music, the laughter, the clinking of glasses—it all seemed a world away from the serious matters occupying his thoughts. As he moved through the throng of guests, Orion felt a momentary ease. Even as his thoughts remained on Elara and the promise he had made.
Orion arrived at Callon’s house as the first light of dawn was breaking over the horizon. The dwelling was modest, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city, its unassuming exterior belying the influence of Callon’s family.
It wasn’t the butler but Callon himself who opened the door, his expression alert despite the early hour. “Orion, come in.” He stepped aside to let his friend enter.
Inside, the house was cozy and well-kept, a stark contrast to the opulent excess of the duke’s home. Orion took a seat in the modest drawing room.
He recounted everything to Callon—his encounter with Elara in the garden, her desperate situation, and the promise he had made. He spoke of the duke’s demands and the impossibility of turning flora into gold, his words heavy with the weight of the responsibility he felt. He didn’t trust anyone the way he did his oldest friend. And he needed help.
Callon listened intently, his green eyes thoughtful. “And what of your work with the firestone?” he asked after a moment. “How close are you to a breakthrough?”
Orion pushed a hand through his hair, impatiently. “I believe I’m on the verge of something significant. I’m nearly ready for testing.”
Callon nodded, considering. “If you’re right, this could be the leverage you need. Not merely for your independence, but as a bargaining chip to protect Elara and her father.”
Orion’s gaze hardened with determination. “The duke’s patience won’t last for long.”
“I’ll arrange a demonstration of your work,” Callon said decisively. “I have contacts who would be interested in such an innovation. People with enough influence to hold the duke at bay.”
Orion didn’t feel much relief at that. “Thank you, Callon. Until then, I need to keep Elara safe.”
The two men spent the next hour devising a plan. They spoke in hushed tones, their conversation a series of strategies and contingencies.
As Orion stood to leave, the afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows.
“We’ll make this work, Orion,” Callon said, clasping his friend’s shoulder. “For the lady’s sake, and for the future you’re trying to build.”
“I hope so.” Orion nodded, resolve hardening. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Stepping out of Callon’s house, Orion felt the weight of his promise to Elara, his own hard work, and his mother’s well-being, all settling heavily on his shoulders. The stakes were high, and the risks were many, but he would see this through. For Elara, for her father, his mother, and for a chance at a future free from the duke’s shadow.
6
A knock at their chamber door the next morning brought Elara to her feet, away from her study of her father’s notes as she desperately hoped for something that would help them out of their situation. She opened the door with her heart in her throat, fearing every moment that the duke would discover the truth about her father’s promises.
Mr. Fitzmartin stood there, looking as discombobulated as she felt. His spectacles alone remained tidy. Everything else was something of a mess. His jacket had streaks of dust on the sleeves and shoulders. His cravat looked like it was strangling him. His dark curls stuck out from his head in odd waves. And when she looked down, even his fine shoes were scuffed.
He was quite rumpled.
The man cleared his throat and tucked his upraised hand hastily behind him. Then he bowed. “Good morning, Miss Millstone.”
Elara clutched the door handle and didn’t budge. “I wouldn’t call it that, Mr. Fitzmartin.”
He winced. “Might I come in? I would like a word with you. Please.”
She stared at him, uncomprehending the question. As the duke’s son, seemingly as one of the duke’s messengers, he had every right to brush right by her. To do and say what he wished. “My father isn’t available for conversation, sir. He is at work and shouldn’t be disturbed.”
His eyes softened, and her heart fluttered at the look of compassion within them. A disconcerting response, given the circumstances.
“I wish to speak to you, Miss Millstone. Not your father.”
He wouldn’t push his way in, either. Or make demands. He still waited on her permission to enter. That intrigued her.
“Very well.” She stepped aside, allowing him in. The remaining footman didn’t so much as bat an eye as she closed the door.
She turned and pressed her back to the wood. In a lowered voice, her unexpected visitor said, “I read through your father’s notebook before having it delivered to you. There are brilliant conjectures and formulas within them. Your father has a keen intellect.” Then he looked down at her, his eyes soft behind his spectacles. “But none of it can really be proven.”
“I know.” Elara pressed her hands against the wood. “No amount of magic or alchemy can create gold from nothing.”
“What will you do?” he asked, eyeing her with care.
Slowly, she shook her head, the mysterious stranger still in her mind. “Delay as long as I can, until I think of something.”
He nodded slightly. “I may be able to help with a delay. I have something to show you.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I think I’m supposed to stay here.”
For the first time since meeting him, she saw Orion’s smile. It was slight, but it made his handsome face even more attractive. “I have secured you a workroom, Miss Millstone.” A spark appeared in his eyes. “And putting it to rights to make it usable will take at least a couple of days.”
Elara rang for Bess to come and sit with her father. The maid had been assigned to her after the ball, thank goodness. After Orion asked to borrow a specific notebook from Papa, he led her through the duke’s house.
