Rumpelstiltskin (Timeless Fairy Tales Book 4) Page 17

  “Ah, please forgive my terrible manners. Allow me to introduce you with great pleasure to Gemma Kielland, one of the most talented seamstresses in the continent. Gemma, this is Enchantress Angelique—one of the highest ranked magic users in the Veneno Conclave.”

  “Good afternoon,” Gemma said, curtseying.

  “I am charmed, Gemma,” Angelique said with a smile as caressing as silk. “Although, I fear Stil has mislead you: I am only an enchantress in training.”

  Stil heaved a disgusted sigh worthy of Pricker Patch. “Everyone knows you have the capabilities. It’s is merely that with Enchanter Evariste…missing, he cannot bring you to the Conclave and declare you. You’re an enchantress, Angelique.”

  Angelique delicately shook her head. “If I was ready to be an enchantress I would know more ways to counter curses besides using love,” she said. She watched Gemma try to pull her hand from Stil’s grasp without success. “I received your letter. You said you were being followed?” Angelique asked.

  “Hunted, really,” Stil said. “By a hellhound and a rider mounted on a nightmare.”

  Angelique’s teacup clicked when she set it down abruptly. “What? How can this be?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t understand why, either,” Stil said. “But it’s why I fled to Verglas.”

  “You were smart to do so,” Angelique said, knitting her fingers together as she thought. “Is the rider chasing you as well?” Angelique asked, looking to Gemma.

  “No. Absolutely not,” Gemma said.

  “Gemma is fleeing the country with me. She’s in a spot of trouble with King Torgen,” Stil said.

  “Ah, him,” Angelique said knowingly.

  “With all respect, Craftmage Stil, you were going to take me to the border, and then we were going to part ways,” Gemma said.

  “Yes, but now we don’t have to. Angelique will take care of the rider for me, won’t you?” Stil said, turning to the beautiful enchantress.

  Angelique sighed. “Sometimes you overestimate my capabilities.”

  “No, I don’t. If your learned magic fails, you will just have to rely on your core magic. The rider is no match for that,” Stil said.

  “Core magic?” Gemma asked, too curious to let the comment pass her.

  “Enchanters are the highest rank of magic user there is,” Angelique said.

  Gemma nodded.

  “This is because we are able to use two types of magic: core magic and learned magic. Core magic is something all magic users have. It is what decides their focus. Stil’s core magic is craft related. Weather mages have weather core magic, and so on. All enchanters and enchantresses have core magic as well—although the kind and strength varies from enchanter to enchanter. It is our learned magic that gives us a higher rank. Learned magic—things like curse breaking, enchantments, working with elements, charms, general magic—are things only enchanters and enchantresses display the ability to learn.”

  “For instance, no matter how hard I study, I can never control rain,” Stil said. “But Angelique—to a certain extent—can.”

  “I see,” Gemma said.

  “There are checks and balances of course,” Angelique said. “As an enchantress, I will never be as powerful in weather magic as a weather mage. And no enchanters are capable of infusing magic into weapons like Stil is—although that is to be expected as he is a genius in his core magic,” Angelique smiled.

  The embarrassed smile Stil exposed made Gemma pause. She looked back and forth between Angelique and Stil as she realized, Angelique is the person who taught him about the obligation to help those in need. She is the magic user that is precious to him.

  Gemma wryly lifted an eyebrow. In love with me, indeed. Now that the original is here, there is no need to settle for a lesser, like me.

  “Enchanters and enchantresses generally have highly specialized types of core magic, too, and they are typically very powerful,” Stil added. “Angelique’s Master is considered to be one of the greatest magic users since the Snow Queen. He was the youngest enchanter ever approved,” Stil added. “But we are getting off topic. Angelique, I know you can destroy the rider with your core magic.”

  “Perhaps if I was approved to use my core magic. The Conclave still hasn’t agreed to it,” Angelique said. For Gemma’s benefit she added, “My apprenticeship was and continues to be unusual because my core magic makes most…squeamish.”

  “I see,” Gemma said, politely refraining from further questions.

  “Regardless, I am certain I could drive the rider off for a time,” Angelique said. “Although we will have to be careful. The forest is crawling with soldiers.”

  “Pardon?” Gemma said.

  “They’re King Torgen’s men. At first I thought they were the followers you referred to in your letter, Stil. But now I suppose they are searching for you, Gemma?” Angelique asked.

  Gemma shifted uncomfortably. “Yes,” she said.

  Angelique smiled. “Do not worry yourself over it. You are safe in Stil’s home, and the border is but a short ride away.”

  “Is it? That’s a relief,” Stil said. “It feels like molasses runs faster than Pricker Patch is willing to move.”

  “Perhaps Pegasus can speak sense into him, although I fear he is growing to be just as ornery as your donkey,” Angelique said. “The time away from Master Evariste has been hard on him.”

  Stil shrugged. “Pets,” he said. “But, it would appear we are here for the night, so we should enjoy it. Tonight we will have a feast,” Stil promised.

  “I look forward to it,” Angelique smiled.

  “It will take me a while to get everything ready. Do you need to see to Pegasus or anything?” Stil asked.

  “No, but if you do not mind, I think I would like…rest for a while,” Angelique said, standing up.

  “Certainly. Any of the rooms are open—except mine and the frost room,” Stil said, finally releasing Gemma. “Take all the time you need,” he added, calling over his shoulder as he left the parlor.

  “Except for…Gemma, are you in the last room in the hallway?” Angelique asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh,” Angelique said, her eyes wide. She turned a thoughtful eye on Gemma and studied her from head to toe. “I’m glad you are so lovely. If you will excuse me, I will see you at our banquet.”

  When the enchantress left, Gemma stood, alone, in the parlor, trying to organize her thoughts. “I’m lovely?” she snorted. She shook her head and looked around the room for the cape she made Stil. She didn’t see it—he must have carried it off or stowed it while she was fetching tea.

  Recalling the cape made Gemma, unfortunately, recall Stil’s reaction.

  “It’s just a phase,” she decided. “Now that Angelique has joined us, he will stop this foolishness.

  “So, how long have you known Stil?” Angelique asked.

  Gemma and Angelique were seated at a table in a dining room Gemma didn’t previously know existed. They had just finished the massive amount of food Stil—or, more correctly, Stil’s magical kitchen—had prepared for them. The craftmage was off getting dessert. Gemma didn’t think she had any room to spare, and she thought they had already eaten dessert between the fresh fruits, candied nuts, and pastries, but Stil insisted she eat more.

  So, Gemma and Angelique sat together, waiting for Stil to return.

  It was a little awkward, truth be told.

  “A few weeks,” Gemma said, clasping her hands in her lap. “And you, Lady Enchantress?”

  “I’ve lost track of the time, but years. Would you like to know more?” the beautiful enchantress asked.

  Lacking any other discussion topics, Gemma nodded.

  “My Master and I were traveling when we found Stil in a market in Baris. He was a youngster—twelve or thirteen I believe—and was selling stone beads. My Master recognized him for what he was and tried to get him to leave with us, but Stil was suspicious of him,” Angelique said, pausing to take a sip of wine.


  Gemma nodded again to show she was listening.

  “Eventually, my Master realized Stil found me less intimidating and instructed me to talk him around. I…managed it. We brought him to the school at the Veneno Conclave where he proved to be a veritable genius at craft magic,” Angelique said.

  Is she trying to show that she knows him better? Or that she has first preference? That is silly. I am not in a position to be competition. I better make that clear.

  “I see,” Gemma said. “It is obvious you have a bright relationship with Mage Stil.”

  “Friendship,” Angelique corrected. “I flatter myself to say I am like an older sister to him.”

  “Oh, no,” Gemma said, shaking her head. “He cares for you much more than as a sister.”

  Angelique smiled. “I fear my crying episode earlier gave you the wrong impression. I treasure Stil’s friendship, but that is all we have,” she said, taking another sip of her wine.

  “Perhaps that is all you think you have,” Gemma said.

  Angelique choked on her wine and coughed, placing her hand on her chest.

  “Right! The tarts finally set—what happened?” Stil asked, blowing into the room, carrying a number of tarts on a silver platter.

  Angelique tried to speak but could only cough.

  “I was clearing up a miscommunication,” Gemma said.

  Angelique gave Gemma a look of horror.

  Unsure to interpret whether that meant her guess was correct and Angelique wanted more, or that her guess was dead wrong on Angelique’s end, she shrugged at the enchantress.

  “I see,” Stil said, putting the platter down on the table.

  “As marvelous as all this food was, I find that I am simply exhausted, and I must beg your pardon and excuse myself,” Angelique said, daintily yawning when she recovered. “Thank you, Stil. The food was outstanding.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Stil said.

  “Why doesn’t she have to eat dessert?” Gemma asked as Stil set three different tarts on a pewter plate in front of her.

  “Because I don’t care what she does,” Stil said, tapping the end of Gemma’s nose.

  “I enjoyed conversing with you, Gemma. I will see both of you in the morning,” Angelique said with another one of her beautiful smiles.

  “Goodnight,” Stil said before Angelique disappeared through the door. “That was excellent timing,” he said, picking up his chair from the head of the table and placing it directly next to Gemma’s.

  Gemma shifted her chair down. “Why?”

  “Because now we can talk. We never did finish our earlier conversation,” Stil said, inching his chair closer.

  Gemma shifted her chair farther down the table again. “I don’t recall there being anything to talk about. You were obviously under a lot of pressure, but now the Lady Enchantress is here.”

  “Gemma, I’m not a rare animal. I don’t undergo metamorphosis if I’m not near other magic users. The truth is, I don’t really like many magic users,” Stil said.

  “That’s not true; you like the Lady Enchantress Angelique,” Gemma said. She realized that might sound like jealousy, so she quickly added, “Which is to be expected. She’s lovely, and I think you two would do quite well together.”

  Stil snorted. “I am not in love with Angelique. I’m in love with you,” he said, scooting closer.

  Gemma pushed her chair away. “Well, that’s not proper.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I am not a magic user.”

  “There is no rule that mages can only love fellow mages. Even if there was, your work is beautiful enough, I think it’s fairly obvious you have a faint strain of magic in your blood.”

  “Even so, it still wouldn’t be proper.”

  “Why not?” Stil asked, butting his chair up against Gemma’s.

  “Because of the age difference.”

  “Age difference?”

  “Of course. Surely you can’t be a day younger than fifty or sixty,” Gemma said in surprise.

  Stil’s jaw dropped.

  At his outraged expression, Gemma tried to shift her chair but found she was stuck against a table leg.

  “You think I’m an old man?!” Stil thundered.

  “Most magic users are not the age they physically appear to be,” Gemma said. “And it is well known that they age much more slowly.”

  “You think I’m an OLD MAN?!” he repeated, his voice even louder.

  Gemma frowned and lost her fake pleasant edge. “You dress…uniquely, and you went through the schooling. That must have taken at least a decade.”

  “I’m not even twenty-five yet, you mean-spirited mule, and my clothes are fashionable among mages!” Stil said.

  Gemma rolled her eyes. “Now you sound like you are talking to Pricker Patch.”

  “I very well may be for all the attention you give me!” Stil said. “This whole time you’ve thought I am OLD?”

  “You didn’t remove your hood until a few days ago. I had no idea what you looked like—or even if your appearance would represent your proper age.”

  “It’s the enchanters and enchantresses who never seem to age. I’m a craftmage! I will outlive you by a little, but only by decade or two! You thought I was OLD?”

  “I get the impression that offends you.”

  “IT DOES.”

  Gemma only lifted her eyebrows and prodded a tart.

  “Aren’t you going to apologize?” Stil asked.

  “For what?”

  “For thinking I’m OLD!”

  Gemma shrugged. “It seems you have only yourself to blame for that misunderstanding.”

  Stil glowered and stabbed a tart with a knife.

  “If you are not yet twenty-five, and if Lady Enchantress Angelique met you with her master when you were twelve or thirteen, you must be freshly out of the Conclave school,” Gemma observed.

  “And now you are accusing me of being a green mage! No. I went through the schooling system quite quickly and finished my apprenticeship by the time I was eighteen,” Stil said, his voice wry but at a much lower volume.

  “Impressive. You must be the genius the Lady Enchantress says you are.”

  Stil ran a hand through his feathered, black hair—it was short again—and sighed. “I don’t know about genius. I would reserve that word for people like Angelique’s master enchanter, Evariste. It is true, though, that I am the most gifted craftmage in the past few decades. Possibly the century. Which isn’t quite as impressive as it sounds. Craft magic is useful for luxuries—protection charms in jewelry, clothes spelled to dazzle, that kind of thing—and for everyday work—like wagon wheels spelled to last extra long or wood furniture charmed to resist fire.”

  “But when one reaches your level, your usefulness expands,” Gemma guessed.

  Stil reluctantly nodded. “I can place higher-level charms and magic into objects, and I am one of a few living craftmages who can spell weapons.”

  Gemma narrowed her eyes. “If others can spell weapons, why would Angelique call you a genius?”

  Stil made a face at Gemma. “I don’t like to boast,” he said, “but I can bespell weapons faster with higher spells and at a greater rate than anyone else. I could spend a day spelling a hundred weapons to hold lightning magic. The other mages would take an hour just to produce one or two.”

  “So, you could outfit an army,” Gemma said.

  Stil shrugged. “If I chose to. Most members of nobility are unaware of that particular skill of mine. They treasure me for spelled jewelry and clothes.”

  “But it would explain why you are being hunted.”

  Stil blinked. “What?”

  “If you could supply spelled weapons for an entire army in a matter of days, that would make you a great threat.”

  “To…?”

  “To this plague of darkness you spoke of. You said Angelique’s master was done away with by the masterminds, yes? Wouldn’t it be plausible that they know of your abilit
ies and realized that if war is declared, your skills would give us a significant advantage?” Gemma asked.

  Stil was a frozen statue. He didn’t blink, even when Gemma shifted, attempting to untangle her chair from his.

  “You are right,” he said. “Gemma, you are brilliant!”

  Gemma shrugged. “I’m not sure how you missed it before.”

  Stil abruptly stood, pushing his chair away. “I need to tell Angelique this. I hadn’t thought of the possibility of actual war, but if they are planning for it, there is much to be done,” he said before glancing down at Gemma. “Don’t think our conversation about my love for you is over.”

  Gemma raised an eyebrow. “I expect you will come to your senses eventually.”

  Stil chuckled and swooped in, quickly kissing Gemma on her cheek. “Sleep well. Thank you, darling.”

  “I am not your darling!” Gemma said to his retreating back.

  The mage only laughed and disappeared through the door.

  Gemma scrubbed at her cheek and tried a tart. “Delicious,” she said, scrubbing her cheek harder when she could feel her face heating up. She cast an apprehensive look at the door through which Stil had disappeared and shook her head. “He will learn. No mage would love a poor seamstress with a drunk for a father. It’s just not possible.”

  Chapter 15

  “Are you sure you do not want to ride Pegasus with me, Gemma? The border is but a short distance away. We are nearly there,” Angelique said, seated on her unusual mount.

  The equine—Gemma found it difficult to call it a horse—had a horse-like body structure and face, but its shape was oddly fathomless thanks to its fur. The animal looked like a portion of the night sky was removed to fashion its body, for it was blue-black like night, and there were star formations dappling its hide. Eerily, its mane and tail were not made of strands of hair, but more closely resembled black and blue flames.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” Gemma said, laying a hand on Pricker Patch’s neck for reassurance.

  The glowering donkey ignored the touch and plowed forward through the light dusting of snow.