Rumpelstiltskin (Timeless Fairy Tales Book 4) Page 18

  “Don’t pet him too much, Gemma, or Pricker Patch will be too deliriously happy to eat tonight,” Stil said, adjusting his cape—the cape Gemma made for him.

  Gemma eyed the stoic donkey whose expression hadn’t budged. “I doubt that.”

  “Stil is right,” Angelique said from the back of her unnatural mount. “I have never seen Pricker Patch so content before,” she said as her dress changed into the same deep blue/purple color as the sky was taking on while the sun sank farther over the horizon.

  Stil squinted at the darkening horizon, or what could be seen of it through the few mountains that jutted up into the sky. “We will confront the rider tonight?”

  “Yes. I will leave soon after. Pegasus runs better at night, and I must tell the Conclave of Gemma’s observations,” Angelique said.

  “So, you think it’s true?” Gemma asked.

  “Pardon?”

  “You think Stil is being targeted for his unique skills?”

  “Yes. Normally, one would not think of Stil as being a threat. He hasn’t the fire power of some other mages. But if one is looking at widespread war that will cause countries to form an alliance…Stil would have a larger impact than any single enchanter,” Angelique said.

  “I see,” Gemma said.

  “When Angelique and I go face the rider, Gemma, I ask that you remain at camp,” Stil piped in. “It’s going to be a battle, and I fear the rider would attack you,” he said, reaching over Pricker Patch’s neck to smooth Gemma’s wavy hair.

  Gemma fixed her hair when Stil finished. “Of course,” she said.

  “You agree so easily?” Angelique asked as her mount pinned its ears and shook its head.

  “Naturally,” Gemma said. “My survival instincts are quite strong, and I know I have few—or perhaps even no—skills of combat. It would be safer for me to remain as far away as possible. Besides, someone must see that Pricker Patch and…,”

  “Pegasus.”

  “Pricker Patch and Pegasus are fed and watered,” Gemma said.

  “Good. And thank you,” Stil said.

  Angelique laughed. “I like her, Stil. You’ve chosen well.”

  “Thank you,” Stil glowed.

  Gemma sighed loudly.

  “Although the lady does not seem joyous,” Angelique added, struggling with her mount, who pranced with impatience.

  “I will wear her down,” Stil said.

  Gemma raised her eyebrows.

  After a few more minutes of travel—when it was barely light enough to still see—Stil called a halt. “We’ll pitch the tent here,” Stil said. “Even after Angelique clears the rider off, I’m not keen to sleep in a realm outside the Snow Queen’s protection.”

  “Where will you go tomorrow?” Angelique asked.

  “I don’t know,” Stil admitted, unpacking the tent from Pricker Patch’s back.

  “I suggest you go to Loire and seek out Prince Severin and Princess Elle,” Angelique said. “Though Severin’s curse is broken, I feel out of all the royals in the continent, he has the best understanding of what we are up against.”

  “Perhaps I should offer my services to him,” Stil said as he started piecing the tent together.

  Angelique nodded. “He and Princess Elle recently hosted Crown Prince Cristoph and Princess Cinderella—although by now she is almost Queen Cinderella—of Erlauf. I believe he meant to speak to them about their goblin infestation.”

  “So, he’s starting to organize.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then as long as Gemma has no objections, I think we will call upon the Price and Princess,” Stil said, looking to Gemma.

  “Do they live in Noyers?” Gemma asked, naming the capital of Loire.

  “No. They live in a chateau that is quite close, though, since the roads have been repaired,” Angelique said.

  Gemma nodded. “I would like to travel to Loire.”

  Stil finished pitching the tent and studied her with narrowed eyes. “You plan to abandon me for Noyers.”

  Gemma pressed her lips together.

  “You will be able to find work there, but you will be safer with me,” Stil said.

  “This I doubt so long as you are sought out by darkness,” Gemma said.

  Angelique laughed as she slid from her mount’s back. “She has you there.”

  “But I will be going to see Prince Severin and Princess Elle. She sets all the fashions for Loire. Don’t you want to see her?” Stil tempted.

  Gemma softened her stance as she considered the idea. As much as Gemma would love to see Princess Elle, there was also the business of getting a glimpse of Prince Severin. Lady Linnea will throttle me if I pass on an opportunity to meet one of her military heroes.

  “Think about it. In the meantime, Angelique and I must leave to get rid of my stalker. Go inside and warm up before you bother with Pricker Patch. He can wait to have his dinner,” Stil said, sliding one arm around Gemma’s waist to force her closer to him. He used his free hand to take one of Gemma’s mittened hands and placed it on his face.

  Gemma exhaled loudly to voice her lack of satisfaction.

  “I hope you can wear her down before you both die of old age,” Angelique said.

  Stil scowled. “Thank you for the show of support, Angelique,” he said before smiling at Gemma. “Be careful,” he said before kissing her on the center of her hair-band.

  After a moment, he was gone, taking his heat with him.

  “How on earth do you stay warm in that dress?” Stil asked as Angelique took a white muff from the single bag she had slung over her mount’s back.

  “It’s spelled. Master Evariste got it for me,” Angelique said as they started out for the border.

  “Hm. Spared no expense for his apprentice, did he?”

  “Enough, Stil,” Angelique said before she and the craftmage fell out of hearing range.

  Gemma watched them go, pressing her lips together in worry. “They will be alright,” she whispered.

  Her reverie was broken by Pricker Patch, who stomped his hooves.

  “Yes, I’m going. I’ll bring hay for the…guest too,” Gemma said, glancing at Angelique’s unusual animal.

  Gemma ignored Stil’s orders and immediately fetched hay and a bit of grain for both of the equines.

  Pricker Patch ate his hay with delight—or as much delight as the stoic donkey ever showed—and Pegasus lipped his and shook it around. When it became apparent he wasn’t going to eat it, Gemma gave the extra hay to Pricker Patch and tried feeding the strange horse grain instead.

  He ate that, and Gemma had just tempted him into drinking lukewarm water when there was a loud explosion that shook the ground.

  Pegasus launched into motion, rearing and snorting with a noise that was even less horse-like than his body. Gemma jumped backwards and yelped.

  Pricker Patch ate his hay.

  Gemma retreated to Pricker Patch’s side and leaned against him for warmth and support. Darkness fell like a suffocating mantle, and Gemma dug in her pockets for one of the seven or eight starfires Stil had given her.

  “Shine,” she whispered to the prism. The crystal glowed, bathing the makeshift camp in soft, white light.

  It was several minutes—several very long minutes—before Gemma saw the spot of light through the trees that was Angelique’s glowing dress.

  “Brighter,” Gemma said to the prism as the magic users approached. Its fire kindled again; its light shone brighter.

  “How did it go?” Gemma asked when Angelique and Stil drew close enough.

  Stil clasped his hands over his head and shook them. “Victory!”

  “He exaggerates,” Angelique said, removing one of her hands from her white muff to touch her hair. “I did not manage to eradicate the rider.”

  “But you landed him an exceptional wound,” Stil said. “He ran away with his tail tucked between his legs to recover.”

  “Are you certain?” Gemma asked.

  “Positive. Well done, Ange
lique. You didn’t even have to use your core magic,” Stil said.

  “It’s for the better. The Conclave is still mad at me about Arcainia,” Angelique said before she boosted herself onto her mount’s back.

  “That’s unfortunate,” Stil said.

  “Wait, you’re leaving already?” Gemma asked.

  “I said I would leave tonight.”

  “But you aren’t coming inside at all? Don’t you want a bit of supper?” Gemma asked.

  “Nothing would delight me more, but great haste is required at the moment,” Angelique said.

  “Are you sure?” Gemma said.

  “Why does it seem that you don’t want to be alone with me?” Stil asked.

  “I could make tea,” Gemma said.

  Angelique smiled, stealing Gemma’s breath with her beauty. “You are too kind, but I must refuse. Don’t worry. He won’t eat you alive,” she said, turning her horse in a circle.

  Gemma said nothing but laid her head against Pricker Patch’s thick neck.

  “Wait a moment, Angelique. I have something for you,” Stil said, disappearing into the tent. When he emerged, he carried the black cloak he used to wear. He passed it up to the beautiful enchantress.

  “Your cloak?” Angelique blinked. “I noticed you have a new one, but…,”

  “Most of the magic is drained from it,” Stil admitted. “But it still has a few good spells left in the cloth that you might find useful—invisibility, heat and cooling charms, and fire resistance.”

  “I see. Thank you,” Angelique said, her voice warm with affection as she tucked the cloak into her saddlebag with her muff.

  Stil bowed at the waist. “Safe journeys,” he said.

  “To you, as well. I look forward to the next time we meet—that includes you, Gemma,” Angelique said.

  “Good luck,” Gemma said.

  “Thank you. Farewell,” Angelique said before leaning over her horse’s neck. Pegasus leapt forward into a canter. He seemed to glow as he ran, resembling a comet the way his fiery tail streamed behind him.

  Stil and Gemma watched until the horse and rider disappeared.

  When they were gone, Stil turned to smile at Gemma. “I see you are using a starfire. How do you like them?” Stil asked.

  “Dim,” Gemma said to the prism, which grew dimmer in response. “Quite a bit. They are very useful. Thank you.”

  Stil shrugged. “It’s just a trinket, but I’m glad you like them.”

  The craftmage was quiet as he ran his hands over Pricker Patch and checked the donkey’s feet. “I’m glad you’re coming to Loire with me,” he finally said.

  “I haven’t yet agreed to call upon their majesties Prince Severin and Princess Elle,” Gemma said.

  “I am choosing to thank you in advance. Or, I will stay with you in Noyers as long as it takes to convince you to travel with me,” Stil said. The silver embroidery on his shoulders glowed in the moonlight and the dim illumination of Gemma’s starfire.

  Gemma pet Pricker Patch.

  “No complaints? I am already gaining ground,” Stil said, smiling.

  “I am nothing but a phase,” Gemma said. “When we rejoin the rest of the continent, you will forget Verglas and everything related to it.”

  “I won’t,” Stil said. “And I will be level with you: I find your complete lack of faith in my fidelity hurtful.”

  “You are a mage—a very wealthy one, I might add,” Gemma said.

  “I’m still a human, Gemma. I still have a heart and breathe like a man. See?” Stil said, plucking her mittened hand off Pricker Patch and sliding it under his black, wool cape.

  Gemma couldn’t feel his heartbeat, but she felt his chest rise and fall with each breath he took.

  “Is it me?” Stil asked, his eyes narrowed, his head tilted. “Am I lacking in some way? Is it something about me?”

  Gemma shook her head once.

  “Then what is it?”

  Gemma lifted her icy eyes to meet Stil’s searing blue gaze. “My life has taught me that I cannot expect happy endings.”

  No sooner were the words out of Gemma’s mouth than a piercing scream flooded the air.

  Gemma whipped around, pulling her hand from Stil’s grasp. “That was Angelique,” she said.

  “Impossible. Angelique must already be at least two miles from here. There isn’t a horse alive than can keep pace with Pegasus,” Stil said.

  “That was her voice,” Gemma argued. “I haven’t known her for long, and even I recognized it as hers.”

  By the dim light the starfire shed, Gemma could see the unease in Stil’s eyes. He was worried about her.

  “Let’s investigate,” Gemma said.

  “You’re staying here,” Stil said.

  “No,” Gemma said. “You said the rider is taken care of. There is no danger.”

  “There is less danger, but it hasn’t all disappeared. Verglas is still crawling with soldiers,” Stil argued.

  “Angelique’s scream was surely past the border. We’re wasting time,” Gemma said.

  “It may be a trap,” Stil said.

  “I can bet you it’s a trap,” Gemma agreed. “But are you willing to chance it that Angelique is unharmed?”

  Still inhaled and fussed with his sleeves as he thought. “Fine. Let me grab supplies from inside, and we can go,” he said, disappearing into the tent.

  Gemma picketed Pricker Patch to a tent pole and dragged the water to his side. “Be good. Guard the camp,” she said.

  The donkey flicked an ear but kept eating his hay.

  “Ready,” Stil said, reappeared with a length of rope hanging from his elbow. “Would you put out your starfire? I would prefer to approach the situation undetected.”

  “Sure,” Gemma said, shaking the starfire to clear away the light. When it stopped glowing, she slipped it back in a pocket on the side of her cape. It clinked like glass when it landed on several other starfires.

  “Come here,” Stil said, holding his cape out after pulling up his hood.

  Gemma frowned. “It’s not going to cover both of us.”

  “It will,” Stil promised. When he dropped the cloth over Gemma, she felt warmer—as though she were standing with her back to the fire—and was able to see through the black silk lining and wool cape as if it were made of gauze even though she knew it wasn’t.

  “Is this the invisibility you mentioned to Angelique?”

  “It is,” Stil affirmed. “We still leave a scent to track, not to mention foot prints, but it is better than nothing.”

  “How far away did the scream sound?” Gemma asked.

  “I’m not certain. I imagine it is over the Loire border, though,” Stil said, guiding them through the trees so they stayed in the shadows but didn’t brush any foliage or greenery to give away their position. Looking back, Gemma could occasionally see their footprints if the moonlight landed just so, but it was dark, and they were creeping soundlessly. She doubted anyone would see their path.

  They moved slowly, creeping their way closer and closer in the direction from which they heard the scream. They had nearly turned the wrong way when they heard the scream again.

  “Angelique,” Stil whispered.

  Though she couldn’t see his face, Gemma felt all of Stil’s muscles stiffen in worry.

  “You must really care for her,” Gemma whispered. Her slowness to speak was gone, burned away by the concern lining Stil’s face.

  “It’s not what you think,” Stil said. “Or maybe it was when I first met her and was enrolled in the Conclave’s school. She saved me, you know? But I haven’t thought of her in that way in years,” Stil said. “I outgrew it.”

  “Like you will outgrow me,” Gemma said.

  “No,” Stil said, his voice soft and patient. “I was a child back then. Now, I am a grown man. My love for you is far different and far greater.”

  “This isn’t the time to discuss it.”

  “Perhaps, but I don’t know when you will discuss it
—” Stil hushed himself when a branch snapped somewhere past the wall of pine trees along which they crept. Stil peeled back the cape long enough to show Gemma his finger pressed to his lips before he drew her back in the depths of the cloak.

  They crouched and crawled under the tree branches, careful not to scrape anything or make a noise. They made it through the tree wall and squinted in the darkness. Gemma didn’t see the tell-tale glow of Angelique’s dress anywhere. Perhaps the Lady Enchantress had already escaped?

  Stil and Gemma took two steps into the dark clearing before the hellhound jumped them from behind. The animal pounced on Stil, knocking Gemma out of the warmth of the craftmage’s cape and into the cold snow. Gemma gasped at the temperature change and the jarring pain in her knees and arms from catching herself, but she scrambled to her feet.

  The hellhound had Stil pinned beneath him, its giant claws digging into Stil’s shoulders—but oddly not piercing through the cloth of Stil’s cape as it lowered is massive head. Stil caught the thing by the throat and jaws, keeping it from snapping at his face.

  While the two struggled, Gemma tucked her chin and ran. She rammed into the hellhound’s side, knocking the beast off Stil.

  “Cudere,” Stil shouted, his voice hoarse as he tossed a metal bar into the air. He grabbed Gemma’s arm and dragged her to the side, barely moving aside in time to miss the hellhound lunging at their legs.

  “Blaze!” Stil said before he caught his bar—which had transformed into a double tipped spear while in the air. Gemma couldn’t say she noticed how or when. The spear glowed with the intensity of lightning. It crackled as Stil swiped it through the air, narrowing missing the hellhound.

  The beast leap backwards and growled. Its hackles raised as it crouched on the ground.

  And then Angelique screamed again.

  A nightmareish horse skulked into the clearing. Its eyes were milky white; its nostrils flared red, and it was thin and wretched looking.

  On its back was a rider clothed in black with a hood shadowing its face. He—or it—had a grievous chest wound that oozed a black, tarry substance, and its breath came in pained wheezes. The rider held a small orb of black fire, and when it squeezed the fire, the scream was produced.

  Angelique wasn’t injured at all. It was a trick to draw Stil across the border.