AllFreeNovel
Share Us
10
I sleep fitfully and uncomfortably on the stone floor. Eventually I give up and resume pacing, wondering where Rupert went. I’m angry with myself for propositioning him, for being vulnerable and letting him know that I craved his company. He obviously did not feel the same way.
Or maybe he was discovered and captured. He’s a Half-Elf in disguise, after all—disguised so he could slip into the House of Bounty and look for me. Every time I feel angry and humiliated, I keep coming back to that fact.
He followed me here. He intervened in this task and spent his magic to save me.
Either he is a fickle, mischievous Elf and changed his mind about me, or something happened to prevent him from returning.
Despite my disappointment and the soreness of my heart, I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. I won’t hate him—not yet. I’ll assume that he fully intended to return, and that he had no choice about staying away. Which makes me worry about him, of course—but concern is better than resentment. Feeding my anger before I’ve heard the whole story is a foolish course of action.
Instead, I focus on making a plan, crafting the words I’ll say when the King or his emissaries arrive to view the results of my “magic.” I’ve concocted many persuasive speeches over the years, words designed to convince or cajole the tradesmen, laborers, innkeepers, merchants, farmers, and shop owners I’ve dealt with in the course of business. The King, though far more powerful, is just another man, and the key to dealing with a man is to discern what he wants or needs, and then show him how you can satisfy those wants, fulfill those needs. Identify the point of pain, and show that you can soothe it.
Besides that, presentation matters. So I upend the crates that once held the bobbins, arranging them like shelves or display stands in a semi-circle around the spinning wheel. Then I stack the spools of spun gold on top of the crates, so they will show to the best advantage. I even change the angle of the lanterns to shine the light more directly toward the gold.
Next I finger-comb my hair and replace some of the pins. I sweep my fingers under my eyes to clear any smudged makeup, and I smooth the skirts of my gown, plucking off any remaining bits of straw.
By the time the key turns in the lock, I’m ready.
Two guards enter first, then an elderly man and a middle-aged woman in rich clothing. I don’t recognize either of them, but they must be important.
They all step respectfully aside, and the King himself enters the room. His lip is curled, as if he hates having to set foot in this part of the castle—but his expression swiftly changes when he sees the gold.
“By my cock,” he says. “So it’s true.”
He picks up one of the bobbins, hefts it, then hands it to the old man. “There you are, Benoit—what do you think of that?”
Benoit wedges a monocle into place and inspects the gold. “It’s real, Sire.”
“Fuck me,” says the King. “Kessalif, you are my expert in magic. What do you make of this?”
I watch the woman with renewed interest. This is Lady Kessalif, the most powerful sorceress in Darthage. She doesn’t look like the portraits I’ve seen of her—she’s thicker in person, big-boned, and her black hair has more gray in it. There’s a regal grace to her presence, a true majesty the King will never possess.
She scans the room, then points to the door. “There are no exits besides this one?”
“None, my lady,” says one of the guards.
“And the straw—it was brought here directly from the fields?”
“From farmlands just outside Giltos, my lady.” The guard bows.
Lady Kessalif turns her incisive gaze on me. Despite the fine wrinkles around her eyes, they are like bright, polished steel.
I meet her eyes, keeping my gaze as open and clear as I can. I can’t remember if she has the power to discern a lie or not.
“You performed this task, girl?” she demands.
“I helped,” I say. “The magic did the rest.”
Her eyes narrow a fraction, as if she senses the evasion in my answer. But she only nods and says to the King, “This one is a worthy candidate, Sire. An asset to the Crown.”
“Yes, she has numerous worthy assets.” The King’s mouth stretches into a leer as he ogles my breasts. “Very good. You have pleased me, child. You’ll perform this magic again as soon as possible.”
“Begging Your Majesty’s pardon.” I dip into a curtsy. “I cannot do this magic often. If I could, my family would have accumulated much wealth.”
“How often can you perform this?” The King isn’t smiling now.
“Once a year. It takes months for my energy to recharge after such a dramatic act of transformation.”
