Everlasting Enchantment (23 page)

“I find this most distressing,” said the queen. “Now you are free, and yet…”

“And yet, I am not sure if Millicent will have me.”

Lord Sussex snorted. “I lack your tender sensibilities, my dear Victoria. My concern is for the safety of the Crown. Will you give me the relic, Sir Gareth Solimere?”

“Gladly.” Gareth placed the bracelet in the other man’s outstretched hand. “And good riddance. Lock it away in the deepest, darkest recesses of the Hall of Mages. I hope never to see it again.”

“I rather imagine not.” The Master slipped the band of silver over his wrist. “I can still feel the power within it. There may be other uses for it, you know… other than for imprisoning a man.”

“I want nothing more to do with relic magic.”

“I believe you. And yet… although you now appear to be free of the curse, you still present a threat to me and mine.”

“Uncle!” interjected the queen. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Gareth frowned. “In what way?”

“Your blood, dear boy. It has already proven a danger to my niece.”

“I will hear no more of this,” snapped Queen Victoria. She stepped over to the bed, her footsteps stomping indignantly on the floor. Her skirts stirred the air of the room, making the strings of diamonds ripple, causing the sparkles to dance merrily in dizzying motion. She lifted her chin, and looked down her nose at her uncle. Despite her youth, she radiated authority, and looked every bit the ruler of England. “Is this how we reward our subjects for their bravery? If not for Sir Gareth, I would be married—ugh! This very moment! To the odious Duke of Ghoulston. And although I did not appreciate your thumb in my mouth…” She gave Gareth a grimace. “I now understand the necessity.”

Lord Sussex crossed his arms over his chest. “That is precisely what I mean. You are still under the influence—”

“I am not. Well, perhaps a little. But my head is ruling at the moment, Uncle, and I will not have one of my subjects treated so unfairly. Sir Gareth has been imprisoned for centuries for one small… error in judgment. He has more than paid for that crime, and I will not see him imprisoned any longer. In fact, it is in my mind to reward him for his services.”

“That is not necessary, my lady.”

“I do not wish to hear from you either, Sir Gareth. You have no home, no income… I will rectify that matter. There is a small manor in Ipswitch that needs tending. Hobover House. I don’t imagine a shape-shifting panther used to living in the Underground would be comfortable in London. She will adjust to our world much better in the country.”

Gareth’s chest twisted. “You assume she will have me.”

“Of course.”

“I am not so sure.”

The Master of the Hall of Mages rolled his eyes.

Queen Victoria shot her uncle a glare. “Nonsense. Of course she will have you. You have searched for her for centuries! I refuse to believe you two will not work it out… somehow.”

Gareth felt… ah, he felt hope. How could he not? The spell had been broken. He was no longer a prisoner. He could lead a normal, mortal life. At long last.

And he would lead that life with Millicent. There had to be a way…

And perhaps the Master of the Hall of Mages could help. Nell’s death had caused Millicent to harden her heart again, but something about Nell had been niggling Gareth for some time, and he had brushed it aside for more immediate concerns. Yet, he had thought of it again just a few moments ago. Perhaps it was time to listen to his instincts.

“My lord. What do you know of firebirds?”

Lord Sussex did not bat an eye at the abrupt change of subject. “I assume you mean the magical kind.” He dug a finger beneath his cravat and scratched. “They possess feathers varying in shades from reddish-yellow to crimson. They can ignite those feathers at will, and can breathe fire as lethally as a dragon. But unlike dragons, who became illegal ages ago because of their massive appetites, firebirds are natural creatures of the animal kingdom, and as such are protected by certain laws… I assume you are asking because of this Nell person?”

“Yes.”

Queen Victoria frowned. “The lady who died and broke Millicent’s heart?”

“Again yes, Your Majesty. I have this wild idea…” Gareth stopped. Surely it was only a foolish hope.

“Magic brings us many evils,” said Lord Sussex, “but can bring us great joy, as well. There is no subject within my Hall that is too outlandish for discussion, Sir Gareth.”

“Indeed,” agreed Victoria. “It is why Lord Sussex continues in his post. He is always open to the most outrageous magical notions. If there is anyone who can educate you on magical creatures, it is my uncle.”

Gareth nodded. “I had heard—so long ago that I have forgotten the details—that there is a certain type of firebird that rises from the ashes to be reborn again.”

“Hmm, yes.” Sparkles danced on the Master’s brocade coat as he rocked in his chair. “The phoenix…”

“Yes! That is her name… Millicent said it only once, when she first introduced the shape-shifter to me. Nell Feenix. It must have stayed in my mind—that is what has been nagging at me.” Gareth leaned forward, his heart filled with so much hope that he barely acknowledged the sudden sharp stab from his injury. “Is it true? The myth about a phoenix?”

“As far as I know. It has been a long time since I have heard of one. Even firebirds are uncommon. But many myths have turned out to be the truth, as evidenced by this city below London… and Merlin’s relics.”

Queen Victoria clapped her gloved hands, the sound a soft whisper in the quiet room. “Oh, Sir Gareth! If that is true, this Nell might be able to return to your Millicent.”

“And heal her heart,” he finished. “I did not know what compelled me to keep the firebird’s ashes, only that I could not bear to leave her remains lying on that battlefield near Ghoulston’s underground castle.”

“You have them, then?” The Master’s gray brows rose in surprise.

“They are Underground. With the were-bear who aided us against the dragon. I must get them at once.”

Lord Sussex put a restraining hand on Gareth’s shoulder as he started to rise. “Slow down, young man. What do you know of the legend of the phoenix?”

“Just that she rises from her ashes to be reborn again.”

“That’s not quite the entire story. The phoenix will build a funeral pyre of special tree limbs and spices, set it afire, be consumed by the blaze, and then be reborn. How did this Nell die?”

“I think a silver bullet hit her, for she fell to the ground. And burst into a column of flame.”

“Then it may be too late.”

“Uncle!” interjected the queen once again. “I refuse to believe that. Sir Gareth, do not listen to him. There may still be a chance.”

Lord Sussex gave her a wry look. “Well, I am glad to see Ghoulston didn’t entirely destroy your romantic notions.”

Gareth dropped his face in his hands. He might be clinging to a futile hope. Just because Nell’s last name was Feenix—or perhaps Phoenix—did not mean she was one. Many baronets possessed surnames from the genus of their were-shape, like Millicent
Pantere
, the Old French name for panther, but not all. Some baronets purposely changed their names to protect their identity. And even if Nell was a phoenix, she did not have the special boughs or spices when she burst into flame.

It might be too late.

Gareth raised his head. But it might not. He would not know until he tried… and he would do anything to earn Millicent’s true love. Anything.

“What branches do I use to build the nest? And what spices?”

Victoria clapped her hands again, mouthing “bravo” to him, while the Master heaved a sigh.

“The spices and boughs are difficult to procure, for they primarily come from the Arabian wilderness, where the phoenix originated. But Britain has a presence in Arabia, so they are not unobtainable. I can make you a list of what you need, and how to go about crafting the nest. But after that…” He raised his hands. “You will have to improvise.”

“Based on the legend,” mused Queen Victoria, “perhaps you should craft the nest, put the ashes in it, and then set it on fire.” She shuddered. “It sounds like a dreadful way to come back to life.”

Gareth smiled. “Not for ladybird—ah, that is what I call Nell. She loves fire. I cannot accurately describe to you how beautiful she appeared in her were-shape. Feathers aflame like molten liquid, her tail like the train of a woman’s gown, but alive with flickering light.”

“If you should succeed in your task, brave knight, I would like to meet this ladybird.”

Gareth grinned broader at her words and then rose, a bit stiffly, and bowed as low as he could, stifling a grunt of pain. “My thanks, Your Majesty. For your support, and the gift of this Hobover House.” He turned to the old man. “And Lord Sussex… I believe I have already proven my loyalty to you and yours. And I vow that I will never allow anyone to use my blood for ill… although I rather imagine your spies will be checking up on me now and again, yes?”

“You assume correctly.”

“Excellent. Am I free to go?”

“Not until you are fully healed,” said Queen Victoria. “No, don’t look at me that way, Sir Gareth. You have a legend to fulfill and a woman to reclaim. And you are not used to mortality. A few more days to mend will do you good… and no, I am not sure if it is because I am still under the influence of your blood and require your company a few more days.”

Gareth used Lady Roseus’s stairway to return to the Swill and Seelie when he finally went back underground. The lady had not seemed to be surprised to find him on her doorstep, or particularly disturbed that he requested the use of her stairway, although she asked that he deliver a note to Bran.

He did not wonder about the contents of the missive. The lady had daubed the pink paper with the same scent she wore.

As Gareth reached the bottom of the last step and made his way through the catacomb of tunnels, the darkness surrounded him like a shroud, only the odd glowing fungus on the walls keeping it at bay. He could still not get used to the idea that he would never live in darkness again, that tomorrow morning, he would see the sun rise once more. He had marveled over it for the last few weeks and had not missed a sunrise or a sunset, even when the sky had been darkened with clouds and rain for a day or two.

He reached out and ran a finger along the green-glowing plant on the tunnel wall. Millicent had not only given him his freedom, but had gifted him with more light in his life than he could ever have imagined. He would do anything for her, including the task of chasing after a legend.

The tunnel abruptly ended and opened onto the massive cavern that sheltered the underground city. The network of streams running through the streets stank as badly as the Thames above. The buildings he passed resembled those of London’s East End, except for the lack of solid roofs. The fairylights studding the ceiling high above looked like nothing more than the twinkling stars in the sky. The resemblance to London always astonished him.

But the Underground never saw the sunlight.

Millicent lived in the dark.

He would give her the same gift she had given him. If only she would let him.

Gareth passed over one bridge after another, feeling only a slight twinge from his injury. He’d had the most powerful healer in the country to tend him. Queen Victoria herself. Even though the love potion had worn off, the queen still seemed to retain a fondness for him… although she had enthusiastically set her cap on Prince Albert. But as soon as Gareth could move without wincing, she had taken him to Ipswitch, to see Hobover Manor. Gareth had learned that the house had been named after the hobgoblins that roamed the halls of the stone structure. The creatures were rumored to be mischievous but harmless. And he had seen only one of them, a little fellow with hunched shoulders and a crooked grin. Gareth had managed to hire some staff while he was there, and had set them to putting the manor in order. The queen had pointed out an enormous hearth in the middle of a neglected ballroom as a likely place to build Nell’s nest.

Surprisingly, Lord Sussex himself had acquired the branches and spices for the nest and had them delivered to Hobover House with his regards.

Gareth needed only to bring Nell’s ashes home.

He opened the door of the Swill and Seelie, the wood creaking on the hinges of the door. Gareth had a home. A real home. Not the inside of an enchanted moonstone. And he wanted nothing more than to live there the rest of his life with Millicent. He glanced at the door that led to her chambers as he waded through the chairs of the common room, careful to avoid jostling the few customers slumped over the tabletops.

He also wanted nothing more than to drag her from this place and take her home with him, but he couldn’t be sure she would stay, unless he managed to bring Nell back to life. Such a slim hope to gamble his happiness upon.

Gareth stepped behind the bar, where Ambrose lay snoring atop an abandoned leather glove, and gently tapped on the door of Bran’s room.

The were-bear opened it with a growl. “Egads, man, do ye know what time it is?”

“Aye. The sun rose aboveground about an hour ago.”

“The sun rose…” The big man shook his head like a bear coming out of a long hibernation. His eyes widened as the implication of Gareth’s words seemed to sink in. “Ye saw the sun, lad?”

“For several weeks now.”

“How—when? Wait, come inside. We don’t want to wake the regulars.”

Gareth followed him into the storeroom, and took the same seat he had once before, atop a wooden crate full of bottles. “It’s why the bracelet did not tighten around Millicent’s wrist,” he said without preamble. “The curse had already been broken.”

Bran settled his bulk on another crate, the wooden slats bowing under the big man’s weight. “That’s a relief. The gel has done nothing but sulk. And start fights. Crikey, I hired her to stop them, ye know.” He scratched at his chest. “So, Millie’s love was strong enough to break yer curse after all?”

“Yes. But I’m not sure it’s strong enough to make her marry me.”

“Then why are ye here, if not to take the gel off my hands?”

Gareth’s gaze swung over to the low shelf Bran had pointed out before. “I came to get Nell’s ashes. I have a home now. A place where she can… rest in peace.” He couldn’t bring himself to tell Bran about his hopes to bring Nell back. It seemed a foolish proposition beneath Bran’s steady practicality.

“A home? Ye move fast, lad.”

“It’s a gift from the queen, in recompense for saving her from an ill-fated marriage. She told me to tell you she would like to reward you, as well.”

The were-bear’s heavy brows lifted in surprise. “Ye don’t say? Well, tell Her Majesty I have everything I need right here. It was an honor to do queen and Country a service, lad. It doesn’t come about too often, belowground.”

Gareth felt little surprise at Bran’s answer. He rose and took the bag of ashes from the shelf, stuffing it into the deep pocket of his new morning coat. Another change he had to become accustomed to. Different clothing. The queen had outfitted him with an entire new wardrobe of trousers, brocade waistcoats, velvet frock coats. He preferred his new boots over the pointy toes of his old ones, but missed his sword. Queen Victoria had deemed it quite out of fashion, but had come to his rescue by outfitting him with a bamboo cane that held a hidden blade inside.

Paper crackled and he pulled out Lady Roseus’s note. “I have a message for you.”

Bran’s face lit up and he quickly rose and splashed water on his face from a washbowl in the corner of the room.

“Aren’t you going to read it?”

“Not necessary,” replied Bran from behind the cloth he dried his face with. He quickly pulled on a shirt, boots, and a worn leather overcoat. “I can smell the scent on it from here.”

Gareth stepped aside as Bran stumbled past him.

“Where are you going?”

“Ain’t it obvious, mate? When duty calls, I do not delay in answering. It will be a few hours before the regulars wake.” And with that, Bran opened the door and left the pub.

Gareth stood for a moment, only the soft sounds of a little snoring sprite breaking the silence.

He should leave as well. Return to Hobover House with Nell’s remains.

But he could feel her. So near.

He had hurt her when he’d demanded she give him the bracelet.

She had been furious when it had not tightened about her wrist.

Now was not the time to explain everything to Millicent. He hoped to have Nell’s rebirth as an assurance for his proposal.

Gareth threaded his way through the tables again, stopped at the entrance to the hall that led to her room. He could not be sure if she would welcome him. But he did not have the willpower to be this close… without touching her.

Gareth took a breath, strode to her room, and opened the door.

She lay on her pallet, hidden in her were-form, the glossy fur of her panther blending with the dark night. He knelt next to her, laid his hand on her velvet head, and Millicent shifted to human. Gareth smiled in triumph. If nothing else, he had tamed her beast.

Millicent turned her head, her face haloed within a square of fairylight filtering through the small window next to her bed. Her skin glowed like porcelain, like fresh-fallen snow. Her dark lashes fluttered and her mouth parted on a sigh.

Gareth reacted without thought. He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers.

The scent of windblown moors replaced the sour smell of ale that permeated the rest of the tavern. He gloried in the taste of her. Stronger than wine. Sweeter than honey.

In his time, he would have composed poems about her.

The hell with this modern age. He would do so anyway.

Her lips moved beneath his and he deepened the kiss, until her arms stole around his shoulders and his heart fluttered in joy. In triumph. Millicent might never be sure of her feelings, but her body knew what she wanted.

Gareth shed his overcoat, his coat, his waistcoat. He had not lost the skill of removing his clothing without breaking the kiss, despite no longer being cursed. Millicent’s hands fluttered about his shoulders, tugged at the knot of his cravat. She wore a gown of soft cotton, the fabric so thin in places he could feel the heat of her skin beneath. Gareth smoothed his palms over the curve of her breasts, and she purred.

He pulled up her skirts, ran his hands up her muscled leg, along the sweet jut of her hipbone.

Millicent fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, managed to open it enough to smooth her hands along his chest. Her touch set Gareth on fire. Alas, how she managed to heighten his senses, to bring his body to a level of excitement he had never experienced before.

He must have her. He would do anything to win her. Gareth pressed closer, claimed her tongue with his in a dance that mimicked his intent. Millicent clutched his shoulders in a possessive grip. He touched her. Touched her wet heat, her silky folds, and she arched against his hand.

He delved deeper. Deeper, until she squirmed beneath him. Until she growled with need.

In one smooth motion, Gareth slid his body over hers and kissed her entrance with his swollen flesh. Then gently, slowly, filled her with his need, with his desire. With his love.

Millicent arched back her head, breaking their kiss, exposing the smooth white curve of her throat. Her harsh gasps sounded loud in the tiny room. He ran his tongue over the creamy skin, relishing the salty-sweet taste of her.

Gareth ground his pelvis against hers.

You
are
mine. Whether you choose to acknowledge it or not, you are mine. But I will have more than your body. I will have your heart. The whole of it. Not just the damaged bits and pieces.

Millicent began to shake. The tremor ran from her center and spread through her limbs as her release overtook her. And Gareth’s body responded to her pleasure, but his own release did not spread like a wave. It imploded inside of him, shattering his senses in a burst of ecstasy, making spots of light dance before his eyes.

He stilled, gathered his wits about him, and pulled away from her. Then sat for a moment with his head bowed in his hands.

She mewed. Some soft, sad noise that made him want to return to her. It would be so easy to stay. To tell her she had freed him, that her love had been strong enough after all. She would believe his words with her head… but he could not be sure if she would believe it in her heart. And he had a chance to make Millicent whole. He could tell her about his plans, about his hopes to bring Nell back. But if it did not work… no. He could not risk it. The disappointment might destroy her.

Gareth rose, dressed, and left as quietly as he had entered.

He did not look back at Millicent, nor did she make another sound to try to make him stay.

Perhaps she too understood that words were meaningless between them now.

He ran into the guard Bran had placed at the door during the tavern keeper’s absence. The man half shifted to jackal before he recognized Gareth, then moved aside. Gareth strode through the city like a blind man, his hand in his pocket around the bag of Nell’s ashes. He got lost several times on his way out of the tunnels, his mind distracted with thoughts of Millicent.

And ran into Bran at the top of Lady Roseus’s stairway. They stared at each other in silence for a few moments.

“You should marry her,” said Gareth.

Bran grinned. “I plan to… if she’ll have me.” He shuffled his feet, stuck his hands deep in his pockets. “And what about my Millie?”

“If she’ll have me.”

“We are a fine pair, old chap.”

Gareth grinned back at him. He suddenly felt lighter, as if his task wasn’t as impossible as he thought it might be. If a gruff bear could somehow manage to make a timid flamingo fall in love with him…

“Well, then.” Bran stepped to the side and they passed each other on the stairway.

Gareth did not see Lady Roseus as he strode through her house. Just the footman, who called for the carriage Gareth had left waiting. It had come with Hobover House. Indeed, he had several conveyances provided with his new estate. This coach had been kept up particularly well, with a coat of fresh varnish and smoothly oiled wheels. He ducked through the door and made himself comfortable, for he had a lengthy journey ahead of him to return to Ipswitch… and only Nell’s ashes, and memories of his encounter with Millicent, to keep him company.