Rumpelstiltskin (Timeless Fairy Tales Book 4) (17 page)

“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 abilities 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.

“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, Angelique. 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.