Stolen Enchantress

  He took up his oar, and they rowed in silence. At Denan’s tree, a familiar man stood at the dock, waiting for them, his robes still covered in soot.

  “My Uncle Demry,” Denan said.

  “Wyn’s in the kitchen. I can’t get him settled,” Demry said as their boat approached.

  Denan peered into the boughs above them. “My men cleared the tree?”

  “Yes.”

  Larkin followed his gaze, shocked to see sentinels in the branches. Denan helped her out of the boat, his touch perfunctory. “I’m going to need you to stay here. Look after my brother. Can you do that, Larkin?”

  She nodded. “Where are you going?”

  “I have princely duties.” There was anger in his voice. He made to push off the dock.

  “Wait,” she said.

  He paused. She hesitated, shooting an embarrassed look at Demry. Denan waved him off, and he retreated to give them some space.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” she asked softly.

  He sighed, his shoulders falling. “Someone set that fire.”

  Her mouth fell open. “How can you know?”

  “My father saw someone leap from the boughs of his tree into the water and swim away.”

  “Who?”

  Denan shook his head. “When I find out, they will wish they’d never been born.”

  It didn’t make sense. “Why would anyone want to hurt your family?”

  “Probably because they can’t get to me. The only way to reach my tree is by boat. I have sentinels posted in every tree around ours.”

  And now, apparently, sentinels in the tree as well. “You think Netrish did this?”

  Denan started rowing away. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Clean up and rest.”

  She rubbed her tired eyes, getting soot into them and setting them stinging. “You have to do this now? You haven’t slept all night.”

  He turned the boat. “You’re safe with my Uncle Demry and the sentinels.”

  Demry stepped beside her, and for the first time she noticed the ax and shield strapped to his back. “I will defend her with my life.”

  “Don’t go,” Larkin said softly, not wanting to admit she was frightened.

  A memory of a smile touched Denan’s lips. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Larkin watched as he rowed away. She touched her mouth, remembering the kiss they’d shared last night. Shame and sadness overwhelmed her. Steeling herself, she went to the kitchen, Demry trailing behind her.

  Tears streaking through the black on his face, Wyn paced from one side of the kitchen to the other. “How’s my mother?”

  “Sleeping. How are you?”

  “Hungry.”

  She looked back at Demry. The man shrugged. “We’ve offered him food.”

  “I want to catch my own!” Wyn shouted. “I always catch lunch.”

  “Then let’s catch lunch,” Larkin said.

  Wyn looked up at her, distrust in his eyes.

  “Do you know where Denan keeps his spears? He hasn’t shown me yet.”

  Wyn raced away, returning with a spear.

  The two of them went for a swim, and Wyn taught her what was edible and what wasn’t. By the time they came back, most of the ash had left their clothes, though Larkin feared her beautiful robes were ruined.

  “Now,” Larkin said. “You take a bath while Demry helps me prepare this.”

  Wyn agreed reluctantly. Demry taught her how to assemble the ingredients. The three of them ate in companionable silence, Wyn’s eyes growing heavy. On his second helping, he fell asleep on the table, his arm stretched out.

  “Put him in my bed,” Larkin said. Demry followed her up, and she turned back the sheets and tucked Wyn in. She gathered her simple tunic and pants from the armoire. She went to the place between the buttressed roots, activated the barrier, and stripped to her bare skin. Half submerged, she worked up a lather and scrubbed away layers of soot. To rinse, she dove into the water and floated at the surface, staring at the strange opacity of the barrier that shifted like storm clouds.

  In the stillness, the events of the day washed over her—the way Denan’s family had loved and cared for each other . . . An ache of loneliness started in Larkin’s chest for her own family. She shifted, the pain of her thorns drawing a sharp inhale from her lips. She glanced at the thorn on her upper left arm, surprised to see raised lines a shade paler than her own skin. They formed the center of a geometric flower.

  Larkin forgot to breathe. Her heart stilled in her chest. Tears welled in her eyes—tears that spilled down her cheeks when she blinked. She took a ragged breath and drew upon her magic. Her forearm tingled. A shield formed before her, with darker lines in the shape of a tree. A smile bloomed across her face.

  There was no denying it. She had women’s magic.

  At a sound like hail on a rooftop, the barrier’s surface scattered like disturbed water. Nervous, Larkin swam back out, dried off, dressed in a clean tunic and her underthings, and dissipated the barrier. She looked high into the trees and didn’t see the sentinels, though she still felt like she was being watched. She climbed out, moss sticking to her damp feet.

  Denan sat at the dock, scrubbing the sooty clothes they’d been wearing the night before. She gaped at him. She’d never seen a man do laundry before. “You’re back.”

  “I sent Demry and the extra sentinels away.”

  “You think that’s a good idea?”

  “They’re looking after my parents.”

  She nodded. “Is Wyn awake? I thought I heard something.”

  “Probably just the birds.”

  “I’ll check, just in case.”

  “You’re just trying to get out of doing laundry,” Denan teased.

  She wrung out her hair, trying not to notice the way Denan eyed her bare legs. “Obviously.”

  In her room, Wyn was curled on the bed, sobbing. She thought he would demand Denan, but he simply crawled out and collapsed in a heap in her arms. Missing her family more than ever, Larkin settled in the chair and held him close, rubbing his back and humming her mother’s lullaby.

  Denan came in moments later, their wet clothes in his hands. He laid them out over some branches. “Play a lullaby for me, Denan,” Wyn said.

  Denan sat on the bed and pulled out his pipes. He played as the sun set and the colors of the night came out. For the first time in a long time, Larkin felt content, and she didn’t care if it was the music’s doing. With a sigh, she closed her eyes, the events of weeks melting from her body.

  She awoke when Denan bent over her, tugging Wyn from her. He settled him into the bed. “How’s your arm?”

  She almost considered telling him. Almost. “A little less swollen, I think.”

  Denan stroked his brother’s hair. “I can sleep in your room if that makes you feel safer.”

  Larkin leveled him with a flat look.

  He gestured helplessly. “I’m happy on the floor.”

  The room was so open to attack. “All right,” she relented.

  She took the vial of oils from where she’d left it on her desk, flipped her long hair over one shoulder, and rubbed it through her tresses, enjoying the smell of the herbs as she looked out over the sun skimming through the trees and atop the water in a long column of light.

  She started when Denan reached past her—she hadn’t realized he was behind her—and took the brush. Careful of the thorn at the base of her skull, he ran it through her hair, starting at the top and working his way through the length of it in soft, even strokes. Her eyes slipped closed at the pleasure of having her hair brushed.

  Eventually, Denan’s hands shifted to her shoulders, his thumbs kneading at the muscles between her shoulder blades. His fingers stroked her shoulders and brushed lightly over her neck. Heat built in Larkin—heat and longing and . . . desire.

  She jumped to her feet, darting out from his touch, and turned an accusing stare on him. “What are you doing?”

  Hurt flashe
d in his eyes. “Touching you.”

  “Well, don’t.”

  He stalked toward her until her backside came up against the desk. He stopped before her, the heat from her body scorching the gap between them. “How much longer are you going to fight this? How much longer are you going to deny yourself happiness?”

  “I could never be happy here.”

  “You would be if you didn’t fight that happiness at every turn.”

  “Why do I deserve to be happy when my mother and sisters are suffering? They need me!”

  His expression softened. “You suffering needlessly won’t change that.”

  “I have to get out of here! I have to get back to them!”

  “And if you could, what then? Your townspeople would never let you stay. You’d be driven out. If your family came with you, they would lose their land, their means of support.”

  A sob bubbled up in her throat; she tried to swallow it down. “Denan, last night, I was so relieved you were all right. I shouldn’t have kissed you, and you shouldn’t have kissed me back.”

  “Larkin, I will always kiss you back.”

  “A week ago, I was on the cusp of marrying Bane, a boy I’ve loved for as long as I can remember.” She studied Denan’s nearly black eyes—the eyes of the man she had kissed last night. What did that make her? Unfaithful, certainly. For she’d never given up on her plan to go back to the Idelmarch, back to Bane. “I’m still engaged to him, and I was untrue.”

  Denan cupped her face in his hands, brushing at the tears streaking down her cheeks. “Help me break the curse. Help me free both our peoples. Only then will you be able to save your family and Bane . . . and decide where you truly want to be.”

  He was right. The tree was dying, and when the magic was gone, so would the barriers that protected and entrapped her people. The best way to help her family was to banish the curse. Slowly, she nodded.

  Denan eyed her. “You still don’t believe in the heartsong?”

  “Never.” But even to her own ears, she didn’t sound convinced.

  He took another step toward her, so she had to lean back over the desk. “I dare you.”

  Every part of her stiffened at the challenge in his voice. “Stop trying to manipulate me.”

  “It’s not a manipulation.” His hands came under her knees, lifting her onto the desk. “You already kissed me once. Now it’s my turn.”

  “I was just glad you were alive.”

  “One kiss, Larkin. Prove me wrong.”

  She opened her mouth to protest but paused. “Fine. One kiss. Just to end this once and for all.” She hardened her lips and turned her mouth toward him.

  But it wasn’t his mouth that touched her, but his hands, stroking down her arms. She opened her eyes to see him studying his hands as they skimmed down her shoulders and disappeared into the sleeves of her tunic. “So soft,” he murmured. “Your skin is so soft.”

  She swallowed heavily. Any girl would have a reaction to Denan—even one who wasn’t attracted to him in the least.

  His fingers trailed back down her arms before skimming along her hips. His fingertips touched the bare skin of her outer thighs, trailing fire that started a slow burn in her lower belly. He grasped her by the back of her knees and slid her closer. One hand trapped her legs behind him, the other took her by the side of the head, turning her jaw up. Denan brushed his lips across her collarbone, pausing at the frantic pulse in her throat, before skimming across her jaw.

  His other hand came around, trapping her jaw between his hands. His mouth hovered just above hers. “Larkin.” His whisper caressed her lips. “You’re trembling.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Your heart is racing.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Look at me and tell me you don’t want to kiss me.”

  She considered his eyes, rings of black surrounding the darkest brown. “I don’t.”

  One side of his mouth quirked up. “Liar.”

  He was taking too long. Her hands pushed through the soft bristle of hair on his scalp to pull him in. The moment his mouth met hers, Larkin’s core trembled, shifted, found a new home. Their lips moved as if in a dance they’d done a thousand times before and only forgotten before now.

  There was too much space between them. She pulled him closer. He pulled her closer. She opened her mouth to him. He responded, deepening the kiss, his tongue brushing against hers. Larkin moaned, and he pulled her so she fit snug against him. She pushed her tongue into his mouth, and he sucked gently. The fire in Larkin’s belly transformed to a raging inferno. Her hands skimmed across his broad shoulders and then to the front. She wanted to feel his skin—had to touch it.

  She tugged his tunic up, hauling it off his head and discarding it on the floor. Her hands skimmed across his smooth chest, feeling the muscle and the scars. Denan’s hands slid up under her tunic, rucking it up against her thighs. He wasn’t going fast enough.

  Larkin reached for the hem, intent to pull it over her head, when Denan paused. “What about Wyn?”

  Who was Wyn? Denan pulled back a little farther. She blinked up at him in confusion.

  Wyn.

  In the bed next to her desk.

  She turned quickly, but the boy was still fast asleep. And then she saw herself, her legs locked at her ankles around Denan’s waist, their bodies so tightly entwined she wasn’t sure where hers began and his ended. His lips were swollen from her kisses. By the feel of it, so were hers.

  She slowly released him, her legs falling to the side. Her head dropped in shame. Denan captured her jaw and tried to lift her head. She pulled away from him. “I’m weak.”

  “To let yourself feel a little happiness? To let yourself love someone?” He tipped up her jaw and looked her in the eye. “You are the very opposite of weak.”

  “I thought we were going to be friends,” she whimpered.

  His grin turned wolfish. “Larkin, that was never going to happen.” He wrapped her in his arms, holding her tight. “I love you.” She stilled, not believing she’d heard him right. She hugged him back, ignoring the urge she had to pull his mouth back down to hers.

  “Still want me to sleep on the floor?”

  She chuckled. “Wyn will protect me from your advances.”

  “He already has,” Denan muttered. He turned from her, reaching for his discarded tunic.

  Larkin hopped off her desk and opened the drawer to put the brush away. What she saw made her freeze. A ruby ring. Heart pounding, she picked it up, recognizing the tone of the jewel as well as the vines twining up and down the band.

  But . . . she’d left the ring on the nightstand in Caelia’s room before she’d ever been taken into the forest. How had it gotten here? Or more accurately, who had brought it?

  “The forest take me.”

  “What?” Denan had set his tunic on the chair. Wearing his trousers, he slid into the bed on the other side of Wyn. She tucked her hands behind her. “Nothing. I just—” She scrambled to come up with some excuse for leaving for a while. “I need to take care of something.” She reached into the armoire drawer and grabbed some of the woolen underwear.

  He lay back on his blankets. “I washed out the other ones and hung them to dry.”

  He washed my underthings? She cringed. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  He shrugged as he tugged the blankets back over him. “No worse than washing out bandages.”

  She hurried out of her room, looking around for something out of place. She was almost relieved when she reached the main platform and saw nothing. But then . . . a lampent petal lay on the steps of a bough she’d never gone up before. Heart pounding, she bent to pick it up. It pulsed, colors chasing up and down the edges of the petals. She looked up. Through the branches, she could see another.

  She started up a set of stairs. Here were smaller rooms, all of them empty. She picked up another lampent, colors dancing at her touch. And a little higher, more light. She hurried toward it,
finding petals every dozen or so steps. She was moving fast now, eventually leaving the stairs behind. She practically flew up the tree. Sweat gathered to run in streaks down her back and temples. Far below, the water looked almost like the sky with glowing stars.

  Finally, she caught sight of a lone lampent sitting in the middle of the branch, but she didn’t see anyone. Was she so desperate for home she was imagining things? The heavy weight of the ring in her hand convinced her otherwise. Kneeling, she cupped the blossom in her hands and leaned forward, inhaling the light, sweet fragrance.

  “Larkin,” came the voice moments after she felt his presence directly behind her.

  She was already spinning, launching herself toward him. Bane grunted as she landed in his arms, and the branch they were on swayed with the weight of them.

  “Easy,” Bane said, but his voice held no trace of scolding. “You’ll send us both toppling.”

  “Bane,” Larkin whispered. The familiar smell of freshly tilled earth and mist washed over her. He was dozens of early mornings in the river, fresh baked bread when she’d had nothing to eat all day, her ally when the other children teased her threadbare clothes. He was her best friend.

  And she’d betrayed him.

  Forcing back the tears, she pulled back and leaned a little aside so the light from the lampent could touch the planes of his face. His cheeks were scruffy, his eyes hollow and sunken.

  “Bane,” she said again, this time with concern. “How are you here?”

  His fingers skimming the scar on her neck. “Did he do that to you?”

  “Hunter did.”

  “If he wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him for scarring you like that.”

  “My family? Are they all right?”

  “They were when I left.”

  She felt a wash of relief. At least Garrot hadn’t hurt them.

  Bane sniffed. “Do you have anything to eat?”

  That hadn’t even occurred to her. She searched the branches. It didn’t take long to find some gobby. She picked one, tearing off the rind, and held it out. “Here, take this.”

  “I wasn’t sure it was safe to eat them.” He tore into the fruit, consuming it in a few bites. Larkin took him in. His once-fine clothes had seen hard wear, and his hair was knotted and dirty.