Stolen Enchantress

  Until she’d called up her shield and he’d realized she had magic. “And now that I’m worth the trouble, you’ll protect me.” She shook her head in disgust. “What makes you think I would help you after everything you’ve done to me? You turned my own sister against me.” Her voice wavered as she remembered the self-righteous loathing in Nesha’s expression.

  He frowned. “I saved her from going down with you. We have ways of making you comply.” Her mother. Her sisters. “Really, Larkin, the choice is simple—happiness and prosperity or misery and imprisonment.”

  She wouldn’t help him hurt anyone, but for now, she couldn’t think of anything else to do except delay him. “First, show me you’ll make good on your promises.”

  His eyes glinted with satisfaction. “Jump down.”

  She hated to come any closer to him, but she also needed him to believe her compliant. Dragging her feet, she stepped to the end of the wagon and hopped down. He took out a knife and approached. She balked.

  He held her shoulder fast. “If I wanted you dead, I would have done it already.” Bending far too close for comfort, he slipped the knife between the cords and cut her free. She backed away from him, rubbing her wrists.

  She could kill Garrot now—pull up her shield and sword and end him before he could even scream—but he had hundreds of Black Druids. She couldn’t kill them all. So, she would wait, bide her time until circumstances turned in her favor, then she would escape, taking her family with her.

  Garrot pushed open the door, revealing the roofline of one of the houses amid the town. She stepped into the sunshine and blinked at the brightness, recognizing where they were. Old Widow Wensop’s house, easily the second largest in the town, just a bit smaller than Bane’s manor house. It had been sitting vacant for the last couple of years because no one could afford to purchase it.

  Now, instead of weeds, the land had been plowed, vegetables and herbs spouting in neat rows. From off to the side of the barn came the clucking of chickens. Garrot started toward the kitchen door, pausing to whisper something to one of the two guards that stood to either side of it. That guard left at a jog while Garrot opened the door for Larkin.

  Reminding herself that she wasn’t powerless, she stepped past him into the kitchen, half expecting to see Nesha. Her sister was nowhere to be seen. Larkin scanned the room. There were three doors—one led to a pantry, another to a dining room. The last door was closed.

  Bread baked in a pan over the hearth, and something savory bubbled in a pot. Garrot pulled out a stool, gesturing for her to sit at the table. She did so as he spooned out bowls of soup and set the steaming bread on the table. She waited while Garrot took his own seat across from her and began blowing across the top of his soup.

  He looked up at her over the bowl. “You won’t have another chance to eat until tonight.”

  Taking a towel, she upended the bread pan, sliced herself a piece, smeared it with butter, and began eating—the soup a creamy chicken like Mama had made them before the crop failures. The bread wasn’t nearly as good as Venna’s had been.

  “Where is Nesha?”

  “She doesn’t want to see you.”

  “She betrayed me.”

  “You betrayed her first.”

  Larkin spread her hands. “How?”

  Garrot grunted. “That’s between the two of you.”

  If she was working in this house, she couldn’t avoid Larkin forever. Larkin had nearly finished eating when a door out of sight groaned open behind her. Nervous, she pushed to her feet, ready to call up her shield if necessary. The guard from the back door came in first, followed closely by Mama.

  Larkin rushed forward and wrapped her arms around her. “Are you all right?”

  Mama pulled back, hands inspecting Larkin’s face and arms. “Are you?”

  Larkin nodded.

  Mama stepped around Larkin and glared at Garrot. “Let her go.”

  Garrot sawed through the loaf, cutting himself another piece. “When she proves herself loyal to the Idelmarch.”

  “What must she do?” Mama said.

  “Everything I ask.” Garrot tore off a chunk of bread. “Now, Pennice, tell Larkin about the men I sent to plow your fields.”

  Larkin turned back to her mother, whose mouth tightened into a hard line. “Men from the army showed up with a dozen plows.”

  “They’ll have your fields plowed and planted in a few days. Consider it your first payment for information, Larkin.”

  Larkin swallowed hard. “Let me go home with my mother. You can post guards if you want.” It might be hard to slip past them, but with the help of her magic and Denan’s pipes, it was possible.

  Garrot chuckled. “Not quite yet.”

  “When?” she asked.

  He cocked his head. “After the wedding, of course.”

  Larkin stopped breathing, stopped thinking, stopped feeling. For a moment, she was bobbing helplessly in the river—the bruising imprints of her father’s hands still pulsing against her skin. She stared at the too-bright surface, weightless and at the mercy of the river.

  She gasped in a breath, feeling dizzy. “What wedding?”

  Garrot watched her very carefully. “Your wedding to Bane.”

  Mama shored her up on one side. “Larkin?”

  “I’m fine,” she reassured her—or perhaps she was trying to convince herself. Marrying Bane . . . Wasn’t that what she wanted? Here it was. She dragged her gaze up to Garrot’s.

  He tossed the bread aside. “Why, Larkin, I thought you’d be happy.”

  There was something about his expression—a kind of disgust that made her force a smile onto her frozen cheeks. “I am. It’s just— I am already married to one of the pipers.”

  Her mother gasped. Garrot’s expression revealed nothing. “The Idelmarch does not recognize forced marriages. Were you forced?”

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  “Then you are wife to no one.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “The wedding is tomorrow.” Rising, he spoke to the guard. “See Pennice safely back to her home and make sure the men watching over the family know she’s returned.”

  Mama squeezed Larkin’s hand. There was a sheen of hope there—that perhaps they would all make it through this alive. Larkin hugged her, savoring the comfort of her arms. “It’s going to be all right, Mama. I promise,” she whispered.

  “I should be comforting you.”

  “Hurry along. I’m a busy man,” Garrot said.

  The guard took hold of Mama’s arm and tugged her toward the door. She went reluctantly, her gaze clinging to Larkin until the very last moment. Larkin wondered how many more times she would have to say goodbye to her mother, never knowing if she would see her again.

  “What information do you want?” Larkin said in a harsh whisper.

  “Come along.” Garrot led her into a large dining room complete with a new table, over eighteen chairs, and an empty hearth. They climbed a narrow flight of stairs. At the top was a large bedroom.

  “You’ll find paper and pen on the desk. Write down the names of any girls you recognized in the Alamant. Their families should know they’re alive. When you’re done, slip it under the door.”

  That was information she’d happily impart. The families deserved to know what had happened to their Taken. He started to pull the door shut.

  “What are you telling the townspeople about me?

  He paused. “That you’ve come bearing the truth of the forest. Don’t you think it’s time the people of the Idelmarch learned it?”

  Larkin clenched her fists. “After all this time, after all these lies, why now? What’s your game?”

  He shook his head. “Game? There’s no game. My purpose is to protect my people.” He shut the door behind him, the lock snicking shut.

  The next morning, Larkin lay curled on the bed, numb and exhausted, yet doubting she would ever sleep again. She listened to the sounds of cooking below her, the murmur of voices, and knew one of them
was her sister’s—a sister she wanted to strangle. Tears threatened. Nesha had been her best friend once. Why had that changed?

  It wasn’t long before the sounds of a crowd built beyond her window. She pressed her pillow over her ears, trying to calm the panic that demanded she hide under the bed. When she could stand it no more, she stood, calling on her sword and shield and standing like Denan had taught her. “If they come for me,” she murmured through gritted teeth, “they won’t find me cowering.”

  “Larkin,” a male voice called from outside. That call was echoed by others. Her heart kicked in her chest—another mob come for her? Only, the voices didn’t sound angry but pleading. She eased to the window that faced the street, lifted a corner of the curtain, and peeked out. Her gaze caught on a few familiar faces—Kenjin, Patrina, and Vyder. The families of the Taken. Garrot must have made some sort of announcement. They knew she was here and that she knew things about their daughters.

  The door groaned open behind her. She whirled to face Garrot. “What did you tell them?”

  He set down a plate of bread with jam and some cheese. “Put away your weapons.” Instead, she pointed them at him. He folded his hands at the wrist. “Have you forgotten our arrangement?”

  Her mother. Her sisters. She worked her jaw and let her magic subside. She missed the familiar buzz immediately.

  “I told them what the curse would allow,” he said. “You have returned, escaped from something much more intelligent and evil than any beast. You have word of their daughters.”

  “You’re manipulating them.”

  He nodded to the washbowl in the corner. “Wash your face. I’ll have the families brought to the dining room.”

  She took a step back. She wasn’t ready to face the people who’d called for her death weeks before.

  “My guards will be present at all times. As will I. You have five minutes to eat, then you better be downstairs.”

  She hesitated, wanting to defy him, but the time to escape was not yet—not until Denan came for her. She ate the food; the bread was her mother’s recipe. The familiarity would have been a comfort, if Larkin didn’t know who had made it. Face clean, she tried the knob to find it turned easily. Bracing herself, she started down the stairs.

  Alorica’s family was seated around the table, Garrot speaking with them in a low voice. Kenjin jumped to his feet at the sight of her. “Atara? Alorica?”

  Trying to forget that this man called for her death, Larkin stood beside the hearth and told them the truth. Atara and Alorica were both healers, much loved and doted on.

  “You mean the beasts that took them were men?” Patrina said.

  Larkin nodded.

  “Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” Kenjin demanded.

  Larkin sighed in frustration and held her hand over her mouth.

  “The men have stopped you somehow?” one of Alorica’s brothers guessed.

  “Magic!” the other cried.

  His parents shot a silencing look, but Larkin nodded vigorously.

  “But why were they taken?” Patrina begged.

  Garrot leaned forward. “What reason would men take young, unmarried girls?”

  “They need wives,” Kenjin guessed darkly. Garrot nodded. Kenjin slammed the flat of his hand down on the table. “The forest take them! They can marry one of their own.”

  Garrot leaned forward. “I can promise you, Kenjin, we’re doing everything we can to get your daughters back. For now, Black Druids are waiting in the tavern. Guess what you can, and my druids will confirm or deny. It’s the only way to work around the dark magic binding us.”

  Larkin eyed him. “What are you planning?”

  Garrot waved Alorica’s family out. Once the door was shut behind them, he rounded on her. “You tell them about their daughters. Other than that, keep your mouth shut.”

  “You think you can get the Taken back? That you can defeat the pipers? You’re wrong.”

  Ignoring her, he called in the next family. Each encounter went pretty much the same. The families experienced the gamut of emotions—elation, despair, confusion, anger. All of them had more questions than Larkin could possibly answer. At some point, the door to the kitchen opened, and she could make out her sister’s uneven footsteps. Nesha was right on the other side of that wall—so close and yet impossibly far.

  Even as distracted as she was, she didn’t fail to notice Garrot brought them in by order of their position in the community. She knew what was coming when Vyder opened the door. His hat twisted round and round in his hands, his shoulders stooped. He’d aged ten years since she’d last seen him. “My Venna?”

  Dripping blood and black lines and falling. Larkin closed her eyes, trying to block it out. She didn’t know what to say. How could she explain that Venna was gone and she would never come back?

  She forced her eyes up. Tears streaked down her cheeks, snuffing out the hope in Vyder’s eyes. His face crumpled. He shook his head, as if to keep her from saying it. He turned away, tugged his hat on, and pulled open the door,

  “She was my friend,” Larkin called after him. She couldn’t let him go without something to take with him. “She died in my arms.” Not entirely true, but Larkin would never tell him the full truth of what had happened to his granddaughter. As soon as she stopped speaking, Vyder closed the door softly behind him. Through the wavering glass of one of the windows, she watched as he faded from view as if he had never been.

  “How did she really die?” Garrot asked.

  “Wraiths killed her,” Larkin responded, voice dead of the emotions that had been wrung out of her throughout the morning. She turned to the man beside her. “Why do you hate the pipers so much?”

  Garrot’s jaw hardened a fraction.

  “They took someone you loved, didn’t they?” Still no answer. “A sister? Friend? Lover?” He remained utterly unaffected. “If I saw her, I could tell you about her.”

  “I don’t want to know,” Garrot finally said, his voice husky with emotion that barely registered on his face. He always seemed so unflappable. She was beginning to wonder if his mask was just to cover a well-concealed rage.

  A soldier opened the front door. Larkin sagged. She didn’t think she could handle another grieving family. Instead, five Black Druids slithered into the room—one of them was Rimoth. It reminded her of the time when druids had stolen into Bane’s house and Garrot had pinned her against the fireplace. She jumped from her seat, her shield and sword before her.

  Ignoring her, one of the men laid a map on the table, weighting the corners down with polished stones.

  “I know how to make her talk.” Rimoth smiled his oily smile and disappeared into the kitchen. Remembering her sister, Larkin started after him. Before she could reach the doorway, Nesha appeared. She wore a new dress and a thick pleated apron, her hair tied back in a neat braid. Rimoth held a sword point to the small of her back. Larkin backed away.

  Nesha was even lovelier than the last time Larkin had seen her—hollow cheeks filled out, auburn hair a glossy sheen. Her violet gaze flicked to Larkin and then back at the ground. Larkin wet her lips, not understanding.

  “Put away your weapons, Larkin, and come draw everything you know on this map.” Garrot said implacably. “And I’ll keep Rimoth in check.”

  “Please,” Nesha cried.

  Garrot held up a hand. Nesha winced and fell silent.

  Larkin straightened. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Rimoth, take her into the back and have a little fun.”

  Rimoth leered at Nesha and grabbed her arms. Larkin took a step to stop him.

  “You have two other sisters,” Garrot said mildly. “And a very beautiful mother. Don’t make me turn Rimoth loose on them too.”

  Larkin froze, caught between wanting to believe her sister hadn’t really betrayed her and knowing she was still betraying her. In that time, Nesha was dragged out, guards coming to help. Muffled screams came from the backyard.

  Larkin
whipped the sword up, holding the point to Garrot’s throat. “Leave her alone.”

  “Cooperate, and you can have everything. Fight me, and you lose everything.” He pointed to the map. “Draw what you know.”

  She debated. One thrust and Garrot would be dead. She thought she could kill the other druids as well, make it into the back and stick Rimoth like the pig he was, but then what? The alarm would be sounded. The army would come. She couldn’t fight them all.

  She bared her teeth at him and growled. “You’re going to pay for this.”

  “I already have.”

  She backed up, letting her weapons fade to nothing.

  “Rimoth!” Garrot barked. Immediately, the sounds of struggle from the back stopped. Rimoth came back inside, muttering and readjusting his clothing.

  Larkin had known Rimoth was slimy, but she’d never thought him capable of this. She shot him a dark glare, swearing she would kill him before this was all over. She took the quill Garrot offered her and looked at the map, surprised to find she recognized the landscape. She was shocked at the level of detail the druids knew—the river and the waterfall, the dense forest, even the Alamant, drawn in painstaking detail with its outer wall, the White Tree at the heart.

  “How many people?” one of the druids asked as he leaned over the map. “How many men? Where? Landmarks on the way?”

  She stared at the depiction of the White Tree. The cartographer had made it grotesque—all spidery lines and sharp angles with a bleeding skeletal face at its heart. The Alamant was the opposite of this. It was light and color and magic. She found Denan’s tree, which had cradled her in its boughs. She’d slept and woken to the sound of Denan’s pipes. Wyn and Aaryn and Mytin and Tam and Talox. Denan. She cared about them, about the Alamant. She didn’t want to betray any of them. Tears pricked her eyes—tears she stubbornly blinked down.

  “Perhaps we began with the wrong sister,” Rimoth said. “The younger one, what was her name? Sela?”

  “Start with the prince’s tree,” Garrot said. “Where is it?”

  She bent down, marking the wrong tree, one near the wall. Garrot stared up at her. “Rimoth, I believe Nesha is still waiting for you outside.”