So I Married a Sorcerer

  The boy scratched at his brown hair. “What’s that?”

  “Never mind about that for now.” Brigitta motioned to the rip in her gown. “Do ye think ye could find me some needle and thread?”

  “A needle!” Sister Fallyn nodded with a gleam in her eyes. “That would make a good weapon.”

  Jeffrey frowned at the nun and whispered, “Is she all right?”

  “She’ll be fine.” Brigitta tried to change the subject once again as she led the boy toward the door. “Ye speak the Eberoni language very well.”

  “Of course. I’m from Eberon,” Jeffrey explained. “I grew up in a fishing village called Danport. Rupert buys food for his fleet there.”

  “Buys?” Sister Fallyn scoffed. “Don’t ye mean he steals whatever—”

  “No!” The boy looked offended. “Rupert always pays for his supplies. And he pays with gold. The villagers call him a hero.”

  Brigitta blinked, taken by surprise. A hero? “But he’s clearly a thief. The gold he’s paying with was stolen.”

  “But he only steals from the king because Gunther’s a stinking bastard!” Jeffrey slapped a hand over his mouth. “I ain’t supposed to say that. You won’t tell the captain on me, will you?”

  “Nay.” Brigitta shook her head. “Of course not.”

  Sister Fallyn snorted. “I blame the captain for teaching yerself such foul language.”

  “But it’s Rupert who says it.” Jeffrey gave Brigitta a sheepish look. “I hope I didn’t offend you. I heard the stinking—King Gunther is your brother.”

  “I’m not offended,” she assured the boy and patted him on the shoulder. “I really don’t know the man.” And if it was true that he’d killed her younger brother, then he deserved something worse than a bad epitaph. But she had to wonder what sort of grudge Rupert could have against the Tourinian king.

  “I’ll go ask the captain about the needle and thread,” Jeffrey said, then scampered down the passageway and up the stairs.

  Brigitta shut the door and gave Sister Fallyn a speculative look. “Ye grew up in Tourin. What can ye tell me about my family?”

  The nun grew pale, then suddenly moved to the sideboard to refill the goblets. “Ye should come and eat. Ye need to keep yer strength up.”

  Brigitta frowned as she dragged the fallen chair back to the table. Why was Sister Fallyn dodging her question? “Do ye not like to talk about Tourin?”

  The nun plunked the two goblets on the table. “Nothing good has ever come from that place.”

  “We did.” Brigitta sat at the table.

  The nun smiled as she took a seat. “Aye. That’s true. Perhaps I should say no good man has ever come from there.” Her smiled faded. “Except one.”

  “Who was that?”

  Sister Fallyn didn’t answer, only frowned as she ran a fingertip around the edge of her goblet.

  A strong surge of curiosity swept through Brigitta. She ignored it the best she could while she nibbled on a piece of cheese. It had always been this way for her. She could sense hidden or lost things, and once she did, she felt driven to uncover them.

  The odd gift had been considered a blessing at the convent when one of the nuns misplaced an item and needed it back. Brigitta had always been able to find lost things.

  But she’d discovered several years ago that her gift was not appreciated when a nun was hiding something in her mind. People didn’t like having their secrets revealed. Unfortunately, knowing that didn’t do much to curb Brigitta’s curiosity once it was aroused. She still felt driven to uncover secrets.

  And of all the people she had ever touched, no one harbored more secrets than Rupert.

  She took a sip of wine and pushed the infamous pirate from her thoughts. It was much safer to turn her insatiable curiosity toward Sister Fallyn. “Ye’ve been at the convent ever since I can remember.”

  The nun gave her a wry look. “Then yer memory is poor. Ye were seven when I arrived.”

  “So ye’ve been there twelve years.”

  “Aye.” Sister Fallyn’s eyes grew misty as a mournful expression stole over her face. “I was seventeen when I came. Poor and brokenhearted. I thought my life was over.”

  “Why? Can ye tell me what happened?”

  Sister Fallyn reached for the small loaf of bread and tore it in half. “Did ye know my father was a baker?”

  “Nay.” Brigitta passed her the knife and crock of butter. “No wonder ye bake so well. Everyone at home loves yer bread.”

  The nun grimaced as she examined the loaf. “This is at least two days old.”

  “I suppose it’s hard for pirates to get fresh bread.”

  Sister Fallyn sighed. “My father wanted me to marry another baker. They planned to consolidate their businesses and have the biggest bakery in Lourdon.”

  Brigitta wrinkled her nose. “That doesn’t sound very romantic.”

  “The baker was much older than me self. I didn’t want to marry him. Especially when I…”

  “What?”

  Sister Fallyn blushed. “I was in love with Kennet, the butcher’s son down the street.”

  “Yes!” Brigitta grinned. “Now, that’s romantic.”

  The nun gave her a dubious look. “This is not one of yer overly dramatic stories where falling in love is all rosy and magical. My father threatened to kill Kennet.”

  Brigitta winced. “So ye married the old baker?”

  “Nay.” Sister Fallyn’s eyes glistened with tears. “I was young and reckless. Kennet and I ran away.”

  “Ye eloped?”

  “Aye, we went to a port on the coast and married there.”

  Brigitta clasped her hands together. “How exciting!”

  Sister Fallyn shook her head. “We had only a week together before the ruffians my father had hired found us. Poor Kennet. He tried to fight them off, but there were five of them.”

  “Oh, no.” Brigitta’s heart sank.

  “He told me to run while he fended them off. We were supposed to take a boat to the Isle of Moon in the morning, so I waited for himself at the dock.” A tear rolled down Sister Fallyn’s cheek. “He never made it.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Brigitta reached over to squeeze the nun’s hand.

  “I couldn’t bear the thought of going back to my father, not after what he did to my poor Kennet, so I went to the Isle of Moon by me self.”

  “Ye rescued yerself.” Brigitta gave her hand another squeeze. “Ye’re much stronger then ye think.”

  Sister Fallyn shook her head. “It’s taken me years to stop blaming me self for Kennet’s death.” She wiped her cheek. “I’m not looking forward to going back to Tourin.”

  Brigitta winced. “I don’t want to go, either. I suppose Rupert plans to hand us over to my brother, Gunther.”

  “Aye, in exchange for a hefty amount of gold, no doubt.” Sister Fallyn sighed as she slathered butter on her bread. “There are no good men in Tourin.”

  “Except Kennet.”

  “Aye, but he’s gone.” The nun gave Brigitta a stern look. “Ye must be careful with yer heart, lass. Love is a powerful force, and once it’s taken ye over, it can cause ye to do all sorts of things ye ne’er imagined.”

  Brigitta’s eyes widened. “Exciting things?”

  “Terrible things. Tragic mistakes that can cost someone’s life. ’Tis not like the overly dramatic stories ye write. Ye’re not guaranteed a happy ending.”

  Brigitta swallowed hard. “I understand.” She already suspected her concept of a dashing young hero was sadly flawed. Why else would she even entertain the notion that the infamous Rupert could be her tall and handsome stranger?

  She shoved him from her thoughts once again. “What can ye tell me about Tourin? Ye must know quite a bit, since ye grew up in the capital.”

  Sister Fallyn shook her head. “Lourdon wasn’t always the capital. Many years ago, the capital was up north in the Highlands, and the House of Trepurin ruled the country.”

  “Isn’t
that where the gold is mined?” Brigitta asked. “The mountains in the north?”

  “Aye. The gold was discovered four hundred years ago by Lord Aelfrid Trepurin, who used his newfound wealth to become the first king of Tourin. He spread the wealth among the Highland clans, so they were always loyal. Fierce warriors, too. Whenever the nobles in the south rebelled, they were crushed.”

  Brigitta nodded. “I remember from my studies that the country was constantly plagued with civil war.”

  “Aye.” Sister Fallyn grimaced. “The problem was the gold. The northern nobles had it, and southern ones wanted it. Together, they made life miserable for the common folk. They were always taking our healthy young men to fight their battles for them. And every time the south lost, there would be towns burned and lives destroyed.” She shuddered. “It was dreadful.”

  “But wasn’t my father from the south? How did he become king?”

  Sister Fallyn took a bite of bread and waved a dismissive hand. “It hardly matters. What’s done is done.”

  She was doing it again, Brigitta realized. The nun was dodging questions about her family. “Sister, I need to know. I could end up at the royal court in Lourdon. It would be dangerous for me to go there ignorant.”

  Sister Fallyn sighed. “Aye, I suppose ye need to know.” She took a sip of wine, then gave her a worried look. “I have to warn ye, lass. ’Tis not a pretty story.”

  Brigitta sat back in her chair. “Tell me.”

  The nun’s eyes grew unfocused as she delved back into her memory. “When I was a child, King Balfrid died and his son Manfrid inherited the throne. Manfrid was the first king to reach out to the south. He spent some of his gold rebuilding towns and bridges. He spread the gold about, hoping to buy peace for the country.”

  “It sounds like he wanted what was best for Tourin.”

  Sister Fallyn shrugged. “I suppose. But he also wanted to avoid war because his firstborn son was only four years old and his second son just a babe. The two boys would have been in grave danger if anything happened to himself.”

  An ominous feeling crept over Brigitta. “But something did happen?”

  Sister Fallyn nodded. “After a few years, yer father Garold claimed to have a plan that would bring a lasting peace to Tourin. A way to unite the north and south for all time. A marriage that would bind the House of Trepurin to the House of Grian. All the king had to do was betroth his elder son, Prince Ulfrid, to Garold’s baby daughter.”

  Brigitta’s breath hitched. “Me self?”

  “Aye.” Sister Fallyn gulped down some wine. “King Manfrid agreed and came south with a small army. He was welcomed everywhere with cheers, for the people desperately wanted peace. The king didn’t expect any trouble, not when Garold had sent him his elder son, Gunther, as a hostage.”

  “Ye mean if King Manfrid was attacked, Gunther would be killed?”

  “Exactly. Gunther was only twelve years old at the time, but I’m sure he understood how he was being used. He was illegitimate, after all, so he was probably considered expendable.”

  Brigitta winced. “So what happened?”

  “King Manfrid took his elder son and personal guard to Garold’s castle in Lourdon, and there the ceremony took place. The prince was about six or seven years old at the time. Old enough to recite the betrothal vows to yerself.”

  Brigitta’s heart pounded fast. She’d been betrothed? “How old was I?”

  “Three months. Everything seemed to be going well…”

  A chill skittered down Brigitta’s spine. Surely her father hadn’t …

  “It happened when the king and his entourage were riding back through the town of Lourdon. Garold had positioned archers along the tops of the buildings.”

  A wave of nausea swept through Brigitta. No. Dear goddesses, no. Her father was a murderer.

  “At the same time, a secret army from the south attacked Manfrid’s army,” Sister Fallyn continued. “The south was victorious, and before the day was over Manfrid’s dead body was on display and Garold had crowned himself king.”

  Brigitta swallowed hard at the bile rising up her throat.

  “Garold immediately dispatched assassins to go north to kill Manfrid’s queen and their younger son.”

  “Enough,” Brigitta whispered, her hand pressed against her mouth.

  “’Tis known for certain that the queen died, but there was a rumor that the younger prince might have survived. Garold always claimed the rumor false. He was much more concerned about the older prince, Ulfrid, who was betrothed to you. Ulfrid’s body was never recovered, so Garold was afraid the boy might still be alive and come back someday to claim the throne. The prince’s betrothal to yerself became a liability, but Garold solved that problem by announcing that ye had … died.”

  Brigitta blinked. “What?”

  Sister Fallyn nodded. “Everyone believed it, too, for ye were nowhere to be found. It wasn’t till I arrived at the convent seven years later that I suspected who ye were. I asked Mother Ginessa, and she confirmed it. Garold sent ye there in secret afore ye were four months old.”

  Brigitta’s mind raced. No wonder her father had never sent for her or even bothered to contact her. He’d wanted everyone to believe she was dead. A sharp pain shot through her heart, and she pressed a hand to her chest. Goddesses, no. Her father had killed her. In his mind, he had killed her off so her existence couldn’t cause him any trouble.

  Tears burned her eyes. Her father had murdered the royal family so he could be king. He’d risked the life of his elder son, Gunther. And after he’d used her to lure his enemies to their death, he’d shipped her away for good.

  She jumped up so quickly, her chair toppled over. “A monster.” She backed away from the table. Her father had been a monster. Even Gunther had proven to be a monster when he’d murdered her younger brother.

  “They’re all monsters.” She hugged herself, digging her fingers into her arms as if she could rip away the bad blood that coursed through her veins. “I come from a family of monsters!”

  “Nay!” Sister Fallyn ran toward her and pulled her into a tight embrace. “We are yer family, lass. Mother Ginessa, me self, yer sisters.” She leaned back and grasped Brigitta by the shoulders. “Ye are loved. Ye’re a good soul. We are yer family. Ne’er forget that.”

  Tears ran down Brigitta’s cheeks. “I’ll try—”

  “Ye can do it.” Sister Fallyn hugged her once more. “And I’ll do everything I can to protect yerself.”

  With a sniff, Brigitta nodded. “Even if ye have to use a butter knife?”

  Sister Fallyn snorted. “Aye. ’Tis like ye said. We’re much stronger than we think.”

  Chapter Five

  He wasn’t as strong as he had thought. After a few nautical miles, Brody realized he wouldn’t be able to match the speed of the pirate ship for much longer.

  As one of the Embraced, Brody’s special gift was the ability to shift. It was a rare gift, and one that Brody tried his best to keep secret. Most men in power would consider him a threat and want to kill him. That was one of the reasons he had sought out Leofric, the Beast of Benwick, six years ago. Since Leo was also Embraced and considered highly dangerous, Brody had figured his own ability wouldn’t seem so threatening. He’d been right, for Leo had immediately hired him as a spy.

  In canine form, Brody was able to infiltrate any castle on Aerthlan and listen to private conversations. Being a dog gave him the dual advantage of being almost invisible but still trustworthy. In human form, he’d become one of Leo’s best friends. And now that Leo was the king of Eberon, he relied even more on Brody’s special abilities.

  But Brody wasn’t the only versatile shifter on Aerthlan. Eight months ago, he and Leo had come across the Chameleon, who had murdered and impersonated both the crown prince and the king of Eberon. The Chameleon had come close to stealing the throne before his escape as an eagle.

  Brody didn’t want to admit it to anyone, but he felt personally responsible
for the Chameleon’s escape. If only he had known how to shift into a bird, he could have followed the bastard.

  But Brody was accustomed to staying in canine form most of the time. People didn’t realize that just because he could assume the shape of an animal, it didn’t mean he automatically knew how to move, behave, or make sounds like that animal. Since there had always been a few dogs in the household where he’d grown up, he could do a convincing job of behaving like one. And being a dog seemed best suited for his job as a spy.

  He could also do a fair imitation of a seal or dolphin. As a child, he’d learned how to swim in the ocean, so he’d spent some time studying sea creatures.

  But birds? It was something he’d never attempted before. After the Chameleon’s escape, Brody had spent two weeks studying all sorts of birds so he could mimic their shape and build. The difficult part had been getting the wings just right.

  Even when he’d finally mastered the correct form, it didn’t mean he’d acquired an instinctual knowledge for flight. And of course, there were no books detailing how to fly. It had taken him another two weeks, a painful two weeks with more crashes than he cared to remember. But eventually, he’d learned how to use the wings and judge the air currents just right.

  He’d been so exhausted from his training that he’d slept right through Leo’s and his wife’s coronation. But now, if the Chameleon ever showed up again and tried to escape by turning into an eagle, Brody would be right behind him. Try getting away from me now, you bastard.

  Unfortunately, his search for the Chameleon seemed nearly impossible. He knew the Chameleon’s scent, but had no idea what the bastard’s true form looked like.

  This latest assignment had seemed easy in comparison. A pleasant cruise to the Isle of Moon and back to make sure Queen Luciana’s four adopted sisters arrived safely in Ebton.

  But nothing had gone as planned.

  Brody had spent years gathering useful information, but even he had been surprised by the news that Brigitta was actually the princess of Tourin. Everyone had long believed the princess to be dead. When the pirates had taken her, Brody had seen a chance to kill two birds with one stone. By following the pirates, he could make sure Brigitta and Sister Fallyn were safe. And for Leo, he could gather information about the most infamous pirate who sailed the seas—the Wind Sorcerer, Rupert.