Page 8 of Wizard of Most Wicked Ways

“On it.” Owein headed for the narrow set of stairs that led up to the bedroom, the only room on the second floor. Beth had left a hammer and nails on the landing, and Owein grabbed the hammer and pocketed a few nails. He found a nail sticking out of one step and smashed it back in with the hammer, then found the creaky step in question. He hammered a new nail into the edge, which helped, but it still creaked when he put his weight on it. So, placing his hand on the stair, he altered it to fit flush with its neighbors. When he pulled back his fingers, the step looked brand new, built by a master carpenter. Owein ignored the tightness on the side of his head, his ear having shrunk in protest of the alteration spell.

Returning to Beth, he asked, “Anything else you need? Garden?”

She smiled at him. “I’m planning on doing the garden today. Henri wants to run around. Don’t you?” She tapped the little boy’s nose withher finger. Fed him another spoonful. Without looking over, she said, “You’re uneasy today.”

Beth was clairvoyant, and though she possessed even less magic than Hulda did, she always read him well. “I’m always uneasy,” he replied. And he was. His new future loomed ahead of him, and he didn’t know what it would entail. If Cora chose another magically suitable suitor, it would excuse Owein from his duties. But she had never suggested she’d been looking for one, and he’d never asked. The idea put a hard ball in his gut, and he was never exactly sure why. If shedidchoose someone else, freeing Owein from any tie to her and her family ... well, Owein had been talking to a millwright in North Kingstown about an apprenticeship. He’d gone over there several times to work, though he’d need to move to complete a true apprenticeship. Despite being a notable wizard, and despite Hulda’s intense education plan and his love for reading, Owein preferred working with his hands. He had no desire to flaunt his abilities or attend a university. Constructing mill machinery appealed to him. But he couldn’t commit to the apprenticeship until he knew Cora’s choice.

If Cora chose him, his future would be very different from the present he knew. He’d leave the States for England. Join the nobility and the Queen’s League of Magicians. And he and Cora would get married.Marriage.They’d have children! The queen, and the Leiningens, wanted children from him. That was the whole point of the contract—feeding his magic into their already-saturated lines.

Owein looked at Henri. He loved the boy, but he couldn’t imagine having one of his own so soon.So soon.

And if that didn’t add enough pressure, the more Owein learned of the aristocracy, the less he cared for it. Everything Hulda drilled into him, everything he studied on papers like the ones shoved into his back pocket, were so fundamentally different from life on the island. Different in ways he frankly didn’t care for.

He let out a long breath. “I’m fine.”

“You will be.” Beth sat up straighter and met his gaze. “You’ve always handled everything that’s come your way. You’ll do well.”

“Perhaps.” Movement outside the window caught his attention—Fallon, a woman again, wearing her linen dress. The breeze caught her hair as she slipped into a copse of willows and out of sight.

“Believe in yourself, Owein.” Beth pointed the spoon at him. “Half of success is believing you’ll be successful. The other half is remembering to visit on Christmas.”

Owein chuckled. “Of course. Holler if you need anything.”

“Will do.”

Owein swept through the small house, exiting through the back door closer to the willows. A cluster of crickets greeted him as he passed. He ducked under the first curtain of leafy branches, then the second. This copse was stunning earlier in the spring when the willows were in bloom, but the catkins had since dried up and fallen, leaving behind thick foliage and whiplike branches that flowed in the late-spring breeze, creating a world all its own on the island. It was a wonder no one else had ever settled here, magical as it was.

He was about to pass out of the copse when the papers in his back pocket flew from his trousers. He turned as Fallon danced backward, a smile on her face, unfolding them. She started to read.

“You won’t like it,” Owein warned.

“Women enter carriages first and always face forward?” she asked incredulously, raising a fine eyebrow at him. “Really?”

He shrugged. He hadn’t had a chance to look over it yet.

She started to stroll, walking in a circle around him, picking through the sheaf. “I didn’t realize you could only tip your hat to certain persons. How utterly rude it would be for you to be friendly toward a lowly peasant.”

“Huh.” That one did seem odd.

She shuffled the papers, then turned one toward him. The picture was a diagram of a table arrangement. “I will never understand this.How many forks does a person need?” She turned it back toward her and read on. “Why can’t the women enjoy some port?”

“Don’t ask me.” He reached forward, but she pranced away again, keeping the papers from his grip. After a beat, she said, “Did you know there are assigned seats at the table? Depending on where you are, who you are, and who the guests are?”

“I did, actually.” He’d witnessed that firsthand, though during his last and only stay in London, he’d still been a dog, and his place had always been in the corner, not at the table.

She huffed and folded the papers together. “This is ridiculous.”

“It is.”

“Just do what you want.” She handed the papers back. “What are they going to say about it? Their fault for involving themselves with a free man who has a spine.”

“There are rules for things, Fallon,” he explained, patient, watching the way her bare feet stepped through the wild growth like a deer’s, never faltering. She made him think of Greek folklore, the stories of the nymphs.

“Druids don’t need rules for things,” she countered. She acted a little strangely, in a way Owein couldn’t put his finger on, but he went along with it, anyway.

“I am not a Druid, and neither are they,” he pointed out, turning to face her, even as she continued her circle around him. “And Druidsdohave rules. Everyone has rules. Not quite as ... bizarre ... as these, but there are rules, always.”

Fallon shook her head, ceasing her circle. “I always do what I want.”

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