Page 29 of The Wand of Lore

“I’m told she’s looking for a wand remitted to the king upon the death of its owner. She should be easy to sniff out with that information.”

How could they know what she was seeking? Vaylor had never shared that with Greyson or anybody. If they knew she was after the wand, then they would know to look for her in the catacombs. He had to warn her! Vaylor put his hand on his sword and jumped to his feet, ready to run out of the grove. It would be foolish to challenge the group of men, but he had to stop them!

Stupid, he muttered to himself,you’re no good to her dead. As much as he wanted to charge out swinging his sword, he held his breath and waited for them to disappear. The hooves clopped inside the castle gates, and the men’s voices faded. He had to warn her of their trap! He was certain she never wanted to see him again, and he was prepared to respect that, but he had to sound the alarm.

He sheathed his sword, climbed atop his horse, and galloped at full speed toward Gorenth Castle. The stone wall loomed in front of him, the drawbridge down, and two guards leaned against the wall speaking convivially. They barely nodded at him as he sped across the bridge and through the gates into Gorenth.

She would be near the entrance to the catacombs, and they would know to look for her there. Faster he sped through the winding, narrow streets of his old home city, heart thudding, hands trembling, until the large, crowded homes gave way to more spacious and sparsely spread homes. Sir Henry took him through the entrance to the castle grounds, andhis muscle memory took him toward the darkest spot in the westernmost corner. In the distance, he could just make out the white mausoleum, old and in disrepair, snug against an outer wall exactly as he remembered it. He dropped the reins and dismounted as he got close. Gwenneth could be anywhere, and he didn’t want to surprise her or draw attention to either of them as he approached. On light feet, he crept through the dark until finally he saw a torch glowing ahead; he closed his eyes and prayed to all the gods that she might be okay. Then he remembered Gwenneth’s words, and prayed to all the goddesses too, including an apology for ignoring them. As he approached, he could make out her long red hair, loose now and tumbling down and around her.

“Gwenneth, wait! I have to tell you something!” he called out to her.

Her red hair undulated as she shook her head, but otherwise she didn’t move. He approached her, but when he grabbed her shoulder he was met with stiff resistance. He peered at her face, then gasped at what he saw. Her hands were cuffed in front of her, and her mouth was crammed with cloth and bound. Heavy, metal prison boots restrained her feet, so that she couldn’t walk if she wanted to, and a metal strip was wrapped around her neck. Vaylor’s heart sank as he recognized the witch’s collar already encircling her neck, limiting her connection to her magic. Her eyes were red and wide, and tears ran down her face.

“Gwenneth! Who did this to you? I came to tell you they were coming, but I got here too late. Oh gods. Goddesses. Gwenneth, I’m so sorry. Let me take this off you.” He got to work untying the cloth over her mouth, and as his hands worked the knots, her body shuddered against his.

“Have they hurt you?” he asked, but she didn’t answer. It was a stupid question; of course they’d hurt her. He freed her mouth and removed the cloth stuffed inside.

“Marvin, they’re still here—be careful. I can’t feel my magic. I can’t feel it anywhere!”

“Marvin?” A man emerged from the dark, sneering as he repeated the name. “Did you tell her your name was ‘Marvin,’ brother?”

Other men with swords emerged from the darkness as well, forming a dangerous ring around the couple.

“Steffan,” spat Vaylor, “leave her alone. We’ll leave Gorenth—just let her go.”

“You know this man?” asked Gwenneth. Her eyes darted between the men, confusion lining her forehead.

“Why would I leave her alone when you brought her right to me? And just when were you going to tell your pet witch that you’re the son of the king, and that you are to get a steep reward for her capture and delivery? Youwereto get a reward, I should say, since now the reward is mine.”

“No! It’s not like that,” he replied to Gwenneth. “I am the son of the king, but he disowned me long ago. I swear, I heard people coming and came as fast as I could to warn you. I’m too late.” Vaylor hung his head.

“What exactly is the reward for betraying me?” asked Gwenneth softly as her eyes bored into Vaylor.

Vaylor stared at her as tears fell down his cheeks. She was right, he had betrayed her, and he deserved nothing less than her scorn. He dropped his eyes back to the ground and clutched his elbows to his body. When had he started caring so much about her?

“Vaylor was going to get his title back, weren’t you, little brother? You were going to reclaim your spot in the great House Bladmere, built by our father, along with your inheritance, yourestate, and maybe even a scrap of dignity. But alas, without the witch, you’re just a trespasser, flagrantly disobeying the king’s banishment at your own risk.” He sneered at Vaylor and turned his attention to Gwenneth. “As a loyal servant to the king, I’m here to fulfill my duty and bring you to my father so you can serve as one of his witches. And you’re headed to the gallows, little brother. I hope they kill you before the day is done so we never have to suffer your presence again on this Earth.”

“No!” shouted Gwenneth, but her cry was interrupted when Steffan shoved the dirty cloth back in her mouth, then wrapped another cloth around it, so that her screams died at her lips.

“Stop at once!” shouted Vaylor, but as he tried to raise his arms, cold hands clamped them behind his back and shackled them in heavy steel. He had momentarily forgotten that they were surrounded in the dark.

“You won’t be needing this, little brother,” said Steffan as he unsheathed his brother’s sword and held it up, admiring the golden hilt in the moonlight.

“You won’t get away with this. She’s not a toy to be disposed of by the ki—” he was cut off as a gag was stuffed into his own mouth. He choked at the fingers in his mouth, struggled to breathe through the foul taste, and tried to bite the hand, but he was too disoriented and slow. It was no use, they had him, and there was nothing he could do. He looked Gwenneth in the eyes and tried to tell her what his words had failed to convey. He was sorry. He had been so dulled by the years of survival that he had forgotten how precious life was. And she had taught him something about the beauty of life. He saw pain pooling in her eyes and anger lining her brows. But before he could tell her he understood that she was hurting and he wanted to make it right, she averted her gaze, refusing to even look at him.

Steffan must have been content with Vaylor’s suffering because he shifted his attention to Gwenneth, leering at her with his dark eyes. Gwenneth shuddered but didn’t make eye contact. He grabbed her by the chin with one hand and stroked her cheek with the other.

“Don’t touch her!” Vaylor yelled, but it was muffled and indistinguishable under the gag.

“Don’t worry, brother. Your pet is in good hands. I’ll make sure she gets exactly the treatment she deserves.”

At a snap of Steffan’s fingers, well-armed guards appeared out of the shadows. They unlocked her boots, then flanked her on either side and roughly dragged her away. Others came for Vaylor, pushing him forward so that he was forced to walk to his own cage.

Chapter Nineteen: Gwenneth

Gwenneth lay on the cold earth in the dark. She had been there for a long time, but her eyes had not adjusted to the darkness. She could barely make out her hand in front of her face when she bothered to try. The guards had stripped her of the long dress her sister had embroidered for her, and forced her into a torn and dirty brown shift that went just past her knees. She had no cloak and no blanket and spent most of her days shivering. Her scalp itched, but she had at least been able to pull a string off her shift to tie her hair back. Her skin itched all over, and she couldn’t tell whether she smelled like rot and feces, or if that was just her cell. She still had her wand at her waist, but the collar around her neck was cold and heavy, and try as she might, she could not feel the magic that existed everywhere around her. There was nothing. She was cut off from it, alone in the darkness, and without the magic, her wand was just a pretty stick at her side.

She attempted escape on the first night, blindly feeling the walls and corners around her cell for any hint of the outsideworld. She didn’t have anything better to do and would have spent her entire time searching, but after the third or fourth meticulous lap around the cage, she tripped on the hole in the ground and dipped her foot in a pile of excrement. She retched but fought to hold her food and water down; she could not afford to lose what food she did receive, so she spent the rest of that day doing anything she could to distract herself from the foul smell. At least she imagined it was the rest of the day. She had no sense of how much time had passed, and only a vague feeling that she was sleeping longer than a normal night, which was throwing off her calculation of days. She was unmoored to time.

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