Page 19 of This Midsummer Heart
My glamour hides widened eyes as I glance up at the children’s grandmother and grandfather, both looking away. Their mother begins to stride towards me.
“A magician never reveals her secrets,” I whisper to the child, as if I am including her in that secret.
Her eyes round, the girl nods. The misdirection worked—on her, anyway. The mother is still coming this way.
With the flutter of my wings hidden, I hop into Giselda’s saddle, not sparing the time to hide my fete’s grace. The tips of my ears are burning.
Mircose isn’t safe. What if Auberondidarrive and something happened to himhere?I need to find him, fast. But I also need to leave before word gets out about my casual use of magic. I guide Giselda down the main thoroughfares, hoping to catch word of an elf.
What am I even doing? Am Iworriedabout Auberon? Impossible. It really is more likely that he’s gone on without me—a shame, since I was counting on his strength, should my magic fail before we reach Nox, and his connections with the elves, should the humans prove as dangerous as I imagine. At least now I know why he wanted to hold on to the money I’d left in plain sight on my bed. The moment he took that coin, he failed my test, just like every other I’ve ever given him. Some would think that scheming, but I needed to know exactly who I was traveling with.
After all these years, Auberon still resents my power—no, not that, exactly. I think he was attracted to my magical strength, once. But he resents the prosperity of the House of Fetes. He resentsmefor daring to reject him.
But I already know that, don’t I? He bought up every last berth on the runeships, including spaces he hadn’t even needed, just so I’d have to ask him nicely. Why did I even bother to test him with the money? Did I actually think he’d do the right thing?
I point Giselda southward, ready to resume my journey alone, when a bell rings out. The town crier has just emerged from one of the buildings, clanging a handbell as he proclaims, “Guardai, guardai! Banditai venerant qui! Caminai vederant a nord, andarant al sud, al Mirchoise,”before switching to another language.
I don’t need magic to understand. Bandits have been spotted on the north road, heading south toward Mircose. And like that, I know exactly what happened to Auberon—and exactly how little magic he has left.
The Auberon I was bonded to would have known any bandits were coming well in advance, or heard their breathing further up on the road. He’d have time to form a plan, and have his dagger at the ready.
I turn Giselda, then urge her back onto the northbound Lis Byway, gradually bringing her to her top speed. Soon, the farmland and trees are a blur. Then the woods swallow us, dark and misty despite the afternoon heat.Where are you, Auberon?What if the bandits have seen us together, and are waiting to see if I’ll return? I could be guiding Giselda right into a trap.
This would be a terrible time for my magic to fail me. Which makes me anxious that it will.
With Giselda’s unnatural speed, it isn’t long before the trees begin to thin. I’m getting nearer to where I left Auberon. Surely he made it a little farther than that? I must’ve gone by him already. The bandits could’ve dragged him into the trees before leaving, or else the travelers arriving in Mircose would’ve spotted him, too.
I need to slow down. There are travelers further down the road, heading toward the forest. I can hear but not yet see them—but I do not want to meet them alone in this wood any more than I want to run into the bandits.
I guide Giselda back to a trot, pacing the same stretch of road over and over while I search for some sign—any sign—of a struggle. I am ready to give up whensomethingtugs at my senses.
Magic.
The boughs are too low for me to stay on Giselda’s back. Her reins in hand, I flutter across the understory beside the road, hoping to catch a pulse of that magic again. Auberon has never had much, but he carries a royal dagger of the dark elves. I must be sensing that.
Or that of a bandit. Do bandits even have that much magic?
After a few minutes of searching, I finally catch sight of one of Auberon’s bare arms, deep blue in the shade of the Evermore Forest. I hurry to his side as quickly as I can while staying wary, holding Giselda’s reins tight. She would be a prize for any bandit, greater than jewels or gold.
At last, I stand before Auberon, slumped forward against his bonds. And my traitorous heart beats wildly at the sight of him.
Chapter eleven
In Need of a Healer
Titaine
Theylefthimtiedto a tree.
Were he mortal, his nose might’ve been broken. As it is, dried blood makes a path between both nostrils and the gag in his mouth. I cast hasty wards around us as I crouch down to untie him, pausing only to pat his cheek in an attempt to wake him. He’s badly beaten, but there’s no way they’d leave him tied like this if they weren’t planning to come back. Did they recognize him? Are they planning to hold him for ransom?
As I peel the gag off Auberon’s blood-crusted skin, he wakes with a groan.
I can’t help but feel sorry for him and the obvious pain he’s in. Elves are adequate healers, using poultices and spelled items to speed their naturally quick recovery. But they cannot heal as quickly as fetes—not by a long shot. The next few hours are going to be extremely painful for him if I can’t find a healer or green witch in Mircose.
Since healing is far from my specialty, I can only offer him a little bit of comfort. Still, it is just enough to bring him back to wakefulness.
I find myself breathing a sigh of relief as he speaks, his voice breaking. “They took my dagger. My father’s dagger.”
