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“Of COURSE I’m mad, you sneaky, conniving, mage!” Gemma said, whipping a pillow at the craftmage.
“I must say I pictured many reactions when I confessed my love to you. Rage was not one of them,” Stil said, ducking the pillow.
“How could you do this!?”
“Why are we shouting?”
“I DON’T KNOW!”
There was a creak, and Stil and Gemma turned to face the front door.
A woman stood in the doorway. The most beautiful woman in the world, in fact. Stil was handsome, but this woman had such great beauty it made Gemma’s soul hurt just to look at her.
The woman wore an opalescent dress that was in the process of changing from a shade of pale green to a pale blue. “I seem to have caught you at a bad time,” she said in a voice that was so lovely it was breathtaking. “I’ll just go for now.”
“Come back in an hour,” Stil said.
“Wait!” Gemma called, instantly recognizing the woman for who she must be—a magic user. Gemma rushed across the parlor. “You must be here to see Stil. I apologize for our loud discussion, but you have not interrupted anything. Please, come in. Can I get you something to drink?” Gemma asked, angling to get out of the room and as far away from Stil as possible.
To her shock, the beautiful woman stared at her for a moment before bursting into tears—still looking breathtaking and gorgeous as tears spilled down her cheeks.
Gemma helplessly looked to Stil, who hurried forward, his forehead creased with worry. He slid an arm around the beautiful woman’s back to guide her to a settee. When she was seated, he crouched in front of her. “Angelique, what’s wrong?”
Chapter 14
Gemma carefully carried a full tea tray down the hallway, pausing when she reached the parlor door. It was cracked, and she could hear the conversation taking place inside.
“I hate crying,” the beautiful woman—Stil had called her Angelique—sniffed. “It’s so useless, and it only serves to make a person damp and weary,” she said before crying again.
“I’m certain that after all you’ve gone through, and after all you’ve done, you deserve a good cry,” Stil said, his voice soft. The craftmage was silent as the beautiful woman cried harder. It wasn’t the gentle sniff she made with her beautiful tears earlier. It was the sound of a person’s heart breaking.
“I can’t find him, Stil,” Angelique cried. “I have looked everywhere and combed every country, and I haven’t found a hint of him! I even forced my way to Ringsted to see if he was carried down there. Nothing.”
“You’ll find him.”
“No, I won’t! I haven’t any place left to look! I have tracked him with magic; I have looked for him in enchanted mirrors; and I have even tried to use our bond as master and apprentice. Nothing works! He might be—,”
Dead.
Although the beautiful magic user couldn’t bring herself to say it, even Gemma could feel the word hanging in the air.
“I hate to mention this, but it must be connected to the evil and darkness that has been stirring across the continent,” Stil said. “The attacks against the countries and royalty are too well done to be coincidence. Whoever is responsible for this has been planning it for years. It is very likely they knew Enchanter Evariste needed to be removed before they could launch their first attack.”
“They seem to be doing a fine job of sabotaging themselves,” Angelique said, her voice growing stronger as her tears stopped. “Every blasted country I run into has someone cursed—a curse which can be broken by true love.”
Judging by the scornful tone of Angelique’s voice, the subject was a safe one to intrude upon, so Gemma nudged the door open wider and carried the tea tray into the parlor.
“I’m so sick of true love, the very thought makes me ill,” Angelique said. The beautiful lady was seated on a settee. Stil stood next to her, his arms folded across his chest.
“I know love is the most powerful, righteous emotion possible, but this is sheer folly,” Angelique continued. “The number of curses that have popped up in the past few years with love as the counter-agent is mind-boggling.”
“It does seem rather odd that such a wide-spread campaign to spread darkness would have such a specific, repeatable weakness,” Stil said, smiling at Gemma when she set the tea tray down. “One would think they would grow aware of this detail and change their arrangement.”
Gemma ignored him and served Angelique a cup of black tea.
“Why? Even if we manage to break the curses, I still wouldn’t say we are winning,” Angelique dully said. She shook her head and remembered her manners. “Thank you,” she said to Gemma with a serene smile, taking the teacup and saucer.
“Aye. There are plenty of predicaments that have yet to be addressed,” Stil said. “The Sole Princess, the Princesses of Farset, someone must take care of Kozlovka, and so on.”