Page 45 of Wickedly Ever After (A Fairy Tale Romp, #1)

Hector

My dear Adair,

I plan to be at your home by Sunsday evening at the latest. Hopefully we can sort out this situation before more harm is done.

Please don’t write back—this left the castle shortly before I did.

I don’t trust delivery at Sebastian’s. His bats are all vampires.

What I need most from both you and Morga is patience, and probably a flight to Alistair’s lair.

I hate to ask, but I see no other alternative.

Your friend,

Hector

Hector left Tinbit curled up in the heavy quilts on the sleeping sofa and donned his black wool robe.

Mornings in the mountains could be chilly, and he wouldn’t take a chance on Sebastian’s kitchen providing a decent cup of coffee or tea.

Tinbit had probably packed a coffee press. If he was lucky, he’d find his tea too.

It was cold outside, and he pulled his robe tighter around his shoulders as he gazed out at the sun-kissed snowy peaks. The valleys were dark. Even the knob where the hostel stood wouldn’t be in the sunlight for a few more hours. He shuffled into the stable, lifting the latch with chilled fingers.

Horsey warmth spilled out as he walked through the door, and he shut it quickly to keep the heat inside. The pony, a shaggy black creature not much taller than Spot, greeted him with a hungry whinny. He ignored it and turned his attention to the packs slung over the dividing wall.

Another gust, cold and smelling of meltwater, and the door shut.

“Tinbit? Is my tea in here?” he asked, digging out the coffee press and setting it aside.

“If you find it, I wouldn’t say no to a cup,” Ida said. “Even if it’s that smoky stuff you like so much.”

He straightened, bumping his head on the saddle rack. “Good morning.”

She came around the corner wearing a pair of green pants and her thick gray sweater. “Morning.”

“You slept well, I hope?”

“Tolerably. But I won’t be sorry to leave the hostel, no offense to your innkeeper.”

“I’m quite sure if you wished to leave him a bad review, he’d weep tears of joy,” Hector said.

“And send me a box of chocolate-covered spiders for Midwinter’s Eve—no thanks,” Ida said. “I saw you passing from my window and came to see if I could help. How’s the pony?”

“There’s no sign of lameness,” Hector said. “Tinbit’s salves work well. When I had the dragon burns, he fixed me with a wonderful tincture of calendula and lavender.”

Ida’s mouth quirked at the corner. “I hope you remembered to pack it.”

“I’m hoping we won’t need it.” He dug deeper into the bag and found his box of loose-leaf tea. “Ah. Let me find a pot and some fresh water, and if you could conjure two cups—”

Ida did while he boiled the pot of water with a spell—this being a stable, he didn’t want to start a fire.

The hot scent of tea leaves added to the water steamed a wide-awake fragrance into the air.

He watched Ida strain the tea at the small farrier’s table among the bridles and broken leather straps, hoping he wouldn’t struggle against these feelings much longer, because right now, he fully appreciated how enchanting a beautiful woman wearing a baggy sweater and canvas pants in the morning could be.

She’d braided her hair. The humidity had loosened enough to frizz around the knots like a soft mist. And when she glanced up at him from under a soft fringe of honey-colored eyelashes and her lavender eyes flashed over her tea cup, he wanted to discard Tinbit’s advice about making love in haystacks.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, taking a sip of the tea to steady himself. “I believe I should go to the dragons ahead of you. I’m not sure Adair and Morga will be prepared for all of us to arrive asking questions. Dragon mothers, when upset, can be…reactive. I’d like to prepare her first.”

She pursed her lips. “I see.”

“It’s not a long journey to the Flamelord’s cave from here, and Tinbit knows the way.

And it would give Hari a chance to sleep in.

You can bring Cear along when you come. You’d be there by midafternoon if you left in an hour or so.

Perhaps later, if you happen to run into a hungry manticore or a playful chimera, but I’m sure you can handle those. ”

“How touching that you have such faith in me,” she said. “What you really want is to talk to the Flamelord without Cear listening in.”

He glanced down at their makeshift tea table. “That’s partly it, yes.”

“Well, I for one would also like to find out what happened with Alistair and the princess without anyone else asking questions. If Tinbit knows the way, I’m sure he can handle manticores and chimeras as well as I can. There’s no reason for me to travel with them. I’m coming with you.”

“Ida—”

She raised her eyebrows. “Yes, Hector?”

“I really think it’s better if I go alone.”

Ida sighed. “Hector, may I speak frankly?”

“Do you ever do otherwise?”

She smiled. “I know we’re not supposed to be friends.

You’re wicked and I’m good, and those two things don’t mix.

But surely, we’re both big enough to admit when we’re not on the same side and still be professional?

I know you’re not about to change your mind, and you can’t change mine.

But your dragon and my princess are more important right now than our…

disagreement. I’m not asking for your forgiveness or for you to reconsider what I’ve said.

What I am asking for is a truce—just long enough for us to finish what we’ve started. Fair?”

“Oh.” He could breathe again. He’d been afraid she was about to reveal feelings for him. “I…I absolutely agree! Truce.” He laughed and was horrified to hear how ridiculous he sounded.

Ida laughed too, high-pitched and nervous. “You’ve no idea—I wasn’t sure how you’d take that. I’ve been up hours practicing that speech.”

He took her hand. “You didn’t need to. I…I was thinking about asking you the same thing, but in the end, I thought that maybe it was simply better if we, well.”

“Didn’t see so much of each other?”

“Exactly! That’s exactly it. I’m glad we got this cleared up. And as for our disagreement—”

“We’ll just not talk about it,” Ida suggested.

“Yes! Absolutely!” He was nodding like an absurd lizard, but his heart was a giant sigh of relief.

No. Not his heart. He didn’t have one anymore, thank Gods.

Maybe in time she would come around to his way of thinking.

When he imagined sitting in Council and seeing another witch sitting in Ida’s chair, he wanted to cry.

He’d convince her. She’d see how dedicated he was to dispelling any of her reservations about Happily-Ever-After and everything would be fine.

“Um, Hector? You can let go of my hand now.”

“Oh—sorry.” He let go quickly. “Just—I was thinking, you may need warmer gloves than what we brought. I’ll—I’ll just go…uh…fix yours. Add a warming spell.”

“That’s…thoughtful of you. I’ll just…go back to the hostel. Leave a note for Hari with the spider at the front desk.”

“Can you leave a note for Tinbit as well? I’ll get everything we need ready. You can use my staff as a walking stick if you like.”

“No—once we reach the woods, I’ll beg a walking stick from an oak.”

“Okay. Hurry back.”

She flushed. “Okay. Early start, I get it.”

“Yes. Exactly.” Maybe he should have gotten rid of his tongue along with his heart. He doubted he’d ever sounded so ridiculous in his entire life, but despite it, he bounced back to the pony’s stall, whistling.

The pony didn’t seem unhappy to see Hector back, only a little miffed.

It cheered up immediately when he refilled the hay bag and gave it a handful of grain.

Then Hector dug through the bags Hari and Tinbit had stacked in the tack room and found Ida’s wool coat and a bright green scarf to match her pants.

A pair of thin white gloves sat on top. She’d worn them to the game.

How long ago it seemed now. Hector set them aside.

They weren’t suitable for shaking hands with a dragon.

He found a pair of his dark leather gauntlets and stuffed them in his pack for her, complete with the warming spell he’d promised.

When Ida returned from the inn, she was carrying two pairs of boots.

“You didn’t summon seven-league boots, I hope? If you take a bad jump, you could end up in the air over a ravine.”

“No, they’re ordinary boots. I pilfered them from Sebastian’s cloak room. Mine were full of cactus spines. I imagine yours were too.”

He took them gratefully. “How thoughtful. Thank you.” He dusted the hay from his robe front. “Personally, for myself, I think I should’ve taken more socks. I ripped all mine up on the cactus.”

“Tinbit will patch them, I’m sure.”

“I’ll patch them myself. I knit a lot in the winter—sweaters, hats, oven mitts—it’s too cold to do much else.” It would be something for him to do every day in his retirement if he didn’t fix this. But he was going to fix it. No. They were.

“Shall we go?” He offered Ida his arm.

She took it. “I’m ready when you are.”

***

Two hours into the hike, Hector’s stomach growled to him about breakfast, but although the mountain path boasted large stands of wild blackberries, none were ripe.

He passed the green and red fruits, wishing he’d taken a few slices of bread from the pack, but Tinbit and Hari would be hungry, and Sebastian wouldn’t serve anything edible for breakfast.

Ida walked behind him, the path not being wide enough to take more than one person at a time.

She must have been as hungry and weary as he, but she never slowed down, never paused, never complained, but limped after him leaning on the staff she’d asked from a gnarled mountain oak at the head of the pass.

Her feet must have been as blistered as his.

“It’s a lot farther from the city to the mountains than I thought,” Ida said. “I’m trying not to think how airsick the princess must have been, flying all this way.”