Page 21 of Zel (The GriMM Tales #2)

“The orb can look anywhere one desires,” Ulrich continued, “but only places the onlooker has been before. I mostly use it to see how my old homeland fares.” He ran a hand over the glass, and the green mist cleared to show a vision of a kingdom similar but still somewhat changed from what Ulrich had shown Zel of elven lands.

Then Ulrich turned his attention to the book.

“One of my first teacher’s spellbooks, filled with forbidden magic.

I was only to use it when in her company.

I did not follow that rule. Eventually, when I was poised to surpass her, she used her own soul to lock the remainder of its contents from me.

I used to show her my exploits that she failed to prevent, but I let her sleep now. ”

Zel instinctively sidestepped away from the book, since it seemed the eye could open when prompted. “You can't release her?”

“No. That type of magic is irreversible, but she knew the danger when she sealed her fate.”

“What of the hairpin?” Zel asked.

That item Ulrich took from the shelf, and unlike when Zel had taken it, it remained in his grasp. “There is a simple spell on it, one I put there to ensure it never tarnishes but is always as pristine as the last day it was worn. It was my mother’s.”

“Your mother’s? But I thought you were an orph—”

“A tale for another time.” Ulrich made to place the hairpin back on the shelf but then seemed to change his mind and motioned for Zel to turn around. He carefully placed the hairpin within Zel’s braids.

When Zel turned back to Ulrich, the silver hand mirror had been summoned, and Ulrich used it to show Zel how the gold and glittering emeralds peeked just above the crown of his head.

“I have never felt right wearing it,” Ulrich said, “but better for someone to. Keep it.”

Zel was humbled, for unlike the magical loom, this was something personal to Ulrich. “Thank you. Is the mirror magical too?”

“In a way. It is capable of reflecting the greatest beauty in all the lands.”

“I do not believe any mirror can do that.”

“No? To me, it is doing so right now.”

Zel felt some of the heat from his gut spread upward to fill his cheeks.

Then, with a quick sleight of hand, the mirror returned to where Ulrich had summoned it from—which would have been the nightstand in Zel’s bedchamber—and began to straighten the items on the shelf to make up for the empty space of the hairpin.

He did so with his blackened hand, and after a moment, the violet veins glowed a little brighter, and he cringed.

“May I?” Zel asked. When Ulrich nodded, Zel took the hand in both of his, watching the change in Ulrich’s expression as Zel’s touch eased him. “You do not reach for me anymore without asking first.”

“I should always have done so, and I thought that was your preference, given how you’ve flinched and even recoiled at times.”

“It is my preference,” Zel confirmed, “but you can ask more often, since it soothes your pain.”

“Zel, have you heard the old adage: be careful what you wish for?”

“Of course.”

“If you grant me such leave, I might never stop touching you.”

Zel felt his cheeks flush hotter. It was in moments like this that he forgot he one day had to betray this man. “When we are wed, I would welcome that.” He would if it weren’t a lie that they would ever reach such an end.

Ulrich’s gaze softened in a way Zel did not think he had seen from the sorcerer thus far. “Then I have something to look forward to. Might I ask about one of your trinkets now?”

“My dagger?”

“Your pendant.”

A bit of Zel’s fear resurfaced. He could not be certain whether or not Ulrich had seen Rudy that first day.

It was too risky to lie, and so he released Ulrich’s hand to lift the pendant from his chest, fingering the emerald.

Emerald and gold just like the hairpin now in Zel’s braids.

“From my dearest friend, Rudy. Rudolf, but Rudy as I am Zel. We have always been close.”

“The one who wrote to you?” Ulrich glanced back at the desk. “I do not read your letters, I assure you, but I noticed the name. Are those ready to send?”

“They are.”

Ulrich waved a hand, and they folded themselves and flew off out the window like last time. New letters came in the same way.

“The truth is… Rudy is in love with me,” Zel admitted, “and it pains me that I have never felt the same. I have been plain to him about my feelings, and it would have complicated things for me and you of course, but he never gives up. I think part of him still hopes we might end up together someday. He doesn’t care that he is breaking his own heart. ”

“Forgive me for saying so, but wouldn’t a true friend heed your wishes regardless?”

Zel fought a cringe. He knew that, but Rudy would still be his friend even if it finally got through to him that they could never be more. Wouldn’t he?

“Although, I have heard it said that what you describe is one of the main problems with love,” Ulrich continued. “The heart does not know when to quit, even if it heads toward doom.”

“ Heard it said?” Zel questioned, distracted from his wondering about Rudy. “You have never been in love in all your time alive?”

Ulrich seemed to contemplate that. “Not that I am aware of, and I have also heard it said that if one does not know, one has not loved. I have often wondered about it, especially in my centuries alone, with only stories for company. A good romance can be more thrilling than the most epic of battle scenes. Surely, to experience it would be just as thrilling.”

Yes, Zel had often wondered the same. “Do you have a favorite love story?”

“I am not going to sing it for you.”

Zel laughed. It amazed him how often Ulrich could cause that reaction.

“You don’t have to sing it, but I would love to hear it spoken.

Come, tell it to me.” Zel took Ulrich’s blackened hand again and led him to the chaise.

They sat with Ulrich’s hand in Zel’s lap to keep it soothed.

He could feel the grooves of the bisected circle carved into Ulrich’s palm, which he was still curious about.

Zel even deliberately pulled his braid into his lap, so it too touched Ulrich’s hand, plumping it to near normal life.

Ulrich sighed deeply. “Do you know the tale of The Bard and the Fairy Prince ?”

“I do not.” Zel honestly didn’t and wondered how old that story might be. Perhaps it even came from Ulrich’s elven homeland.

“Then you, little cabbage, are in for a treat. How does one begin such things? Oh yes. Once upon a time…”

Zel listened with rapt attention to the deep, resonant tones of Ulrich’s voice telling him a love story. He was continuing to earn Ulrich’s favor, as was his mission, but in doing so, he was forgetting to not allow Ulrich to earn his.

ULRICH

“ O nce upon a time… a prince was born to an elven queen and a human king—or so the prince thought. Some called his mother queen of the fairies for all her magic, but she was neither fairy nor honestly an elf. She was from the depths, the unknown, born of wild and dark magic, and when the prince learned of this, it darkened his heart to match his heritage.”

Part of that fairy tale was very personal to Ulrich. He didn’t know if it was based on anything truthful, but he did know what it was like to be the cause of one’s own demise in the pursuit of power to defy one’s birth.

The fairy prince, who just as easily could have been called a half-demon, went on a journey very similar to Ulrich’s, amassing magic even if it meant stealing it from good, kind people from other kingdoms who had never wronged him.

The difference between the prince and Ulrich was that the prince had a warrior bard he hired to protect him who eventually tried to convince him to give up his quest for power and choose love instead.

Such an option had never been presented to Ulrich.

Love of family had meant little. He lost them too young.

Love of friends had never been enough to sway him.

He had swayed most of them. There was never a true love in Ulrich’s life, never any connection to another that could have prevented his downfall once he realized too late it had all been for naught, and none of his pursuits had ever led to happiness.

Happiness, it seemed, was the quelling of the ache in him that had persisted for centuries. Happiness was touch he had not realized he had been starved to know again. Happiness was found in these brief, pain-free moments with Zel.

Which he had to strive to not give into.

This was not how the month was meant to go.

Zel’s willingness to touch and be touched was welcome, but Ulrich had always known willing companions.

He had slain many in his long life, but he had never wanted nor needed to take anyone unwilling into his bed.

Everyone who had ever ended up there had asked for it, wanted it, offered themselves wholeheartedly, whether for power, favor, or simply the pleasures he could provide.

His magical scales to weigh intent had helped ensure that.

Zel was willing too, even to listen to a love story that Ulrich had never dared imagine he might mimic.

Zel, who it seemed sometimes forgot, had the goal of assassination while here.

But if killing alone was enough to condemn someone to what Ulrich had originally planned for Zel, then the tale of The Bard and the Fairy Prince would not move Ulrich as it did.

The story gave hope when Ulrich had long since stopped believing he could have any. That anyone could.

He was continuing to gauge Zel’s worth for the month’s end, but in doing so, he was forgetting who each of them was to the other and that the outcome was never meant to be marriage, even if Zel passed every test.

“And they lived happily ever after?” Zel asked once the story had reached its end.

“Yes,” Ulrich said, “I suppose they did.”