Marked for Magic. Daisy Banks
stomped up the stairs. She could have spat after him. Several of the more unpleasant names the villagers screeched when she left raced through her mind. He deserved all of those names.
“I heard that,” he called. “Don’t let me hear you cursing again!”
Ice water ran through her veins. He was the Mage, yes, but no one had told her that he could hear thoughts. Agnes had said hundreds of vile things. Most of them she refused to think of, but the wise woman had never mentioned he would know what she was thinking.
Desperate to get out of the room, she threw the vegetables in the big pot and sloshed in a jug of water with a quick prayer to the gods to look after the meal. She fumbled in her haste as she slung the heavy pot on the hook over the fire, but it stayed in place. Certain the soup would cook, she grabbed the basket to flee from his wrath.
* * * *
By early evening, she’d only found twelve small seeing mushrooms. They rolled around in the bottom of the collecting basket. Her feet ached, for in her search she’d walked farther and farther into the darkened shadowy spaces. Worse than sore feet, though, she stared to find her way through the trees until her eyes burned and stung. She had no clue how to get back to the tower. She recognized nothing here through the welter of close-knit leaves.
Maybe he wanted the wolves to eat her. She’d be a nuisance to no one then. How could he be so mean?
She huddled down at the base of a large ash tree where she ran her fingers over a blade of grass so it squeaked. How would she find his tower before dark? Her empty stomach rumbled.
Anger that he’d sent her out here evaporated with the need to find him again. There was no one else who could help her. The twilight shadows grew deeper, wrapping the woods in their embrace. Tiredness blurred her vision. Even if she hadn’t been lost, she’d have been afraid to go back without all the mushrooms he wanted.
The sun sank lower. The first white stars shone in the deepening night-shaded sky. She curled up, wrapped her arms around the basket, and waited for death.
By moonrise, still the wolves hadn’t come, but her fear continued to grow. Her breath shallow, she darted her glance to the trees, to the dark shadows between them, and back again.
If only he would come to find her, she would do anything, she’d be so grateful. A leaf brushed her cheek, so she looked up as she moved it away. If she climbed the ash tree, perhaps light from the tower might lead her back.
Hope warmed her. She swung up onto the lowest branch of the tall tree, gave the next bough a tug to make sure it would take her weight, then clambered up where she clung tight.
The morsel of hope grew as she searched in all directions, but it withered when she saw only more branches and leaves. She grasped the next branch above.
“What, may I ask, are you doing?”
Relief slid over her. Though he didn’t sound pleased, the Mage had come to find her. She swung down onto the first branch, but caught her lip at his frown. He reached up to yank her down into his arms.
“If I discover you have done this to plague me”—his nose loomed tip-to-tip with hers—“I will renege on my promise, and I will beat you soundly before I turn you into a sparrow.”
The sensation and safety of his arms took the spleen from his words. She didn’t care if he might beat her, as long as he took her back to the tower. “I got lost.”
“Hmm, did you? And my mushrooms?” He still held her. His mouth twitched in a half smile.
“I got some. They’re in the basket.”
To her surprise, he didn’t put her down, but strolled over, bent with her in his arms, picked the basket up, and hooked it onto his elbow. His brow wrinkled in obvious displeasure as the little mushrooms rolled around. She closed her eyes, praying they would double or treble in number. Sadly, they didn’t. She hoped he’d not beat her hard.
“You can tell me about it on the way back. I’m sure I will enjoy the tale of how all the mushrooms went away.”
She wriggled. “Put me down. I can walk.”
He shook his head. “Nin, since noon this day, you have destroyed the best batch of seeing mushrooms I have made in an age, interrupted my meditations not once, but twice, put out the kitchen fire, and achieved what I’d imagined to be the impossible. You got lost in the forest but a few yards from the tower. I think you are best where you are, for now.”
The reel of her day’s blunders was meant for one whose wits had wandered. She squirmed, but it was futile since he didn’t set her down. “I didn’t put the fire out.”
“But the soup did. You left it with no lid, and the pot boiled over, so we have no fire to return to.”
She closed her eyes. He thought she was stupid.
A sudden pain caught in her chest. She missed Aunt Jen, Cousin Lettie, too. She wanted to go home where the fire often smoldered sulkily, but at least the stew pot hung with something in it most days. She turned her face to his shoulder.
Aunt Jen and Lettie had stood stone-faced with the others to make her go that morning. Only Alicia might have sorrowed to see her leave, but any tears were well hidden behind a scrap of heavy weave fabric her friend called a veil.
With the night dark like her thoughts, the one semblance of comfort came from his embrace.
“When we get back you will sleep. You need to. Tomorrow we will begin again.”
Chapter 3
Poor little wretch.
Her head nestled on his shoulder. Thick, light brown eyelashes swept down on her cheeks. Strands of fair hair wisped about her face. At least the damned villagers had left her hair in a messy, loosely tied plait. He’d heard of others cast out shaven and naked.
Bloody fools with their witch’s mark nonsense. What was he to do with the wench? How could the villagers be so superstitious and foolish? She showed little talent for magic, yet, here she was, all for the sake of a mark on her hand.
The tower came into sight. He would put her to bed, then think what should be done about her. He had found a bedroll for her before he realized she must be lost. His annoyance that he had to hunt through the woods had dissolved when he glimpsed her, clinging to the branch. Those helpless, wide, fearful brown eyes could have melted a sterner heart than his.
While he had searched, his plan had been to tell her she would have to go. A ripple of shame stirred. To do so would be worse than sending a kitten out into the rain. He tightened his arms about her. One glance told him he couldn’t send her away.
He shouldn’t have sent her out for mushrooms she had little hope of finding. He’d been wrong, bad tempered, and petty.
Her breath had slowed in the steady rhythm of sleep. He altered his grip, shifting her weight in his arms. She’d told him she was coming nineteen, but he could scarce believe it. True, the village youngsters often looked undersized from years of poor nourishment. In that respect, she appeared no different from the others.
Her hand slipped down from his shoulder. Lost in sleep, she rubbed her nose on his robe.
Tomorrow he would speak with Simon, the village chieftain, to see if he could persuade them to take her back. She should be in the village making ready to find a husband.
He strode on, the moonlight flickering over her face. Though she remained grubby, her features on closer examination struck him as more than pretty. With her small frame, fair hair, and such a tiny pointed chin, she had a charm as unworldly as one of the fae. When he first opened the door at her knock, for a brief second, he had believed her a true fairy, but the loud yell when the door hit her hand showed his mistake.
What would her life be if he sent her back to the village? Even if he persuaded Simon and the elders the old wise woman was wrong, she