Heart's Desire, Part 8 & 9

4.

"Josiah Hunt, Gabriel?" Lucas stared down at the list he had so painstakingly chosen and wondered how Gabriel would react to the news.

If, indeed, Josiah was a Hound as Lucas suspected.

He had never quite summoned up enough courage to ask the Master of the Hunt if one of his Hounds was attending school at Darkbrook in human form. Instead, he had relied on speculation, and one old man's testimony of a dark rainy night soon after the Hunt was bound.

His great-uncle, Peter Lane, had died less than a year after imparting his secret to Lucas. Six months after his death, Lucas had been given the position of Council Historian--a move he knew his uncle must have pushed for, since he had yet to graduate.

Since then, he had slowly built up a relationship with the Master of the Hunt. It had taken him years just to progress to having a conversation with him--Gabriel seemed to want as little as possible to do with the Council.

Not that Lucas blamed him. Ninety years ago, the Master of the Hunt had been a different person. Nowadays, with the Council's binding holding his fury in check, he was--as much as anyone in his position could be--at least civil.

A knock on the door heralded Gabriel's arrival, and Lucas rose from his chair, gripping the gnarled wooden cane that had become his constant companion these last few years.

Getting old was more irritating than beneficial, at least in Lucas' opinion. But it certainly beat out the alternative.

"You called?" As always, Gabriel hid his true feelings behind a mask of indifference. But Lucas had grown adept--at times--at guessing his mood, and he didn't think Gabriel truly minded their conversations.

It was hard to tell, though, since Gabriel never initiated contact with Lucas or anyone else.

"I wanted to show you the list of final candidates," Lucas said. "The students who made the cut will receive advanced training and I've requested two of them to mentor myself. More than likely, we'll ask one or two of them to be members of the Council once they graduate." Without letting his curiosity show, he handed the list to Gabriel.

The Master of the Hunt took the piece of paper as if it contained the binding itself and not a simple list of names.

Lucas wondered if Josiah had already told his Master of the honor. And then, on the tail end of that thought, he wondered if Gabriel would consider it to be an honor at all.

After a long moment of silence, Gabriel spoke. "This--This Josiah is known to me," he said. "We have spoken before. He is not in the same year as the others."

"He is already studying advanced materials," Lucas said quietly. "I believe he needs this training. Even if he doesn't become a member of the Council. That is entirely optional, of course."

"Is it then?" Gabriel murmured, and glanced at the list again. "There is a name I don't see here."

"Yes. Althea Dunning." Lucas sighed. "It was a difficult choice, but in truth, Josiah has more talent than Althea."

Gabriel gave him a hard look, as if trying to gauge how much he knew. "Does he?"

"Yes." Lucas smiled. "If he had family, I am certain they would be very proud of him."

"I imagine they would," Gabriel said. His voice gave nothing away. He handed the list back to Lucas. "I believe--I believe you've made a good choice."

"I value your opinion," Lucas said. "And I'm sure you want to get back home. Thank you for coming."

Not for the first time, Lucas saw something other than calm in Gabriel's eyes.

"I have--" He bit back the words and shook his head, turning away from Lucas.

"You have no choice," Lucas said softly. "I know."

"If you know, then why do you pretend my opinion truly matters?" Gabriel's voice was harsh and angry, but his anger was not directed at Lucas. "You call. I come. If I try to resist your binding--" His voice trailed away.

Lucas did not know what would happen if Gabriel tried to resist. The binding's wording left that up to chance. But obviously it was uncomfortable enough--or, he presumed, painful enough--to warrant this outburst. "Does it hurt you to come when I call?" he asked, wondering if he had inadvertently caused Gabriel needless pain over the years.

A small smile flew across Gabriel's lips as he turned, his mask back in place. "No. It doesn't."

Lucas hesitated. "Would you come if you had a choice?"

"That is not something I can answer truthfully," Gabriel said, his voice soft. "May I go?"

"Yes, of course," Lucas said. He waited until Gabriel had opened the front door before speaking. "Gabriel, if you see Josiah--out in the forest, that is; he wasn't in his room an hour ago--will you tell him that I would like to speak with him?"

Gabriel's shoulders stiffened, only slightly. "Of course."

"Thank you," Lucas said, and watched as he vanished into the night, leaving behind more questions than answers, as usual.


The Hunt's lair was a twenty-minute walk through the forest if you knew the way. Gabriel deliberately slowed his pace as he walked to allow Josiah time to compose himself. He had no doubt of the scene that would greet him once he entered the house.

Lucas knew. Perhaps he had always known. Gabriel tried to cast his mind back to their endless discussions--which, he could admit to himself, he would have missed if Lucas had not tried so hard to befriend him.

Two questions remained: What did he plan to do about his knowledge? And what did Gabriel want to do about Josiah attending Darkbrook? He stopped at the mouth of the cave and sighed.

A white Hound--Malachi--slipped under the overhang of vines and sat at his feet for a moment before shifting into human form to speak. They could communicate through the bond they shared, but Gabriel knew that the Hounds relished their freedom to speak, and he did not discourage it.

It was almost two years now since he had allowed them their human forms. And they had not betrayed him.

"He's waiting for you inside, my lord." Malachi rose to his feet and dusted off his pants.

"I imagine he is," Gabriel said neutrally.

Malachi glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes. "He--He packed his things from Darkbrook, my lord."

"He did?" Gabriel stared at his Hound. "Was he so certain, then, that I would force him to leave?"

Malachi shrugged, uncomfortable with the question. "The boxes appeared in the living room five minutes before Josiah, and he arrived right after you left. And you did tell him that if anyone guessed he was a Hound, he would have to leave." He hesitated, wrapping his arms around his body as if the air outside was cold, not summer-warm. "Will you make him leave?"

The answer to that question was none of Malachi's business, in truth. Gabriel did not have to share his decisions with his Hounds. They were forced to obey him just as he was forced to obey the Council.

But since his decision would affect all of their lives--and the small freedoms he had given them--he saw no reason to keep it a secret. "I hadn't intended to."

"If you want my opinion--" Malachi began, and then realized what he had said. He blinked. "You hadn't? Really?"

Gabriel smiled. "Yes, really. Are the others inside as well?" He could have checked through the bond, of course, but he had learned over the years to trust his Hounds. It was difficult still, sometimes, to remember that they were individuals now, and not just Hounds.

Malachi shook his head. "I--I volunteered to stay behind. The others are out in the forest, hunting."

"You may go, then, and thank you," Gabriel said, turning away to enter the cave. "I'll talk to Josiah."

"He's upset, my lord. He told me that he did not submit his name for that list."

"I know he did not," Gabriel replied, wondering just how upset Josiah was. And if he would show it, or put on a brave face. "You needn't fear, Malachi. I am not about to turn him from this path."

Malachi nodded and shifted into a Hound. Gabriel waited until he had vanished into the darkness, then ducked under the low-hanging vines.

From the human world, the Hunt's lair was a cave. No one from the Council had ever bothered to investigate their living quarters, and if they had, they would have found a door set in the far back wall of the cave, the only anomaly therein.

That door was kept locked for the most part, or guarded by a Hound. That door was the reason Gabriel had chosen to stay in this particular house in Faerie. He could move between Faerie and the Human World at will, without having to rely on the ever-shifting Veil.

Gabriel felt the briefest touch of Josiah's awareness through the bond as he opened the door. Josiah hid his fear well, but he could not hide very much from his Master.

Through the door was a long hallway that shifted in shape sometimes, depending on Gabriel's mood. The living room--a human term--was the hub of the house, the only room accessible through the hallway.

The Hunt had lived in this house for almost two years. And still Gabriel had not explored it in its entirety.

Josiah sat on a weathered wooden bench, his hands clasped together, his gaze on the floor. A small pile of boxes--his earthly possessions from Darkbrook sat in the middle of the room, oddly forsaken as if they had been abandoned there.

All at once, Gabriel saw Josiah as he had appeared so many years before, a ragged wraith of a boy with frostbitten hands and feet, appearing out of a snowstorm to fall into the path of the Hunt.

He had not begged for his life. Instead, he begged to become a Hound, as if he realized even then that was the only way he would not die.

Gabriel had been so struck by the uniqueness of his request that he had acquiesced.

Josiah had not yet turned fourteen.

Now, his youngest Hound sat and awaited punishment for a crime he had not committed.

"Why are there boxes in the middle of the living room?" Gabriel asked, deliberately keeping his voice calm.

Josiah glanced up at him, his pale yellow hair falling across his face. "I--I packed my things from Darkbrook, my lord." His lower lip quivered for a mere instant before he swallowed his sadness and raised his chin. "I swear to you that I did not put my name in for the--"

"I know you didn't," Gabriel said. "I imagine Lucas did. He seems to believe that you've been studying advanced magics, and that you need a higher level of training."

Josiah did not seem to hear him. "I think--" He squeezed his eyes shut. "I am sorry, my lord, but I think he knows I'm a Hound." When Gabriel did not reply, he clenched his hands even tighter. His muscles quivered. "I have been cautious. He had no reason to believe that I am one of yours. I did not ask for this, my lord. I swear it." A tear--an actual tear ran down one side of his face.

"Josiah." Gabriel kept the bond closed with an effort. He wanted to show his Hound that he had done no wrong; that there would be no punishment, but he also wanted to make sure Josiah realized that he had jumped to conclusions far too quickly. "I am pleased that you will be studying with Lucas. He will teach you well."

Before his words could sink in, Gabriel crossed the room and walked down the short hallway to the library. He sat down at the library table, opened a book, and counted to ten. When Josiah did not appear in the doorway, he counted to ten again.

The library door swung open on silent hinges.

"My lord?" Hope rippled through Josiah's voice. "My Lord--did you say--"

Gabriel glanced up at his youngest Hound. "Lucas knows who--and what--you are. I'm not giving you permission to tell him yourself. If he asks outright, you are to refer back to me for instructions."

Josiah's lips twitched. His eyes were already shining. "Yes, my lord. Of course."

"And I cannot permit you to take a seat on the Council if it is offered to you," Gabriel said. "I don't think Lucas would go that far. But I have no desire to subvert the Council. Once the binding is broken, we will coexist with them. But we will not join them."

"Yes, my lord." Josiah's smile would have dimmed the sun. "I--I won't disappoint you, my lord."

Gabriel smiled. "Then go. Unpack your things, and return tomorrow night if you can. I believe the others are hunting, and we'll have a feast to celebrate your accomplishment."

"Thank you, my lord." Josiah bowed. "Oh, thank you."

After he had gone, Gabriel listened to the silence of the house and wondered if he had done the right thing. Instinct told him to withdraw his Hounds and stay out of sight, but Lucas already knew the Hunt's oldest secret.

It would probably take him ten more years to come right out and say anything, but he knew.
Hopefully, allowing Josiah to continue his studies would not be a mistake.

5.

"Are you certain there is no one I can contact for you?" Sennet asked, handing Emle a mug of tea.

Emle sipped it for a moment before replying, her voice faltering. "No. I am--I am alone."

Sennet wanted to ask her about the father of her child, but she also didn't want to drive Emle away. "You realize you may stay as long as you wish," she said. "And no one need know you are here."

"I would like that," Emle whispered. "But are you certain I'm not imposing--" She set the mug down on the table Sennet had placed beside her bed and awkwardly shifted her bandaged and splinted arm. "If you are certain you don't mind."

"I don't mind," Sennet said. Again.

It had been three days now since she'd found the wounded swan, and Emle had not stopped protesting Sennet's offer to let her stay. She had also not volunteered much in the way of information. She seemed content to sit and read or watch the world pass by outside, as if she craved stillness more than anything else in the world.

And perhaps she did. Her clothes were worn and patched, and her shoes had holes that could not be repaired through mundane means.

"I apologize," Emle said now. "I--It's been months since I've had to speak to anyone. And I'm not quite sure what to say." She smiled. "Except thank you, of course. But you already know that."

"You don't have to say anything," Sennet assured her. "You owe me nothing. But if I can help in any way--"

"Could I--" Emle hesitated. "Could I stay here until my daughter is born?"

"Of course," Sennet said.

Emle nodded. For a moment, Sennet thought that was the end of their conversation, as before.

"The--The father of my daughter gave me back my skin," Emle whispered. "I might have erred in leaving him so soon."

"He didn't want you to leave?" Sennet asked.

"I don't know," Emle replied, and picked up the mug of tea again. She stared into its depths, as if reading her fortune, and set it down again, untouched. "I felt I had to leave. To search for my kin. I was a prisoner, and the father of my daughter set me free."

Her voice was soft and matter-of-fact, but Sennet both heard and felt the emotion running beneath those few words.

"He set you free--"

"And then he found my skin, and I left him."

"To search for your kin," Sennet said. "Did you ask him if he wanted to come with you?"

Emle shook her head. "I left." She rested her hand on her stomach for a moment, then continued, her voice softer. "I thought--that is how it works in the stories, after all. But he--he did not kidnap me. And when he found my skin, I--I didn't know what to do."

"The stories." Sennet tried to think if she had heard these stories before.

"Human men kidnap my kind," Emle said without a single qualm. "We are forced to be their wives, their slaves, until we find our skins again and can escape. That is how it works in the stories."

"But there is a Council now," Sennet said gently. "And I doubt they would condone such a thing."

Emle shrugged. "We were never beholden to the Council." She tried to smile, but her smile slipped into sadness. "I fear I've made a terrible mistake, but I don't know what to do about it."

"You could contact him," Sennet suggested. "And let him know you're okay. He's probably worried about you."

"He probably hates me by now," Emle whispered. "And that's easier said than done. He--He does not know about the baby." She closed her eyes. "I am weary."

"I'll leave you alone, then," Sennet said, standing. "If you're awake for supper, I will bring you a tray."

A tear slipped down the side of Emle's cheek, but she nodded. "Thank you, Sennet. Without your aid--"

Sennet briefly touched her hand, giving her a bit of strength to stand upon. "Healers go where they are called," she said. "We have time yet. We'll figure something out."

They didn't have as much time as she expected. Gauging a birthday was a tricky thing in the best of times, and this was not the best of times.

Two days later, Emle's daughter decided to grace her presence on the world.

Emle named her Erianthe.


Next Update May 3rd


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Heart's Desire, Part 7

3.

The Veil that separated Faerie from the human world was so thin in places around Beth-Hill that sometimes it was difficult to tell if you stood in Faerie or the real world.

At night, the tiny white flowers that bloomed on the hillsides in Faerie--larger than spring beauties, but smaller than snowdrops--glowed in the dark. Since the flowers did not grow in the human world--Althea had heard they would not grow in the human world--it was easy to spot the vagaries of the Veil.

They were fully in Faerie for most of the short journey. The glow-in-the-dark flowers helped a little to light her way, but the elf seemed to have no trouble walking in the dark.

That was yet another reason to hate them, Althea thought as she tripped over yet another vine covered branch and landed on her hands and knees inside a small clearing.

"You needn't bow," an amused, silky voice said. "I am not yet a Queen."

Althea scrambled to her feet to face another elf--this one resplendent in blood-red velvet. The light was brighter here, from some invisible source, and it cast strange shadows on the woman's face.

The elf--Magdalen?--sat on a carved wooden throne, despite her denouncement of her status. It looked as if it had been carved while the tree was still alive, because the throne was crowned with branches--dead now--that formed a canopy overhead.

The woman who sat in the throne had hair the color of mahogany, a deep dark red that could never have come out of a bottle. The shadows that lay across her pale skin seemed to writhe for a moment, and Althea had to look away.

Another elf lay at the foot of the throne, bound hand and foot with silken cords. There were bruises on his face--she'd never seen a wounded elf before--and a swatch of silk tied tightly over his mouth. His lips bulged a bit, as if his captors had shoved more silk down his throat to ensure his silence.

He watched her with a glittering gaze, desperate in his silence.

Behind the throne, seated in shadow, was a--a black Hound. It was too imposing to be called a mere dog. It grinned at her as she stared at it, suddenly all too aware of the fact that no one knew she had fled to the forest to soothe her broken heart.

Althea took a careful step back and almost bumped into her escort. She turned on him, only half-aware that it might not be a good idea to turn her back on Magdalen or the Hound.

"You said I would not be harmed!" She felt the first stirrings of panic in her chest.

"And you will not," the woman said. "Please, my dear. Sit down. You are my guest here. And I will explain."

She saw her escort clearly for the first time now; the weariness in his gaze and the way he refused to even look at the woman on the throne or her prisoner. He spared no glance for the Hound, either; it was almost as if he did not see it sitting behind the throne.

"I'll stand," Althea said, and stepped away from the elf at her back. He turned, struggling, she thought, to look unaffected, but the set of his shoulders gave away his tension. She glanced at the woman. "What do you want to talk to me about? Are you Magdalen?"

The woman smiled and nodded. It was not a pleasant smile, and it spoke of despair more than happiness.

"I wish to give you a gift, Althea Dunning," she said. "A gift to help you realize your dreams."
"Gifts from your kind don't turn out well for humans," Althea said, folding her arms. "I'm not stupid, you know." She stared at the elf on the ground, who had closed his eyes. "Who is your prisoner?"

"Someone who displeased me," Magdalen said, bending down to stroke one red fingernail down the side of the elf's face. "And since he is the object of my displeasure today, he will become the example of my gift to you."

The elf shuddered and made a noise deep in his throat. As if protesting his treatment, or begging her for mercy.

Somehow, Althea didn't think that mercy was in Magdalen's vocabulary.

"Most elves hold a certain amount of talent," Magdalen murmured, and positioned her fingernails right on the edge of the elf's left eye. "Unlike you humans, if an elf has no talent, there is no hope that he or she can ever learn magic." She dug her fingernails into the elf's skin suddenly, and he twitched and moaned and tried to move his head away.

A bead of blood ran down the elf's cheek and over his nose. Magdalen's fingernails were sharper than they looked.

"But we can learn magic from books," Althea said, happy--for once--to be human. "And I'm in the top of my class!"

"You were, until the Council chose someone else in your place," Magdalen corrected her, bringing up the cause of all Althea's problems. "It's a shame, really. You tried so hard." She smiled. "And who is this Josiah Hunt, anyway?"

Althea's hands clenched. "He--He--"

Magdalen held up one hand. "You don't have to tell me," she said. "I know what he did to you." Her voice oozed sympathy.

"I tried so hard!" Althea heard her voice quiver, and struggled not to cry. "I tried--"

"And there is a way to get back at him for what he did to you," Magdalen said, almost purring now, like a cat. "There is a way to take someone else's power and use it as your own."

For a short, heart-stopping moment, Althea thought she had misheard. Then, when he mind caught up with what Magdalen had claimed, she stared at the elf with her mouth hanging open in shock.

"It's a spell any human should be able to master," Magdalen continued, her smile widening. "Including you."

"But--but I--wouldn't--" Althea knew even as the words left her mouth that it was a token protest. If she could ensure her position in the Council; if she could taste how it felt to be truly talented in magic--her heart leaped at the advantages such a spell would have.

But she did not want to get caught using such a spell. She clasped her hands together, noticing only vaguely that they were freezing cold. "Send him away."

Magdalen cocked her head. "Send who away?"

"Him." Althea pointed to her escort, who leaned against a nearby tree, his back still turned towards her. "He already--I don't--" Did she truly mean to go through with this? In a rush, she spoke. "I don't want anyone else to know about this." Could the Hound understand human speech? It looked stupid enough, in truth, all brawn and no brain.

"Kyren's no threat." Magdalen laughed. "He will do as I say."

The elf's--Kyren's--shoulders stiffened, but he did not deny her words.

"He doesn't want to be here," Althea whispered. "He--If he tells the Council--"

"He will tell no one," Magdalen said, her voice sharper now. "He would not dare. You needn't fear, my child. Kyren would not betray us."

The word 'us' lay some of Althea's fear to rest. If she was discovered, surely the Council would believe that she had been placed under some sort of spell by the elves. Wouldn't they? Althea had never done something so--she had never had a reason for revenge up until now. Her reputation was blemish-free.

"This spell--what does it do?" She almost wished she had taken Magdalen's offer of a seat, for her knees threatened to collapse at the enormity of what she was planning. "How does it work?"

"I will show you," Magdalen stood in one fluid moment and stepped over her prisoner. Red velvet drifted over his body, masking him from view for one short moment before she stopped in front of Althea. "Take my hand."

Her touch tingled through Althea's body in tiny pinpricks of pain, as if her soul had just awakened from a long slumber. She shivered and focused on revenge. She had been chosen for this, not Josiah.

And he would pay for destroying her dreams.

With her free hand, Magdalen gripped her prisoner's bare forearm, her fingernails puckering his skin. "We are linked now," she said. "Can you feel the power he possesses?"

For the first time in her life, Althea felt something stir in her breast, an alien something that buzzed through her body and sharpened her senses. She smelled ozone, as if lightning had struck nearby, and the rusty odor of old blood.

And through her connection with Magdalen, she sensed the elf's power raging behind the spells that saturated the silk that bound him.

She had no sense of Magdalen's own power. It was as if she had made herself a conduit between Althea and the bound elf, and somehow managed to hide her own talents from the joining.

"Now. Feel me cast the spell." Magdalen's voice came from far away, a tinny echo in Althea's ears.

"I--I can't," Althea felt tears scald her cheeks. "I can't cast spells that way!" She tried to snatch her hand away, but Magdalen tightened her grip.

And something bloomed inside Althea's mind. The concept of a spell, not written down, but a whole spell nonetheless. The casting was simply done; elegant, even. A very simple turn of phrase.

Shadow take you, give me your light.

The elf screamed inside her head. Convulsions rippled through his body, sending waves of pain-tinged power through the connection between them and into Althea's hungry mind.
The power poured through their joining and jolted Althea off her feet. She fell, still holding onto Magdalen's hand, and scrabbled on the ground for a bit before she remembered how to sit up.

The burst was weakening now. When she blinked to clear her sight, she saw that the elf lay slack and still, blood leaking out of his nose and staining the silk that covered his mouth.

Magdalen dropped her hand. When she released the elf's forearm, Althea saw that the skin she had touched was blackened and burned. Residual tremors still ran through the elf's arms and legs, but Althea knew that he was dead. Or very close to dying.

And his power swarmed in her head, muffling both thought and sensation. She tried to rise to her feet and fell again, dizzy now, her sense of balance gone.

"What--" She was shocked to hear her words slur. "What did you do--"

Magdalen took her hand again and drew her up. She was not affected by the spell at all; not a hair on her head had fallen out of place.

"My dear, it is always this way at first," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind Althea's left ear. "You have to get used to such power. And you have to use it as well. Why don't you burn his body for me?"

Althea stared at her. "What? How--" Her skin seemed to crawl at Magdalen's touch, or perhaps it was a residual effect of the spell.

"Try pointing your finger at him and wishing him burned into ash," Magdalen said. "That's how it works when you have talent, my child."

Talent. The word sent barbs of jealousy deep into Althea's soul. She stared at the dead-or-dying elf and felt her awareness center on his body. Talent.

When she pointed her finger at him, a jet of flame ignited his clothes. The fire was so hot that she had to move away, her gaze captured by the flickering flames.

On the other side of the clearing, Kyren had turned towards the fire, but his eyes were closed as if he couldn't bear to watch the flames. The Hound seemed uninterested, almost bored at the proceedings. Althea curled her lip at it in disgust.

Using some of the power helped, but the flickering shadows around the edges of Althea's vision made it difficult for her to keep her balance.

When she concentrated on them, though, they faded away, leaving her preternaturally aware of her surroundings. Every leaf on every tree seemed to be singly outlined in her sight. Every blade of grass was an individual work of perfection. Even the Hound had an aura of darkness surrounding it, like a thundercloud. Only Kyren and Magdalen seemed unchanged.

Although the fire burned freely, it did not touch Magdalen's wooden throne. Althea had not specified that it be spared, but her talent--yes, her talent--had made that distinction for her by focusing the fire on the elf's body. Only his skeleton remained now, and even it had begun its journey into ashes.

Althea licked her lips. "Do you--Do they have to die?"

Magdalen laughed. "Of course not. You can keep your nemesis alive indefinitely and feed from his power forever if you wish." She rescued a small bit of something from the fire and pressed it into Althea's hand before she could refuse.

It was searing cold, this object, not hot as she expected. "What is this?" It was an oblong teardrop, blood-red and curving slightly. It had a strange, almost organic quality to it, smooth and cold like a piece of ice.

"You'll want to keep that," Magdalen said, closing her fingers over it. "It was formed from the last drop of his heart's blood. It is a very powerful token. And if you do wish to keep your nemesis alive, you will need this to shield his presence from everyone who may search for him."
Althea clutched it in her hand. "And the power--the power I took from him--does it fade? Will it go away?"

"Of course, child." Magdalen's smile pitied such a stupid question. "It is not eternal. You will know when you've run out. And then all you have to find is another sacrifice."

"What--what now?" Althea shivered. There was always a price, after all, in dealings with anyone. She'd learned that early on. "What do you want in payment for this gift you've given me?"

Magdalen took her hand and gently led her to where Kyren stood. "I want you to achieve your dreams, my dear. After you hold your place on the Council, I'll contact you again. There is much more than this simple spell that the Council cannot teach you."

"And you can?" Althea asked, breathless at the thought of being tutored by an obviously powerful elf.

Magdalen smiled. "Of course. And I will. Now run along. Kyren will see to your return."

Kyren seemed curiously reluctant to take Althea's hand, but he braced himself and touched her, his face a mask.

As he led her back through the forest, Althea saw that the sky overhead was lighter now--more time had passed than she expected.

"I thought you told me there was no time difference between Faerie and my world!" She snatched her hand from his grasp. "Did you lie to me?"

Kyren shook his head. "No. I did not lie to you. But your meeting with Magdalen took longer than you think, milady."

Althea heard boredom in his tone of voice now, as if he wished to be rid of her and her questions. She toyed with the idea of using the spell on him, but what if Magdalen withdrew her offer if Kyren came to harm?

"Be careful how you speak to me," she said instead, her voice cold. "I will tell Magdalen."

A sudden fury twisted Kyren's face into something ugly and misshapen. "Oh, do tell her. I care not! Humankind was not meant to use that spell, child. What she gifted to you--" He threw up his hands. "Do you even realize what she gave to you?"

Althea stamped her foot. "Then go! I can find my own way home!" They had returned to the human world already; the flowers had vanished as soon as they stepped across the Veil. "She gave me the means to achieve my dreams. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" Her own mouth twisted, as if she had tasted a bitter lemon. "You know nothing! Leave me alone!"

Without another word, Kyren vanished into the trees. Althea waited for a moment to make sure he was well and truly gone, then slowly made her way back to Darkbrook.

On the edge of the forest that surrounded the school, she formed a portal out of a fraction of the elf's power and stepped through it into her own room.

Her study books were still open on the little desk, and she had not made her bed that morning. But it was both familiar and strange, as if she looked at it through someone else's eyes.

She sank down on her bed. The enormity of what she had done hit her like a blow. She had fashioned a portal without preparation--without a second thought--and used it. Portals weren't even covered in the books she had read. Evidently, the spell had transferred wisdom as well as power.

Would she then know everything Josiah knew when she used it on him?

She remembered her question: Do they have to die?

And Magdalen's answer: "Of course not. You can keep your nemesis alive indefinitely and feed from his power forever if you wish."

Draining all of Josiah's power away would eliminate him as a problem, but what would happen when his power ran out? She would have to find another victim, and then another, and another. Someone would eventually notice.

But if she kept him alive, she could use his power indefinitely. She would have to ensure that she kept him shackled with iron, or designed a spell that would prevent him from using his talents against her. The heartblood stone would ensure that he remain invisible from any searchers, but she would still have to make sure he vanished completely, without a single clue that could be traced back to her.

Althea lay down on her bed, her mind racing across the possibilities. How should she trap Josiah? Would he suspect her? She had never really spoken to him. Where could she hide him?

She had the thought that perhaps Magdalen would know of a place to hide him. Somewhere deep in the forest--a dungeon, perhaps--hidden from sight where no one would ever discover him.

Or perhaps she'd let Magdalen have him tortured.

She fell asleep then, as the sun rose, and missed her first three classes as the endless possibilities of the fruition of all her hopes and dreams danced through her head.


Next Update: April 20th

House St. Clair Home

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Heart's Desire, Part 6

2.

The swan lay tangled in a thin wire net--an iron net, Sennet discovered when she tried to magic it away. It was a crude sort of trap, and not one she had found before the in the forest, with thin barbs attached to the rusty loops to keep its prey from escaping.

The swan had tried to escape. White feathers littered the ground around the twisted net, and one of its wings hung limp--broken, Sennet thought with a surge of fury against the person responsible for the net.

That it was iron posed problems only in freeing the swan, and she tried her best not to prolong its agony as she snipped through the wires and coaxed the barbs from its skin. Once it was free, she stabilized its condition with a bit of her own power, sending soothing thoughts along with healing magic as she bundled it into her jacket to carry it home.

To carry her home. While the mother was unconscious, her child's awareness sparkled through Sennet's connection, far too inquisitive to be only a swan.

What had she rescued, then? And on the tail end of that thought, would the Council need to know?

They would need to know about the traps, she decided as she stepped through a nearby portal and arrived back at her house. But not the swan. Not yet, at least.

Sennet did not hesitate to lay the swan in a bed; she treated all her patients with equal dignity. And her new patient had escaped other injury except for her broken wing--something that would have to heal on its own with a little help along the way.

She had just turned away to fashion a splint and grab a roll of bandages when she sensed something had changed behind her. And when she turned back to her patient, half-expecting to see that the swan had died despite her efforts, the swan was not a swan anymore.

A pale, regal woman lay on the bed, her broken arm bruised and bloody, her modern clothes torn to shreds. Her hair was as white as the moon, long and lovely, but tangled with dirt and leaves. What skin wasn't scratched held bruises and dirt from her ordeal, and her stomach protruded in a state of late pregnancy.

As soon as Sennet touched her broken arm, the woman opened her eyes. They were grey, wide and dazed; a wild animal's eyes.

"Hush, you're safe," Sennet said. "I'm a Healer. You will not be harmed here."

The woman gasped in a breath, her unwounded hand scrabbling across the sheets. Her other hand clutched Sennet's arm in a desperate, unbreakable grip.

"You are safe," Sennet said again, backing her words with power.

The woman licked her lips. "M-My daughter?"

Sennet hadn't stopped to check the sex of the baby, but she did now. The baby was asleep, but fine, showing no ill effects from her mother's ordeal.

"She is fine. Asleep, but fine. She--ah--said hello before, while you were unconscious."

"What--what happened?" The woman's brow furrowed as she struggled to remember.

"As far as I can tell, you were caught in a trap," Sennet said. "I'm not sure how long you had been there when I found you, but you're safe now." Sennet squeezed her hand. "My name is Sennet, and you're in my house."

"I--" The woman licked her lips. "My name is Emle." A tear trickled down her cheek. "Thank you--"

"Rest," Sennet said. "You broke your arm in the fall, and my power will only heal so far. Go to sleep. You're safe."

Emle's eyes slipped shut without a protest, leaving Sennet free to finish her work.


Next Update: April 13th


House St. Clair Home

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