Not Your Average Love Spell, page 8
She wasn’t annoying like Rowena’s Kingston contact, Abe, whose panicky nature irked her. She hated his breathless speech and general aura of doom. And Camille wasn’t a hypocrite like Sydney, who continued to limp along under the delusion that the Knights of the Flame could be redeemed. Camille wasn’t even irritating like the rescued pirates had been with their endless questions and general…in-person-ness.
No, Camille was aggravating because she was loyal to someone who didn’t deserve it and because she cared about people she didn’t know and had decided to put her own safety at risk for people who might put her in jail for associating with a witch. And according to Abe and his contact, Hetty, Camille had never been afraid to speak out in favor of witches and try to teach the knights that magic wasn’t evil, which sounded like a head-meets-wall exercise Rowena could sympathize with.
So now, because of all those reasons, Rowena had come to admire Camille. That was aggravating.
Rowena covered her crystal ball, tired of spying. Camille was much prettier than Rowena expected of a bookworm, which she knew was shallow and clichéd and ironic. Something in Camille’s voice had made Rowena think of her as older, but her first good look had revealed that they were probably close in age. Camille’s clear, dark skin seemed to shine in the light, and her black hair looked gorgeous in its fall of curly splendor.
Rowena curled a lip. That was positively poetic. More aggravation.
Ember popped her head around the corner. Rowena had felt her proximity but had been too distracted to focus on her.
“What’s this feeling?” Ember asked as she touched her chest. “Annoyed is one of them, but there’s another.”
“It’s nothing.” Their emotional connection was another aggravation she didn’t need at the moment.
“It’s more than nothing. Maybe it’s anger. At the knights?”
That was another twist of the knife on Camille’s part. Why would Camille even bother with Sydney? The knight was attractive, in a pretentious ass sort of way, but really, was that an excuse for so much kissing? Someone as smart and loyal as Camille deserved…
“Is it jealousy?” Ember said. “I remember from when I recovered so quickly after my fall, and you were jealous because it’s harder for you to heal, and your knee still hurts during the rain from that accident when you were little.”
Rowena felt the heat in her cheeks and fought the urge to snap and rage. “You didn’t fall. You jumped.”
Ember’s arms snaked around her from behind. “Are you still jealous because you can’t jump?”
Rowena barked a laugh. “I can, but the result wouldn’t be the same.” She gave Ember’s hands a pat and moved out of the embrace. “I don’t want to talk about my feelings. They’re…stupid.”
“You always say that, but talking is all I can do.” Boredom rocketed down their connection.
“Ember, don’t start.”
“You’re going to help the knights. I want to help, too.”
Rowena took a deep breath and turned to find Ember the picture of petulance, complete with an out-thrust bottom lip. “Sending soldiers off to war is not a remedy for boredom. It’s serious business.”
“If I fight with them, I’ll save some.” She blinked prettily.
“And maybe lose your own life.”
“I’m faster and stronger and tougher than any regular person.”
“But still mortal.”
Ember threw her hands in the air and paced along the room, pausing to smack the rough stone walls.
Rowena fought to remain calm under the force of two torrents of aggravation. “You’ll get your chance to see the world when—”
“When witches are accepted again? When will that be?” An edge of whining crept into her voice.
“Do you think I’m dragging my bloody feet?” Rowena yelled, boiling over at last. “If we’re lucky, my helping repel the Kells’ invasion will convince more people to rethink bigotry and realize magic isn’t evil. Or maybe it won’t. Maybe I’ll be hunted for the rest of my life, but that doesn’t matter because you’re bored.”
Ember’s eyes narrowed. She usually backed down before Rowena’s anger, but of course, she’d choose this already frustrating day to find more spine. “You just want to keep me here because without me, you wouldn’t have anyone,” Ember said, anger bright as a star inside her.
True, but it still hurt. “I want to keep you safe.”
“You wouldn’t leave even if you could.” Her accusing finger pointed as if she could read Rowena’s mind as well as her heart. “You’ll stay here forever and rot like an untended husk, and you want me to rot, too.” With tears streaming down her cheeks, she fled.
“Ember,” Rowena shouted, but she heard the exasperation in her voice along with the love, and she knew Ember would sense it and keep running.
Rowena sagged into a chair. Every rain brought a bloody big flood lately.
What would she do without Ember? It didn’t bear thinking about. Before Ember, Rowena had been a heartbeat away from painting faces on the rocks and talking to them. Ember was supposed to be the perfect solution, someone who would understand her.
Rowena sighed. She should have seen this coming. She’d always been a rebel, too. And maybe she needed someone else. Maybe she should use the crystal balls more for conversation than just for spying or receiving updates from her contacts.
If she could find someone only a little less aggravating.
* * *
Ember ran until her chest filled with burning and her eyes settled down. She hated tears for robbing her of sight and making her nose run and her face ache. Why did they always come when they weren’t wanted?
Another question, but whom did she have to ask now? Rowena had too much fear and anger these days, and Ember was tired of the way those emotions twisted the gut. Rowena wasn’t even excited by new faces and voices and big magic. She never would be. She was never leaving this place.
And that meant Ember couldn’t go, either.
As much as Ember burned to see an end to boredom, she couldn’t abandon Rowena. Oh, Rowena would be sad, sad, sad, drowning in unwelcome tears. No matter her words, that was a truth. Rowena needed her.
Ember paused in the tunnels and watched a husk shuffle past with a broom, a moving dead thing. She’d never felt so like them.
But they couldn’t change. She could. Better than the husks—maybe better than regular humans—she could change in unheard of ways.
She just needed…momentum.
And Rowena might cry and cry, but Ember would tell her they didn’t have to part forever, just enough for a little change, then Ember would come back, or Rowena would come out, and the world would be much brighter, and more humans would be alive from Ember’s helping, and everything would be a bloody, buggery rose garden, as Rowena said.
But could Ember stand the sadness, even for a little while? Rowena would share it with her, then Ember would be sad herself, and the unwanted tears would flow again and spoil her aim with her sword. More than that, Ember didn’t want Rowena’s sadness to even exist. She wasn’t even sure she wanted happiness if it had to have sadness for a companion.
Well, there had to be a way around sadness, momentum to push past it. What had she said before? Rowena needed a friend, someone to help her through Ember’s absence, someone she knew through the crystal ball; perhaps a new face that was pleasing to the eye.
Perhaps the knight or the librarian?
Chapter Six
For Sydney, it had been a long two days’ march into nowhere. Per the Hawk’s instructions, Sir Robert had chosen a vacant location for their departure and stayed away from the many villages surrounding Kingston as they marched.
Sydney hadn’t minded camping or the long march. She’d been happy to have Camille along, though they weren’t able to spend much time together. Camille had seemed irritated that she couldn’t walk at Sydney’s side, but as a major, Sydney had to circulate among the troops, making sure all was in order.
As time wore on, Camille had fallen back through the ranks until she was hurrying to keep up. She’d never been on a march, and it was clear that her boots weren’t up to the task. The first night, Sydney had helped her treat and wrap her blisters before loaning her a pair of thicker socks.
“We’d better set up your tent before dark,” Sydney had said as she laced Camille’s boots.
Camille blinked. “I thought I’d stay with you.” Her smile had been sweet and hopeful. “We’ve spent a lot of time wrapped in blankets together but never much time sleeping.”
Sydney chuckled, fighting awkwardness. “I’d love to, but on a march, officers are on duty day and night. I might have to rise in darkness if there’s cause.”
Camille shrugged. “I can fall back asleep after you’re gone.”
“Um.” Sydney felt heat in her cheeks and fought not to stammer. “I’d be the only officer with a…companion. It wouldn’t be proper.”
Camille’s brows lifted. “Everyone would think I’m a camp follower, is that it?”
The heat blazed now. “No.”
“Is that what everyone thinks? That I came all the way out here because I can’t get enough of your body? Is that what you think?”
Sydney waved a hand to shush her. “I don’t. Everyone knows you’re here to talk to the witch, but if you stay in my tent…” When Camille’s look threatened to melt her on the spot, she spoke faster. “Listen, I need respect right now, and there’s already been a little snickering. I have…a reputation.” Now her face was close to igniting as she thought of all the women she’d met on her missions, but she never indulged until the mission was over.
And the women didn’t usually stick around to meet her comrades.
Camille’s stare turned cold. “And now I’m just part of that reputation, am I? Did you ever think of telling people that it’s none of their business?”
“That’s not really…the officer to subordinate relationship…” Sydney sighed. “They just need to see me in a certain light.”
Camille shook her head. “Playing politics already. You’re going to fill Sir Robert’s shoes well.” She grabbed her bag and began to limp away.
“Where are you going?” Sydney asked, unable to keep the weariness out of her voice.
“Somewhere else.”
“Stay with me tonight, and we can find you a tent tomorrow.”
“Oh, no. Can’t tarnish your reputation.” She shuffled on without another word.
In the morning, Sydney discovered that Camille had slept under the wagons. She rode on one the next day and scribbled in a journal, avoiding eye contact. When they made camp at the site Sir Robert would use to transport his troops the next morning, Sydney commandeered a tent for Camille but sent one of the recruits to deliver it. It was the coward’s way out, but Sydney hoped that by the time she’d returned from fighting the Kells, Camille would forgive her.
* * *
Camille added sleeping under a wagon to the list of things she’d rather never do again. The weather was all right, especially with her oilskin covering her, but every creak, snore, rustle, or chirp had kept her awake all night. Even without the knights, the outdoors was alive with noise.
She wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway, not while feeling so unwanted, needy, and in the way.
She’d hoped to catch a bit of sleep while riding on the wagon the next day, but the driver seemed determined to find every rut in the road, and she was so nauseated by midday that she had to walk, her steps blearing into one afternoon of misery.
When the recruit led her to a tent that evening, she could have kissed him even as she sneered about cowardly Sydney not delivering the news herself. Camille had already written “spending any time with Sydney” on her list of things to never do again. She couldn’t be a blight on Sydney’s reputation.
“Why am I out here?” she mumbled once she was safely inside her tent. “Because Major Sydney Loose-Trousers got me into this whole mess.” She leaned her head back. “I shouldn’t have come.”
Logically, she knew it was Sir Robert’s fault, but she lumped him in with Sydney and the Kells under “People to Blame.” The thought that she was being unfair flitted through her mind, but she buried it under anger and self-pity about her sore feet. She sighed, wrapped herself in her blanket, and tried to make a pillow out of her pack, but it proved as lumpy as last night. She took out some things since they couldn’t roll or blow away indoors and paused when she touched the smooth side of the crystal ball.
She pulled it out, telling herself she simply craved conversation after not speaking all day. And she needed to let the Hawk know the troops had arrived at their destination and would be ready for transport in the morning.
It had nothing to do with a need for sympathy or the desire to complain. It wasn’t that the tantalizing features she’d glimpsed in the swirling depths intrigued her or that she appreciated the way the Hawk had reacted to her sadness or any charming embarrassment the Hawk had displayed.
And it wasn’t as if she’d been thinking of the Hawk all day, wondering what she looked like in person, wondering what it would be like to get to know her, or occasionally picturing her in Sydney’s place during some of their lustful encounters.
Not all day.
“Ugh, what is wrong with you?” she asked herself. All the talk of Sydney’s reputation led her to thinking of bit of her own. Well, her lack of reputation. She’d slept with her fair share of people, but she didn’t share that knowledge often. Well, maybe with Hetty, but no one else. She didn’t have many friends. Either Sydney overshared, or her lovers looked to spread stories.
Based on some of the things Sydney had said, women jumped on her all the time. Maybe that was the difference. People expected Camille to be shy—and she did get tongue-tied sometimes—but she usually made the first move in relationships. Maybe it was usually the “jumper” who talked.
Camille didn’t see any need to share. She enjoyed her life all on her own; she found so many qualities intriguing in other people, so what was the harm in flirting if it might lead to some wonderful nights?
Because it might also lead her into the wilderness to sleep under a wagon.
She sighed again and reminded herself that she was helping. And she’d met one intriguing woman already on this adventure, even if Sydney was currently pissing her off.
And there was another intriguing woman to get to know, a powerful, mysterious witch who helped those who needed it even when it might cost her life or her freedom.
“Are you there?” Camille asked the ball. When she got no answer, she felt a bit of a fool for talking to an inanimate object but tried again. “Hello? Hawk?”
The ball swirled with mist before a voice said, “I’m here,” and the same shrouded form appeared.
Camille smiled. “You sound breathless.”
“I was in my workshop and ran to catch you before you gave up.”
Camille smiled wider, then reminded herself that the Hawk only wanted to catch her because she’d have news of the knights. She cleared her throat and fought any musings about the wonders a witch’s workshop might contain. “We’ve reached a large open area with no one else around. Sir Robert wants to leave from here.”
The Hawk snorted. “I’ll bet he’s got it all worked out.”
“I haven’t heard anything about his plans regarding you,” Camille said, nearly whispering.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to appear in person.”
“Oh.” Camille was surprised by how far her stomach sank. She’d been doing too much imagining. “I was looking forward to meeting you.”
The Hawk said nothing, and Camille felt the need to babble rising within her. She held it back until the Hawk said, “In between the transport spell and Sir Robert trying to kill me?”
The words were sarcastic, but Camille laughed. “I guess I thought you’d appear, he’d try something, you’d thwart him, they’d vanish, and then…”
“Hugs and air kisses?”
“Something like that.”
The Hawk ducked her head, and Camille wondered if she was fighting the urge to blush or maybe chuckling softly. “Speaking of what happens after the knights are gone, how do you plan to get home?”
Camille froze. She hadn’t even considered that. “I’ll…walk.”
“Alone? For two days? Do you even remember the way?”
No, she didn’t remember the blasted way. She’d been following everyone else. But surely this many people left tracks. And there was a road. But they’d passed other roads, going in other directions, and not all of them had helpful signposts. She wouldn’t even have a wagon to sleep under.
“I didn’t think about it,” Camille said, dread sitting inside her like a weight.
“Perhaps you should’ve.”
Camille frowned. “I’m not used to all this, thank you very much.”
“I only meant—”
“There are some gaps in knowledge that only experience can correct.”
“It’s all—”
“And I was too busy thinking of the fate of the world.” She breathed hard but forced herself to not hyperventilate.
“Finished?” the Hawk asked. When Camille didn’t answer, she said, “Good. Just keep the ball with you. I have a map. I can guide you.”
That was a small comfort, at least. “And if I get into trouble, you can whisk me away?”
“I want to make you feel better and say yes, but transferring matter—living or not—from one place to another takes a lot of preparation and power. I won’t be able to do it again so soon after moving the knights.”
The comforting feeling plummeted. “Oh.”
“I can look up my closest contacts and ask them to meet you and make sure you’re all right.”
Camille smiled again. “Thank you. I realize you don’t have to go to the trouble, but I’m glad you’re willing.”
The Hawk chuckled. “Well, a good, sympathetic contact is hard to find.”
