Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
“ I think a scavenger hunt is a grand idea and a fun way to interact with customers. I agree that it will drive business to each of your stalls,” Clio told the small assembly of vendors who had asked to meet with her. “My only suggestion is that you come up with a sign to represent the event, the same image to be prominent at each participating stall or tent. The last thing you want is confusion. Make it clear and easy and the market shoppers will enjoy it.”
The group put their heads together to discuss the idea and quickly assented.
“Good. Just allow Maret or me to approve the sign before you begin.”
They all started chattering in excitement as they filed out of her tent. Glancing at Athena, sound asleep in the tree positioned at the back corner of her tent, Clio paused at her vanity to add another pin or two to her coiffure. She meant to go down past the village to trade for an ointment for Maret’s swollen joints, and she thought she’d ask Joss to go along.
There. Her hair was as tidy as she could make it. Her sage green gown complimented her coloring. And she would be careful not to spend too much time beyond the market borders. She didn’t need a display of sparks—or something worse—to betray the buildup of magic that could occur once she was beyond the pull of the Night Market.
Joss. Her thoughts returned to him as she headed for the bakery stall. She’d thought of little else since their conversation yesterday.
He was so easy to talk to. He spoke frankly and as if they were equals. She hadn’t even realized the amount of deference she’d grown accustomed to. How even her friends in the market held themselves a touch apart. Oh, not Maret. The older woman gave as good as she got and had always kept Clio in line. But she had to admit—it was exhilarating to go toe to toe with a man—and such a man. He’d sat beneath that TruthElm and she’d thought he could have sprouted from the forest, so comfortable and at home did he look, even in that wild setting. Joss Hagan was at home wherever he went, she suspected, because he was comfortable in his large, warrior’s form, in his own skin. In his own heart and mind.
What must that feel like?
She turned into the lane and faltered when she saw the crowd gathered before Droose’s stall. She’d heard the laughter, the whispers about the sudden increase in young women vying for baked goods—and the young man who attracted them.
Who could blame them? The man was stunning. Sitting close to him yesterday, she’d felt the thrum of his power. Not a bit of it magical. No, his was all physical and utterly male. He seemed constructed of angles and planes, strength and kindness. She’d been inescapably aware of all of it—and of herself, too, in a completely new way. Parts of her had been stirring awake, coming alive like the TruthElm above them.
Spotting her over the crowd, he gave her a smile. She edged to the side of the stall, watching his bauble floating back and forth over the crowd of customers, making little dips and swoops, and generally basking in their calls of admiration. Clio slipped into the back where Droose was pulling a pan from the oven. “Mmm.” Clio inhaled the scent of berries. “What are those, Droose?”
“Love muffins,” Droose answered, smiling. “I had a sweet and spicy conversation with Karl through my locket . . . and then last night, I dreamed this recipe. Care to try one?”
Clio took a step back. “Oh, no. Thank you.” She did not want to find out what unexpected effects might come with love muffins. “I’ve come to ask if you might spare Joss for an hour or two, but I see you are uncommonly busy.”
“No, no! Take him! The boy spent most of his free day hanging shelves in my wagon and shoring up our bed. He deserves a break.”
Clio glanced over to find Joss watching. “I’m off to the other side of the village to visit a local herbal woman,” she told him. “Would you care to come along?”
Before he could answer, someone gave a harsh cry of fear. “No! Don’t touch it!”
Everyone turned to see the bauble had descended and was floating before a young girl. Laughing in delight, the child reached for it, but her mother shrieked and swatted her hand away. “No, child! It will steal your magic!”
The bauble jerked back and then came streaking around to hide behind Joss’s back.
The crowd of customers grew quiet.
“It would never hurt your babe,” Joss called.
Droose cleared her throat. “Oh, I know the healing woman of whom you speak, Miss Clio,” she said loudly. “Edwina, that is the one? She makes the most flavorful elderflower cordial.” The baker looked to Joss. “Run along with her, won’t you? Bring back some of that cordial, and I’ll make some lovely blackberry and elderflower pies.”
Someone in the line of customers let out a little ooh . “Elderflower and blackberry? I shall be back to try those!”
Joss looked to Clio. “Well, then. There’s your answer.” He removed the apron tied around his waist and reached for a coat. They set off through the market, the orb following, sticking close to Joss. Clio noticed the attention they drew from the market folk, but she kept her expression set until they reached the steep road that led down to the village. She relaxed a bit once they were alone on the shady lane.
“Have you noticed Droose and Jarby whispering together?” Joss asked.
“No,” she said, surprised.
“Hmm. I wonder what the pair of them are up to . . . “
Glancing back at the bauble, she leaned in toward him. “I noticed your bauble was enjoying the attention of the crowd. Is that the key, do you think? Should I flatter and admire it?”
He laughed. “Well, it likely won’t hurt.”
“Noted.” They walked on for a while before she began again. “You said yesterday that your bauble has led to you some intensely magical objects?”
“It has.”
“Will you tell me more?”
He appeared to consider the matter, but eventually nodded. “Once we came into a village in a rainstorm. I was heading for the nearest tavern, but the bauble clearly wanted me to go a little further on, to a much more run down place. It was dark inside, dimly lit and none too clean, but it led me into a corner, where a man sat, waiting on his dinner. He remarked on the bauble, as people are wont to do, and I joined him. It took a while to realize why I’d been led there, but eventually, the man confessed that he wore a pair of genuine seven-league boots.”
Clio’s eyes widened. “He could go seven leagues in a single step?”
“Well, he explained he could go any distance he wished, up to seven leagues.” He shrugged. “It’s significant magic, as most of us do not have the power to port themselves the way you do.”
“Could it not have been just a story?”
“It could have. I’ve heard unproved claims before, but we were lamenting on the indifferent dinner we were served, and I told him about a snug inn I’d stayed at the night before, where they had served the most delicious pork pies. He offered to go and fetch us both one and assured me it was no bother. We went outside and I described how far I’d come that day—about ten miles, I reckoned—and he took a step and disappeared! In minutes he was back with a pie for each of us. We took dinner together and he told me some wonderful tales about his travels.” Pausing, he glanced over at her. “I keep a journal, of sorts, with details of the magical objects and creatures we have seen. I’ll show you my sketch of the boots if you like.”
“I would.” She raised her voice a little. “But how clever of the bauble to steer you to the man with the boots. How did it know?”
“I haven’t the foggiest notion how it finds these things, but I am always grateful. I have increased my collection, thanks to the bauble’s help.”
“Your collection?”
“Ah, yes. I have a small collection of useful magical objects.” He made a face. “They act as a sort of line of defense, since my own magic is not useful in that regard.”
“Oh?” She was intrigued. “Do you carry your collection on your person?” She would imagine he would have to, to make it effective.
“Part of it.”
“Oh! Show me? Please?”
He looked abashed, but he reached inside his waistcoat and pulled out a ring. It looked to be made of stone. He held it out to her.
She slowed. “May I? You don’t mind?”
“Not at all. Take a closer look.”
It felt cool against her fingers and she saw it had been carved into a circlet of flames. Placing it on her finger, she looked at him with the question on her face.
His mouth twisted. “It protects its wearer from being harmed by fire. Any fire. Even dragon fire.”
She blinked. “And Promethean fire? No wonder you were willing to stand against that crowd of boys.”
“I would have done so, in any case. That miscreant was poised to throw fire and destroy a great deal of Jarby’s work. I couldn’t let it happen without trying to stop him.”
She didn’t need a TruthElm to know he meant it.
“But I suppose it could be viewed as a cheat,” he continued with a shrug.
“Nonsense. It’s resourceful. Strategic.” She handed it back and they moved on again, approaching the edge of the village and its charming stone shops and cottages. “And you meant to use it in defense of my friend, which I must appreciate.” She glanced over. “What else do you have?”
“A pouch of banishing salts, a dream shield, the carved tooth of a seal to stop a selkie’s spell, several elf stones with useful spells encapsulated, that sort of thing. Oh, and I have an amulet that is said to summon mermaids, but I haven’t put that one to the test, yet.”
“Blessings, but you are well-defended, aren’t you?” They were in the village now and passing the stone monument at the center. “But you mentioned magical creatures as well. What sorts have you encountered?”
She could tell he was thinking about the question. Around them, the village was nearly empty. Likely, everyone was at the Night Market. They approached a wide bridge and he went to perch on the low stone wall at the edge. With a little bounce, the bauble raced past them, over the wall and began to skim the rushing waters below.
With a start, she looked around. “What if it is seen? By non-magical folk, I mean?”
“Ah, no need to worry. It knows how to shield. They won’t see anything but a particularly bright spot over the water.” Joss grinned at its antics. “As to your question, well, it led me onto a ferry, once. Bullied me onto it, in truth. The boat took us to an island off the coast of Cornwall. I followed the bauble along beaches and through rocky shores until we came to a temple ruin on a promontory. We spent a long day admiring the beauty of the place and conversing with the spriggan who lived there.”
“A spriggan!” she gasped. “I didn’t know there were any left.” Passing him, she sat down on the wall as well. “In truth, I didn’t know if they had ever been more than a story.”
“This one was real enough, although he was not the ghost of a giant as most are said to be. He had been born a giant, but he angered an ancient power and had been trapped in a small, diminished form as punishment. He was looking for ways to break his curse.”
“Fascinating.”
“Later, I heard that the creature managed to break the curse and leave the island. He married a giantess somewhere near Bocka Morrow.”
“I’ve heard of the place, but I don’t think the Night Market has ever set up near there.” Leaning over, watching the bauble racing up and down the stream, she spoke loudly. “How fortunate you are to have such a friend, a companion willing to use its talents to further your interests.”
She was encouraged when the orb made a little loop in the air. “Oh, I think it liked that.”
Joss didn’t reply. After a moment, she looked over to find him watching her, his expression odd and intent.
“What is it?” She glanced behind her.
“Nothing. It’s just . . . you make a lovely picture, with the sun and the water, the stone and sky.”
Her breath caught. Joss Hagan had no magic, but with just that look, he unleashed something inside of her. Windows were being thrown wide. Boxes springing open. Out poured a torrent of dreams and wishes and wild emotions.
He didn’t seem to notice. He only shook his head and got to his feet. “Shall we go on?”
Steady. Steady. Slow down . Clio stood, her face carefully quiet while inside, she was frantically trying to shove fancies and pipe dreams back from whence they’d sprung. “Yes. It’s not too far, now.”
They walked in silence. Think of something else . She tried to come up with other ways to tempt the golden bauble into trusting her. Focus on your goals . She felt sure that if she touched it, held it, she would feel . . . something. See something. She longed to try, at least.
“Do you ever get away from the market?” Joss asked suddenly. “Take a few days away? On your own or with friends?”
Her mind was still fractured. “Oh, no. It’s not really possible.”
He halted. “Not possible ?”
She looked away, wincing. She should not have answered so directly. Nobody but Maret understood her true relationship with the Night Market. Some of the vendors suspected, she felt sure. Jarby did. He’d been with the market before her arrival. But most people would not understand. They instinctively shrank away from any idea of something draining their magic. Just since Joss’s arrival, she’d heard the whispers about his family—and none of them were complimentary. And the look on that mother’s face this morning, when she’d thought her little girl would touch the bauble . . . No. None of it made her inclined to share the full truth. They wouldn’t understand.
“There’s so much to do,” she said, striving to keep her tone light. “Running an enterprise like the Night Market is a big undertaking, and Maret just cannot do as much as she once did. And so I’ve stepped in to help.”
“They all say that you take very good care of her.”
“It’s the other way around,” she insisted. “She took in a half-wild orphan. She cared for me and gave me a home, a purpose.”
“And here we are, off to fetch ointment for . . .” He raised an expectant brow.
Her mouth twisted. “For swollen joints.”
“There. You see. You take care of each other. That’s what we are all seeking, isn’t it? What we all need?”
Yes. Yes, it was. It’s why she was so focused on finding out more about her family. She ached for more, for a deeper connection.
“Ah,” he said. “Is this the lane we take to reach the herbal woman?”
Clio barely registered his question. Her brain was echoing with that thought, turning that truth around to examine all its hidden angles. Yes. She’d hoped the bauble would give her more information and help her find a way to connect with her family. She’d thought it was simple. But her brain was also digging up other pieces of that particular puzzle. Even as her own words to Maret echoed in her head— too young, too busy to worry about men —it was busily drudging up her instant reaction to Joss Hagan. It was reminding her of how exhilarating she’d found their sparring, how flushed and interested and vital she’d felt, sitting with him under that tree. And the jolt she’d got from that look just now . . .
Oh, dear.
“Clio?”
“Yes?”
“Is this where we turn?”
“Ah, yes. It’s not far now.” She snuck a glance at him as they walked on. Whatever this was between them, this heightened awareness that danced in the air, the whisper and pulse of attraction, he did not seem as affected by it. Likely, it was not so rare for him.
Rare? Singular was more the right word, at least for her. But she must go carefully. He was only contracted for a few weeks, at the most, and then he would be gone. And she still didn’t understand how his family had obtained the bauble—or even if it was the same one she so fuzzily remembered.
“Good heavens,” Joss said as they emerged into a clearing. “It looks like it’s straight from a fairy tale.”
It was true. The cottage was wattle and daub, with a thatched roof and surrounded by a carefully tended garden full of shrubs, plants and a dizzying variety of blossoms. Bees buzzed, a pair of crows squabbled over a pile of nuts and seeds and a cat slept in the sun.
“There you are!” The call came as they drew closer to the cottage. Clio spotted the herb woman sitting outside her front door, stripping thyme leaves into a bowl. She waved a green-speckled hand. “When I heard the Night Market had arrived, I made a couple more jars of the ointment that Maret favors,” she announced.
“Her knees will thank you!” Clio grinned as she came close. She tried to curtsy but was pulled in for a hug.
“Ah, and who is this?” Edwina asked with a smile.
“Edwina Cope, meet Joss Hagan.”
“Hagan?” Edwina stepped back, alarm showing.
“I am a distant relation,” Joss assured her. It had the ring of a habitual response.
“Droose has recruited him to help her out while Karl is still abed with a broken leg,” Clio told the herbal woman.
“Well then,” Edwina relented. “You certainly don’t sound like a Hagan. Not with that accent.”
He nodded. “I’ve been told so before.”
“If Droose has vouched for you, then that is good enough for me. Please come in, the pair of you. I knew there must be a reason I had an urge to make crumpets this morning.”
She ushered them in and sat them down at a table surrounded by books, mortars, ivy-covered windows and more cats. In motherly fashion, she served up hot tea and crumpets dripping with butter, along with honey and jam.
Joss requested the elderflower cordial and she nodded. “I’ll pack it all in a basket for you once you’ve finished. I’ll send along an elixir to help Karl’s bone mend, too. But Clio, I wonder if you will consider bartering a bit of your magic in return?”
“Of course. Has the barn door come off its hinges again?”
“It’s a bigger issue than that, I’m afraid. The stream at the edge of the garden has burst its banks in one spot. It’s eroded a curve and created a swampy area right near my big patch of wormwood—and you know wormwood likes well-drained soil. I cannot lose it—I need it to make my absinthe, which is a popular product and a large portion of my income.” Edwina shrugged. “If I move the patch, I will lose a good bit of it. And I don’t really wish for that area to stay swampy. Do you think you could shore up the bank, instead?"
"I can try." Clio stood. “You finish eating,” she told Joss. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
He pushed back his chair. “I would like to help if I can.”
“Yes, yes. I’ll clean up and have everything ready when you return,” Edwina said, waving them on.
Clio hesitated. “Perhaps Joss should check the barn door, just in case.”
“It’s better than new since you saw to it. You two go on. There is a pile of fieldstone down there, in case you might find it useful.”
Clio could not see a way out, though she would have much preferred to go alone. She barely noticed the lush garden as they made their way to the back corner.
“I like Edwina,” Joss remarked. “Her aura is all green and gold and full of her nurturing spirit.”
“She and Maret always have a visit when the Market comes this way,” Clio answered absently. She slowed as they neared the edge of the garden, thinking hard. They found the scene there exactly as the herbal woman had described, where a crumbled bank had allowed water to seep into a large section of the garden.
“Is this a problem you can solve?” Joss asked. “That fieldstone will not be any help. Not without mortar.”
Clio sent her senses exploring, gathering an image of the lay of the earth and the stone beneath, the flow of the stream and the feel of the land. “Yes,” she said slowly. “It’s significant, but I can fix it.” She just did not wish to do so while he watched. “It will take a good deal of magic and effort. It might be better if I could sit. Would you mind fetching that chair from the front of Edwina’s cottage?”
“Of course. I’ll be right back.”
Clio breathed deeply as soon as Joss disappeared up the garden path. She would have to work quickly. With a pushing motion of one hand, she drained the water from the corner and sent it back into the flow of the stream, holding it all away from the edge of the bank. Walking along the crumbled edge, she felt the limestone beneath the earth. With the other hand, she called it upward, coaxing it into a long column stretching along the curve of the stream. Crooking a finger, she sent the fieldstone to shore up the ends and sent the extra pieces to dig themselves in to line the formerly swampy area. Then she let the water go and held her breath until she saw the new embankment held fast.
Done. And it had the added benefit of using up a good amount of magic. She wouldn’t have to worry about random sparks or odd events.
“Here you are.” Joss came around the bend carrying the substantial chair as if it were light as a feather. His gaze fell on the transformed bank and he stumbled to a halt, letting the chair drop. Blinking, he stared from the stream to her and back again. “You did all of this in the time it took me to fetch the chair?” Realization dawned on his face and the ice in his blue eyes grew frostier than ever. “And you sent me away on purpose. Why?”
Shifting, Clio shrugged.
“You didn’t want me to see you do it?”
“I . . . I didn’t wish to make you uncomfortable.”
He stepped back, clearly offended. “I may not have much magic myself, Clio, but I assure you, I am steadfast enough in myself and my manhood to see you work yours.”
“Oh! I . . . of course. That is not what I meant.”
“No? Somehow I must have given you the idea that I possess a fragile mindset and must be coddled like a child.”
“Of course, you have not. I misspoke.” Her head dropped. “I’m sorry. Truly. To be honest, it was not your vulnerabilities I meant to protect, but my own.”
Joss stared. “Vulnerability? Is that what you call this?” Approaching, he examined the new bank closely. His bauble raced all around him as he walked on the fieldstone, leaned on the new limestone wall, and bent over to examine the flow of the water. “It’s a bloody feat of strength—a miracle! Not a vulnerability.”
Clio frowned. “I’ve learned to be careful when I execute something . . . large. Like this.”
“Why?”
“It makes people nervous. They back away. They look at me differently.”
“Afraid?” he asked bluntly. “What fools are afraid to see you wield your incredible power?”
“Everyone.” She held up a finger. “Except Maret.”
Joss shook his head. “Then that is their failing, not yours.”
“You don’t understand. It colors their perception of me. It is as if they see what I can do—then they begin to wonder what I might do. I see it in their eyes.”
“You have a gift,” he said in gentle tones. “A great and rare gift. You should use it with pride.” His expression hardened. “Perhaps I can see these things with more clarity, not possessing much magic of my own, but your magic is a part of you. Just one part. Just as important are the other parts that combine to make you . . . you. Your kind and generous nature. Your dedication to your work. Your loyalty to your friends.” He grinned. “Your biting wit. Anyone who cannot celebrate such power in one so very worthy of it is a blind idiot. Or else they do not know you in the slightest.”
“I . . . Thank you,” she said in wonder. It was a novel concept. A thrilling idea—that she could celebrate her magic instead of restricting it. That she might even show off instead of always showing restraint.
He stared around again, and then back at her. The offense was gone from his expression, thank goodness. It had been replaced by something that looked like . . . delight.
She wanted to see herself in that same way. Through his eyes. And that felt like as large a gift as any magic.