A Spell for Concessions and Compromises
Betimes you’ll need people willing to hear what you have to say, mayhap with a favorable bent.
Now, I would never use this handy charm to swindle someone, but the details, my gem—the details!
You can gain a great deal of ground with a word, a nod, a smile or a wink, or a promise to find common ground.
Don’t make the same mistake I did. Once, I tried.
And once, I failed. I used this one to try and make someone stay.
It didn’t work. Of course it didn’t. Because that wasn’t a compromise that could be made.
I just didn’t know it at the time. But if you choose wiser than I did, you’ll find it most helpful indeed.
I’ve kept it simple so you can do it swiftly—without attracting undue attention.
This one is best cast in the shadows, done quick and quiet. You’ll need:
A pinch of cinnamon for your drink
A spark of magic to charge your charm
The breath of your whispered wish
A heartfelt toast shared between all involved parties
For this working, the dash of cinnamon can be added to anything you’re drinking, though it will seem most natural in beverages enhanced by such a spice.
The spark can be a pretext of warming your drink, and then you propose the toast. Best to keep it simple.
Soft with the magic, delicate as air. The warm feelings will come, as you drink and converse and find a compromise that tilts toward you.
Be prepared to face aggression if someone feels you’ve influenced the outcome unfairly or tampered with their free will. This is the toast I use:
“May your troubles be less
And your blessings be more.
And nothing but happiness
Come through your door.”
It’s the toast I use at most gatherings, so people don’t bat an eyelash when they hear it.
I’ll never forget the time we had guests at Miremorel.
Food and wine for us to make merry, and you were supposed to be sound asleep by then.
As I raised my glass, you scrambled onto the table and took the words right out of my mouth.
You’re always full of surprises, my gem.
Thea
Briefly, I think about spicing my drink with cinnamon, but Tara has paged through the grimoire Da wrote for me.
She might realize what I’m doing, and if she agrees to help, it should be her decision, not even slightly influenced by my erratic magic.
As we settle at the table she indicated, I contemplate Ragh.
He was so hurt and angry that my hunger slipped its usual leash and I fed from him without meaning to, without needing to touch him.
The hot prickle of shame digs into the nape of my neck like tiny claws.
Normally, I control myself better.
But I’m always starving, a bottomless pit that can’t be filled.
I’m wrongly made, awful and misshapen, and I should have asked permission.
It might not go well for me if anyone realized.
The fae are prickly, and I never forget for an instant that I wasn’t born here.
That they could banish me on a whim for any reason or none at all.
It feels like the threat’s always existed, silent and unspoken, but now it’s been read out in a guaranteed promise of doom.
I must be careful at all times. Not too needy.
Not too hungry. Not demanding more than anyone can give when what I really want is an emotional feast, for someone to throw wide their heart and invite me eagerly to devour everything.
Kerboros chooses to sit beside me, and in my peripheral vision, I see him studying me with an intensity that makes it difficult for me to turn my head.
Instead I watch Tara deftly filling our mugs at the bar.
He clears his throat, and I still don’t look.
Intentionally not looking. Somehow I’ve become awkward and tongue-tied around him.
After what nearly happened in the market, I’d rather straddle his lap and nibble his neck. I want to find out if his stern mouth turns to silken heat under mine. I want—
Oh, stop torturing yourself. There’s Tara.
She bounds toward us with a graceful stride that doesn’t even rattle the glasses.
The other fae speak unkindly of hobgoblin allure, but Tara is lovely, just as Da is the definition of dapper.
Today, she wears a splendid skirt that bells about her generous hips, bright as a sunbeam in yellow, and the white blouse she’s tucked into it shows the pretty curve of her shoulders.
Even her apron is cute, deep green striped with pale gray.
“Here we are. I’m so happy to see you! How long has it been?” she asks.
I shake my head as I divvy up the drinks. “I don’t remember. It feels like forever.”
“So,” she says, plonking onto the opposite bench, “tell me everything.”
Kerboros stays quiet, so I do the talking, giving her an abridged version of our current situation. Her eyes widen as the story unfolds. I finish with “And that’s where we are.”
She shakes her head. “Those pookas would have been fine. Aggravated but fine. I love you, but you’re so impulsive.”
That wasn’t what I wanted to hear.
But before I can speak, Kerboros does. “In Thea’s defense, the Winter Court would have proceeded to barter her to the Summer Court even without that complication.”
I turn to him, pleased and stunned in equal measure. “You don’t think I instigated this entire situation? Really?”
“Of course not,” he practically snarls. “They’re using you. As they use everyone.”
Tara waves a hand, taking a sip of her drink. “Details. I’m used to dealing with the consequences of Thea’s actions.”
“Wait, are you—”
“Our actions, ordinarily,” Tara clarifies. “I was always in it up to my neck, and I never learned to back down when we dared each other either.”
“As I recall, it was your idea to hide all the royal sheets in the stable loft,” I remind her, exercising all my inner fortitude to restrain a chuckle.
Kerboros stares. “That was the two of you?”
“No sheets were harmed, and the brownies magicked them clean,” Tara says swiftly.
I take a sip of the cider. It’s cool and refreshing, just the right tang from fermentation, and I roll my shoulders. Now that we’ve found Tara, things should improve. People find her ebullience irresistible, and while some think I have a way with people, Tara outclasses me.
“I hope you will consider the request. Thea needs you.” Kerboros maintains a severe mien, even as he advocates for me.
When he first tracked me down with the pookas, I could never have imagined this. Whatever’s blooming between us. This yearning is far more potent than the cider I’m sipping, sweet and lush and exquisitely forbidden.
“Before I agree, I need to know something.” Tara turns to me with a somber look, eyes locking onto mine. “And I’ll know if you’re bamboozling me.”
“Go ahead.” Suddenly, I’m nervous without knowing why.
“Do you want this marriage? I mean truly.”
How can the answer be yes?
I’ve never met Devan J. Fenelon, who apparently loathes me so much that running away seemed like the best option.
It stings, remembering how Lady Valnevi said so in the great hall.
While Lord Winter obsesses about conspiracies—some deep and intricate Summer plot to incite a war between factions—I fear I know the truth.
The stories have preceded me, and rather than insult Lord Liskaal, Devan has elected to flee.
Given the option between life forever in flight and me, my prospective spouse chose to become a fugitive.
My pride would be battered to bits if I let it sink in.
I glance around to make sure nobody is paying us any particular attention.
Then I shake my head. “What I want is to escape. You weren’t wrong when you said you’re an expert at getting me out of trouble.
Lord Liskaal wants to embed me in the Summer Court, and I can’t find a way out of this.
Kerboros was correct when he said I need you. ”
Tears fill my eyes, but before the first can fall, Tara moves around the table to wrap a warm arm around my shoulders. “You can’t cry. I haven’t even started the negotiations. If you start bawling, I’ll feel too guilty to demand the right to name your firstborn.”
“Is that what you want?” Kerboros asks, seeming shocked.
I emit a shaky laugh, wiping my eyes, and make a counteroffer: “Second born, and the child has the right to review the name and approve it when they come of age. I haven’t forgotten that you named our stable cat Yardlad.”
Tara laughs. “It was so funny when tongues got twisted and they’d call him Lardyad.”
“I had an uncle named Lardyad. Venerable soul,” Kerboros says in a stricken tone. “Show some respect.”
I blink. “Really?”
His face doesn’t change. Still, that impenetrable stare. Then: “No.” And his mouth, ever so slightly, curls up on the ends.
A joke? A smile? What in the world is happening here?
Tara chuckles. She doesn’t seem to realize how momentous this is. “Though it goes against my better judgment, I’ll accept your terms.”
I burst into tears then. Kerboros leaps to his feet as Tara enfolds me in her arms. She thumps my back gently, and my head droops to her shoulder. Her familiar scent comforts me as few things could; maybe only a hug from Da would feel more like home.
“What did you do to Thea?” a sharp voice asks.
Blearily, I peer over her shoulder and find a strange pixie hovering nearby. One beat, then two, and I realize this is Rosa, though she’s changed her appearance again, different still from when we parted. Zeph is with her, still wearing the disguise they chose earlier.
“Friends of yours?” Tara asks.
I point. “Zeph. Rosa. I mentioned them before.”
“Then the first round is on me. You’ll have to pay for room and board tonight, and I won’t be able to join you. My father won’t be delighted that I’m haring off on adventures again just as he thought me committed to settling down.”
“Oh no.” I sit back, frowning. “Do you want me to come with you? Explain things.”
“No offense, but it will be better if you’re not involved in this conversation.”
Chagrined, I hunch my shoulders, aware that Tara’s rather staid father considers me a bad influence. “I understand.”
“I’ll cover our meals and lodgings,” Kerboros offers.
Rosa scoffs in a loud pixie undertone. “You mean Lord Winter will.”
“That’s generous,” Zeph cuts in. “Shall we take our food and drinks with us and enjoy a break before traveling on tomorrow?”
I stand, enticed by the prospect of a hot bath, a delicious meal, and clean, soft sheets—in precisely that order. “That sounds heavenly.”