21 Hugo
Hugo
Hugo hated how Eira had seen right through him. He hadn’t lied; he had gone out looking for the princess, but he’d simply
stumbled upon the guard outpost during his search. The princess had been nowhere to be found. He’d casually asked around at
some stores, charming his way through the ladies that worked in them, hoping that if he won them over with a little bit of
cheeky flirting, they’d be more likely to tell him where their friend was . . . and Hugo didn’t have the heart to do that
type of flirtatious reconnaissance around Eira. It meant nothing to him, but she . . . she meant everything, and he would not allow her to think that he wanted someone else. Even if she didn’t remember him, even
if he had to pretend like he didn’t want her every second he was around her.
He shook his head, snapping out of his thoughts of Eira. If the princess had decided to stay here in this town, then the girls
in the shops would have known her; he was sure of it. Princess Evangeline had exceptional social graces. She would have allies
if she’d lived here for years.
Hugo was grateful to have found Eira at last, but her memory loss was a problem.
He felt deeply for her, despite his attempts to push it down, and he certainly wanted to protect her .
. . but he also had a mission, and that was finding the princess.
He’d been banking on the two women being together.
And now that they weren’t? Well, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to do.
Eira couldn’t even tell him where she’d last seen the princess, never mind where she might have fled to.
Not a single soul in this town had known who Evangeline was or could pinpoint anyone who looked like her that had moved into
town in the past few years. Asking so brazenly had been risky, but calculated risks were important in this line of work . . .
in hunting.
They sat in silence as they ate dinner, Eira’s eyes glassy and puffy from sobbing in the bath as she savored the meal of ham,
roasted root vegetables, and mashed potatoes that had been put in front of them. Hugo glanced around the room, surveying the
full tavern and trying to determine if anyone stood out to him. Had he seen that woman before? Or what about the man at the
bar, talking to the barmaid who had recognized Eira? Hugo shook his head. No, he was being paranoid, his mind still wondering
how he’d been found in Cilirien. Iron Retinue soldiers were much more obvious, but still, he committed the faces around him
to memory just in case.
Hugo peeked at Eira out of the corner of his eye, watching her take measured bites of her meal. He hoped Eira wasn’t upset
with him. He hadn’t wanted to tell her that he’d gone out looking for the princess without her, not because he’d have kept
the princess from her, but because Eira had finally found a moment of peace in the chaos of the last few days. He hadn’t wanted
to stress her out for nothing, and it had ultimately come to nothing. But there was one thing he needed to discuss with her—something
that had been eating at him since he’d seen the conjured hand, since he’d found her in her store. Since his arm had completely
healed.
Eira was a witch, and Hugo was still reeling from that revelation, the knowledge that Eira was capable of not only potions magic, but illegal magic as well.
It had been running in circles in his head since he’d seen the conjured hand when he’d broken into her home.
And even her potions magic . . . it was too powerful, much more so than it should have been.
“There is something I want to discuss with you,” he said after the barmaid took their empty plates from them, leaving only
two mugs of mead on the table.
“Please tell me it’s something normal and not something else that’s going to set my life further off-kilter.” She leaned back
in her chair and raised an auburn eyebrow.
“You’re not going to like it then.” Hugo leaned forward and pulled on his collar to expose his now-unbandaged shoulder. “This
is completely healed.”
He pointed to where the massive gash in his shoulder had been, as Eira leaned forward over the small table to get a closer
look.
“I must have misunderstood how severe your wound was. The poultice was clearly overkill if it healed that quickly,” she scoffed
as she touched the spot where his skin had perfectly healed, his body flaring with heat as her fingers gently caressed his
sensitive arm.
“The wound was severe. I almost bled out,” Hugo choked out, as he tried not to turn his head and press his lips to Eira’s.
“Then it was a good poultice,” she laughed, and in that moment, it was his favorite sound in all of Astra.
“No,” Hugo said as he glanced down at Eira’s lips and forced himself to look back at her eyes.
“What are you trying to say?” Eira’s eyes flicked to Hugo’s lips too for the briefest of seconds, so quickly Hugo thought
he had imagined it.
“I’m wondering . . . if you have abilities you’ve been hiding from me.
” Hugo wouldn’t blame her if she did. This was a scary time for witches, and when he’d asked her before, he hadn’t been particularly kind about it.
While Hugo hadn’t personally lost anyone from the culling when the Iron Empire rose, he knew that many of the witches that were executed just happened to have abilities that were deemed evil, but they were not actually evil themselves. In fact, he knew it firsthand.
Hugo had drunk the wine of the Iron Empire, rusted and bitter as it may have been. He’d swung the sword that killed too many
witches, and he had regretted it every single day since. Sometimes though, he wondered, if he hadn’t had to execute those
witches, would he have ever seen the true colors of the Iron Empire? Or would he have followed Lord General Kerrigan until
he’d died in glorious battle defending the empire?
So no, he didn’t blame Eira for pretending like she wasn’t more powerful than a mere potions witch; he was sure there were
many witches throughout Astra who were smart enough to hide from the Iron Empire by claiming to only use alchemical magic.
But Eira merely laughed, hand on her belly. “You still think I can do magic that isn’t making potions?” she said through ripples of laughter.
“A poultice did not fix my arm this quickly,” Hugo said. “It’s clear you can . . . and you kept your potion’s magic a secret
in the capital. I didn’t know you did any magic.”
Eira backed up, watching Hugo. “I didn’t do alchemical magic in the capital?”
“Not in front of me, at least,” he said. Hugo didn’t know what to believe anymore about anyone in the damned capital.
“I promise you, I’ve got potion and poultice making down to an art . . . and that’s it. Witches don’t perform magic outside
of their domain. We couldn’t even if we wanted to.”
“You could summon that hand in your house, though.” Hugo pointed in Eira’s direction, her gray eyes watching him, anger darkening them as he mentioned how he’d watched her before he’d spoken to her.
As if any half-decent hunter wouldn’t do reconnaissance on a target.
She was naive if she thought that he had just stumbled upon her in Cilirien.
“I’m a potions witch,” she insisted. “Just a potions witch.”
“Then explain the conjuration magic to me,” Hugo pushed.
“You never explained to me how you saw Beatrice,” she snapped. “I kept the casting of that hand very private, and in the entire
three years I lived in Cilirien, no one else caught on to her being in the house. I was very careful, so the Iron Empire didn’t
suddenly deem me evil enough to kill.”
“Don’t change the subject,” Hugo snapped back, hoping that she wouldn’t push it. She didn’t need to know he’d picked the lock
the day they’d met, that he’d slipped out the back door just after she’d walked in once she’d closed her shop. She certainly
didn’t need to know that he’d broken into her shop the night before, that he’d surveyed her potions and workspace to see if
anything had been awry.
“I . . . I don’t know, all right?” Eira said, shrugging uncomfortably. “Most witches only have capabilities in one magical
domain. I know alchemy and conjuration are different domains, but I think it’s just a fluke. I can do exactly one conjuration
spell, and myriad of alchemical ones, so I’m a potions witch.”
“Eira, I cannot stress to you enough that you never talked about your magic at the capital. You kept it incredibly well hidden.” Hugo didn’t know why he was pushing this; Eira
didn’t know why she hid her magic either. “Maybe you were hiding something more?”
“Or I was just a potions witch!” Eira exclaimed, just a little louder than she should have as a few heads turned in their
direction. Hugo could hear the exasperation in her voice.
“You and your family may have kept it well hidden, but—” Hugo paused, wondering if this was the right time to tell her.
“Your father told me that I needed to protect you from those who would take advantage of you when I was first placed in your family’s manor.
I’m wondering if he was actually hinting at your abilities as a witch. ”
“What?” Eira looked from the fire back to Hugo, soft jawline lit in golden light, and his heart skipped a beat—she looked
ethereal. She watched him, her brow crinkled in thought as she waited for him to continue.
“Never mind the fact that I never saw you make a potion, I always assumed the fear of being taken advantage of was alluding
to your family’s power and position. Imagine my surprise when I found you in Cilirien and you owned a potions shop.” Hugo
was absolutely pushing the topic too hard, but he could sense that there was more going on here.
“Hugo, I don’t know what to tell you . . . I don’t even know any witches with multiple domain capabilities, and I wouldn’t know the first thing about figuring out what
domains I can use.” Eira shook her head slightly as she spoke. “And I certainly can’t tell you why I kept my abilities a secret.
Maybe I can once I get my memories back.”
That answered that and left room for a new thought—one that could explain all of this.
“How did you figure out you were a potions witch after your memory was wiped?” Hugo leaned forward.
Eira shrugged uncomfortably. “I just knew. It wasn’t part of the memories that are gone. I mean, I don’t think I can tell
you what exact memories aren’t in my head anymore, but being a potions witch, and how magic works . . . that never left me.
But there’s more to magic than just the fact that I knew that I had alchemical ability.”
She paused, looking back at the fire and cradling her chin in her hand.
“I’ll admit, I have heard that it’s possible that witches can sometimes learn spells outside of their domain if they know how to talk to the Flow in the right way, or are taught by a witch in that domain.
The Flow is all around us, and I assumed that while I didn’t have conjuration domain capabilities that I’d just been taught the spell for Beatrice at some point that I couldn’t recall,” Eira continued.
Hugo hadn’t heard anyone say “the Flow” like that since the Iron Empire rose and Lord General Kerrigan had banned the term.
It jarred him for a moment, shocking him out of the conversation and into his head.
“So,” Hugo asked after a long moment, curious now. “How do witches learn how to do their type of magic? I know you don’t remember,
but how does a witch learn magic within their . . . domain.” Hugo felt strange using terminology that witches used, words that he’d been using against them to find them and . . . he
didn’t want to think about that, not now that he knew Eira was one of them.
“It’s a gut feeling.” Eira’s eyes sparkled in the light as she started to speak with more animation. “I innately know how
to create the potion I need when I need it. It feels like a swelling of power and knowledge within me. It’s not a recipe in
my mind, but if I let my hands and body guide me I can always create the working I need. That, and family. Generally, the
type of magic a witch can cast is passed down from family member to family member, and in the cases they aren’t, witches in
the community will help them learn what they can do. That’s what I’ve been able to gather from other potions witches passing
through Cilirien over the years, anyway. We seek each other out, especially in dark times like these.”
“And conjuring the hand, Beatrice, that felt the same? Like a gut feeling and a movement of power for you?” Hugo asked.
“Yes, and—” Eira paused and smiled, and Hugo remembered all the ways he had chased that smile before the Iron Empire. “You
think that if I let my gut guide me when it comes to other types of magic and I try to tap into the Flow, we could possibly
figure out if I have any abilities hidden behind these locked doors in my memory, don’t you?”
“Exactly,” Hugo said, leaning back in his chair. He was grateful to see that Eira’s sharp mind hadn’t been lost when her memory was. They were going to need that.
“Well, that’s not going to be an easy feat,” she countered, one eyebrow raised. “By that logic, I can only conjure a spell
if I’m in need of it. Most of the domains that I don’t know how to access would be triggered by danger, and we’re trying to
avoid that . . . right?”
“Hmm.” Hugo scratched at his healing shoulder through his tunic as he thought. She was right—if everything went according
to plan, Hugo was hoping they could somehow retrieve the princess, get to the Corisians, get Eira’s memory back, and then
send Eira to a safehouse where no one would be able to hurt her or take advantage of whatever her abilities might be. Now
that he had her back, protecting her would always be part of Hugo’s duty, one he wouldn’t trade for the world.
“Fair point,” Hugo said. “But I’d like you to try with nondangerous workings first, and in the slim chance we are in danger . . .
try to follow your gut?”
Eira grinned. “You have a deal.” She held out her hand to shake his.
He reached forward, grasping her small hand. It was warm and soft and he couldn’t help but imagine how it would feel on other
parts of his body. Hugo needed to not be thinking about this. Eira was not the type of woman who would have wanted him before
the Iron Empire rose, and they certainly were not in a situation right now where a budding romance would do either of them
any good. But that didn’t stop him from wanting it . . . from wanting her.