Chapter 38
Elise waited for Morgaine in the courtyard.
It had been barely half an hour since she had woken from the vision of Kurt dying.
Her hands still trembled as she stood by the gate.
The two guards had been concerned about her leaving at such an hour, but ever since her meeting with Sebastian, they had orders not to question anything she did.
The orange hues of sunset had long since surrendered to a pale blue sky bathed in silvery moonlight.
The rain had dwindled to a light drizzle.
It was almost as though someone high above had decided to give her the best possible chance of reaching Kurt.
Elise felt her throat tighten at the sight of a dark shape moving across the sky. The guards immediately reached for their swords.
“It’s fine,” Elise told the two men.
“Are you sure, madam?” one of them asked.
She tried to appear composed, though inside she felt completely shaken.
“She’s a powerful witch. I’m well acquainted with her,” Elise said.
The two guards straightened at once. They gasped but complied. One gave a hesitant nod, while the other seemed almost afraid.
Within moments, Morgaine descended so gracefully it made Elise feel almost inadequate.
It did not matter that she had risen from bed and come in great haste; she always looked as though she had spent hours preparing herself for a grand occasion.
Nor was Elise the only one to notice the witch’s poise and impeccable appearance.
The guards immediately broke formation and hurried over, apparently convinced a lady who could fly through the night might still require help climbing off a broom.
“How kind,” Morgaine said as she took one of the men’s hands and stepped down from the wooden shaft.
The other guard knelt to offer a leg up, sparing Morgaine a longer drop.
Once on the ground, Morgaine rested a hand on each guard’s arm, and the two men melted almost instantly. They looked eager to do even more for her, but there was no need.
“Come here, dear,” Morgaine said, opening her arms to receive Elise.
Elise buried her face in Morgaine’s floral perfume. A touch of vanilla and soft woody notes reached her nose as she fought to keep a tear from rolling down her cheek.
“We have to hurry, Morgaine!” she gasped.
Morgaine stroked her hair as though comforting a frightened child. “I know.”
With the guards’ help, they climbed onto the broom, and Elise asked them to tell Susanne she would be back soon.
“Hold on tight,” Morgaine said. “You’re about to have a journey you’ll never forget.”
As the broom gathered speed, Elise tightened her grip on the shaft. She had forgotten how turbulent the ride on Morgaine’s broom could be. They rose a good thirty feet into the air and shot toward Noldrin before the guards could even raise a hand to wave.
All Elise could think about was how long it would take to reach Kurt, and all she hoped was to find him still alive. She closed her eyes and snuggled closer to Morgaine, holding on to her as though she were the only hope left in the world.
*****
Just after they flew past the castle, a new fear seized Elise.
A violent chorus of stomach grumbles rose from Morgaine, making the already rickety ride considerably less reassuring.
As they sped through the air, Elise could tell Morgaine was not in her usual form.
They skimmed past branch after branch, barely avoiding injury.
The night grew darker, but the full moon guided their way.
Elise felt another twist run through Morgaine as a loud grumble escaped her stomach.
“Grrrrr…”
“Are you all right, Morgaine?”
“It’s the stress, dear,” she said. “Ever since I saw you in such desperation, my nerves have been in quite a state.”
Elise felt a measure of guilt, thinking her distress had affected Morgaine so deeply. For a moment, she contemplated asking her to stop and resume the journey later, but something inside her told her Kurt could not spare those precious hours.
“I’ll be fine,” Morgaine added. “This is not the first time I’ve had to travel with a delicate stomach.”
“Thank you, Morgaine.”
Elise rested her head against the witch’s back, and as she recited every prayer at her disposal, they flew even faster.
The land seemed endless from high above the forests and farms they passed.
They did not stop a single time. Neither of them suggested it. Neither could bear the thought, knowing what was at stake.
In that moment, there was only one kind of magic Elise and Morgaine truly cared about.
Not the magic that made the broom fly, nor the magic of the potions inside Morgaine’s satchel, but the magic of making things happen.
The resolve to turn one’s deepest wish into reality through one’s own actions.
It was that resolve that carried them to the duke’s camp in nearly half the time the journey would have taken under ordinary circumstances.
“We’ve arrived,” Morgaine said, turning to Elise.
Elise drew a sharp breath. “So soon?” She glanced about. Smoke rose above the treetops. She looked frantically around. There it was: the shallow river dividing Falaine and Bromheim, the forest beyond it, and, farther still, a cluster of tents and pavilions.
The few houses in the distance seemed far too battered. For a moment, Elise wondered about the state of the rest of Noldrin. What had happened since she left? Was Lady Patrice’s manor also in ruins?
It was not in Elise’s nature to wish anyone harm, not even those who had wronged her. She felt a pang at the sight of the destruction of her hometown, yet it all felt strangely distant. She found it difficult to see the devastation as a personal loss or the people of Bromheim as her enemies.
Morgaine must have sensed her unease, for she said, “You don’t owe any loyalty to Noldrin. Love of one’s homeland is a tale meant to keep people obedient.”
Elise managed a small nod. There was always a measure of wisdom in everything the witch said. It was plain she had lived for many years. She wondered how many, though perhaps that was one piece of knowledge Morgaine would never reveal.
Among the tents, she quickly spotted a flag bearing the insignia of House Dornheim, its golden embroidery glimmering in the firelight from the watch posts scattered throughout the camp.
The night sky was fading into pink hues of dawn, the sun beginning to rise. The red and blue of the camp appeared brighter by the minute.
Bruno kept flying overhead, a distant watchful ally in their quest to save Kurt.
Soon enough, they descended at the edge of the forest. With one final lurch, the broom came in for a landing.
Once on the ground, they could see the pavilion bearing the emblem of House Dornheim heavily guarded.
Around it stood eight men of considerable height and solid build, men of battle without a doubt.
To Elise, they looked less like guards and more like the final obstacle between her and Kurt. In Morgaine’s seasoned eyes, however, the men looked more like the final course of a fine meal, a dessert of some sort.
And the witch was not far from the truth.
Unknown to them, these were no ordinary guards but an elite company assigned to watch over and protect the duke in his weakened state.
They all stood around six feet tall, their broad, well-defined arms left uncovered.
Their powerful legs strained against their leggings while fitted leather armor outlined the strength of their torsos.
The fellows were undeniably tempting, if one happened to have an inclination toward outrageously handsome men.
And Morgaine most certainly did.
“I’ll distract them while you go to the duke,” Morgaine whispered as she unlatched a satchel from her belt.
Elise took the bag and opened it. Inside were three different potions. She tightened her grip to keep her hands from shaking. She then glanced at Morgaine and the men guarding the pavilion.
“There are far too many soldiers. Are you sure?”
Morgaine drew a slow breath and shook her head. “Darling, I’ve been outnumbered by far worse.”
One of the men stood apart from the others, his dark hair a stark contrast to their golden manes.
“I’ll go for the dark horse first,” Morgaine said decisively as she cinched her already narrow waist and loosened her bodice at the neckline to air a bit more of her rather generous bosom.
“Morgaine!” Elise gasped but before she could object, the witch strolled toward the group with the confidence and poise of someone approaching an old acquaintance rather than eight men armed with swords.
The moment Morgaine stepped away from Elise, Bruno flew to her shoulder. Together, they watched the witch employ what appeared to be remarkably polished tactics.
Morgaine approached slowly, like a lioness closing in on a group of hares.
There was something in her way of walking that could not quite be imitated, a confidence earned through years of successful practice.
As she approached, the men parted without a word, as though welcoming a queen returning to her court.
Morgaine reached her target. The dark-haired man stood a good two heads taller than she did.
Elise wanted to hear what was being said, but with the song of the birds in the early morning and all the noises that accompany the waking of a new day, she could only imagine what Morgaine had told them.
It took no more than a few moments before the men followed the witch to a more private spot, leaving the entrance to the pavilion completely free for Elise to slip inside.
She sprang toward the pavilion at once. Before lifting the flap of the large tent, though, she decided it was best to leave Bruno on guard in case Morgaine failed to keep the men occupied.
“Stay here, Bruno,” she murmured.
The bird took flight until he reached the top of the standard. He settled beneath the waving banner, perched on a set of wooden crossbars.
With her heart racing into her throat and her mouth bone dry, Elise went inside, fearing she was already too late.
The interior of the tent was as vast as a royal chamber, at least six times the size of the room she had been assigned at the castle.
But the awe of the place quickly faded as her eyes settled on a pile of bloodied bandages and several basins in one corner, some filled with clear water, others with cloudy.
A suit of steel armor stood between the bloodied corner and a massive bed carved from solid wood.
A crimson canopy rose high above it while pelts lay scattered across the ground beneath.
Elise walked slowly toward the immense bed. The scent of blood filled her nostrils with a dread she couldn’t quite explain. She closed her eyes and prayed silently before her feet touched the pelts.
“Kurt?” she whispered.
Nothing.
“Kurt,” she tried again. This time a weak groan came from the bed.
A lump passed through her throat as she saw Kurt buried beneath a mountain of covers.
His skin was pale with a purple undertone. His lips were dry, and his eyes were sunken. Elise brought a hand to her mouth as she leaned closer. She tried to regain her composure and took one of the potions Morgaine had brought with her.
“Drink this,” she said softly.
It took a moment before Kurt could gather the strength to open his eyes, but when he did, it was as though a sudden spark of life had returned to him.
“Elise?”