Chapter 16 #2
“Rowan?” She tried to push out of his embrace. “What are you—”
Marigold screamed.
Where her brother had been now stood a creature taller than Jask, with pale gray skin. Its beard was made of grass and tangled
with leaves, with eyes a luminous green. It threw her over its shoulder and ran great loping strides that bounced the wind
from her lungs.
Terror threatened to claw her brain.
No. Marigold refused the terror. She had been through too much for a damned forest creature to be the thing to take her down.
Later tonight she could break down in a bath in front of the hearth or in Jask’s arms, but right now, she needed to get it
together and focus.
With a snap of her fingers, she rained blue sparks on this tree creature. As it shrank, she tumbled and bounced against the
earth, the world spinning as she came to rest against the base of a pine tree. Where was the nasty little thing? She’d lost
her cloak but luckily not her knife. She fumbled at her hip for her gardening knife and unsheathed it, scouring the needle-strewn
earth for her would-be kidnapper.
Her search soon ended.
With a fibrous creak, the creature shot back to full size. No, wait—bigger. The thing continued rocketing upward until it
was as tall as the pines surrounding them. Where was she? Jask had never brought her to this part of the farm.
From above, the creature’s laughter boomed. Marigold surged to her feet. The earth shook as the thing stomped toward her.
Little good her gardening knife would do her in this situation, but it was all she had.
“Stop!” she shouted and held up her palm in defense.
An orange orb of light erupted from her hand and flew at the creature. What in sweet mercy? It shimmered as the orbs collided with his brambled leg, but nothing happened. Great. A fresh magic unlocked in a moment of panic, and it did nothing.
“Marigold!” Jask shouted as he hurtled toward her, a death grip on his axe.
Gratitude ballooned in her chest. But there was no time for it. The first order of business was to escape this creature. Her
magic didn’t work on it, and the giant was currently seven times her size. She ran toward Jask, lungs and legs screaming.
But her feet found no purchase as they were now uselessly kicking in the air.
Oh goddammit. He’d pinched her up by the straps of the apple-picking bag.
Below her, Jask continued his sprint and leapt into the air . . .
. . . and bounced from something, then landed on his back with a grunt.
She blinked. With what had he collided? More of the creature’s magic?
No time to figure that out. She cut the straps of the apple-picking bag and plummeted back to earth. Luckily, the thick pine
needles cushioned her fall. She kept her limbs loose and rolled with the impact.
“Lead him to me, Mare,” Jask shouted.
Lead? Why should she need to lead? It wasn’t like a forty-foot tree creature was hard to spot. Still, she scrambled to her feet
and ran. The quaking earth nearly knocked from her feet three times as she hurtled toward Jask.
As she passed him, he cried, “Timber!”
With a mighty swipe of his axe, he cleaved the creature’s foot from its leg. Sap sprayed across Marigold’s face. Ew, ew, ew. This was doing naught for her dislike of forests.
The hobbled tree man fell to its knees.
She wiped the sap from her lips with the back of her hand. “What is that thing?”
“The Leshy.” Jask brought his axe down on its wrist this time. “Can you shrink him?”
She snapped her fingers to rain down the sparks. “The magic doesn’t last long on him. I don’t know why.”
“All I need is a minute to restrain him so he’ll listen.”
As the Leshy dwindled to twigs, she asked, “Listen to what?”
“Me.” He picked up the flailing creature in a language of sounds that cracked like split timber and hissed like wind through
a canopy far above.
She understood none of it and somehow all of it at once. Jask knew the Leshy, or at least he knew its kind, and this was a
negotiation. After a few minutes, he set the creature down, then took several steps back as it regained its height. Its missing
foot and hand had regrown, too.
With a nod to Jask, the creature disappeared in a swirl of leaves.
Jask turned to her, then plucked a leaf from her hair. “Are you well?”
She was many things, but well was not one of them.
“No. I’m hurt, I’m scared and befuddled.” She poked him in the chest. Harder than he deserved, but not as hard as she wanted.
“What in the five kingdoms is that thing? Do all orcs speak tree? And what knocked you down?”
In the distance, thunder rolled, low and angry.
His chest ballooned with his breath. “I’ll explain at the cottage. The rain’s about to start.”
The heavens opened while they were yet forty yards from the cottage. Marigold glanced in the direction of the thundercrack,
tightness climbing from her throat to her jaw. No, she would not let the fear consume her.
Inside, they shucked their shoes and their sodden clothes dripped on the floor. Jask reached behind himself and tugged his
shirt off by its scruff, then hung it by the hearth.
Honestly, she should get a prize for not staring.
She dashed up the stairs to the loft to change into a dry shift and homespun, then returned with her wet kirtle and shift to hang next to Jask’s clothes.
Nothing to be done for her soaking hair, though.
The wet tresses would need to dry on their own.
Downstairs, she found him as modestly wrapped in linens as a friar was in wool.
“Mind if I retrieve clothes from the loft?” he asked.
Over the last few weeks, she’d insisted he not move his entire life from his bedroom to the first floor. He kept a few things
downstairs—his brushes, braies, and thongs for his hair—but the rest remained neat and tidy in the wardrobe. Which she knew
because she might have accidentally opened it to learn more about him.
“Be my guest,” she said.
The wind whistled outside, and the fire flickered in the hearth.
Above her, the floorboards creaked under his feet. She tracked his movements to the armoire, then back to the stairwell. As
he descended, he rolled up his sleeves to reveal his forearms. All respect to the women who wanted men who were fair of face
and long of limb.
Marigold, apparently, was weak for forearms.
“Better?” she asked.
“Much,” he said. “Though I wish Paloma had returned already. She ignored my calls, but she does love a good wallow.”
“I’m sure she’s happy. She loves an escape more than me.” She dusted her hands together. “Shall we talk as we prepare supper?”
“Yes.” In the kitchen, he reached above her to the infuriatingly high shelf and retrieved the dish for the egg bake she’d
planned. “I’ll slice the onion?”
“Please.” Onions made her weep but had no impact on him. “Tell me, please, what is the Leshy? Another friend of yours?”
“Acquaintance. As for what he is . . . first and foremost, I’d call him a guardian. I don’t know its exact territory, but
it’s several hectares of the forest to the east of the orchard. He knows every plant and creature in his domain and is protective
of them. He’s also a shapeshifter.”
“Which explains how he looked like Rowan.”
Thunder rolled above them, but her busy hands and the conversation gave her ample reason to ignore it and the lightning that
preceded it.
“As well as why your minimancy didn’t persist. Your magic against his is like putting shackles on a strongman—you can do it,
but it’ll hold them for only so long.”
In the small space they were well choreographed, anticipating where the other would move and avoiding collisions. So different
from the first time they’d cooked together, when she’d needed his instruction on how frequently to stir the pottage.
“But how did he know to look like Rowan, or even what Rowan looked like?” Patiently, she stirred the loops of onion through
the sweating stage in the rich melted butter in the pan. “Is he a mind reader?”
“No—that’s what he and I were discussing. The Leshy and I met when I first moved here, and we’ve developed a mutual agreement
to ignore each other. I told him you were with me. He apologized for nearly kidnapping you, by the way.”
She shivered. “I’ll thank him the next time I see him, which I hope is never.”
Jask snort-laughed. “He told me Crispin has been meeting with magical creatures across the hinterlands, showing them your family portrait, and offering rewards to anyone who found and returned you to him. The Leshy guessed your brothers would be most likely to appear in the forest and liked Rowan’s face better. ”
“Well, he was spot on.” The onions softened and turned golden. “I wish Crispin wasn’t so cozy with magical folk around here.”
Jask chopped goldcaps. “He’s not cozy with them, but he’s respectful. And he’s won their favor by rejecting any movements
to outlaw magic.”
“That may be his one good quality.” The onions in her pan shrank into a deep jammy amber. “But they know it’s so he can get
something out of them, right?”
Jask threw in thyme with the sautéed goldcaps. “Yes, but it’s symbiotic. From him, they get safe quarter.”
She turned that over in her mind. Much like Jask gave her safe quarter, she could grudgingly respect Crispin for welcoming
magic in Harvest Hollow. This might be an area where Thornwick could learn from its western neighbor.
“If Crispin has spoken to the magical creatures around here, then that’s even more reason for me to stay put on your farm.
Are there others I should know about?”
Jask palmed his neck. “I’ve heard rumors of a phoenix that guards Kindlewood. With my own eyes, I’ve seen fairies flit about
Coldpress Lake and a kelpie who inhabits it.”
“Is that why you won’t let me go there?” After transferring the onions to the baking dish Jask prepared with oil, she whipped eggs
with the cream he’d skimmed from this morning’s milking.
“That and wayfarers like to fish there.”
“You’re too cautious. I’d love to see fairies and kelpies.” She poured the egg mixture over the onion and mushrooms, then
sprinkled the top with rosemary. “Haven’t I proven I can handle myself with both magical and mundane creatures?”