Chapter 31
Bram rocked on the front porch, whittling the block of wood into a ring. As he waited for Marigold, he needed to keep his
hands busy to stop himself from punching walls in frustration. Had he been kinder, more understanding, she wouldn’t have left
the cottage and put herself in danger. The frisson he felt when strangers crossed the border of Grimroot Farm had been quiet
today, which held his panic at bay.
There was a chance she was simply foraging.
But there was a better chance she went to talk to the damn sprite. He looked up from the ring emerging from the block to scan
the horizon. Empty. Back to the whittling; curls of wood rained on the porch.
Back up again, and—
He froze.
Marigold, looking much worse for wear, approached. His knife and the wood clattered to the porch, and the porch steps shook
as he bounded down them to meet her. Twigs and leaves clung to her hair, and mud spattered every inch of her. Beneath her
cloak, she was missing a shoe.
“What happened to you?”
She sighed. “I think we both know I went to see the sprite.”
“Dammit, Marigold. I told you—”
She held up her hand. “Please, Bram. All’s well. We made no bargain. We merely chatted civilly.”
“How did you manage that?”
“Help me set up a bath, and I’ll tell you.”
Within twenty minutes, Marigold, skin pinked and steaming, relaxed in the tub in front of the fire. As her scrapes met the
water, she’d hissed, but claimed she was now in a perfect state of bliss. The cloves and pine released a soothing scent, and
she leaned her head against the pillow he’d made from a linen roll.
“Now will you tell me?” he asked.
She sighed and leaned forward. “Scrub my back for me?”
“Delaying is very dramatic.”
“I’m processing.” She moaned as he sluiced water over her shoulders. “That feels wonderful.”
The soap lather hid the border between her suntanned and ivory skin. “Marigold, you’re driving me insane.”
“My technique is simple. I took him birthday cake.”
He dipped the linen back in the water. “That’s it? Cake?”
“Yes. Did you not take him cake?”
“Well, no. I climbed the tree under cover of night hoping he wouldn’t wake.”
She tsked. Men.
“You . . . filled him with sugar, and he talked to you without trying to bargain for your first-born child?”
“That’s it.” She rested her forehead on her tented knees. “He was quite friendly. Seemed a bit lonely, if you ask me.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Mostly why he does Crispin’s bidding.”
He scrubbed her shoulders. “And?”
“Could you massage my neck? I got a kink when I climbed the tree.”
Bram exhaled. Compliance would get the information faster. Once again, she erupted into soft, breathy moans as he worked the
knot below her neck and to the left of her spine.
“That’s the spot.” She lifted her head back up. “The sprite said he does Crispin’s bidding because he true-named him. If we can figure out the sprite’s true name, then he’ll have to do our bidding. But we don’t even have to do that. He said he gave you an out when he cursed you. What was it?”
Bram’s hands stilled. “Did he?”
“Yes.” She twisted in the tub. “He was adamant. Do you not know the loophole?”
Bram’s stomach hardened. “So, hm. I . . . whew.”
“Oh, Bram. Did you do that thing?” She scrunched her nose. “Where you don’t pay attention to the middle part?”
Bram’s cheeks heated. “I was full of adrenaline.”
“Well, is there anyone we could ask?”
“Like, who, Marigold? The prince who ordered the sprite to curse me? Or the knights who witnessed it and ran away with the
golden acorns, leaving me in a quivering, retching heap under the Lantern Oak? Or . . .”
Oh, shite. There was someone who might remember the loophole.
“What is it?”
“There was a squire—he’s now a knight. He has no love for Crispin, but he’s beholden to the prince for his job.”
She curled her fingers over the edge of the tub. “Can we trust him?”
“We?”
“You and me. We’re in this together.” She twisted toward him. “You get that, right?”
A breath shuddered out of him. He truly wanted to believe her. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that she stood firm on this
because she wanted her blond knight in shining armor back. After three years in this skin, he didn’t feel like that man anymore.
But he didn’t feel like an orc, either.
No, he existed somewhere between the wide-eyed young man who aimed to conquer the world and the grumpy orc who’d been beaten by it.
Marigold loved him—that, he could believe.
But there was no way she would stay here with him. Nor should she. Grimroot Farm would cage this princess destined for a bigger
life, just as it had caged him. He’d coped within the borders because the circumstances of his birth were humble. He’d love
to have the freedom to step past the farm’s borders, feel the snow-capped chill of the Gildfall Mountains or the ocean spray
of the Sea of Red Tides. But not if it meant putting Marigold at risk. No, he’d sacrifice himself ten times over if it kept
her safe.
“Bram?” She nudged his shoulder. “Where’d you go?”
“Lost in thought.” He dried his hands.
“I see.” Like Venus, she rose from the bath, water cascading over her curves and hollows. His body gravitated toward her,
like sunflower to sun. “You could use a bath as well,” she said. “Join me?”
“There’s not enough room.”
“This basin is as big as the public bath pool in Thornwick.” She tugged him to her by the belt. “There’s room.”
Once again, his body won over his brain.
He shucked his shirt, then slipped into the hot bath. “Saints, how do you stand this heat?”
She knelt between his bowed legs. “I thought orcs ran hot.”
“We do. This is steaming for me, so it must scald you.”
“I like hot things.” She lifted the linen rag, lathered it with his soap, then roughly scrubbed his chest.
“Ow,” he said.
“Sorry.” She eased the pressure. “Are you anxious about breaking the curse?”
“Did you invite me in here to ask uncomfortable questions while I’m captive and vulnerable?”
“Yes, obviously.” She dragged the linen across his shoulders, then down his arms. “I’m incapable of deception, Bram. You know that. Emotions show up on my face as brightly as gold leaf on an illuminated page.”
He caught her hand to the center of his chest. “It’s one of the things I love best about you.”
A shy grin played on her lips. “You love me? Still?”
His insides melted faster than the pine soap. As transparent as Marigold was with her feelings, he was opaque. Feelings were
a luxury in his childhood and in the guard, which was why his friendship with Marigold was such a bright treasure. She was
all feeling, and her free expression in turn unchained him in their private moments.
Since his hermitage, he’d regressed.
“Always, Marigold. Always and forever.” His heart was a thick thump under their joined hands. “Have I not told you?”
“Not recently,” she said. “I love you, too. Always.”
For the first time since she’d arrived, the bricks he’d stacked around these last three years heart shook, and a few tumbled
free.
Before daybreak, after writing a note for Coby, Bram wrote another for Marigold. Contacting my friend. Back by dinner. Upstairs, he’d left her tucked in bed, lightly snoring.
A detail she’d deny.
Too bad, because it was one of the intimacies he cherished. In Thornwick, he thought he knew her through and through because
she’d shared her sarcasm and her sadness, traits the royal family would never allow her to exhibit publicly.
Because princesses must be kind, beautiful, and generous.
They didn’t curse when they stumbled over a rock. They didn’t disguise themselves to barter in the marketplace and argue with a baker that they’d been shortchanged. And they certainly didn’t sneak into the hayloft with a young knight of the realm.
All those moments were evidence that she’d let him in. But this Marigold? The one who shared his home and let him see her
make mistakes as she learned? Allowed him to tend to her scrapes and scrub the mud from her back?
This was a woman who allowed herself to be known by him.
The frost melted as he crunched his way toward the hazy border of the hinterlands and Harvest Hollow proper. Over the last
three years, he’d scoped out all the places where contact with others might be possible. During the first year, he’d taken
a run at various parts of the border that seemed thin, hoping that this time, he’d push through.
No such luck. Each time he tried to breach the boundary, whether he wielded an axe, a sword, or his own brute strength, he
collided with an invisible barrier, bruised and angry. Never the best student, it took him far too many attempts to accept
the magic wouldn’t let him through.
There was learning, however.
For example—he could throw things across the boundary. His voice carried as well. Understandably, the average man was terrified
of an orc randomly roaring at them and tossing boulders in their direction. Several times people fainted at his mere appearance.
Most sprinted away from him.
Today he was hoping to entice someone to fetch Coby. He didn’t have time to wait for their weekly covert meeting. Marigold’s
encounter with the autumn sprite had inspired him. If Coby remembered the loophole, he might yet be able to break the curse
without endangering Marigold.
Beneath his boots, the fallen golds and reds softened his footsteps.
As he approached the crossing where Marigold reported meeting the new neighbor boy, the hair on his arms raised as it always did near the boundaries.
Sweet luck—the shape of a child moved through the trees beyond the boulder that marked the border of his land.
Deliberately, he made noise to catch the attention of the boy.
The young one sliced a stick through the air as though it was a broadsword. Bram had been a boy like that once—playing at
knighthood and glory. He relaxed his shoulders and slouched, doing his best not to appear intimidating. A lost cause, he was
sure.
Because green, muscled, and tusks.
But worth trying. He rearranged his features into what he hoped was a gentle smile.
“Ho there, young man.” To his own pointy ears, his voice was gruff. “My name’s Jask.”
The boy snapped to attention. His eyes widened, but he didn’t run. Stunned, perhaps?
“I know,” the boy said. “The lady I met said she lived with her orc friend. My ma warned me to stay away from you.”
Wise mother.
The boy remained rooted to his spot. “We live here for free because no one else wants to live in a graveyard next to an orc’s
farm. Do you eat children?”
“Not on Tuesdays,” Jask said.
The boy giggled. “Then I’m glad it’s Tuesday.”
The sun shone bright as Bram’s heart shifted in his chest. Saints, the frothy sound of a child’s laughter was a magic unto
itself.
“Can I ask you a favor?” he asked.
The boy pointed his stick-sword. “Ma says no adult should ever need a child’s help.”
Bram’s respect for the boy’s mother grew by leaps. “That’s true, but—”
“I’ll get her.” The boy scrambled from the boulder. “Ma! Mama! Ma!”
Blood and bones! All he wanted was to send word to Coby that he needed to meet. Deep breaths, relaxed stance. If the boy returned with his mother in tow, he couldn’t scare them with a prickly attitude. They might be his only chance
to deliver a note quickly since Alfred didn’t have a set schedule.
The swishing sound of leaves on the other side of the boundary caught his attention, as did the soft voice of a woman.
“Bastien, honestly, I’m up to my ears in—” The woman came around the path, then stopped short. She pushed her son behind her,
then whispered loudly, “You didn’t tell me it was him who needed help.”
Bram held up his hands in peace. “I mean no harm. I need to convey an urgent message to a knight. Discreetly.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Why can’t you convey it yourself?”
A wick in his mind caught flame—the sprite had said he couldn’t reveal his true self to anyone, but the particulars of his
entrapment were fair game.
“Magic binds me within the borders of Grimroot Farm. I cannot leave.”
She eyed him. After a beat, she asked, “What do you offer in return? This boy eats as though he’s a man, and I cannot pay
for food with gratitude.”
“I have some coin.” He flipped a sou to the woman, who caught it easily. “And my orchard is full of apples, more than I can
use. Pick your fill.”
The woman bit the sou, then slipped it into her apron pocket. “How do I know you won’t eat us?”
“You have my word as a knight,” he said.
She cocked her head. “Since when do they let orcs into the knighthood?”
“I was knighted in Thornwick.”
“Thornwick? That’s the other side of the five kingdoms. What brings you so far from home?” she asked.
“Originally, ambition and fortune.” Bram lifted a shoulder. “Now all I seek is a simple life.”
“Life’s simple out here, all right,” the woman said. “Far cry from my customary homestead. What’s your name, neighbor? I’m
Matilda.”
The curse was still in effect, so he introduced himself in the least lethal way possible. “I’m Jask Bone-Cracker.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Matilda nodded. “Now, what’s this message you need me to pass along?”
“Here.” He approached the barrier and held up the folded and sealed parchment. “Leave this with Elenor at the Laughing Gourd.
It’s a message for Sir Coby.”
The note within was innocuous.
Sir Coby—
If you remember, tell me what the loophole was?
I’ll wait by the lake.
—Your Favorite Knight
Plain, but vague. Anyone breaking the seal wouldn’t guess its meaning. He hoped.
Matilda plucked it from his grasp. “That’s it, then? Deliver this, and I can pick apples?”
Bram nodded.
She spun the note between her index fingers. “Done. But please don’t cross me, Mr. Bone-Cracker. You won’t like what happens.”
“Jask,” he said and bowed. “And I would never, Matilda.”