The Sweetest Spell (30 page)

“My intentions?” I shifted my weight. “My intentions are pure, I assure you. I want to make certain she’s safe.”

One-eyed Henry snorted.

“You have something to say?” I asked. “If you have something to say, then say it.”

“I got nothing to say.” He glared at me. “Except when we get into that dirt circle, I’m going to knock your head off.”

“Not if I knock yours off first.”

“That’s the spirit, boys!” Soldier Wolf hollered. “Beat the crud out of each other, and I’ll be back in the king’s favor for certain.”

I wanted to punch Henry right then. I was sick of sitting in that cage. Sick of his oozing face. Yet he was the man who’d gotten us out of the mineral fields by reminding Wolf of the king’s tournament. I stretched my legs, trying to get comfortable as the wagon wheels rumbled along. How long had I been away from home? Mother was probably crazy with worry. I closed my eyes, imagining riding my horse across the field toward the river. Emmeline was standing at the river’s edge, waiting for me. Her hair blowing in the wind.

“She looks like her mother.”

I opened my eyes. Mister Thistle was speaking so quietly I had to lean close to catch the words.

“My wife never forgave me for casting Emmeline aside. All our babes before Emmeline had been stillborn, and she’d grieved each one. She and Emmeline were like two vines, always wrapped around one another, always together.”

“How’d she die?” I asked.

“Fever.” He looked away. “It came fast. She was gone in two days’ time.” He drifted off in tortured thought.

As we neared Londwin City, we began to collect information. The road into the city was crowded with travelers, all eager to share their stories. The growing unrest over taxation had spread across the realm like a storm. Tax-collectors had been taken hostage, their treasuries looted. Villagers were taking up arms. Guilds were on strike. Citizens were making their way to the palace for answers. I searched the road for familiar faces but found none. Maybe things weren’t so bad in Wander. But I needed to get home as soon as possible. If the Dairy Guild was on strike, then Father would be dealing with angry townsfolk.

“Has anyone heard about the Milkmaid?” I asked, calling between the bars at a group of passing merchants. One of them slowed his horse.

“She’s with the king,” he replied, brushing a stray leaf from the shoulder of his green jacket.

“Really?” I gripped the bars. “She’s safe? She’s unharmed?”

“No one has seen her, but word is she’s making chocolate in the
royal kitchens. The king is preparing to open trade with Germundy and Franvia.”

“But those trade routes are closed,” I said.

He gave me a quizzical look. “Why does a prisoner care about trade routes?”

“They’re not prisoners,” Soldier Wolf said. “They are champion fighters, destined for the king’s arena.”

“Did they catch Peddler?” I asked. “The man who kidnapped the Milkmaid. Did they catch him?”

“I know nothing about such matters,” the merchant said. With a kick to his horse, he sped ahead to meet up with his companions.

She was alive and well! She was a short ride away. “Can’t we go faster?” I called to Wolf.

“Anybody ever tell you that you talk too much?” Soldier Wolf grumbled. “We’ll get there when we get there.”

“She’s safe,” I said.

Mister Thistle stopped rubbing his face and met my gaze. He nodded, relief relaxing the creases around his eyes.

“Are you going to ask her to marry you?” one-eyed Henry asked.

It would be a waste of time to pretend I didn’t know what he was talking about. I hadn’t said anything about love, but even a lout like Henry had figured it out.

“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted. “She’s making chocolate for the king. He’s not going to let her go back to Wander with me.”

“Then you’ll have to stay with her,” Soldier Wolf said, turning around on the driver’s bench.

“Stay in Londwin City?” I’d never considered this. “And do what?”

“Whatever it takes,” Wolf said. “If you’ve got the chance at love, boy, you’ve got to fight for it.”

I was about to ask Mister Thistle what he thought when he suddenly hollered, “Stop!”

Red-haired people, dozens of them, sat alongside the road. Mostly women and children, and a few elderly men. Bone thin, they clung wearily to one another, staring at us with vacant expressions. One of the little girls held out her empty palm. “Let me out,” Mister Thistle cried, gripping the bars. The cage shook.

“Let him out,” I told Wolf.

As soon as Wolf unlocked the cage, Mister Thistle leaped to the ground and ran to his people. He knelt beside one of the elderly men and spoke in hushed tones. “Hurry up!” Wolf called. Mister Thistle ignored him. “You staying here? I ain’t waiting around!”

“What’s the matter with you?” I snapped at Wolf. “Can’t you see they’re starving? Give that girl some food.”

Soldier Wolf looked over at the food bag. “You want to give up your rations?”

“Yes. Give them my rations.”

“Mine too,” one-eyed Henry said.

Wolf grabbed the bag and handed it to the girl, who peered up at him through ropes of tangled hair. She could have been Emmeline’s younger sister. It didn’t escape my notice that Wolf had handed over his rations too.

“What’s going on?” I hollered.

As the girl passed out the rations of dried meat and fruit, Mister Thistle returned to the wagon. “It’s just as you said,” he told me. “The flood destroyed everything. All the food is spoiled. They’ve
come here to ask the king for help. But the soldiers won’t let them into the city.”

“Then we’ll tell the king,” I said. “As soon as we get to the tournament, we’ll make certain he knows.”

“I’ll stay here,” Mister Thistle said. “They need menfolk to protect them. Tell Emmeline I will see her as soon as I can.” I nodded. Then Mister Thistle leaned close to the bars and spoke directly to me. “You can ask Emmeline to marry you, but you’ll still have to wait for the next husband market. That’s how it’s done with my people.”

I guess that was his way of telling me he approved.

But would she?

Leaving the dirt-scratchers behind, Wolf drove the wagon toward the city gates. Londwin City’s wall stood twice as tall as Wander’s wall. Soldiers marched along the top. Beyond the wall, stone buildings towered as far as the eye could see, their lifeless chimneys pointing to the sky. My heartbeat doubled with anticipation. She was in there, somewhere. She’d be surprised to see me. I’d tell her how sorry I was that I didn’t save her from Peddler. Then, if she didn’t totally reject me, I’d tell her how I felt. How I’d felt since I first saw her lying on the riverbank. How I felt each time I saw her—dazed, stunned, an ache in my stomach. Those words were no good. Why was it so hard to describe a stupid feeling? Where was a book of poetry when I needed one?

Soldier Wolf pulled the horse to a stop. One-eyed Henry and I scooted to the front of the cage. Three messengers were arguing with a soldier. “I carry a scroll from the Baron of Highland for the king,” one of the messengers declared. “It’s urgent.”

“I’m under strict orders not to let anyone into the city,” the soldier replied. “King Elmer is preparing for his tournament and he wants no interruptions.”

The messenger waved the scroll. “But I carry a proposal of marriage for the Milkmaid and it must be delivered immediately.”

“Hey!” another messenger cried. “I carry the same proposal from the Baron of Lowland.”

“As do I from the king’s cousin, Lord Morgan,” the third messenger said.

Wolf turned and frowned at me. “Looks like you’ll have to get into line if you want to marry her.” I gripped the bars so hard it felt as if my fingers would snap.

“Wait here,” the soldier said. Then he walked through the gate to talk to another soldier. When he returned he addressed all the messengers. “You can all go home,” he told them. “Your proposals aren’t any good here.”

The messengers waved their scrolls and objected, but the soldier silenced them with a shrill whistle. “I said they aren’t any good because the Milkmaid has already accepted a proposal of marriage. She is to marry the Prince of Anglund.”

My fingers released and my hands slid down the cage bars.

I might have been able to compete with a merchant or even a baron, since they were usually old, fat men. But I couldn’t compete with a prince. I had no palace to offer, no kingdom. Just a dairy and a bunch of brown woolly cows. And my love.

Did the prince even love her? Surely he did. How could he not?

Did she love him?

I knew very little of the prince. People rarely spoke of him. Some said he dressed like a commoner and had no interest in politics. But he must have swooped in with his crown and treasures and servants, and she’d said aye to all of it. Of course she had. How could a girl who’d grown up with nothing say no to a prince? Even if she’d had feelings for me, which she probably never had, she’d be a fool to refuse such a proposal.

How different things might have been if I’d stopped Peddler from taking her!

“Tough luck,” one-eyed Henry said as we drove through the
gates. The soldier, learning we were barefist fighters come for the tournament, had let us through.

“Shut up,” I snapped.

“You shut up,” he snapped right back.

Once we’d reached the tents, Soldier Wolf let us out of the cage. We signed our names to a list of fighters. “You try to escape now,” Wolf said, “and you’ll be hanged as traitors. You got that?” We both nodded. My gaze searched for signs of her. But there were no women in this crowd—only fighters and their promoters.

We claimed a pair of mattresses in the first tent and waited while Wolf went to do something. The tent was crowded with men. Some slept while others ate and shared fighting stories. I didn’t want to lie there. My legs ached from the long journey. “Tell Wolf I’ve gone for a walk,” I said. Henry grunted and wiped at his empty socket.

Just as I headed out the tent, a familiar voice called my name. “Owen? Owen Oak? Is that you?” Bartholomew Raisin scurried up to me, his pinprick eyes flashing with excitement. “Where have you been? We need to get you registered right away.”

“I’m already registered,” I said, actually happy to see him. He was the first person from Wander I’d run into since leaving.

He frowned. “I didn’t register you. You’re my champion. You’re supposed to fight for me.”

“Look, Raisin,” I said, “stop yapping and listen to me. How are my parents?”

“Fine. Worried about you but they’re fine.” He looked around, then stepped closer, rubbing his puffy hands together. “Who are
you fighting for? I’ll buy you from him. I’ll pay him well. You fight for me. That’s how it’s always been.”

My gaze drifted over his head, searching for her. Servants dressed from head to toe in black were handing out loaves of bread and jugs of ale. I grabbed a jug and took a long drink, washing the remaining bitterness of the mineral fields from my mouth. But a new bitterness had taken its place. “I don’t care who the hell I fight for,” I told Bartholomew Raisin. “Make whatever arrangements you want.”

I shoved past him and headed toward a gold-edged door from which the servants came and went. I’d promised Mister Thistle that I’d tell the king about the starving dirt-scratchers. And Emmeline needed to know that her father was just outside the city wall. No one stood guard at the door, but just as I was about to step inside, a man with a very white face stepped out.

“Who are you?” he asked. He’d painted his lips red. His collar reached so high it looked like his head had been placed there, like a snowball on top of a fence post. He carried a bundle of parchment.

“I need to get a message to the king,” I told him.

“Indeed?” He pursed his lips. “I am the Royal Secretary. If you have a message, you may deliver it to me.” I told him about the dirt-scratchers, but he didn’t seem much interested. He tapped his long, pointed shoe. “Is there something else?”

“Yes. I need to see Emmeline.”

“Who?”

“The Milkmaid.”

He snorted. “The sudden interest in that dirt-scratcher girl is astounding. Away with you. Before I call the soldiers.”

“But I must get a message to her,” I insisted, my temper rising to the surface. “She needs to know that her father is here. He’s with the other dirt-scratchers, just outside the city wall. Tell her that.”

The secretary narrowed his eyes, a twitch pulling a corner of his mouth. “The father is here?”

“Yes.”

“How very interesting.” He pulled a quill from behind his ear and wrote something on a piece of parchment. Then he hurried off, darting between tents and disappearing from view. I had no faith he’d actually deliver the message. But I didn’t have time to come up with another plan because Soldier Wolf ran up to me.

“You’re in the first fight!” he cried, his face flushed. “Where’s Henry?”

“Why am I first?”

“We were the last to arrive so we had no choice in the matter. The first slot was the only one unclaimed. It’s not so good fighting first,” he grumbled as we searched for Henry. “The first fight always gets the least attention.”

I didn’t care if I fought first or last. I’d come to see Emmeline. But that no longer seem likely.

After we found Henry, we entered the arena. The dirt circle was bigger than the one in Wander. The tiered benches were half-full. People mingled, greeting one another. Up on the top tier, three empty thrones waited. The people who sat closest to the thrones were an odd sort with powered faces and colored lips. The women had
red circles painted on their cheeks and wore feathered hats. To my far right, a forest of green spread across the benches where merchants sat. To my left a cloud of floppy black hats hovered over the benches where the tax-collectors sat. No one paid us any attention. The air hummed with conversation.

“Get ready,” Wolf told us. One-eyed Henry and I took off our shirts and boots. A boy, carrying a bucket of blue paint, painted the number 1 on Henry’s chest, then painted number 2 on mine. Blue drops rolled past my navel. My heartbeat doubled, anticipation building in my gut the way it always did. I stretched my legs, still stiff from the cramped ride in the cage. I just wanted to get this over with. But if I knocked Henry off his feet, I’d be here for days, advancing to the next level, then the next. If I took a blow and threw the fight, I could leave. Get back home. Forget about Emmeline and her prince.