Love Spell: Book 2 of The Grimm Laws (15 page)

Thankfully, the white-hot anger flowing through her veins crowded out her fear as she stood facing him. “I will stand,” she heaved back through gritted teeth. The Ruben of the old world was a bloodthirsty killer with a black heart, and all of the expensive dress shirts and suits of this world couldn’t hide the man inside. Looking into his cold, hard eyes, she realized that he was just as ruthless here as he’d been before. “What do you want?”

He gave her an appraising look. “The old Wisteria has returned, I see. Much more impressive than that doe of a woman who was hanging onto Alexander’s coattails at the formal.” He strode over to a picture hanging on the wall. It was a picture of the family that had been taken when Norman was still alive. “Such a happy family,” he mused. “It’s a good thing your late husband died before you regained your memories.”

“And just why is that?” She knew even as she spoke the words that he was baiting her. The hair on her neck stood on ends, and her hands itched to wrap themselves around his thick throat and squeeze until his cruel tongue was silenced. Never mind that she was half his size.

He turned to face her, his onyx eyes glittering with malice. “Because you would’ve thrown him aside for your love.”

The words came at her like fingernails scratching down a chalkboard as chills ran down her spine. “My love?”

“Alexander,” he spat. “Although I’ve never understood what it is that you see in my insufferable brother. He was always the weak one.”

Her eyes met his in an age-old challenge. “He beat you, didn’t he? And in so doing, earned the right to fight for the throne.”

Fury twisted over his features, revealing the monster within. “I’ve often thought about that day in the great hall. How he was on his back … DEFEATED!” He lifted his lips into a snarl. “And how his sword miraculously moved into his hand.” His black eyes bore into hers, and she had to fight the urge to shrink away from him. She briefly thought about making a run for the kitchen and grabbing a butcher knife, but she knew he would be faster. “You helped him! Just as you’ve always helped him. Alexander is nothing without his lovely witch by his side.” His eyes roved over her curves, and then he gave her a calculating smile. “Although judging from what I heard about the calamitous events that took place before we came to this world, even you were seeking his blood in the end.”

“What do you want, Ruben? I know you didn’t come here to talk about my history with Alexander. Get to the point! My patience is wearing thin.” Without thinking, her fingers curled into claws.

He looked at her fingers and laughed. “No magic here … only you and me.”

She straightened herself up to her full height. “Enough! Tell me what you want or get out!”

He walked over to the sofa table and picked up a framed picture of Rush. “How did your son take the news?” He made a tsking sound with his tongue. “The irony!” He let out a grating laugh. “To think, the very man that sentenced him to the dungeon is his very own father!”

It took every effort she could summon to keep her voice even as she spoke. “I’ll ask you one last time—what do you want?”

He placed the photo back on the table. “What I’ve always wanted—the kingdom! The throne!”

“Thanks to your and Griselda’s antics, Huntsden is now a contender. That should suffice.” She crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

“That will never suffice!” he yelled, his face crimson.

She cocked her head, studying him. “I don’t know what twisted plan you and Griselda have concocted, but you should know that she can’t be trusted. You are nothing to her—a means to an end. Once you’ve served your purpose, it’ll all be over. And you’ll be put back in that pit of a forest, with your pitiful band of thieves, trying to live off of Alexander’s crumbs … or worse!” A cutting smile curved her lips, and she could tell from the way his eyes darted back and forth that her words had hit their mark.

“I’ll take my chances,” he said, but she could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

She zeroed in on his weakness. “You know I’m right. I can see it in your eyes. You’ve already caught a glimpse of that, haven’t you?” she taunted. “Trust me! I know what Griselda is, and I know what she’s capable of. She’s toying with you. I’m sure she would love to add you to her collection of shadow crawlers! Yes, you would be quite the prize,” she finished softly.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he fired back.

A thrill of power raced through her, and she could feel a bit of the old Wisteria taking over. “You will never be king! You don’t have it in you. Alexander is twice the man you are. Your father knew it, and so do you! Get out of the game, Ruben! Get out while you have still have a shred of dignity left!”

He took his arm and swiped across the photos, sending them plunging to the floor with a deafening crash as glass exploded. “I ought to kill you for that.”

She chuckled and then her lips formed a tight line. “But you won’t. Why are you here?”

He stood eyeing her, the fight gone out of him. “I came to ask you to join me.”

She laughed. “Join you?”

“Yes, but I see you are the same simple-headed fool you always were. The offer has been rescinded.”

She lifted an eyebrow in amusement. “Well, that breaks my heart.”

He went to the door. Before he exited, he turned. “Even after all of this time, you still don’t get it, do you?”

She just looked at him.

“You’re a fool, Wisteria. A fool who let her heart overrule good sense. Because after all is said and done, you just don’t have the strength to break away from Alexander. And that’s a pity. You see, you chose the wrong brother. And when he goes down, you’ll go down with him.”

F
resh spring water
, eye of toad, the stems of two flat mushrooms, one sprig of rosemary, three horse hairs, a dash of salt, and enough honey to make the concoction edible. Wisteria let the mixture reach a boil before removing the heavy cauldron from the fire. She leaned over and inhaled the steam rising up. The faint scent of rosemary tickled her nose. Perfect! One drink of her sleeping potion could knock a grown man out for an entire night. She paused, wondering how the potion would be used, but the thought left as quickly as it came. It didn’t matter to her how the potion was used, only that she would be paid twenty-five schillings for it.

The message came as it always did, on a single piece of parchment tucked underneath the fresh vegetables and herbs she purchased each week at the market. There were normally two or three requested items on the list, the most frequent being calming potions and wart removers. She delivered the goods a week later to the same herb stand where she had sent Cinderella on the fool’s errand that had forever removed her from Rushton’s grasp. A sense of melancholy settled over her as she thought about her only son. With any luck, he would be in another kingdom by now and on his way to a happier and more prosperous life. He swore that he would never forgive her for the part she played in separating him from Cinderella, but in time, he would come to understand that she’d done it out of love for him. It had nearly torn her heart asunder to see him leave, but she knew it was for the best. And if she hoarded every schilling she earned from selling the potions, it was possible that in a few years, she would be able to join him in his new home.

The deep sadness that arose from her breast came as a surprise. She fleetingly wondered if she would have the strength to leave Aandover Peaks, and then she had to laugh at the silly notion. After all, traveling was in her blood. She had come from a family of minstrels who earned their living entertaining the royal family and courtiers with lyrics put to music. Her parents had never spent more than a few weeks at a time in one place, and before coming to Aandover Peaks and meeting Aalexander, neither had she. Even though she was currently a member of a minstrel, Aalexander had put a halt to their travel on the guise that the roads were fraught with bandits and thieves, but she knew better. The real reason that Aalexander had forbidden the minstrel to travel was because he wanted to keep her under his thumb.

Her thoughts kept running back to Aalexander, like a river finding its way back to the sea.
Aalexander the Just, the famed king of Aandover.
Myriads of emotions churned in her gut as her heart silently voiced what her head could not. It wasn’t Aandover Peaks that she was worried about leaving but rather Aalexander.
Would she ever be able to leave him?
She snuffed out the thought before it could fully take root, reminding herself that Aalexander was dead to her. She would do well to remember that! There would be no forgiveness in this world or the next for the things Aalexander had done. Love … hate. Two sides of the same coin. Close enough to rip her apart if she let it. Just thinking about him made her blood boil. She took a calming breath. In … out … in … out.

There were some things she couldn’t think about. Places she wouldn’t allow herself to go … for Rushton’s sake. There was no coming to terms with her conflicting feelings for Aalexander. It was too muddled to think about, so she forced her thoughts in another direction and concentrated instead on Aalexander’s feelings for her. His infatuation for her famed beauty was no secret. His closest advisors knew it. Even Queen Loreena knew it, which is why her hatred for Wisteria burned so hot and deep.

At first, Wisteria had been amused by the shallow woman’s jealousy, but lately, it was starting to annoy her. Queen Loreena never gave up on trying to control Aalexander, but she would’ve had more success at trying to hold water in her hand. The harder she held on, the more elusive he became. Her eyes narrowed thinking back to the royal banquet the night before when Queen Loreena had forced her to sing the same song three times in a row, and all the while she and the other ladies of the court laughed and talked over her the entire time. The only thing that had previously kept Wisteria from casting a spell that would cover the wretched woman in boils was Rushton. Before the debacle with Cinderella, he’d been in line to become a knight to the Crown Prince, not a small honor. All these years, she’d convinced herself that Rushton was the sole reason she agreed to live in the shadow of the kingdom—the only reason she allowed King Aalexander to lord over her. Now that he was gone, she couldn’t use him as an excuse any longer. She would have to eventually come to terms with the truth, but she was not going to spend any more energy worrying about it today.

She pushed an unruly lock of raven hair from her forehead and wiped her hands on her frock. The mixture had cooled. Now came the tricky part, pouring it into the vials without spilling it all over the place. The batch would make about a dozen vials of the sleeping potion. She would sell the one and store the rest. She lined the vials up, reached for a ladle, dipped it into the potion, and began to pour.

The loud knock at the door caused her to flinch, spilling the liquid onto the wooden table. She cursed under her breath and glanced at the locked door. Who could be coming at this time of the night? She had purposely waited until the last evening bell sounded to begin making the potion, knowing that she wouldn’t be bothered. The use of magic was forbidden throughout the land—another law put into effect by Aalexander. The man was so … she shook her head, trying to find the right words … egotistical and shortsighted to think that because he decided to enact that ridiculous law that he could simply snap his fingers and command magic to go away—just like that. He might as well have commanded the rivers to run dry as to try and stop magic.

The knock sounded again.

“By order of the king, we command thee to open the door!”

Wisteria frowned. Why would Aalexander be sending out servants this late in the evening?

“Open the door, or we shall be forced to knock it down!”

Forced to knock it down?
These weren’t servants, they were guards! Anger flared. How dare Aalexander send guards to her home … this late in the evening!

“I demand to know the meaning of this!” she yelled.

“Thy son.”

Her heart lurched. Had something happened to Rushton?

She looked around the room at the cauldron, the vials, and all of the other incriminating evidence—proof that she was indeed practicing magic. In deft movements, she picked up the vials and placed them back on the shelf and then grabbed a blanket and threw it over the cauldron. She blew out the candles in the kitchen area, hoping the shadows would cloak the rest. As she went to the door, she paused long enough to wrap a shawl around her shoulders.

The pounding was growing louder. “I am coming,” she called.

The moment she lifted the latch, two guards rushed in, forcing her backwards in the process.

“I demand to know the cause of this!” she said, indignant. “Has something happened to my son?”

“Wisteria Avalonia Porter of Florin ye have been accused of practicing magic and are hereby arrested. Ye will be taken to the castle dungeon where ye will await trial.”

“What! ‘Tis a ridiculous accusation! You said this was about my son! I demand to know how this concerns him.” Her mind whirled, trying to ascertain what had happened.
Had he been attacked by bandits? Ruben’s men?
Fear rippled through her as she leveled a defiant look at the guards. “Tell me all!”

The guards looked at each other as if unsure how to respond. One of them stepped forward. “It will be explained to thee at the castle in due time.” He moved to take her arm.

“Halt where you are!” Her voice cracked through the room.

Momentarily stunned, the guards paused, unsure how to respond. Finally, the one that had spoken took Wisteria by the arm.

She spun around and got up in his face, so close that she could see the blood vessels in the whites of his eyes. “I know thee,” she said, “Lionel.”

He looked shocked. “Aye, mi’ lady.”

“Thy wife, Camilla, just gave birth to a bouncing baby boy only a fort night ago.”

He nodded, and she could see the wariness creeping into his eyes.

“A miracle baby,” she continued. “Barren for nearly a decade.” Her voice was soft, menacing—a serpent encircling its prey. She noted with satisfaction that his left eye had begun to twitch. “Some call it a miracle …” she paused, “but you and I know different.” She’d suspected all along that Camilla had somehow gotten a hold of her fertility potion, but she didn’t know for sure … until now. The horrified expression on Lionel’s face told her all she needed to know.

“Why are you hesitating?” the other guard said. “Arrest her!”

She kept her eyes fixed on Lionel who was looking like he wanted to crawl through the cracks in the floor. Anything to escape her piercing eyes.

“The baby is healthy?” She arched an eyebrow.

He gave her a slight nod.

“A healthy baby is such a rarity these days. But life is tenuous, fleeting at that tender age. It would be a shame if anything happened …”

“Lionel, we have our orders. Either arrest her or I will.”

Lionel stepped back, shaking his head.

“She is only trying to scare thee.”

Wisteria’s eyes went hard. “A cold baby lying in the crib. Still and blue. All of thy hopes for the future gone in an instant.” She snapped her fingers. “Poof!”

“Please,” Lionel said, his lower lip trembling. “Please don’t hurt my son.” He backed away.

The other guard cursed and stepped forward. “Enough, witch! If I have to gag and tie thee, we’re bringing thee to the King!”

Wisteria folded her arms across her chest. “Are you sure about that, Caleb?”

He stopped midstream. “How do you know me?”

She chuckled. “I see that which I see, that which cannot be hidden.”

His eyes narrowed. “A treacherous lie.”

“Thy wife has been feeling poorly as of late, has she not? An ailment of the stomach. Night shakes.”

“Ye know nothing about me!” he said, but his eyes spoke otherwise. She could feel his fear, taste it on her lips. It grew large and terrible, filling the space between them.

“She is sick—and the physicians cannot cure her. Pity, she will be in the grave before the next full moon.”

He staggered, and she feared he might pass out on the spot.

“Fools! They won’t find a cure because they know not where to look.”

“And you do?”

“Possibly.”

He fell to his knees. “Please … I will do anything. If you can somehow make her well.”

There was something about reducing the fierce guard to groveling that moved her to pity, but only for a moment. She pushed the sentiment away. “I might have something.”

Hope sprang into his eyes. “Tell me how, I prithee.”

She started drumming her fingernails on her arms. “‘Tis very costly and hard to come by.”

He clenched his fists. “I will give everything I have, even my life if necessary.”

“Sadly thy life is not worth much.”

Shock registered on his face.

“I do not want thy pitiful life. You can keep that …” she gave him a withering look “… for now.”

“What then? Please, tell me what to do.”

“You can start by telling the king to send a couple of real guards the next time he gets the itch to tangle with me. Or better yet, if he wants me, he can come and fetch me himself.”

Both men readily nodded. At this point, she could have asked them to cut off their big toes and they would have complied. She walked over and retrieved a vial from the shelf. “Give this to thy wife. One swallow, twice daily for seven days. No less, no more.”

He reached to take it from her, but she held on and locked eyes with him. “You are purchasing this for a price, do you understand? You are now in my debt. I haven’t decided yet what the payment will be, but rest assured, I always collect.”

“Anything ... I am most grateful, mi’ lady. I thank thee from the bottom of my heart.” His eyes moistened.

“If you dare burst into my home again, thy heart is what I shall require.” She reached and touched his chest.

“Aye, mi’ lady. Aye, I—” He stood and nearly backed over Lionel in his haste to get away. They both turned to flee.

“Halt!”

Ever so slowly, they turned around to face her.

“I don’t recall giving thee permission to leave.”

Their eyes went wide and they stood there, waiting for further instruction.

“I’m going to ask thee a series of questions. Think well before ye answer because the words ye speak may be thy last.” She raised her arms and clenched her hands, casting long shadows against the wall. Shadows that caused her sharp fingernails to resemble talons in the near darkness. She was terrible and beautiful in that moment. They shrank back, cowering. “I want to know what happened to my son, and where he is.”