THE MEDALLION’S SONG

THE MEDALLION’S SONG, by Ginny Patrick, artwork by Karolína Wellartová

 

Twilight darkened the narrow alley in the marketplace. Serena hurried down an unfamiliar path, pulling her hood close beneath her chin as she peered through a deepening gray mist at the merchants’ tented stalls. Under the cover of her cape she clutched the hilt of a stolen kitchen knife. Since coming to Macaea City a year ago, she hadn’t often ventured beyond the manor house’s walled gardens and had never been in this area. A vile odor permeated the air that swirled as though stirred by an unseen hand. A rat, nearly as large as one of the kitchen cats, scurried across the garbage-strewn path in front of her, its eyes glowing an eerie yellow that sent a shiver down her spine. What she wouldn’t give to be huddled safely on her pallet in the servant’s quarters. But with Lady Ima dead what choice did she have?

Invisible fingers brushed against the nape of her neck, and she cast an uneasy glance backward. Was she being followed? The only movement along the trash-strewn pathway was a merchant closing his tent for the night. Safe, then. At least for the moment.

Lord Avidan’s face had purpled with fury this afternoon when his search of his dead wife’s rooms failed to turn up the medallion. Of course, no one identified the article he sought, but Serena knew. No doubt by now her absence had been noted, and orders issued regarding her capture. If the guards weren’t already combing the city for her, they soon would be.

Near the end of the alley she found the place she sought, a tent with green stripes. Two symbols stitched into the canvas above the opening identified the nature of the business. The brown scales-and-coin badge of the merchant’s guild adorned nearly every carrel in the marketplace, but few bore the silver triple-star emblem of sorcery. The tent’s canvas flap hung loose, closed but not fastened, and a dim yellow light shone from within. Still open, then. Relief stilled her pulse. She’d feared she might find the tent closed for the night. But the nature of the wares this merchant sold invited late-night trade. She’d taken a chance it might still be open, and that chance had paid off.

Serena glanced over her shoulder again. A figure slipped behind a tent to her right, so quick she almost missed it. Pulse pounding in her ears, she studied the place where twilight gave way to black shadows. One of Avidan’s men? No, they would not shrink into darkness if they spotted her. A thief, perhaps? They were as common as rats in this area and she was a woman alone, an easy target. Without taking her gaze from the dark alcove she slipped sideways into the tent.

 

 

A cloying incense stained the air, and the light from a flickering candle made the room barely brighter than outside. A long, low table dominated the cramped interior, its surface covered with a mishmash of objects. At first she thought she was alone, but a movement in the corner proved otherwise. Startled, she drew out the kitchen knife and held it before her, ready to strike.

“Have you come to kill me, or to barter?”

A chuckle lurked within the words. A hunched figure rose from a stool in the corner, and she peered through the gloomy light at an ancient man. He stepped toward her but kept the table between them. His features were nearly hidden amid a sea of wrinkles, though a pair of blue eyes twinkled beneath scraggly grey brows. When he grinned, four teeth showed between withered lips.

“Neither.” She did not lower the knife and couldn’t help a quick backward glance toward the tent’s entrance.

The merchant noticed. “Jumpier than my usual patrons. Are you a runaway?”

A runaway, yes, but not in the way he thought. His gaze shifted from her face to her right ear. Was the hole that marked her as a slave visible in the gloomy light?

“My lady gave me my freedom on her death bed not four hours past.”

She resisted the impulse to produce the paper Lady Ima had pressed into her hand, which proclaimed not only her freedom but her legal ownership of the medallion. She owed this man no proof.

“Who’s chasing you, then?”

Serena lifted her chin. “That problem is mine to tend. I’m here for another reason. Are you Oved, the charm merchant?”

“Heard of me, have you?” The teeth put in another appearance, and the shriveled chest swelled beneath his threadbare robe. “Not surprised. My fame has spread far beyond this piss-ant section of the city. Sorcerers all across Cardania enlist me to sell their charms. You want a love charm? I have the best.” He picked up a multi-colored marble from the table and held it toward her. “Whoever you smile at will fall hopelessly in love with you as long as you hold this in your hand.”

Love? She almost spat on the packed dirt at her feet. What had love ever brought her but pain and misery? “No, I don’t want a love charm.”

Oved’s gaze took in the pack slung across her back. “A talisman to guard you on your journey, perhaps?”

She answered with a jerk of her head. “Advice is what I seek. How much to look at an object and tell me its worth?”

His thin shoulders deflated, and then he shrugged. “No charge for guessing a value. What have you got?”

Serena leaned over the table toward him. “It’s a medallion given to me by my lady. I think it is bespelled.” She lowered her voice. “It sings when I touch it.”

The scraggly eyebrows shot upward and almost disappeared into a fresh batch of wrinkles. “Sings?”

“Shh!” She glanced over her shoulder at the tent flap. “Not so anyone else can hear. Only me.”

“Let me see.” He extended his hand.

Slipping the knife into her waistband, Serena withdrew the medallion from the pouch that hung at her side. It was made of polished stone, an intricate four-sided pattern etched into the smooth surface. Silver wire circled the rim and secured it to a thin strip of sturdy leather. She cradled it in her palm, letting the cold stone absorb warmth from her hand while a voice no earthly throat could utter sang a melody that resonated in the bones behind her ears.

Though it hurt to do so, she placed the medallion in Oved’s outstretched palm. When the stone touched his skin, he gasped.

“Do you hear it singing?” she asked.

Nodding absently, his eyes narrowed to slits as he studied the etching. He moved nearer the candle’s flame and turned the stone over to examine the unintelligible letters carved on the back. Though his expression didn’t change, his throat convulsed several times in rapid succession.

Hope soared high in Serena’s breast. Could this possibly be the medallion so many had searched for?

No. Of course not.

A man, even a charm merchant, wouldn’t be able to hear the song, would he? There were probably hundreds, even thousands of enchanted medallions in Cardania. How would the medallion end up in this horrid, stinking city? It couldn’t, not with every sorcerer and sorceress—especially every sorceress—in the land searching for it. But many of the replicas were worth good money if the enchantment was a desirable one, and as strong as she suspected this one was.

Oved’s head jerked upward, his eyes hard. “Did you steal this?”

“No, I swear.” She held up a hand, as if in oath. “Lady Ima gave it to me.”

He studied her a moment, and then nodded, satisfied.

“Why?” She swallowed and tried to filter hope from her question. “Is it worth a lot?”

He answered in a casual tone. “It’s worth something, I’d say. Not a lot. It’s sorcerous, certainly. The charm was probably cast by a lesser League sorcerer.”

Disappointment stabbed at her. “From the way it sings I thought it must have been crafted by a master.”

“Oh, that.” One wrinkled hand waved vaguely in the air. “That’s a trick every journeyman sorcerer knows.”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth. Had she jeopardized her life for a trinket that wouldn’t even bring enough money to see her safely out of this wretched city? Perhaps she should have stayed at the manor house and showed Lord Avidan his wife’s letter. He might even have honored Lady Ima’s wishes. Maybe he would have let her stay on in his service as a freewoman.

Too late now. What she needed was money, enough to buy her escape. “How much do you think it’s worth?”

“In need of coin are you?” the old man asked.

She nodded. “I want to buy passage in a caravan going south. I have family there, or had before—” She shut her mouth. It was best to keep her business to herself. “What sort of charm is it?”

“Hard to say.” Oved hefted the medallion in his hand. “I could test it, if you want to leave it with me for the night.”

“No.” If Avidan really was looking for her, all of Macaea City would know of it by morning. She extended her hand to receive the medallion.

He made no move to return it. “Always was a fool for a pretty face. I’ll give you…” His head tilted, lips pursed. “Twenty coppers. A fair amount without knowing what charm’s on it.”

Twenty coppers? She performed a quick mental calculation. Safe passage in a reputable caravan would cost ten, maybe twelve coppers. That would leave enough left over to help stock the family’s larder until she found work.

But Avidan had searched so diligently, and she had so hoped it was the medallion.

She reached out and took the object from Oved’s reluctant grip. With her fingers touching the stone surface, its comforting song surged to life in the base of her skull. Though it had been in her possession for only a few hours, she’d grown to love the mystical tune the medallion sang. Parting with it would be like tearing out a piece of her soul.

Yet without money she’d have no chance of escape. The paper proclaiming her a free woman felt fragile in her pouch. With Lady Ima dead, who could vouch to its validity? Certainly not the vengeful husband seeking his wife’s missing medallion. She might even end up a slave working in Avidan’s copper mine, regardless of his wife’s wishes. Or maybe because of them.

Heaving a sigh, she caressed the smooth rim with a finger. No, her best chance was to rid herself of the medallion, take whatever money she could get for it, and make her escape. In any case, she knew better than to make a bargain without attempting to drive the price up.

“I was hoping for more. Are you sure it’s only worth twenty coppers?”

Oved’s wrinkled face twisted with what looked like frustration before he spoke. He finally answered in a strangled voice. “No, it’s worth far more.”

Surprised, Serena tilted her head sideways and studied him. “How much, then?”

Chokes and sputters escaped the old man’s lips as though the words were being torn from him. “It’s p—priceless.”

Excitement tickled the pit of her stomach. There was only one possible explanation for such odd behavior. She tightened her grip on the medallion and watched him closely. “What is this thing?”

Oved appeared to struggle with his tongue for a moment before he heaved a resigned sigh. “It’s one of the lost treasures of Bethshera.”

Serena gasped. The treasures of the ancient sorceress were legendary: the Chalice, the Sword, the Cloak and—

She held the stone triumphantly before her face. “The Medallion of Truth.”

Oved nodded, his expression one of utter misery, and a smile took possession of Serena’s lips. If the legend were to be believed, any man she addressed was compelled to speak only the truth to her as long as the medallion touched her skin. Not only that, but the medallion’s enchantment would never fail, never fade, no matter how many times it was used.

Everything now made sense. Whispers among the servants in the manor house of Lady Ima’s hold over her lord husband. How he bore the scorn of his associates when he deferred to her, even in matters of business. Of Avidan’s devotion, his faithfulness in a land rife with marital perfidy. How not, when he was unable to lie to her?

Serena’s smile dissolved. The treasures of Bethshera had been crafted by the most powerful sorceress in all history and could not be wielded by a man. Legend spoke of Bethshera’s desire for peace and equality for women. The treasures had been crafted to make that dream a reality all across Cardania, or so the ancient writings said. Bethshera’s opponents claimed her desire was for female dominance, not for equality. The ensorcelled objects had disappeared almost three hundred years ago, most likely stolen by the League, the powerful group of sorcerers who openly opposed Bethshera’s views.

How had Lady Ima come to possess one of the lost treasures? And why had she not used the medallion to benefit women everywhere? Surely that’s what the sorceress intended, not that its power be wielded merely to ensure the fidelity of a petty landowner in an isolated section of one of the filthiest cities in Cardania. Closets stuffed with richly appointed gowns, chests of jewelry, and a house full of elaborate furnishings bore evidence that the lady had enjoyed the spoils of her husband’s prosperity to the fullest. Nor had she been one to think over-much of the welfare of other women. More than once Serena bore the brunt of her ladyship’s heavy hand and unkind tongue.

She shifted her weight, fingering the medallion while she sorted her thoughts. Perhaps with her impending death, Lady Ima had softened? The idea brought a dismissive snort. More likely she knew that her husband’s bed would not be long empty. A virile man like Avidan would waste no time in finding another woman to wield the treasure on his behalf. That would be a bitter pill for an arrogant woman like Ima to swallow. So she had passed the medallion on to one she knew would never bow to the will of a ruthless man. Serena had made no secret of the fact that she would never trust a man, with excellent reason.

She slipped the leather over her head and dropped the medallion inside her shirt, where it nestled against her skin. Regardless of the reason, the medallion had now passed to her.

She eyed Oved, who watched her with a curious expression. “If this is truly one of Bethshera’s treasures, it would be no more than a bauble in the hand of a man. Are you sure?”

“I’m a Sensitive. No magic of my own but I sense enchantments others can’t, especially one as powerful as that.” He drew himself up. “I don’t need to hear the stone sing to be certain.” Then a wry smile twisted his lips. “Besides, my tongue is being compelled to speak the truth to any question you ask. That in itself is proof of the medallion’s power.”

“You said you heard the song.”

His scrawny shoulders hunched. “I lied.”

Serena gave a disgusted grunt. No one could be trusted in Macaea City, not even a seemingly harmless charm merchant. Still, she had to ask. “You won’t tell anyone I have this, will you?”

For the span of three breaths he did not answer. Then his features scrunched in an apologetic grimace. “I’m going to tell my friends this very night, as soon as you leave.”

Serena bit her lower lip. If only the stone gave its bearer the power to compel obedience, she could command him to keep his tongue in check at least until she had made her escape. The moment word spread that she possessed one of the treasures of—

At the sound of a rustling, she whirled in time to see someone slip through the tent flap. Dark, hooded cloak. Broad shoulders. Taller than her by two hands. Her pulse pounded in her chest. This was the man she’d glimpsed following her in the alley.

He threw back the hood, and the dim candlelight revealed his face.

With a gasp, Serena grabbed the knife from her waistband. “Itiel.”

The name tasted sour on her tongue. She watched him through narrowed eyes, every muscle in her body on high alert.

A cold smile poisoned his handsome features. “You don’t sound happy to see me, Serena. How about a proper greeting for your long-lost husband?”

He stepped toward her, arms outstretched in a ready embrace. Serena backed up and brandished the knife.

He stopped, his eyes going wide. “My dear! You aren’t harboring hard feelings, are you?”

She made no effort to school the fury from her voice. “You sold me into slavery. Lifelong service. No chance even to purchase my freedom.”

“But to a nice woman, a rich woman.” He splayed his hands. “You’ve food to eat, a dry bed to sleep in.”

“My father will kill you when he finds out what you’ve done.” The thought filled her with satisfaction.

Itiel threw back his head and laughed. “If we hadn’t married your father would have sold you to the next slave caravan that passed by. You and your sisters with you. He told me himself.”

Serena reared back as though slapped. It wasn’t true. Father would never—

The medallion’s song thrummed in her mind. She lifted a hand and touched it through her thin cotton blouse where it nestled between her breasts. Itiel was speaking the truth.

He went on, his voice smooth. “Let us put these things behind us. I heard what you told the old man. You’re free now, and we’re together again. We can travel the world.” Full lips curved into a sensuous smile. “We had fun before, the two of us.”

Did he think her addle-brained enough to fall for his wiles a second time? “You’d only sell me again.”

“He can’t do that.”

Serena had almost forgotten Oved until he spoke. She turned to him. “But I’m his wife. The law says—”

“The law says,” Oved interrupted, “that when he sold you, he sold all rights to you. Your marriage was dissolved.”

“Shut up, old man,” Itiel snapped, his tone heavy with menace.

“We’re no longer married?” Serena clutched the medallion through her blouse. Its song assured her. “It’s true.”

“Ah, yes.” Itiel turned his smile on her once again. “He can’t lie to you, can he? No man can. May I see the medallion, my dear?”

She clamped down on her lower lip. He’d heard them discussing the treasure. Though Itiel had not beaten her during the few short months of their marriage, she recalled the many belittling insults he’d slung her way as though they’d been uttered only a few days ago. And he had sold her into slavery. He was not to be trusted.

Would he let her leave, simply walk out of the tent and disappear? Not likely. She edged backward. She must buy herself time to think.

“Tell me, Itiel, why are you here? Surely you haven’t spent the past year in Macaea City.”

“Hardly.” One corner of his arrogant lips twitched upward. “I spent some time in Jezreel, then in Portiem. Both those cities make Macaea look like a hamlet. The cards fell in my favor for a while, and then I hit a run of bad luck and decided my interests were better served here.”

She narrowed her eyes and studied him. The cloak he wore was thick and free of rips or mends. His trousers bore no signs of wear, and the candlelight shone on the polished leather of his boots. Gold glinted on his fingers, where she caught sight of a pair of jeweled rings. From what she could remember, he’d never been good at cards or dice, not good enough to dress like a wealthy merchant.

Her hand pressed the medallion more firmly against her skin. “You made money gambling?”

“Not only gambling.” His mouth snapped shut as though to trap further confession behind his lips. A moment later an insolent glint shone in his gaze. “But my luck has turned this night. And yours as well, my dear.” His smile deepened, and Serena took an instinctive backward step. “Imagine what we can accomplish with that medallion working in our favor.”

From the opposite side of the tent Oved sputtered in outrage. “Only a vile creature would use a sacred object for personal gain.”

“A creature like Lady Ima?” Itiel answered without taking his gaze from Serena. “I’ll pass your opinion along to Lord Avidan.” He extended a beseeching hand toward her. “Come, Serena, use your head. You need to leave this city tonight or risk capture and a return to slavery. A lone woman traveling without protection won’t last two days. You need me.”

She edged further away from him, and amusement deepened his smirk. His intention shone clearly in the leer that twisted the lips she’d once found sensual. If he could not convince her to cooperate willingly, she had no doubt he would take the medallion by force. He may not be able to lie to her while the stone touched her skin but if he overpowered her, she would be helpless to stop him from ripping the treasure from her neck. She tossed a quick glance at Oved. The old man looked as weak as a newborn, and about as useful as one against her well-muscled former husband.

One more step put her around the edge of the table, and her gaze dropped to the collection of enchanted objects displayed on the surface. A glimmer of hope flickered to life as the beginnings of a plan formed in her mind.

“So, you gambled away the money you got for selling my freedom.” She lifted her gaze once again to Itiel’s smug face. “And then what? What laws have you broken to pay for your keep?”

Itiel hesitated a moment, and then shrugged. “I occasionally relieve a wealthy gambling patron of a few extra coins.”

“You cheat them, you mean.” Oved eyed him with unmasked repugnance.

Serena shook her head, disgusted. “You make your living by cheating at the gambling tents?”

“No.” Itiel bit the reply short, the lines at the corners of his mouth displaying the first sign of discomfort.

The medallion’s hum increased and the fine hairs along the nape of her neck prickled in response.

She pushed her advantage. “How do you make the rest of your money?”

A struggle appeared on his face. When he spoke, it was in clipped words. “I rob people in the marketplace.”

Oved spat on the tent floor and spoke in a voice drenched with loathing. “You’re one of the market thieves who attack merchants and their customers alike, take their coin, and leave them maimed or even dead.”

Itiel didn’t respond, but the sudden tightening of his fists told Serena he would not tolerate this questioning much longer. She retreated further, which put her on the same side of the table as the old man. The narrow surface provided scant protection against Itiel, but she held her voice steady.

“Why did you return to Macaea City?”

He clenched his jaw in an attempt not to answer. The medallion’s power surged, and words flowed from his unwilling tongue.

“The guards in Portiem became familiar with my face. I thought to see how you fared.” Sweat broke out on his forehead, and a vein throbbed in his neck. “Avidan’s wealth is widely known. With you in his service, you have access to any number of valuable treasures.”

A disbelieving laugh blasted from her. “You expected to convince me to steal from Lord Avidan?”

“Of course not.” Disdain curved his nostrils. “A successful thief requires stealth and intelligence. You have neither. You’d be caught and executed at your first attempt.”

“I see.” Torn between anger at the insult and gratification that he thought her no thief, Serena tightened her grip on the hilt of the knife.  She saw his scheme clearly. He planned to use his good looks and charm to lure her, and then use her for selfish gain once again.  “You intended to convince me to arrange your entry into the manor house so you could rob it. Do you think me such an idiot that I would trust you again?”

In the brief silence that followed, the medallion’s song thrummed in her inner ears. Finally, Itiel’s answer was torn from him.

“Yes,” he ground out. “I do.”

“You disgust me,” Oved told him.

“Shut up, old man.” The menace in Itiel’s voice sent a shiver racing down her spine.

“And when you’d robbed Lord Avidan, what then?” she asked. “You say you want me to go with you, to travel the world, but you couldn’t know I’d be set free. I didn’t know it myself until a few hours ago. Where did I figure in your plans?”

“You—”

His throat muscles convulsed with the effort of holding back the truth. But he had no strength against the medallion’s song. No man did.

“I planned to arrange things as such that Avidan would blame you for the theft.” He lifted a hand, palm facing her, and hurried on. “But that was before. Imagine my surprise when you slipped through the kitchen gate this evening, hooded and moving from shadow to shadow. And then I heard what you said to the old man, heard about the medallion.” He unfastened the clasp at the base of his throat and drew in a deep breath. Glittering eyes bored into hers. “We were meant to be together, Serena. How could I have come upon you at exactly that moment unless the fates had arranged it? Fortune is on our side.”

Oved’s voice dripped loathing. “An ill fortune that would toss you in with the likes of him, lass.”

“Silence!” Itiel’s shout made her jump. With a jerk, he tore off his cloak and dropped it on the floor. “Enough of this. Serena, this can be pleasant if you come with me willingly. If I have to force you, you won’t find me gentle.”

He started around the table, but before he had taken two steps, she picked up the rainbow-colored marble. Clutching it in her fist, she smiled broadly at Itiel.

“You love me too much to hurt me, Itiel. Admit it.”

The question halted him, and a scornful chuckle rumbled in his chest. “If you believe that, you really are as stupid as I thought.”

Startled, she stared at the marble in her palm, and then threw a desperate look at Oved. “You said it was a love charm.”

The old man cast a desperate glance from Itiel to her. “I said I have a love charm. That one’s a fake.”

Itiel threw back his head and the tent filled with contemptuous laughter. “You think to entrap me with a love charm?” He took another sideways step.

Serena, too, stepped sideways. The only way to stay out of his reach was to keep the table between them.

The glint in his eyes hardened. “Come now, Serena. Games like these are beneath us. Give me the medallion.”

Her gaze swept the contents of the table. Amulets. Rings. Chains. At least a dozen multi-colored stones and marbles like the one she held. Desperation gave her voice volume and she shouted at the old man. “Where is the real love charm?”

“There!” He pointed a crooked finger at the table. “The blue one.”

Serena lunged for a sky-colored stone, but Itiel moved before her fingers reached it. He grasped the table’s edge and upended it with a jerk. Objects scattered across the dirt-covered floor. With a kick from his booted foot he sent the table flying and lunged forward, hands outstretched toward Serena.

A cry escaped her lips. She brandished the kitchen knife and backed up until she encountered the tent’s canvas wall.

Itiel sneered at the knife. “You think to stop me with that?”

Her thoughts whirled. She’d never harmed another living soul. Could she stab Itiel, the man she had once loved? The answer came in a flash. Yes, she could. She grasped the handle with both hands and pointed it at his chest. If he came within striking distance, she would plunge it into his heart.

A movement behind him caught her eye. Oved approached, his gnarled hands holding a wooden club above his head. In the second before the club crashed downward, Itiel turned to follow her gaze. He blocked the blow with his left hand and shoved the old man with his right. Oved’s frail body flew across the tent and landed with a thud.

With Itiel’s back turned, Serena tightened her grip on the knife and rushed forward, prepared to stab him in the kidney. But her gaze fell on an object on the floor, inches from his boot. The blue stone! With a cry, she dropped the knife and dove. Her chin struck the hard-packed ground and tears stung her eyes at the impact.

But her fingers grasped the love charm.

Rolling onto her side, she looked up at Itiel. He reared back a foot in preparation to delivering a kick…and froze. A confused expression overtook her former husband’s features. He stepped backward, his hand rising to his mouth, which fell open in obvious astonishment.

“Serena.” The word escaped on an awed whisper. “You’re…you’re beautiful.”

Breath ragged in her chest, she got to her feet and ran to Oved, who lay gasping on the ground. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he gasped. “Or will be once my head stops spinning.”

The old man struggled to stand, and she helped him to the stool in the corner where he’d perched when she first entered his tent.

“My love.” Itiel had not moved, but stood staring at her, his expression one of pure amazement. “Your beauty and kindness rob me of breath.”

She rolled her eyes and turned to Oved. “I need help. Safe passage out of the city, and a few coins for bread and meat on the road. Will you help me?”

His gaze slid to Itiel, who watched Serena with his hands folded beneath his chin as if in rapturous prayer.

“There are many who’ll be interested in hearing what this scoundrel has to tell them about his activities in the marketplace. There’s sure to be a reward.” Scraggly eyebrows rose as if in question.

Serena bit her lip. Could she turn Itiel over to the guards for thievery? The answer came not a half-breath later. He’d treated her badly and had intended to do far worse. Of course she could.

“Fetch the guards,” she said.

Oved jerked a nod. He started to leave, and she stepped in front of him. “You won’t betray me?”

Clear blue eyes looked directly into hers. “In return for your help in capturing and punishing the likes of him,” he jerked his head toward Itiel, “I will do all I can to see you safely on your way.”

The medallion sang witness to the truth of his vow. With a slow nod, she stepped aside.

Ignoring the old man’s departure, Itiel stared at Serena with unconcealed adoration. “What a fool I have been. I had you as my wife, and I let you go. Forgive me, my darling.”

Serena smiled again, the marble clutched in her hand. “No, Itiel, I won’t forgive you.”

He flinched as though struck. “I’ve behaved terribly, my love.”

As he made his way around the upturned table, she retreated to keep a safe distance between them. But Itiel rushed forward and threw himself to his knees.

“Please, my lifelong love.” His hands rose toward her in entreaty. “Search your tender heart, my darling. Without your forgiveness I will perish from grief.”

She cast a nervous glance toward the tent opening. How long would Oved be gone? Seeing Itiel humble himself was not nearly as pleasant as she’d anticipated.

“Get up,” she said impatiently. “Don’t grovel so.”

When she backed up again, he dog-crawled forward and clutched at the hem of her cloak.

“Please, Serena, be my wife again. It will be different this time, upon my oath it will.”

He buried his face in her cloak, and though she tried to flee around the table, he crawled on his knees as fast as he could, nearly pulling the garment from her body.

She instilled a stern note in her voice. “Get up. You’re acting like a fool.”

“I am a fool.” He threw back his head and his shout filled the small tent. “A fool for love. If you won’t have me as husband, I’ll be your slave. I’ll serve you all your life, I swear it.”

Serena stopped her backward retreat. Itiel, her slave? Now that idea held a certain amount of appeal. A smile hovered around the corners of her mouth at the thought of Itiel waiting upon her as she had waited upon Lady Ima, mending her clothing, serving her meals, running her errands. Seeing her smile, he moaned as though in painful ecstasy and buried his face once more in the folds of her hem.

A shiver of disgust wracked her body. This wasn’t real. His devotion was false, forced by the enchanted artifact she held in her palm. Itiel as a servant painted an appealing fantasy, yes, but nothing more.

Oved stepped through the tent flap, dwarfed by a pair of muscle-bound men. One wore the apron of a blacksmith, and the odor of smoke clung to his soot-smeared clothing and shaggy hair. The shoulders of the other were equally broad, and he wore the brown merchant’s badge stitched to his jerkin.

“I thought you’d gone for the guards,” she told Oved.

“And have them question you?” He shook his head. “These here will turn him over soon enough, once they finish with him.” The old man pointed at Itiel and spoke to the newcomers. “That’s the one who’s been robbing our customers.”

At the sight of their unsympathetic expressions, Serena breathed a relieved sigh and let the stone, now a dull, transparent gray, drop to the ground. Employing the enchantment had leeched all color from the sphere, leaving behind a worthless rock.

The moment the artifact left her hand, Itiel released the hem of his lifelong love’s cloak and climbed hastily to his feet.

“That,” he snarled through lips pursed with disgust, “was unforgivable.”

She smiled sweetly. “Your forgiveness is not what I seek, Itiel. But I do have a few questions regarding your activities in the marketplace since your return to Macaea City.”

Fury flared in his eyes as words poured from his unwilling lips. The men, after a moment of astonished silence, began asking questions, which Serena repeated. When Itiel had confessed enough details to implicate himself in a surprising variety of criminal behavior, the men thanked Serena and left, dragging the fuming Itiel between them.

She wrapped her arms around her middle and hugged. “Can they be trusted to keep my presence a secret?”

“Not for long,” Oved replied. “You must make haste. A trader I know is leaving in the early morning hours, heading south. On my word he will give you safe passage. How far?” A shrug. “You must take that up with him.”

A knot formed in Serena’s throat. An idea had formed while she watched Itial grovel on the ground. For the past year all she’d dreamed of was returning to the southern village that was her home. But if Itiel had spoken truly—and the medallion’s song attested to his truthfulness—then her family’s home was not the sanctuary she’d hoped it would be. Swallowing past the painful lump, she gave a decisive nod.

“I’m not going south. Can you arrange northbound passage?”

“Oh?” Oved’s spotty eyebrows arched. “To where?”

Serena pulled the medallion from inside her shirt and looked at it. “To the shrine of Bethshera. The sorceresses there will know how to use this as it should be used.”

The old man nodded, an approving smile curving his lips. “It so happens I know of a caravan traveling northward. I’m sure they’ll find room for two more.”

“Two?”

He flicked a hand toward the tent opening, indicating the alley beyond. “I find I grow tired of the grime and noise of the city. A change of scenery is what I want. Besides, I’ve need of new enchanted artifacts, and where better to procure them than from the shrine sorceresses?” His rheumy eyes sparkled. “I’ve long wanted to see the famous shrine.”

Some of the tightness in Serena’s throat lessened. He might not be entirely reliable, but as long as the medallion nestled between her breasts, he could be trusted to tell the truth. And besides, perhaps the pair of them would appear less vulnerable than a woman alone. They could pose as daughter and father. She cocked her head and eyed his withered frame. Or grandfather, perhaps.

“Thank you.” She dipped her head in a nod. “I accept your offer.”

“We’ll need a story.” He steepled ancient fingers and tapped them on his lips. “You can pose as my apprentice.”

Apprentice might be more believable than granddaughter. Feeling lighter than she had in a year, Serena awarded him a wry grin. “As long as it’s only a story. I don’t want to make a habit of handling sorcerous trinkets. I find I don’t like them much. I don’t think they’re quite safe.”

Oved patted her arm. “My dear, you’ve just stumbled upon one of the great truths of the world. The safest magic is the one in someone else’s keeping.”

The medallion’s song swelled, its airy tone feather-light, reminiscent of a giggle. The image of Itial clutching her hem, begging for her love, stirred a chuckle deep inside her. “Unless, of course, it’s a love charm in the hands of a former wife.”

Laughing together, they set about preparing for their journey.

 

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Ginny Patrick is the Pen Name for Virginia Smith, bestselling author of almost forty novels in a variety of genres.  Writing as Ginny, she indulges her passion for fantasy in all its fascinating forms.  The recipient of numerous awards, she has twice received the prestigious Holt Medallion Award of Merit.  Check out her website here.

 

Karolína Wellartová is a Czech artist, painter creating images predominantly with the wildlife themes, nature studies and the literary characters. She’s inspired by the curious shapes and a materials from the nature, but the main source still comes from literature. Check out more of her work at her website.