Blood magic and brandy, p.1
Blood Magic and Brandy, page 1
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
BLOOD MAGIC AND BRANDY
Copyright © 2022 Emily Michel
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover design by JJ's Design & Creations
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Newsletter Sign-up
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by Emily Michel
For whichever family member gifted me a copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales when I was young. In the best way possible, this is all your fault.
Author’s Note
Please be aware this book contains elements that may upset some people. These include past death of a parent, controlling stepparent, brief description of a murder scene including blood, threatening the life of a child, and mind control. The author welcomes comments on her website should you find something upsetting that was not mentioned above.
Chapter 1
Like everything in her life, including her name, Rane’s fairy tale began with an accident. She balanced precariously on a thick, knobby branch and stretched for the rosy apple just out of reach. Her dog circled the tree, barking and whining in warning. Rane teetered for an instant, but a triumphant smile flourished on her lips as her fingers closed around the fruit. Catching herself on the trunk of the tree, she yanked on the apple, and it pulled away from its branch with a satisfying snap.
“Easy, Bash,” she said to the distressed hound. “I’m fine.”
Bash let out one last low whine and settled into a small hollow in the tree’s roots. It wasn’t her fault she was so protective. The fairy hound had been bred to be a loyal companion and a guardian to keep Rane safe from dangers both known and unknown, even when she herself was the danger.
She slid down the trunk until her ass hit the branch of the oldest tree in the ancient orchard, one of the few places away from prying eyes where she could be herself. Dangling a leg in the air below, she polished the fruit on her threadbare tunic. Rane bit into the firm, snow-white flesh. Nothing tasted so good as a stolen apple on a beautiful autumn day.
She should have been in the castle today helping to set up for the big feast tomorrow instead of taking refuge among the twisty trees and ramshackle sheds. The ambassador from Teruelle was due later, and her mother had asked—no, ordered—her to help the steward with the guest quarters. That being the last thing she’d wanted to do, Rane snuck out right after breakfast, leaving the details to her much more obedient and efficient siblings.
Besides, wasn’t it more important she take advantage of the last two months before she turned twenty-one than help old Radclyffe make a few beds? The orchard was an excellent place to disappear for a few hours. Her life would change after her next birthday, and not for the better. New duties, less fun, and it would be time to pick a husband from her limited options. The thought ripped away a bit of her joy and soured the apple she held. Rane pulled out her knife and cut off a piece.
“Here you go.” She dropped it.
Bash lifted her head, tail thumping against the ground, and snatched the small piece out of the air. The dog resembled a normal hound for the most part, but her eyes were as blue as the summer sky, and the pattern of her coat was too symmetrical, with three perfect circles of dark brown fur along her spine. Rane smiled and bit into the apple, its sweetness restored. If nothing else, she’d always have Bash.
A low rumble drew her attention to the road. A dust cloud hung over the wide thoroughfare, and two mounted guards led a trio of carriages surrounded by another ten guards. The coat of arms shone through the dust kicked up by the horses and wheels of the lead carriage. A red saltire crossed the crest from corner to corner behind the crouching green dragon on a field of gold, announcing the ambassador from Teruelle was ahead of schedule. Well, shit, it appeared her morning adventure would be cut short.
She’d left her mare in a meadow on the other side of the road. Rane would have to ride like the wind to beat them to Avora once the delegation passed. But they didn’t pass; they slowed.
The mounted guards fanned out to the edge of the old orchard. The doors to the carriages opened, spewing their inhabitants onto the dusty road. From the lead carriage, a young man emerged. He wore travel-rumpled clothes that seemed a bit too big, as if he wanted to hide in them. There was a placid, almost vacant, expression on his face as he helped a woman exit with a flourish worthy of the most insipid dandy in the Lorean court. This must be the young ambassador, Lord Nevar of Otero, and the advisor sent along to help the novice diplomat not fuck things up. Idoya, Mother of All, help them. King Armel had sent a sycophant as ambassador.
Most of the party stayed close to the carriages, a few heading into the woods on the other side of the road. The lordling waited until the woman’s attention was drawn elsewhere before shuffling into the orchard, heading toward Rane in an awkward zigzag, a guard following in his wake.
“Go hide, Bash.”
Bash could sniff out a shady character from a furlong away and run faster than a horse. Should the ambassador prove a threat, the dog would be at his throat before Rane could call for help. The hound whined, whipping her tail back and forth in protest. Rane gave her the hand signal to go, and Bash obeyed, taking off like a shot. The undergrowth barely trembled with her passing.
Rane drew her leg up and huddled against the tree trunk. The leaves would shield her from discovery if the goddess looked favorably upon her. She stilled her mind, wishing she hadn’t left the invisibility charm with her horse. Sunny wouldn’t do much more than search for greener grass to munch on, but Rane hadn’t wanted her to contend with the bears she’d heard snuffling around during her journey out. Though she hadn’t heard, smelled, or otherwise sensed them, the occasional fey creature also wandered this area, hunting for easy prey.
She certainly wouldn’t waste her single boon from her godmother on retrieving the charm when her own stealth should be sufficient. Rane dared to look toward the road again.
The ambassador gesticulated clumsily at the man trailing him, who then glanced over his shoulder, his attention on the woman traveling in the lead carriage. The ambassador said something with a feeble smile, and the guard mirrored the smile before striding off toward the rest of the party.
As he slipped away from the guard, the ambassador’s strange, shuffling gait and blank expression vanished. The further he wandered from the road, the taller he seemed, gaining an inch or two, and he walked with a distinct spring to his step. He transformed before her eyes from a vacuous little lordling into a confident man, leaving her to question why he felt the need to hide his true nature.
His long strides brought him to her tree in no time. She noticed his square-jawed face right away. How could she not? He wasn’t just handsome. He was goddess-blessed beautiful. His reddish-brown flawless skin, strong nose, full lips, and tight black curls were something out of a dream.
She leaned out from her well-hidden perch, desperate to figure out what made this man different from any she’d met. The leaves fluttered and crackled around her. He looked up, his eyes as sharp as bronze knives. She gasped at the intensity of his gaze and let go of the branch she held for balance.
“Fuck,” she said as she lost the battle and slid off the tree.
Chapter 2
The more distance Nevar put between himself and his stepmother, the better he felt. A weight he always forgot he carried in her presence lessened, and he dropped his charade, finally moving like the trained warrior he was.
A rustling in the trees above him had him loosening his sword from its scabbard. It wasn’t people he feared. Rumor had the woods near Lorea full of many strange beasts. Fairy, some claimed. Others suggested monsters, but most likely the usual wolves, bears, and lynx.
Nevar looked up, unsure whether he’d need to run or draw his sword to fight off whatever was trying to close in on him. What he didn’t expect was a delicate, heart-shaped face and shining eyes the color of the moss on the north side of a tree. The woman teetered on the branch she sat upon and toppled over, swearing as she fell.
Frozen in place by his surprise, his mind wasn’t quick enough to realize she was directly above him. She fell out of the tree and landed on him with a thump and a crackle of twigs. They collapsed to the forest floor, knocking the wind o
The brush under the trees quivered and before he could regain his breath or his feet, a flash of brown and white bounded out and growled at him. Nevar raised his arms to fend off the attack, but the dog stood its ground a couple paces away, hackles raised and teeth bared. The woman’s warm body rolled off his, and the hound took a menacing step toward him. He gripped his sword once again, the angle extremely awkward from his prone position, but he refused to go down without a fight.
“Don’t.” The woman stood and studied him. Coming to some sort of conclusion, she pursed those lovely lips and whistled, high and sharp. “Come, Bash.”
Her firm voice was used to giving orders and having them obeyed. The dog instantly backed off and returned to her mistress, sitting placidly at her feet, tail thumping softly against the fallen leaves. The mystery woman patted the hound’s head.
Nevar raised himself on his elbows to get a good look at the young woman. About average height, she had more curves than most, shown off by the tan breeches she wore instead of a skirt, and a plain leather jerkin over a white tunic nearly transparent from wear. Her chestnut hair escaped the braid she’d tried to corral her locks in, tendrils curling softly around her face. It wasn’t every day such a beautiful woman almost killed him by misadventure.
He sent out a prayer of thanksgiving and ignored the breach in decorum. “Are you all right?”
She held out a hand. “I’m fine. You?”
He took it and pulled himself up. Much like his own, her hand had many calluses. He had earned his with hours of sword practice. How had she earned hers? Perhaps she was a gamekeeper or maybe a farmer’s wife. Nevar fervently hoped for the former.
“The only thing injured seems to be my pride.”
“I apologize for falling on you. I wasn’t expecting company in the orchard today.”
“Are you supposed to be here? I believe this is a royal holding. I doubt a stranger climbing his trees would please the king.”
Her lips curved into a half smile, and something reckless gleamed in her eyes. “Your concern is noted, but the king and I have an... agreement.”
“An agreement to climb his trees?” Was it possible this young woman was the king’s mistress? The notion was disappointing.
“Something like that.”
“Why were you in the tree?” If she was going to be cagey about this agreement, at least he could find out why she was climbing trees. It could be important if, for example, she was evading some of those wild beasts he’d heard rumors about. Although the dog was still calmly sitting at the woman’s feet, he glanced around to ensure no more surprises lurked in the shadows.
She shrugged. “I enjoy climbing trees.”
“You should be more careful. It’s easier going up trees than down.”
“Any cat could tell me that, but I find it gives me a new perspective on things.”
“Oh? And did you like what you saw?”
Her half-grin blossomed into a full smile, and her gaze roved from his head to his toes. “I didn’t not like what I saw.” Her voice dropped low, and something deep within him thrummed with possibility.
Nevar cleared his throat, grasping for control around this puzzling woman. He searched desperately for a proper retort to her backhanded compliment, but he came up empty. All he wanted was to spend as much time as possible in her company. He grabbed a stray thought and hoped it would suffice.
“The scenery is nice today.” Oh, God, how was it he had a line of noblewomen back in Otero waiting for his attention, and the best he could come up with when faced with a beautiful farm girl was, The scenery is nice?
A raucous laugh erupted from her, drawing her hound’s attention. This only made her snort, and a tear dripped down her face.
“You’re not very good at flirting, are you?” she said when the snorting subsided.
“It’s not usually necessary.”
“I imagine all the Teruellan ladies throw themselves at your feet.”
“How did you—?”
She gestured in the direction of the unseen carriages. “Your carriages carry the coat of arms.”
Ah, yes. But who was she to recognize the coat of arms so easily? The mystery surrounding this woman made him want to get her to spill her secrets. A tree-climbing, callous-having, beautiful woman who happened to recognize a foreign sovereign’s coat of arms had to be worth knowing. She was far more interesting than all those ladies who lined up back in Otero.
“Are you in need of a ride? I’d be happy to offer you one anywhere between here and Avora.”
She snorted again, but examined him with a new, appraising light in her eyes. “I appreciate your courtesy, but I can make my own way home.”
“My lord?” A voice carried through the trees from the direction of the road, breaking whatever spell had settled over them.
“I should let you return to your carriage.” She glanced toward the voice. The hound followed her gaze.
“But—”
“I’ve kept you too long. Safe journey.” She stepped away, but stopped when the hound let out a low whine. “Fine, you can say goodbye.”
The dog sprung at Nevar, and he raised his arm again to fend her off. But she placed her paws gently on his shoulders and licked his cheek. The woman whistled once more, and the hound dashed away into the brush at the edge of the orchard, her white-tipped tail marking her passage through the undergrowth.
“I’m Nevar,” he called out as the woman followed the animal. “You can find me at the castle in Avora.”
She glanced over her shoulder, another half-grin on her lovely face, those green eyes sparkling in amusement.
“I know.”
Then she disappeared into the brush, as if she’d never been there.
Just in time, too. A flash of dark blue and silver caught his eyes as the guard he’d waved off a few moments ago trudged into view. Nevar hunched his shoulder, relaxed his muscles, and blanked his face, transforming himself from a muscular, intelligent warrior into a soft, simple lordling.
“Her ladyship is becoming vexed at your absence, my lord.” He enunciated the words slowly with a hint of exasperation, as though talking to a six-year-old.
“Yes, of course.” He glanced around the orchard as though he had no idea where he was or how he got there. “Lead the way.”
Together, they slouched back toward the road.
“It’s about time, Nevar.” His stepmother’s voice grated on him. Most would consider it to be a lovely voice, but he did not. Nearly every word out of her mouth attempted to humiliate him. She told him he was lazy, insinuated he was stupid, and yelled at both him and his little brother for each mistake. Long ago, Nevar had learned to wear his indifference as armor. The more she assumed he didn’t care, the less she would probe for any weaknesses. “Where did you find him?”
“He’d wandered under the apple trees, Baroness.” The guard’s voice held the apology she wouldn’t get from Nevar.
She shook her head, her lips pinched and a crease in her brow. Only fifteen years his senior, she’d been patronizing enough at their first meeting that his five-year-old self had sensed it. To this day, she insisted on treating him like an infant.
“I am not a child, Jocelyn,” Nevar murmured sullenly, keeping his exasperated sigh in his chest.
He had honed his skills at subterfuge since his father, Baron Leon of Otero, had taken ill some four years ago. He had to play his part for a little while longer before he showed her, showed everyone who—and what—he truly was. Pushing away the urge to smile, he climbed back into the musty carriage.
“Then stop acting like it,” she snapped back, her hazel eyes flashing with irritation as she sat across from him. “Your dawdling could make us late, and that would be a bad first impression.”
Nevar wanted to tell her she’d requested the stop, but it would only prove her point. Instead, he allowed icy disdain to fill the space between them, ignoring the waves of scorn coming from his stepmother, as he always did. Except for her request for a stop by the orchard, the silence had been their companion all day.
They would be in Avora, the capital of Lorea, before the end of the day, a little early. If King Rowan didn’t send a ceremonial escort soon, they would still be greeted with pomp and circumstance in the castle courtyard. At least the weather on this autumn day was clear and warm. Pomp and circumstance was a nuisance on the best days, but in foul weather, it was a nightmare.
