Adela's Curse Page 5

  “You are very generous.”

  Adela only wished it were true, almost as much as she wished he would leave. But a new order from Marek forbade her from escaping.

  “Have you lived here all your life, my lord?” Adela attempted to continue their conversation.

  “Yes, my father passed these lands to me. Hopefully I’ll have a son one day so it can continue on.” He touched her elbow to turn her down another path lined with dying rose bushes.

  “I’m sure you will,” Adela said.

  “I hope—” He stopped short. “Look at that.”

  A rose near Adela had turned from a withered bud into a bloom.

  “How did that happen?” he asked. “Everything has been dead for weeks now.”

  Adela looked around, wishing she could stop her magic. The garden sensed her presence without her trying, and the poison was being driven away. Several more blooms had opened up, bright spots of color in the bleak courtyard.

  “I don’t know.” She clutched her hands close to her waist as if that would stop her magic. “Perhaps a change is finally coming.”

  His gaze lingered on her before turning to the garden again.

  “Perhaps it is,” he murmured. “Do you walk very often? I should like to find you here again.”

  “I don’t feel like it would be my place—” Adela began.

  “Please?” His face creased in a half-smile that held a bit of forlorn hope.

  “Perhaps.” She smiled and curtseyed before leaving him.

  ****

  The next day, Marek gave Adela no choice but to go to the gardens again. This time, she and the count were not the only ones there. Word had spread that the flowers were blooming again, and the castle folk had come to see.

  Adela and Stefan walked together through the gardens. She could feel the stares of the others and hear their whispers. Stefan, apparently, did not. He asked questions and she gave the answers of her false life. They talked of the strange drought and what it had done to his lands.

  “You seem very educated for a seamstress.”

  “My cousin thought we should all read and write if we were to go out into the world,” Adela said.

  “So what would you do, if you were not a seamstress?”

  “I don’t know, my lord. I haven’t given it much thought,” she replied. A half-truth. “I’m not sure what I would do if I was free.”

  “Free? You sound as if you are trapped.”

  His observation sent her stuttering for a reply. “I only meant that sometimes I feel as if I’m tied down to my cousin. She depends on me so much, and I could never leave her on her own.”

  Adela’s hand brushed a lily, and it burst into life. She glanced around in alarm to make sure no one had seen.

  “Would you rather do something else than be a count?”

  “I’ve never really thought about it,” Stefan said. “Perhaps I would be a travelling knight, slaying monsters and saving people. Or maybe I’d just travel the world and listen to all the stories there are to be told.”

  “I don’t think there would be enough lifetimes for that, my lord. Just think of all the stories in your castle alone. Brygida alone has at least a hundred years’ worth. And she shows no indication of running out soon. I should know.” Adela tipped a wry smile and wink.

  He laughed. People looked up in surprise. The count’s laugh had not been heard in a long time. Soon after, Stefan was called away, but before he left he asked if they could meet again. Adela said yes, not entirely against her will. A small part of her wanted to try and make him laugh like that again.

  They met the next day, and again the day after. By now, the gardens were bursting with life and more beautiful than they had ever been. The walks continued, but Stefan and Adela began to travel outside the gardens. As they strolled through the town, the herb gardens sorted themselves out, trees straightened and sprouted leaves, and the laughter returned to the townspeople.

  Adela found that she enjoyed the count’s company, but her thoughts often strayed to Damian. When she was alone or occupied with her sewing she would look through the bond.

  She would see Damian walking through the forest with the squirrel, or flying above a stream with the dragonflies and teasing the pike that swam there. Another time, he was small enough to ride the squirrel as it bounded through the forest.

  He seemed to know when she was watching, and their bond strengthened as he sent impressions of all that he saw. Those moments became bright spots of color in her day as she reconnected to her beloved faery world through him.

  ****

  One afternoon, a white pigeon landed on her open windowsill and extended its leg. A paper was attached. Adela freed the paper, her fingers tingling at the magic in its many folds. Her name was written in a bold hand and Damian’s name signed at the bottom. She frantically scanned the message.

  He wrote to ask her how she was faring, inform her of life in the faery castle and forest, and wondered if she was in need of anything. Lidia and Estera both missed her and frequently lamented her absence. Rafael suspected Damian knew where she had gone. Of course, Lidia wanted to know everything. Adela laughed as she finished reading and sat down to compose a letter back.

  She told Damian of the mortals and their life, of her stories that she had invented, and the count. At the end, she told him not to worry about her. She folded the paper and tied it to the pigeon’s leg before sending it away.

  “You look very cheerful,” Filipa commented as Adela joined her in the work room.

  “I just got a letter from home,” Adela said.

  “How’d they know to send it here?”

  Adela had already thought up an excuse. “I’d sent something to them shortly after I arrived here to let them know where I was.”

  “The count was asking for you,” Filipa said.

  “He came here?” A faint jittery feeling shook her stomach. She wasn’t sure if she was pleased or frightened that he kept showing her that much attention.

  “No, silly! His squire came and asked me. I told him I didn’t know where you were. Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll find you before dinner.”

  Adela nodded and sat down with her work. Marek’s laughter echoed through the bond. She pressed her hands against her skirt to hide their shaking.

  Stefan did find her before dinner.

  “I wondered if you might like to ride with me tomorrow?” he asked.

  “I don’t really know how, my lord,” Adela said, grateful for the excuse.

  “You know you don’t have to keep calling me that,” Stefan told her. “And it’s not difficult. I’ll show you how.”

  Marek decided for her, and the time was set. Any joy Adela had from Damian’s letter was shattered. She remained downcast for the rest of the day. After the evening meal concluded, she went out into the garden again. The waning moon cast faint beams to brush the flowers, but she could see well enough in the dark. A cat stalked through the growth. Adela shivered in the cool air. She wished her bond with Damian allowed them to talk.

  “You’re hiding something from me,” Marek accused.

  “How could I do that?”

  “I don’t know. But faeries have plenty of tricks.”

  “If I had plenty of tricks, do you think I would be here right now, or have let you bind me?” she asked bitterly.

  His smugness was sickening. “I am looking forward to your ride with the count tomorrow. Perhaps we’re finally getting somewhere. As soon as you’ve killed him, I’ll let you go.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  Marek laughed. “I’ll let you know when the time is right to make our move. Perhaps you might just make him die of a broken heart.”

  ****

  Stefan guided Adela towards the grey mare. She gripped his arm, her knuckles white. He placed his hand over hers to try and relax her grip, trying not to focus on how much he would like to keep her hand in his.

  She stretched out her hand in response to his prompt
, and the horse nuzzled her fingers gently. He placed a hand on her back and felt her relax a little. She mounted and took the reins as Stefan showed her. The mare looked back at her, sensing her apprehension, and nickered softly as if to reassure her.

  Stefan mounted his own chestnut stallion and moved beside Adela. Two men at arms fell in place behind them as they rode out of the castle. Stefan took her on a tour of the lands surrounding the castle, enjoying her questions about the workings of his holdings.

  “It seems to me like the lands improve right before my eyes. Though maybe I should just blame this new hope I’ve felt since that day I met you in the garden,” he said in a light voice. But he thought her return smile held a tint of nervousness.

  Many of the common folk came out to watch as they rode by, gathering in groups to better speculate about the beautiful woman with him.

  They returned to the castle just before dinner. Stefan helped Adela dismount.

  “Will you join me for dinner tonight at the head table?” he asked.

  “I don’t have anything suitable to wear,” came the initial protest he’d come to expect.

  “That doesn’t matter.” He’d found he only had to ask again to get the reply he’d prefer. “Please?”

  There was something about her that made him suspect that she was more than she claimed to be. When they first met on the road he thought she might be some noblewoman forced to travel in disguise, but her clear inexperience with horses and castle life was a mark against the theory. Whoever she was, she clearly held secrets. He was beginning to suspect she was in some sort of trouble.

  Although who would trouble such a kind and lovely woman?

  “All right, my—I’m sorry, Stefan,” Adela replied.

  He smiled and was glad to see her genuine smile before she left.

  ****

  Adela hurried to change as Brygida rushed around trying to help her find a better dress. In the end, she wore the best dress she had—light blue with a dark bodice and traces of embroidery along the collar. She drew out one of her necklaces. A small gemstone carved into a teardrop pendant hung on a slender chain.

  Brygida touched the sparkling stone hesitantly. “It’s so beautiful,” she whispered.

  “It was passed to me by my mother.” Adela clasped the necklace about her neck and straightened her dress, making sure the sleeve covered the pale red hand scar on her forearm from Malvina’s touch. “I wish I had something else to wear!”

  “Do you like him? The count?” Brygida asked.

  “He’s very nice.”

  “Yes, I suppose he is.” Brygida raised a questioning eyebrow. “And?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure of anything anymore.” Adela viciously tugged at her sleeves again.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Never mind,” Adela said. “Do you think I look all right to sit at the head table?”

  “I don’t think anyone will care what your dress looks like. You’re beautiful inside and out.”

  Adela smiled at Brygida, taking a breath before leaving the room.

  The main hall erupted in sudden conversation as Adela sat next to the Count. The lords and ladies whispered, and the servants gossiped in the kitchens.

  “I knew that would happen. I hope you don’t feel too uncomfortable,” Stefan said under his breath.

  “I suppose it is rather shocking,” Adela replied.

  He looked at her with a half-smile. “I don’t care.”

  “Yes, but I’m a seamstress and you’re a Count.”

  “But somehow, I don’t really think that you’re a seamstress,” Stefan said, his eyebrows raised.

  Adela paused with her wine glass in mid-air. She scrambled for words to say. “I told you I was, so I am.”

  Thankfully, Stefan changed the subject, and the meal continued. The lord’s wife to her right caught her attention and drew her into a conversation. The lady was naturally very curious about the mysterious woman who had caught Count Stefan’s eyes. Adela answered with the same invented stories as before.

  This time, she caught the aloofness that came over the lady when she heard Adela’s occupation at the castle. Adela stifled a laugh as she noticed some of her own embroidery on the woman’s dress. But Estera’s etiquette training held true, and she replied with all the grace she could muster.

  ****

  The next morning, Filipa took Adela’s sewing from her.

  “If you’re going to be staying in the count’s company, we’d best get you some suitable clothes,” she said.

  “I don’t know if I’ll keep dining with him,” Adela cautioned Filipa, hoping to curtail the woman’s enthusiasm.

  “I think you will,” Filipa said with a knowing look. “You might not know this, but the Count was supposed to get married almost five years ago now. Sadly, his bride was killed by a griffin on her way to the castle for the wedding. He has been so downcast ever since! It breaks everyone’s heart. But now you’ve come along, and he’s laughing again. Not to mention the drought is leaving.”

  “But I’m just a seamstress!” Adela exclaimed. “Forgive me for thinking that it might not be proper for a count to be in the company of someone like me.”

  “I don’t mind,” Filipa said. “And I don’t think most of the other servants would care either. You carry yourself differently than other women. You could make a great lady.”

  Irritation and anger at her helpless situation flashed through Adela.

  “No, I can’t!”

  Filipa eyes widened in surprise.

  “I’m sorry.” Adela unclenched her fists. “It’s just a little overwhelming.”

  “That’s understandable.” Filipa patted her shoulder. “Now, let me measure you for a new dress. And I’m sorry, but you’ll have to help me with the sewing.”

  “Of course.” Adela rose to be fitted, wishing that Lidia were there to give her strength.

  Chapter 7

  Lidia sighed heavily and leaned back into the cushioned bench. It had been almost three weeks since Adela had left. Lidia had gotten only one letter, delivered by a pigeon. She rested her head back against the stone wall of the alcove and sighed again.

  What is Adela up to?

  “Careful! You look like you’re thinking. You know how dangerous that is for you.” Rafael leaned against the wall.

  “One moment of peace is all I ask!” Lidia raised her hands theatrically. “Why are you here anyway?”

  “I’m done in the woodshop for the day, and I came to see if you wanted to go outside before dinner.”

  “Goodness! Us out on a walk? What would people say?”

  “Only that I have poor judgment.” Rafael smirked.

  Lidia rose from the couch where she had, in fact, been waiting for Rafael. They left the mountain, strolling hand in hand, wings outstretched after having been confined due to their respective trades for the day.

  Rafael nudged her. “You look preoccupied.”

  “I’m just worried about Adela.”

  Lidia leaned her head against his shoulder for a moment. He looped her hand around his arm.

  “I’m sure she’s fine. She’s just busy handling the drought and everything. She is very responsible, you know.”

  “Yes, but that’s just it.” Lidia didn’t correct him. “She sent me a letter telling me all about it, but it seemed very vague about details.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, she didn’t tell me where she went, she said the work was going well, the few mortals she’s seen have been very nice, and she’s living in a cave.”

  “I don’t see what the problem is.”

  “Who would live in a cave?”

  “We do,” Rafael pointed out.

  “Yes, but not a drafty, damp mortal cave—you know what I mean. Something’s wrong about all this.”

  Rafael nodded. “We could ask Damian.”

  “Damian?”

  “Yes, I think he knows something, but he won’t tell me.” Rafael scowled.r />
  “That’s surprising, given your ability to pester people until they give up,” Lidia said. “Where can we find him?”

  They set forth and eventually found Damian caring for one of the small winged horses that lived on the mountains. Its head rested on Damian’s shoulder while another faery untangled barbed wires from its brown and white speckled wings.

  “What happened?” Lidia reached to stroke the horse’s nose.

  It blinked sorrowful brown eyes at her through its shaggy forelock.

  “Some mortals insist on trying to catch them. Aleksy here barely managed to escape one of them.” Damian glared. “The mortals’ different traps never cease to amaze me!”

  “Almost done, Damian,” the other faery said. “Tell him he’ll have to stay here for a few days before trying to go back to his eyrie.”

  Damian laid his hand on the horse’s forehead and murmured a few quiet words to it. The pegasus snorted and butted his chest.

  “I’m sorry, my friend, but that’s the way it has to be.”

  The horse shook its head in disagreement, but followed the other faery away.

  “So, why are you two here?” Damian asked, brushing off his hands.

  Lidia flashed her most charming smile. “We wanted to ask you about Adela.”

  “Why?” Damian averted his eyes. “I’ve only known her a few weeks.”

  “Maybe, but I still think you’re hiding something.” Rafael poked Damian’s arm. “I saw you two coming back to the mountain together the day before she left.”

  “I’m not hiding anything.” Damian bent to pick up a broken feather that had fallen from the pegasus’s wing.

  “Aha! You’re lying!” Rafael crowed.

  “Have I ever lied to you?”

  “Well—no.”

  “So why would I now?” Damian asked, but seemed to have trouble deciding what to do with his hands.

  “Because you are,” Lidia declared. “You’re lying about Adela, and I want to know the truth!”

  Damian’s face grew serious. “I’m sorry. I can’t tell you anything.”