The Bride Tournament (Hexed Hearts Book 1)(30)

“Pierce mustn’t see her. I’m sorry, brother, but I can’t have you getting sick.” Gerard paced faster. “The women must be quarantined deep within the Citadel walls. If we risk travel, they could infect others. There’s an old shaman, several days’ ride out of the city. He might be able to help. I will send a letter at once.”

“But—”

Gerard cut his brother off. “No, Pierce. I do not want to hurt you to keep you safe. But if I have to throw you in the dungeons to keep you healthy, I will. This kingdom will not be ravaged by a disease we can stamp out. And I refuse to lose you.”

“My son.” The queen stood and pressed a cool palm against his warm cheek. “I know being king is not a future you’ve ever relished. Yet today, I stand before you, a mother, proud of her son’s king-like conduct.”

His heart swelled at the emotion in his mother’s eyes. He stood firm with a smile. Action must be taken at once to save the women’s lives and to prevent an outbreak. He may not want the crown, but Gerard would be damned if he let his people suffer because of his dispassion.

“Dear.” The queen patted his cheek and broke his reverie.

“Yes, Mother?”

“It’s not the pox.”

“Huh?” Pierce popped to his feet and joined the duo. The brothers shared a confused glance. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that the symptoms are there but not the contagious pox.” The queen shrugged. “I’ve sent the best physicians to see our two girls, and they agreed. While the symptoms mirror the disease…it isn’t actually the pox. They have spots but they are round, evenly spaced, unlike the random pattern and diamond-shaped marks that accompany the real disease.”

“Then what is it, Mother? You’re making no sense.” Pierce raised his voice.

The queen halted her slippered steps and sadness creased her hazel eyes. She turned to Gerard. Apprehension beaded his skin in a cold sweat.

“I’ve read about this kind of thing before, in one of the old books. I had the doctor confirm before I incited mass hysteria.”

“Mother?” Pierce gripped the queen’s hand.

“Ladies Veronica and Marie? They’re hexed.”

“But that would mean—” Gerard started.

The queen nodded, her face grim. “Old magic is back.”





Chapter Eight



“We’re positive the pox is the result of a curse?” Ellie reiterated.

Meera, panting a bit at their fast pace, nodded. “It’s not the real pox, but a hex, an evil charm. Dame Lange or Lady Olivia used old magic to take out the competition.”

“Then how do we help?” Ellie begged, her thoughts filling with images of Ladies Veronica and Marie.

“Once performed, hexes are impossible to break. You have to catch the spell-caster prior to the enchantment,” Meera advised.

“So, what are we supposed to do? What can I do? Follow them around until I see them cursing someone and bean them over the head with a frying pan?” Ellie scowled.

Meera’s hand clasped her ice-blue velvet cape, pulling Ellie up short. “Sweetheart, you have old magic.”

The gemstone buzzed like Ellie’s fried emotions. Itchy, worried, and angry.

“So?” I can’t control it.

“Only old magic can stamp out old magic. New magic has no hold.” Meera’s mouth curved into a half-smile. “If Rachel tried to stop Dame Lange’s plan, it would be like bringing a butter knife to a saber fight.”

“Is that why we’re heading to see Veronica and Marie? You expect me to be able to do something about their condition?” Ellie asked.

“Yes, you can use your magic to push out the hex.” Meera’s eyes shining with hope, she reached into the pocket of her gown, pulling out Ellie’s mask. “Here, I brought this to keep your identity a secret. We can’t have you getting into trouble for trying to help with old magic.”

Ellie slipped on the familiar black mask, still unsure.

“I can’t do this.” Ellie backpedaled as the butler paused outside a door marked “Sick Room” and inserted a key into the lock.

It clicked open.

Rachel shoved Ellie into the dim room. “Yes, you can.”

“You’re the only hope they have,” Meera added in reassurance.

“This way, ladies.” A footman with a kind smile and wispy gray-black hair ushered her toward the two small pallets where the cursed women lay, silent and waxen. He lit a candelabrum and set it by their heads.

Ellie traipsed forward with one more push from Rachel. “You’re sure they’re not contagious?”

“Yes.” Meera smiled.

Ellie knelt between the low pallets. The women turned from the dim light of the candles. Hissing in a breath, she catalogued the multitude of puckered red spots along their cheeks and necks.

A sheen of sweat dripped down their brows. She adjusted her mask.

“No one,” Meera said, “possesses enough old magic to cleanse the ill pair. No one besides you, Ellie. It has to be you who helps.”

“How, how do I fix this?”

“Focus on your pendant, the light will do as you ask,” Meera instructed from the threshold.