The Bride Tournament (Hexed Hearts Book 1)(4)
“What are you up to today, milady?” Rufus asked and bit into the apple. Juice dribbled into his white beard to leave a sticky mess on his tunic, right over the royal crest of prancing stags. He waggled his fingers, and the stain disappeared.
Flecks of gold, like fairy dust, fluttered over the spot for a second. There one moment and gone the next, all in the blink of an eye.
Ellie smiled. “I bet your wife appreciates you cleaning up after yourself.”
“It’s an illusion, Ellie dear, as you know. When I get home, she’ll know. And then she’ll ask where I’ve gotten the apple. I’ll have to tell her I ran into you.” Rufus shook his head and held out his arm to lead Ellie up the three white stone steps into the realm of the Citadel.
“Don’t worry, Rufus. I’m off to visit her now.” She patted his arthritic fingers and gifted him a warm smile.
“Be a dear and tell her how wonderful she looks. I’m afraid she’s losing her hair, and it’s driving her batty.” The crinkles in Rufus’s face lost their merriment. “She’d hate to think she looks as ill as she feels.”
Ellie nodded. “Meera will always look beautiful to those of us lucky enough to know her.”
A glimmer of tears glinted in Rufus’s eyes as he shooed Ellie along the stone road toward the tea shop his wife ran.
Ellie waltzed in and out of the market crowds in the town square. Wealthy guests lined the pavement as they arrived early for the crown prince’s Homecoming. Foreign scents and fabrics tumbled about the air like a crash of fire-colored leaves. She smiled and her step lightened as she inspected bejeweled broaches, velvets soft as warm butter, and stood awed in the face of new magic tricks. Small children giggled as a countryside practitioner waved his hands and a bubbling fountain of shimmering gold water erupted from the flagstones.
A twinge of jealousy speared Ellie. She moved on through the crowds of illusions and wealth.
Ellie knew Homecoming signified the beginning of the Bride Tournament. It was time for the crown prince to pair with a lady and carry on the royal bloodline. This reception was the beginning formality of a week-long series of balls, parties, formal receptions, tea-time visits, and gaming hall chatter.
Culminating with The Claiming of the Bride in a little over a week’s time.
Ellie popped into Meera’s Tea Emporium. The little bell over the door chimed as a gust of wind and orange-gold leaves followed her inside. A gingery, spicy scent wafted from the gurgling copper cauldron in the center of the shop. Fresh chai.
The building, a conglomeration of private nooks and crannied spaces, housed varied bits of eclectic goods. Meera kept the place tidy but cozy. Shelves of crystal animal figurines and tattered book spines lined the left wall.
A small gray cat wound its way around Ellie’s legs as she navigated the mismatched chairs and tables.
To the right stretched a long black counter, polished to a mirrored surface. Behind the obsidian bar rose narrow cabinets containing sachets and bottles of exotic and homemade teas. A glass stand housed the day’s assortment of pastries.
She circled a high table with cherry oak stools and lifted the glass lid. She found a crumbled cookie tucked underneath an apple tart. Sneaking the treat, she wandered to the back room of the shop. She bit into the dessert and gave a soft moan of appreciation.
“Ah, there you are, Ellie dear. Come, come, we haven’t all day.” Meera poked her scarf-wrapped head out from around a plum velvet curtain.
“Meera, you minx. You made pumpkin nutmeg cookies.” Ellie licked her fingers to pull all the flavor she could from the tiny pastry.
“I knew they were your favorite.” Meera grinned. Her laugh lines plumped up and made her look years younger. But they did not hide the purple shadows under her weary eyes.
“Rufus told me how you’re doing,” Ellie began.
“Oh, hush,” Meera tsked. “I’m done talking about me and my problems. We have bigger things on our hands at the moment. You must come and see.”
Ellie ducked around the curtain. A roomful of worried faces met her on the other side.
“It’s horrible, Ellie,” the baker, Mary, mumbled and handed Ellie a silver-embossed sheet of paper. “Read.”
Amidst the murmurs and whispered words, she read the flyer.
Her breath stuck in her throat and she coughed on a cookie crumb. Meera patted her back. Ellie reread the thin letter. Not believing the words trailing across the page.
“Mothers Against Mixing invites the noble citizens of Galacia to attend the first in a series of lectures concerning the open seat on the King’s Private Council.” Near the bottom, in small print, after much snaking scrollwork, Ellie read, “Only those with certified new magic, known as the Golden Arts, may attend. Proof required at entrance.”
“Mothers Against Mixing has never hidden its disdain for those of us who can’t afford the gold necessary to practice the Golden Arts, but to ban us from a political lecture? They’ll put a member of MAM on the King’s Private Council and we’ll lose even more rights!” Mary exclaimed and fretted with the edges of her flour powdered dress.
“That’s not the worst part.” Meera said and plopped onto a cushioned chair before the small stone hearth. The gray cat pounced into her lap and settled in with a purr. “Flip it over.”
Ellie turned over the flyer and gasped.