Warlock Apprentice, Black Lake Novel 4

Chapter Thirty-Seven

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“Did ya stop breathin’?” Morgan’s voice cracked through the mush that was my brain.

I opened my eyes and looked directly up into a forest of white and black dreadlocks, and a pair of tusks. I lay across Morgan’s arms. The ogre held me. Held me like an armload of firewood.

“Let me down,” I blurted.

“Calm yarself.” He lowered my feet to the ground. “Ya got some blood back in that empty head of yars?”

“I’ll—” I sucked in a breath as my eyes fell on the concerned expression peerin’ down from the stairs.

The woman was the most gorgeous creature I had ever imagined. No dream could conjure such an angelic countenance. I glanced at the girl standin’ next to her. They had identical features, but the woman’s maturity, full, golden hair flowin’ over her shoulders, breasts that— Well. They set a heavenly profile.

I realized my mouth gaped, and I closed it quickly. Caught the grin on the face of the man who had to be her husband, Selene’s wizard friend. Though heat pricked my cheeks, I was grateful the man held no resentment for my loutish covetin’. No doubt, by the glamour of the goddess, he was used to men slobberin’ over themselves in awe.

My embarrassment for oglin’ and blackin’ out, eased with renewed recognition of the pain, as I straightened, and stepped away from Morgan.

“Are you quite recovered?” the goddess asked.

“Yes, ma’am—madam. Quite.” A new heat tipped my ears.

She wore a white blouse and pants like her daughter, pants a faint shade, almost eggshell-white, completin’ the angelic aura. The wizard’s a blessed man.

“You are an ogre?” She asked. Clearly she wasn’t lookin’ at me any longer. “My. That must sound rude. But I’ve never—”

“Tis all right, my lady,” Morgan said, dippin’ his head, as though he knew how to act in proper company. “I was nearly in my third decade before I met a human.”

He actually winked. What a flirt.

Her husband actually chuckled. An acceptin’ sort.

“Come,” the goddess said. “Join us for tea.”

We followed our hosts up the stairs. Each step a knife-jab in my hips. I repeated my mental refrain, “I hate horses.”

“So,” the goddess said, “you’re here on wizardly business I assume, from the concern on my husband’s face.”

The man shot her an irritated glance.

“Ah. Yes,” she said, noddin’ knowin’ly.

The conversation lulled as we made our way inside. Selene removed his sword belt and hung it from a peg in a broad, carved panel that filled one wall of the entry. I hurried to follow suit, strugglin’ to unlatch the belt pin that held my sword snug to my waist. I grunted in frustration, though the others waited patiently, everyone’s eyes pannin’ elsewhere, except for the girl. She seemed to be studyin’ me so she could brush my likeness onto a canvas tomorrow.

Sword finally released and hung, we filtered into a formal sittin’ room, which reminded me of the grandness of Black Lake Inn’s lobby, without the masculine, country touches, scaled down by ten. Of course the hearth held no fire this late-summer afternoon.

“You’re getting color back in your face, young man. How do you feel?”

I hesitated, undecided if honesty was proper.

“Have you been ill?” Her face opened, and she smiled wide. “No. You’re new to the saddle, aren’t you, you poor thing.”

There was no hidin’. I looked at the polished wood of the floor and my eyes caught the shiny-black leather of the girl’s boots. How old was she when she sat in her first saddle? She probably thinks I’m the biggest bumpkin within hundreds of miles. I grimaced. I am indeed, after all.

“Then you won’t wish to sit,” the girl said without any hint of ridicule. “I’ll show you about the manor until the blood is flowing, and you work out the cramps.”

Panic flooded. How could she know how I felt, and talk of it so nonchalantly? “I—uh—no—I—”

“We promise not to get down to business until ya return,” Morgan said.

“I’m okay, really.”

Though I would love to see the grounds of the rich manor, I’m an adult, after all. Didn’t want to be paraded about by a little girl, to leave the other adults to do whatever proper adults do when they share a cup of tea.

But then, I couldn’t imagine sittin’ and sippin’ tea. I stared at the elegant tea service settin’ on the low table between the chairs we all positioned ourselves before.

Morgan repeatedly glanced back at the dainty settee. His face showed fear his weight might make the thin’ crumble into firewood.

I very much wanted to stay and see if that happened. Plus, my eyes glued onto the scones piled upon a platter in the middle of the table.

“You look as though you’re starving,” the goddess said. “We eat in two hours, but you need something to tide you over. Nickie—”

“Yes, ma’am. Come,” the girl said as though she was born to give commands. Prolly was.

My feet shuffled after her without my brain’s direction, no doubt driven by my stomach. The traitor. Though the scones looked delicious. They would do.

Cool flesh grabbed my hand and pulled me from the room. Her hand grasped mine tightly makin’ me struggle to swallow. She led me down a hall, past a grand dinin’ room complete with a crystal chandelier, into a kitchen almost as big as the Inn’s. Two, no three of my family’s cabins could have fit within that kitchen. The room was much warmer, fired by a coal burnin’ stove. The aroma of a beef stew filled the space.

“What’s wrong?” Nickie asked, as a servant stepped near.

“I—I—”

She didn’t wait for me to finish though, turnin’ to the woman in the gray uniform and crisp-white apron. “Would you please prepare our guest with a snack to tide him over for dinner?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said, and left the room, her steps echoin’ down stairs—a cold cellar no doubt.

Another tug and Nickie drew me through the kitchen. Five windows reachin’ almost floor to ceilin’ encircled a casual dinin’ area, maybe the family’s daily place to eat. I’d eat here everyday, the way the glass drew you into the nature feet away. The girl let go of my hand. Though her touch first elicited panic, losin’ the physical connection brought to mind the loss of my mama. My stomach twisted.

“The three of you must be on some stressful journey,” Nickie said. “You appear as though you’ve been through a battle already.”

I hoped the aroma of the stew hid my own body odor. I pulled my eyes away from her blue ones, and looked out at the panorama stretchin’ away outside. The stables and barn were visible on the left, with a pasture extendin’ toward the main house. A cornfield to the north worked its way over the risin’ horizon. Another pasture to the right sauntered behind an eastern orchard.

“What’s your name?” she commanded.

“I’m—sorry—I’m Paul.”

“A good name from the Scriptures.” She flashed a smile.

“I’ve never heard the name Nickie. Is it a—uh—nickname?”

Her grin flashed brighter. Perhaps she liked bein’ asked about herself.

“Mother says Papa was convinced I was going to be a boy, and decided on Nicklaus. Evidently the name got stuck on his brain, and he shortened it for me.”

“It’s very pretty.”

Color dusted her tanned cheeks, surprisin’ me. She seemed too self-assured to be caught off guard by a compliment.

“You’re not from anywhere around here, yet new to the saddle, so how did you get so far north?”

“Dragon back.” I couldn’t help it. It’s a pretty cool thin’ to say.

“Liar,” she sang playfully.

I grinned. “I’m from Black Lake. Ya’ve surely heard of the Lake dragons.”

“You go to Hell for lying.”

“No fear of that. I flew aback the brother of the Lake queen. His name is Tir’loch. A kind creature. Beautiful tan dragon. Morgan and Selene rode the queen’s mate, Taiz’lin, a cranky, old, gray bull.”

“You’re indeed a competent liar, I give you that much. So that’s Selene, eh?” She shifted her head toward the front of the house. “Papa has spoken of him often. Though last time he mentioned him, Papa feared he didn’t have long to live, such is the politics.”

I jerked in surprise. The wisp of a girl looked as though she should care of little more than dolls and dresses, despite her less-than-prissy attire, yet she mentioned a man’s death as though it were a common enough topic of conversation.

“Being the only child,” she said, “I guess my parents find it easy to speak openly around me.” She stepped around the table and stood before one of the broad windows. “Selene is younger and more handsome than I imagined.”

I took the punch in the stomach, what I didn’t deny for a second wasn’t jealousy.

“Papa said a week ago he didn’t expect Selene to make it out of the Range, so at least I believe you’re from Black Lake now—making that connection.”

I followed her gaze. She seemed to be followin’ a foal that was in a crazed frolic. Its mother kicked up her heels too, and they ran together toward the back of the pasture. I hate to ride them, but have to admit there’s a beauty about the creatures.

With a curtsy, the cook—lady of the kitchen, what did I know to call someone like that—set down a platter on the table containin’ biscuits, slices of roast, a glass of milk, and what appeared to be a mug of apple juice. I sat down, only to jerk up. Wasn’t a gentleman sposed to wait for a lady to sit?

Nickie glanced at me. “Sit. Sit.”

Did that make it all right to sit without waitin’ for her to sit first? I hope it was, because I was starvin’. Except for the gorgin’ two days ago thanks to the appreciative goblins, I hadn’t had a decent meal since I left the Inn. Morgan isn’t much of a host when it comes to cookin’, and the whole eat what ya catch the last days had grown old. So I ploughed back into the chair ignorin’ the discomfort in my backside, and crammed a biscuit into my mouth.

Nickie smiled, but didn’t say anythin’. After a moment she joined me at the table, sittin’ beside me where she could continue gazin’ out the windows. That made it difficult to study her more closely. I slid glances her way as subtly as I could.

She wasn’t a miniature of her mother. She had a stronger chin, and prominent cheek bones. Hair two tints darker. From her calm demeanor, I decided she had to be older than I first assumed. Maybe fourteen?

I finished my snack, and without lookin’ back at me she rose and said, “Let’s get back before they make decisions we don’t get to vote on.”

“You get to—” I clipped my question when she shot me a glance. A challenge lay within it.

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