The Spymaster’s Prize: A Fantasy Romance Tale (Artisan Magic Book 2)

Elia watched her breath mist on the air. It wasn’t a surprise, but that first exhale in the cold never stopped being novel.

She stuffed her hands into her coat pockets and turned her eyes toward the sky. Snowflakes melted against her skin, but the heavy clouds of the night before were gone.

“This way.” Cass motioned for her to follow. He seemed to bear no sense of reverence for the beauty of the season, his head down and his face solemn as he led the way around the cabin.

She tried to plant her feet in his footprints and make the going easier for herself, but his stride was too long, and she feared she looked like a wobbling child whenever she stretched out her legs. “Thank you, by the way.”

His brows drew together. “For what?”

“Agreeing with me. That it was best to go this way first. Oh, but do you think I should write a letter before we go? Just in case they aren’t home?” She stopped and looked back to the cabin with a frown.

One side of his nose scrunched. “A letter? On what?”

“Paper, silly.”

“Haven’t got any.”

Elia pursed her lips. “Well, that might make it harder. Unless—oh!” She clapped her hands to her hips, then parted her coat to search the pockets of her skirt underneath.

Cass turned back, visibly exasperated, but he paused when she pulled out the folded letter Bertan had given her.

She unfolded it, then nodded. “I can write it on the back of this.”

“You want to go back inside? We already left. I just locked the place.”

“I’ll just be a moment, I promise.” She did her best to beam at him, hoping good cheer might win him over. It hadn’t seemed to have made any difference thus far, but she wouldn’t stop trying.

He heaved a sigh and dug the key from his pocket.

“Have you got ink? Or will I need to make some?” She’d never made ink before, but they’d just cleaned the hearth. The ashes and charred remnants of logs would work.

“I have some.”

She hurried along behind him as he made his way back to the door. “But no paper?”

The look he gave her fell shy of long-suffering and bordered closer on a warning. That was enough pushing, then.

Cass opened the door and motioned for her to step inside. They’d already closed the shutters, so the room was dark, but the flint and steel were still on the mantel and she managed to light a bit of tinder and then a candle with little difficulty. While she did, he pulled open a drawer and retrieved a tiny bottle and a wooden case, its surface stained with myriad colors of ink.

“I’ll be brief,” she promised as he deposited them both on the table.

“Fine,” was all he said.

Inside the box, she found a pen and a few blocks of sealing wax. Curious, she removed the pen and tilted the box to look for a seal, but Cass snatched the box back and snapped it shut. She jerked in surprise, but he pointed at the blank back of the guarantor letter she’d spread before her.

“Don’t get distracted.”

Of course. He was more than eager to have her out of his way, even if he had complimented her pancakes.

She bit her lip and shook that thought loose. That was nonsense. Pancakes had never been enough to win over anyone, and certainly not enough to change their whole disposition. The ink bottle was stoppered with a cork, so she pried it loose as carefully as she could and then set to writing. Leaving out the pleasantries struck her as awkward, but in a matter so urgent, they wouldn’t be appreciated. She kept her sentences concise, then blew on the letter to dry it.

“Ready?” Cass asked.

“Almost.” She turned the paper over and scribbled through the agreement Bertan had penned. There would be no getting her sugar now, but in the face of saving Peretor’s life, her father’s cakes seemed utterly insignificant. The moment she finished marking everything out, she dropped the pen to the table and stood, the letter fluttering from her fingertips. “Done.”

“Good.” He opened the door wide and pointed.

She put out the candle, hurried outside, and followed their trail back around the cabin. Cass stayed behind to lock the door, but it was only a moment before she heard his boots crunching in the snow.

The wind flapped the letter against her hand, marking her skin with the ink that hadn’t dried. She peeled it back and held it with both hands to try to keep it still.

“You’re holding that thing like a treasure map,” Cass said.

Elia wished it was. “That would certainly be more fun than what it really is, wouldn’t it?”

“If you enjoy that sort of thing.”

She couldn’t say. She’d never been afforded any sort of adventure. Come to think of it, this was likely the most adventurous experience of her life. “I might. I’ve heard rumors of people finding treasure hidden in the mountains between here and the countries to the west. Helmsor and Nylmeres. That would probably be more enjoyable than being ambushed by brutes in a grove of syrup trees.”

He closed the distance between them, then waded through unbroken snow to circle around her and take the lead again. It was for the best, Elia figured, since he was the one who knew where they were going. She’d been to Vinson’s estate before, but that was different. She’d set out from Samara then, instead of a cabin who-knew-where in the woods.

When he made no effort to continue the conversation, she checked the letter to be sure the ink was dry, then folded it and tucked it into the pocket of her coat. “Have you ever gone hunting for treasure, Mister Cass?”

His shoulders bunched. “No. And don’t call me that.”

“It’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Without the mister part, it is.”

“Then I’ll try to be less polite,” she teased.

Cass shot her a baleful look over his shoulder.

She grinned. Then her heel came down on a patch of ice under the snow and her foot skidded out from under her. He lunged back to catch her, but missed her arm and she toppled sideways.

Any other time of year, the sudden landing would have hurt. Instead, Elia crashed into a knee-deep snowbank, sank in, and squealed. She kicked to try and free herself. Instead, her foot struck Cass in the leg and knocked him off balance. He tried to catch himself as he fell atop her, his hands plunging deep into the snow and sparing her the impact. A laugh burst from her throat, but only one, for a moment later she saw how his face twisted with pain.

“Oh! Are you all right?” She wiggled in the snow until she could sit up and put her hands on his shoulders. Gently, she guided him to sitting. The moment he was off his arms, his hand shot to his injured left side.

He set his jaw and breathed deep through his nose. “We haven’t gone far enough to be dealing with this.”

“Should we head back to the cabin, then? We can try again later.” Elia tried to reach for his shirt, thinking to check the bandages and make sure nothing had torn, but he caught her hands and steered them away.

“No,” he growled. “Just get up, get moving, and be quiet.”

She bit her lip against the urge to apologize, stood, and shuffled backwards to give him space. He clawed his way out of the snowdrift while she brushed powder from her coat.

Elia hadn’t meant to frustrate or upset him. Falling had been unintentional. Laughing about it had been instinctive. But now he was more cross than ever, and she wondered if it was best to abandon the notion of befriending him at all. Rarely had she encountered anyone who just plain didn’t like her. She’d thought taking the time to prepare a nice meal and fuss over him might help. It hadn’t. But, she conceded to herself, at least he looked handsome with the loose side braids taming his dark hair. But if he didn’t appreciate her cordiality, maybe he’d find the sort of company he was looking for in Samara.

Or, he might if he wiped the scowl off his face.

Cass kept his hand to his side for a time, and though he eventually let his hand drop and seemed to relax, they made the rest of the walk to Vinson’s estate in silence.

When the stately log house came into view, Elia hurried for the door with one hand in her coat pocket, as if the letter might escape if she didn’t hold it there. Cass, too, picked up his pace, though she didn’t know if it was eagerness or his refusal to let her lead that spurred him to do so.

They reached the door at the same time, and when she raised a hand to knock, he grasped her wrist and gently pushed her back.

“Let me.” The order was soft, gentle, but the intensity in his eyes made it clear he would not negotiate.

She held the letter tight. “What do you mean, let you? I was there, I saw—”

“Let me do it,” he repeated. “And you stay out here.”

“But it’s freezing,” she protested.

He held up a finger, demanding silence, then pointed toward the corner of the house.

Elia shut her mouth and clenched her jaw tight. She all but shoved the letter into his hands, then stormed along the shallow trench where other footsteps had broken a path beneath the eaves. When she reached the corner and looked back, Cass was watching. It wasn’t until she motioned to indicate she’d step around the side of the house that he knocked.

She didn’t go far, just far enough around the corner that she couldn’t be seen. The clearing around the house was empty, not a worker to be seen.

A moment passed before he knocked again.

Just when she began to think she’d been wise to pen that letter, the thump and creak of the door’s opening came, followed by a voice too harsh to belong to the kind sugarmaker.

“What?”

However Cass replied, his words were too low to make out. Then another thump came, and when it was followed by silence, Elia chanced a glimpse around the corner.

He’d gone inside, and left her alone outside in the cold.

With an angry huff, she sank to sit with her back against the logs of the house.

The serenity of the scene before her made it hard to stay angry for long. The air was still and silent, save the soft patter of snowflakes against what had fallen the night before. Here and there, little birds hopped along the surface, hunting for things to eat. Elia sat and watched until it occurred to her that from here, she knew the way home. The landmarks would be clear and she’d have hours to trudge through the snow before it got dark. What sense was there in waiting?

“Plenty,” she mumbled to herself. After the night before, there was a whole world of possible trouble she could land herself in. Yet Cass was injured, and he hadn’t brought his axe. It wasn’t as if he’d be able to fight off a team of would-be kidnappers a second time.

Just when she’d made up her mind and climbed to her feet to start out, Cass appeared at the corner of the house, and she jumped and squeaked when she saw him.

“We need to go,” he said, sparing no sympathy for her surprise. Without waiting for her confirmation, he started off in the direction of the capital. He’d only gone a few steps before she spotted the end of a scabbard poking out from the hem of his cloak.

Elia hurried after him. “Is that a sword?”

“Congratulations on your ability to recognize it.”

She chose to ignore his rudeness. “Where did you get it?”

“Vinson’s family. Do I really have to explain that?” He snorted and shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe she’d asked.

She frowned. “You can fight?”

“You saw me fight yesterday.”

“I also saw you get stabbed in the side yesterday.” She couldn’t help the hint of snideness that seeped into her words. His bad attitude was contagious, and she was growing tired of dealing with it.

Instead of further rudeness, though, he snorted in amusement. “Fair enough.” But he didn’t elaborate further.

Elia trotted along behind him as best as she could, and one more question sprang to her lips. “What are you going to do with it?”

“With luck, get you home,” Cass said.

A troubled sense of anticipation sprang up in her chest. “And without it?”

His grim smile told her everything she needed to know.