A Lady and Her Magic (Faerie 1)

“Their belongings?” Ashley asked.

“Gone, Your Grace.”

“Their horses?”

“Gone, Your Grace.”

The only woman who’d stirred anything within him in what seemed like ages? Gone, Your Grace. Ashley rubbed at his nose again and swore profusely.

“One would think you’d learn that it hurts to rub your nose when someone has punched it. Leave it alone for at least a fortnight,” Finn said.

Ashley arched a brow at him. If anyone knew anything about brawling, it was his brother. “A fortnight, you say?”

“At least.”

“He’s correct, sir. Shall I pour you a whiskey to dull the pain?”

Did he want to drink the thoughts of her away? Not particularly. “That won’t be necessary.” He turned to Wilkins. “Thank you. If you hear of her whereabouts, please do let me know.”

Wilkins bowed quickly and slipped from the room.

“How deeply shall I dig?” Finn asked.

“To the other side of the known world if that’s what it takes,” Ashley said. He would find her. She would not disappear from his life. Not until he had some answers.

Finn squeezed Ashley’s shoulder gently. “You really care about the chit, don’t you? Or has she swindled you?”

“She’s not a chit,” Ashley grumbled.

Finn chuckled. “There’s my answer.”

“Do you need any funds?”

“I’m fairly plump in the pockets at the moment. I’ll send you a bill, should any exorbitant expenses arise.”

“You know where I live.”

“And I will find out where Miss Sophia Thorne lives as well.”

God, Ashley hoped he could.

***

Marcus would wear a hole in the Aubusson rug if he didn’t stop his incessant pacing. And his hair had seen better days. He’d run his hands through it in frustration to the point that Sophia was afraid he would rip it right from his head.

“How could you, Soph?” he groaned.

He’d asked the same question every hour on the hour since they’d arrived at the Slipper and Stocking, a tiny little inn they’d stumbled across when they’d left the Hall. When they’d left Ashley. And Anne. Sophia’s heart twisted within her chest. She’d left her charge. With the mission incomplete. She may as well clip her wings herself and present them to the Trusted Few on a silver salver. She’d just ruined any chance she’d had of saving them.

Marcus began to tick items off on his fingers. “One: Never share the existence of the fae. Two: Never use your magic to cause harm. Three—”

Sophia held up a finger to stop him. “That’s actually three and four. See, I know the Errors as well as you do, Marcus.” She jumped to her feet. “Do you think I’m an idiot?” She rarely raised her voice at her brother. But he was insinuating that this was avoidable. That any of it was avoidable. It wasn’t. Not a bit.

His voice softened. “Do I think you’re an idiot?” he asked. He shook his head. “I think you’re in love. That is Error Number Five.” He ran his hands through his hair again and stopped to yank ineffectually at the strands. “Three out of five Errors, Soph,” he growled. Then he flopped back onto the bed and covered his eyes with his forearm. “What am I going to do?” He raised his arm and looked up at her. “What if I can’t solve this for you?”

Sophia sighed. “Then they’ll take my wings.” She shrugged. There was nothing more to say. Then her eyes filled with tears. “When the moon is full, we’ll go back. I’ll throw myself upon their mercy.”

“They’ll turn you into a blasted house faerie, Soph,” he said. “No powers. The only bit of fae magic you’ll possess is intuition.”