“Can you repeat that,” Trevor asked of his manservant, Carl. He’d only just arrived home after leaving the chaos at the LaVelle mansion, and his mind was still in a whirl. Seeing them lead Tyrell away filled him with dread…but there was nothing he could do about it. He’d warned him, and he’d gone and done something foolish anyway. 

“Peter is in the far yard with Lady Florence LaVelle. He requests your presence most urgently,” Carl repeated, standing erect, face placid, hands behind his back. 

So he had heard correctly. Shit. Shit!

“I need my gear,” he told Carl, who nodded and headed into the wardrobe.

Trevor stared across his chamber toward the dark window, opening and closing his fist in a practiced rhythm that was meant to calm his anxiety. In truth, it did little to help, but the habit was long ingrained as part of him. 

To speed the process, Trevor stripped himself, which he did about half the time anyway, throwing his finery in a pile onto the bed. If he came back in the middle of the night from one of his secret jaunts, he didn’t feel it was fair to wake Carl, not when he was perfectly capable of taking off his own clothes and putting on others. 

Still, Carl was more efficient at dressing Trevor in his gear than Trevor was, a fact which was always appreciated. Particularly when time was of the essence...such as now.

As a final touch, he rubbed some ashy powder around his eyes, making them look more sunken than usual. It wasn't a masterful disguise, but combined with the cowl and the darkness, he should look different enough. Especially since the two of them hadn't officially met yet.

Trevor planned to keep it that way for as long as possible.

Trevor hopped off his balcony onto his path down to the ground and went around the back of the Rowanward mansion to the far yard, which was located a good distance from the mansion. He had claimed it after discovering the abandoned yard as a child, roaming the Rowanward land—his father was aware he preferred to use the far yard, but was not aware of how, exactly, he used it. 

He slowed his jog to a walk, then paused to catch his breath. He wouldn’t be “Lord Trevor” now. 

In the time he’d heard from Carl until this moment, Trevor had concocted a plan. If Lady Florence had truly disappeared from her debut earlier tonight, that meant she was a powerful mage. Only the most powerful mages could move through space as if from one room to another. And it just so happened he needed someone powerful like her on his side. 

Perhaps there was something he could offer her in exchange for her assistance…

Please, he silently prayed, please, Saint Dora, grant me luck. Not that she ever listened, but she would someday, wouldn’t she? Maybe that day would be today. 

Peter had lit a fire in the brazier, illuminating him and the small woman beside him, who must be Lady Florence. Gone was the green gown, or most of it, anyway. She now wore the same coarse brown cloak that his men wore, over the remains of…by the Saints, were those her underskirts?! 

Trevor’s cheeks reddened. 

Her hood was down and the firelight played across her face and hair…her long, loose hair. Why did Trevor’s fingers itch to run through the wild locks tumbling over her shoulders? 

He swallowed. 

“My—” Peter began, but Trevor quickly cut him off before he could finish with ‘lord.’

“Lord Trevor sent me,” Trevor said, instantly clueing Peter in. From now on, he’d be known as Thorne. He couldn’t let Lady Florence know who he was yet. If she found out and let it slip that it was Trevor organizing the work he did, and not Thorne, that would cause a lot of trouble for him. He didn’t want trouble—he just wanted to secure a future. His own future. And Lady Florence could help him do that. 

“Ah,” Peter said, nodding. “Lady Florence, allow me to introduce Lord Trevor’s most trusted right-hand man, Thorne. He will be the one making the arrangements to get you home tonight, discreetly.”

“How do you do, Sir Thorne?” Lady Florence greeted him, giving him a slight curtsy. 

Trevor used all his willpower to keep a straight face at the sight of her, Lady Florence, debutante, wearing rags and a coarse brown cloak, curtsying as if she were still in the ballroom she hadn’t disappeared from an hour ago.  

“Quite well, m’lady,” he bowed deeply in return. “With your permission, I need to debrief with Peter.”

“By all means.” She pulled the cloak tightly around herself and moved closer to the fire.

Peter, one of the oldest in Trevor’s semi-secret band made up of his most loyal knights, filled him in. Florence had landed near the yard. Peter had come to retrieve something he’d left earlier that day and found her in a...vulnerable state. Evidently, she’d used an arrow to cut herself out of her gown, and no, she did not want to be taken to the Rowanward mansion.

Trevor grinned. 'Evil' Lady LaVelle? he mused. More like 'Mad' Lady LaVelle. 

And he liked it. 

“Get us a horse,” he told Peter. “Midnight, if you can.”

Midnight was all black and would blend in with the night better. Peter left.

Now, Trevor was alone with Lady Florence. She stood by the brazier, hands out. He could see they were covered in scratches, scratches that trailed up her arms as far as he could see. 

“M’lady,” he said, dipping his head as he came to stand beside her, holding out his hands to the brazier to warm them as an excuse to be near. “You must be a very powerful mage.”

Lady Florence snorted. “What do you mean? Can’t all mages do...that? Whatever it was.”

Trevor couldn’t help turning his head to look at her. Rather, look down at her. She was at least a head shorter than him. He shook his head. 

“Not at all, m’lady. Only the most powerful can appear out of nowhere like that.”

She turned her head to look up at him, meeting his gaze. Fire reflected in her eyes—green-blue and orange. “Then, how do I control it? How do I use it?”

He looked back to the fire.

“May I speak plainly, m’lady?”

“Please do.”

Trevor splayed his fingers over the flames, thinking a moment. “Have you had no training, then?” Florence shook her head ‘no.’ “I see. Well, you’ll need to enroll in the Academy for the book training….but…” He hesitated in bringing up his idea.

“Just say it!” Lady Florence snapped, out of nowhere. Trevor’s eyebrows shot up. Lady Florence sighed. “I apologize. I haven’t eaten decently since breakfast and I hurt terribly all over. Continue, please.”

Trevor stared down at her. 

“Just a moment, m’lady.”

He walked over to the communication stone embedded in one of the trees and told Carl, Peter, or whoever was listening to pack some sandwiches, lemonade, and a tonic to bring along with the horse. Lady Florence watched him from across the yard, her brows drawn. Did she not know about communication stones? Maybe not. They were a rather recent development.

“Along with the book training,” he said, walking back over to her, “you should train your body. Most mages neglect that part and end up physically weak, which—”

“You can train me.” She pulled the cloak closed in front of her chest and turned toward him.

“Pardon?” 

Lady Florence sighed, as if trying to hold in her anger. “Were you there that day, in the woods? When I was found on Rowanward land?” Trevor nodded. “Then you already know I have an…interest…in exercise. However, all I’ve ever done was out of instinct. I've never trained. But I want to be strong. I want to be able to fight off…” her eyes grew dark “...someone your size, for example.”

His size? Trevor shivered. Did something happen to her? He wanted to both take a step toward her and away from her at the same time. 

Why? 

He blinked to clear his contradictory thoughts.

Just as he was about to speak, a soft whinny and the sound of hooves on dirt drew his attention.

“We will speak of this again soon, my lady,” he told her, turning to take over from Peter.

She raised a brow at him. Shit. He'd sounded like Lord Trevor just then, hadn't he?

♥♥⸸

The sandwich is the best thing I've ever eaten, even though it's only thinly sliced meat and cheese layered between fresh bread. It's something I would never be served otherwise, but I find I prefer it greatly over the dainty bits I'm usually served at tea and lunch. 

This is substance. This is filling. 

The lemonade is sweet and tart, if a little warm, but it is the second best thing I have ever drank before, second only to the tonic. Coupled with the sandwich, I have to hold in a moan as the knife's edge of my hunger is finally dulled, and the pain from weeks of mistreatment and a full day of agony releases its grip. Finally.

Thorne had led me to a worn tree stump so I could sit while I ate, apologizing for the inadequate accommodations. 

I couldn’t stop a laugh from escaping.

“I've been through so much worse,” I told him without thinking, remembering the hellscape. 

“I’d love to hear that tale,” he had replied.

I hadn’t said anything in response. Should I have? Should I tell people about the hellscape? The clerics know about them, but that doesn’t mean everybody does. What if…people don’t believe me? They’ll think I truly am a lunatic. Cursed.

Evil. 

Besides, I couldn’t tell if he was serious, or simply being polite. 

The two men stand by the black horse, checking its tack while I finish my meal in silence. Supposedly, this Thorne fellow is close to Lord Trevor, the youngest Rowanward son. Father had mentioned him briefly at the debut, but that was all I knew about him. 

I knew a little more about Thorne from talking to him. His clothes seem like something a knight would wear, though he also wears a cowl covering his head, which keeps most of his face in shadow. Perhaps he has an embarrassing scar or is required to wear it to keep his identity as Lord Trevor’s trusted man a secret. 

Regardless, I find him a bit suspicious. 

Yet, at the same time, I get the feeling he might help me. 

I never want to be held down against my will ever again. I never want to be forced to submit to anyone ever again. And if what he says about my abilities as a mage is true, then I need all the training I can get to become strong, mentally and physically. 

It can’t be from someone on LaVelle land. Word would get back to my father and he would put a stop to it, for the sake of the family's reputation if nothing else. If I can’t figure out how to control the…the traveling…then I’ll need to use my feet or a horse, and Rowanward land is the closest to ours. Thorne is probably the closest person, geographically, who can teach me. 

My meal finished and my belly finally full, I head over to the men. 

“Are you ready to return home, my lady?” Thorne asks.

Suddenly, the sandwich feels like a lump in my stomach.

“I suppose so,” I say, trying not to sound as reluctant as I feel.