“Hail there!” The rider was a woman—her voice pleasant and friendly.
I guess I’m not going to get ignored after all. What are the chances the horse—or rider—is cursed?
Angelique reluctantly pushed herself to her knees.
“Are you all right, grandmother?” The rider asked as she jogged closer.
Confused by the title, Angelique peered up at the rider as she tugged the hood off, releasing her thick mess of hair that was tamed only by the use of magic. She felt her magic to make sure the illusion that made her eyes appear blue instead of their natural—and unsettling—silver color was working, and squinted up at the rider. “Grandmother?”
The rider skidded to a stop a few steps short of Angelique and seamlessly stepped into a bow. “My apology. Please forgive me for my grievous mistake.”
The rider was quite pretty with her blonde hair pulled back in an orderly braid, kind eyes, and lips that were quick to form a smile.
Her straight posture said she’d received some kind of combat training—Angelique, a recipient of similar training, could recognize the stance anywhere—and she was quite tall in her suede boots and clothes—including trousers—that were the same muted browns and greens as the forest.
The rider peered anxiously at Angelique, obviously concerned she had offended her.
Still fighting off some of her disappointment in losing the one lead she had, Angelique chose to plop in the dead leaves rather than stand and look demure as her station would usually require. “Your guess is not far off. I feel about as well as an infirm old woman.”
“Are you injured?” The rider scanned her, searching for injuries. “You weren’t attacked, were you?”
Angelique impatiently pushed back the front panel of her cloak—it had belonged to Stil, originally, and he’d always gone for flashy stuff, which Angelique was coming to learn didn’t necessarily mean practical and easy to wear. “No, no. I’m fine. I was just investigating the woods and happened to trip,” she lied. She stood up and flicked a few dead leaves off her cloak and figured she better round her story out with a truth. “It’s embarrassing to admit, but I merely felt too weary to rise.”
“I am glad to hear you are unharmed.” The rider spoke with such sincerity, Angelique was glad she’d told half the truth, even if it tarnished her image as an elegant enchantress. “If you’ll excuse my prying, you mentioned an investigation?”
Angelique sighed and let her shoulders stoop as she wondered how much she should reveal, and what new darkness the rider would tell her about that she’d be expected to fix. “Yes. I’m looking into a situation here in Farset that might involve dark magic.”
The rider nodded crisply, unshaken as she stood at attention. “I see. How can I help?”
Her response was so contrary to what Angelique expected, she almost bulged her eyes, but managed to forcibly blink instead. “I beg your pardon?”
The rider slightly tilted her head, and the warmth in her kind eyes was almost more than Angelique could bear. “You are obviously on a mission of importance. I will do whatever I can to help.”
The relief her offer brought was so sharp, it stabbed Angelique in the heart.
In all of her travels, in all of her battles, she couldn’t recall a moment where someone offered to help her, no strings attached.
She had bargained for help in searching for Evariste, and a few royals had offered to help her when she was seeing to a task they had requested, but no one had offered her help without expecting anything in return.
Angelique burst into deep, ugly sobs. The shuddering of her shoulders made it hard to breathe, and for a moment she thought she might fall to her knees again.
The rider took a step towards her, her hands extended as concern pinched her brow. “I apologize if I offended you…”
Angelique would have laughed if she wasn’t already half-suffocated by her sobs. The irony that this stranger had shown more concern for Angelique than anyone else had in a long while was both too heartbreaking and too funny to bear.
“No.” Angelique sat back down in her pile of dead leaves and rubbed her face, trying to stop the tears from coming. “It’s not you, it’s just…y-you’re the first person to ask how you can help me in months!”
To her embarrassment, Angelique started crying again.
The rider crouched down next to her and patted her back. “It sounds like you’ve had a difficult few months.”
Angelique tried to scoff, but she was still crying, so it turned into a snort that cut off her air for a few moments. “Try years.” Angelique rummaged around the inner pockets of Rumpelstiltskin’s gifted cloak. She finally found a handkerchief and scrubbed at her face as she tried to gather her composure. “Ugh. I hate crying! It doesn’t accomplish anything at all.”
The rider whistled to her horse, which had been patiently waiting in the middle of the road. It perked its ears and obediently approached the rider, who retrieved a small waterskin that was attached to the horse’s saddle. “That’s not true,” the rider said. “It’s a proper release. If you never express yourself, you will only make yourself ill.” She offered the waterskin to Angelique.
Angelique took it with a thankful nod and took a few sips. Instantly, she felt a little better. The water helped ease the hot, sticky feeling crying always produced. “I don’t know that I agree, though I do feel a little better.” She felt more human and less…squashed than she had before the rider had found her. As she handed the waterskin back, she shook her head and tried to regain her control. “I suppose I ought to introduce myself. I’m Angelique—an enchantress-in-training.”
There. Let’s see if that changes anything—or brings to light any curses lingering nearby. Of all the possible kinds of dark magic, why are the Chosen so obsessed with curses?!
The rider reattached her waterskin to her tack, and Angelique could see the effect of her title on the woman as she awkwardly cleared her throat and bowed. “Well met, Lady Enchantress.”
Oh, no. No, no, no. I’m not having the first person kind enough to be concerned about me turning all stiff with formality.
Angelique tried to smile and was happy to find it was easier than she’d thought it would be. “It’s just Angelique, please.” She chuckled a little and almost coughed when her throat constricted. “I haven’t earned the rank yet. Besides, using a title with me seems silly considering I just bawled my eyes out in front of you.”
The rider bent at the knees—slightly crouching—and straightened up twice in a show of inner conflict, but she eventually nodded. “Angelique, then. Please allow me to renew my offer. I am Quinn of Midnight Lake. I’m a mere soldier in the Farset army, but I will help you in any way I can. Do you need transportation to the palace? A meeting with my officers? An escort?”
Angelique considered the rider—Quinn—who seemed to be growing more and more concerned the longer Angelique sat in the pile of dead leaves. She sucked in a deep breath of air, then shook her head as she stood. “No. I’ve been in contact with Rider Nareena, but at the moment I would rather not alert anyone to my presence here. It is rather a shot in the dark, but I’m running out of ideas.”