“Angel,” Snow White said. “You don’t need to apologize. Oswald and Rupert will be thankful for whatever you can do.” Snow White smiled, her warmth shining through before she glanced worriedly at the warriors.
Angel pressed her lips into a thin line. Oh, now that’s just mean—breaking out empathy with such kind eyes? Unfair! “Uh-huh.”
Marzell passed by and paused just long enough to touch her on the shoulder. “Thank you—from all of us.”
“Yeah, sure,” Angelique glanced at the injured men, and her conscience finally prickled. Neither Oswald nor Rupert was looking particularly well.
They probably do need a healing spell. How can I stick one on them without anyone noticing—including them?
Marzell was watching her expectantly, so Angelique reluctantly fussed with her bespelled satchel and pulled off (at random) an herb with thin, flat leaves.
The Seven Warriors had herbs hanging from the rafters, so Angelique randomly selected one and yanked it off the string it hung from.
Marzell hustled upstairs; Fritz began to work on the door, and Snow White found a broom and started sweeping slushy snow out of the cottage.
Now’s the time to do something—while they’re all occupied.
“Go over to the benches by the table and lie flat,” Angelique instructed the injured pair.
Oswald and Rupert slumped their way over to the benches with enough lethargy to alarm Angelique.
Yes, they require a slow-burn healing spell. I’ll just have to disguise it—or maybe obscure their vision.
Angelique, not quite certain what she was doing, yanked the needle-like leaves off the herb she’d taken from her satchel.
With Rupert watching her, she took the time to rub the leaves together—filling the cottage with their fragrant scent—and made a few hand gestures at the herbs.
I was an idiot for agreeing to this cover. I’ve only seen an herb wizard the one time one came to speak to my class when I was a first-year student! And how long ago was that?
She glanced over at Oswald, who was holding his arm at an odd angle so he didn’t drip blood on the floor.
Longer than they’ve been alive, that much is for certain. She barely managed to smother a shiver. And now I feel ancient—but I should be able to fool a couple of mere children!
“What are you doing?” Rupert—one of the “mere children” asked.
“Magic,” Angelique said.
A frown puckered at the corners of Rupert’s mouth. “Are you certain?”
Some unfortunately smart, mere children.
“Who is the herb wizard’s apprentice? Me. Unless you gained instruction somewhere between the fireplace and this bench, shut your pie hole.” She picked up the herb she’d retrieved from the rafters, pulled a trickle of her magic, and then started smacking Rupert in the face with it. The assault of the herb’s tiny, fringe-like leaves achieved the desired affect and made him squeeze his eyes shut.
“Is this necessary?” he grumbled.
“Absolutely!”
A dusting of Angelique’s silver magic pooled at her fingertips as she hastily picked up more of the thin leaves from her satchel-herb and rubbed them on Rupert’s wrist.
It’s a good thing I’ve gotten so much practice at placing healing spells on myself.
Angelique rubbed Rupert’s wrist with the satchel herb, smacked him in the face with the rafter herb with a little more enthusiasm than necessary, and whispered under her breath as she twined the healing spell around his wrist.
She tried to appear relaxed and casual, but in reality, she was watching his wrist with the eye of an eagle, making sure she covered every silvery thread of her magic so it wouldn’t be visible to anyone that happened to glance over.
Marzell jumped off the stairs two steps early, cradling a few rolled-up bandages in his arms. “That is a very interesting treatment, Angel.”
Why is it that for the first time ever, everyone feels the need to stick their nose in my magic process? No one did this to me when I was bespelling the city of Ciane—which is a much larger task than a mere healing spell!
Angelique sniffed to cover up her growing nervousness. “Do not question the power of healing herbs.”
Wendal—the dratted warrior—peered in her direction. “Those are cooking herbs.”
They’re what? ELLE! I’m going to put a spell on you that makes you jingle like a bell whenever you move—good luck escaping your guards with that on you!
Angelique peered down at her herbs and tried to channel a haughty Conclave mage persona. “Obviously,” she said. “The best healing always starts in the stomach—remember that.”
Rupert cautiously opened his eyes. “That doesn’t make any sense—”
Angelique whacked him with the frilly herb, eliciting a sneeze from the warrior.
“Hah,” Oswald snorted, though he had his uninjured arm draped across his eyes.
Angelique watched him with both concern and relief. I think he’s in more pain—which means he’ll be easier to fool than Lord Critical.
As if he could sense her thoughts, Rupert opened his large yap. “This is strange.”
Yes, all hail Lord Critical.
“It’s working, is it not?” she demanded.
“It is—my wrist feels better. That’s why it’s strange.”
“Trust in the magic—and the herbs.” Angelique added a nod for good measure, hoping it appeared mystifying enough.
She was quickly becoming aware just how much she used her appearance and pretty dress to communicate her confidence as an enchantress-in-training. Dressed in an oversized tunic and with wild hair, the task was much harder.
But I don’t have to be an ethereal enchantress—I’m a sour assistant to an herb wizard!
With that in mind, Angelique smirked as she swung around to face Marzell. “Now you—the bossy one. Clean his wrist off with the boiled water once it has cooled enough, and wrap it.”
Marzell laughed good-naturedly. “I’m Marzell.”
“I know that. I’m just choosing to let you know you’re bossy.” Angelique bustled over to Oswald. “Now hop to it.”
Oswald was a lot more subdued, which actually made Angelique feel bad because he didn’t even protest when she accidentally got some of the rafter-herb (which Marzell told her was dill) stuck up his nose.
Better put a stronger healing spell on him.
She crouched at his side, shielding most of her work with her own body—though she took special care to screen her fingers, covered in silvery magic, from Lord Critical and Sir Bossy.
Oswald’s breathing became less tight, and she saw it in his wiry frame when the magic started to soothe the pain because his tenseness melted away.
Thankfully, he seemed inclined to keep his eyes closed, which gave Angelique the chance to ponder the battle.
Those constructs…they had to be made by highly advanced spells.
Angelique discreetly checked Oswald’s injury. She wanted to make it scab over, but if her spell outright healed it, it would raise more than a few questions.
I suppose it doesn’t mean the black mage that cast them has to be powerful. It’s possible for a less powerful mage to use powerful spells if they’re given the right tools—like Clotilde cursing the Arcainian princes and turning them into swans. But to do that, she had to be with them.