Pricker Patch stared at Angelique and didn’t even look back at his providedshelter.
“I see,” Angelique finally said. “Good talk.” She left the donkey and made her way to the dilapidated tent. She paused, giving Stil’s magic imbedded in the tent a moment to recognize her, before she peeled back the fabric flap of thestructure.
Instead of revealing the threadbare innards of a tent, the flap opened up into a large, tasteful parlor. Luxuriously padded armchairs and settees were carefully arranged in front of a marble fireplace, where a fire crackled and popped as it burned through a newlog.
Stil crouched in front of the fireplace, a stack of books on his left and a pile of precious gems arranged in a haphazard pile on hisright.
He hadn’t noticed her presence yet; his attention was on the ruby he was muttering over as his magic rolled across hisfingers.
Angelique smiled fondly at him. Long gone was the brat in the ill-fitting clothes, leaving a handsome young man in hisplace.
His blue-black hair was cut short at the moment—but like Evariste, he enjoyed changing his hair length with the use of his craft magic, so there was no telling how long that would last—and his hair, combined with his high cheekbones and long and slender chin, gave him a rather princely air. However, it was his eyes that were the most remarkable—as most mages’ eyes, his were special—for they were beautiful swirls of sky blue spiraled with royalblue.
Though they now looked the same age—perhaps Stil looked even a bit older than Angelique—she still watched him with the fondness of an oldersister.
“My, my, you’ve grown up into such a fine adult.” Angelique continued inside, gratefully escaping the cold and thesnow.
Stil blinked as he peered in her direction, and his face transformed into a bright grin. “Angelique! Welcome to my comfortablehome.”
Angelique sighed. “I should have tried harder to instill a sense of humility in you; although with your skill level, I suspect your pride wasinevitable.”
Stil—or Rumpelstiltskin, as his mage name was—had finished his apprenticeship years ago, but his most remarkable feat was to be granted the title of Master Craftmage at such a youngage.
Then again, it had been a long time since a craftmage as skilled as Still had passed through the VenenoConclave.
“Iama genius,” Stil modestly said. He stood up and offered her a sweepingbow.
Angelique snorted. “Come here, you.” She hugged the craftmage, ignoring his squirm. “It’s good to see you,Stil.”
At her words, he stopped moving and finally hugged her back. “It’s good to see you, too,Angel.”
Angelique jabbed him in the side as she stepped back. “I told you, it’sAngelique!”
Stil rubbed his side and frowned. “But you let Evariste call youAngel.”
“How many years have I told you, it’sLord EnchanterEvariste!” Angelique said—though after years of correcting Stil’s informality, it was more an old joke than any attempt to fixit.
“What brought you to Noyers? Any word of Evariste?” Stil motioned for Angelique to sit down as he rolled a tea cart over to her—the drink still pipinghot.
“I’m afraid not.” Angelique settled into one of the armchairs, relaxing in the warm comfort of the cushions. (Stil’s home benefited greatly from his craft magic, particularly all seats and beds, as they were all spelled forcomfort.)
Moreover, it was a relief to let her façade down—for Stil already knew just how sarcastic her personalitywas.
“A stable boy who serves Prince Severin found me,” she continued. “I apparently was unclear with my explanation of what would break the prince’s curse, which allowed for unnecessary drama. I returned here to clear the matterup.”
Stil poured her a cup of steaming tea. “Wasn’t the modification of his curse based on romanticlove?”
“Yes,” Angelique saiddryly.
Stil laughed outright. “They calledyouin to mend a lovers’ spat?Hah!”
“Not entirely, thank goodness—for I probably would have made things worse,” sheacknowledged.
Angelique had very little patience for romance and love—particularly people who went all gooey and useless over such things. She had a missing master to find and goblins to kill. What use was love in all ofthat?
“All I had to do was explain—more clearly—the rules of the modification. Prince Severin is off to take care of the rest. Thank you.” Angelique inhaled the fruity scent of the tea and sipped it—blueberry—before she added a little cream. “I thought I’d drop by to see if you found any useful spells forme.”
Stil snapped his fingers. “Actually, I have! I’ll be just a moment.” He disappeared through a door on the far side of the parlor, striding off through the rest of his roomy house. (Though the doorway was in a tent, Stil’s home had multiple bedrooms, a kitchen bigger than Evariste’s, a dining room, and more. He managed it through the same clever spellwork he used to make the inside of pouches, satchels, and the like, far bigger than they shouldbe.)
