Page 7 of Brambles and Bellflowers
Beneath his off-putting demeanor, the earl was a lonely man—nigh ancient, having seen five-and-thirty summers pass—and had never found love throughout his interminable years on this mortal coil.
Until this most fateful of days.
It had been only a moment, but he knew withutmost certainty that he must have her. They were destined.
Thus, when he spoke, issuing his order, even his guards were momentarily struck dumb with astonishment.
“Let the wench be cast into the dungeons,” he proclaimed, pointing to the woman. Her name eluded the recesses of his thoughts, but names weren’t important anyway. Not in matters of the heart, where passion knows no bounds and propriety must, on occasion, bow to the whims of love.
There wereno words that could adequately describe these confusing feelings. I’d opened this book expecting brilliance and instead had stumbled upon what appeared to be a poorly written Victorian romance novel.
I should have been horrified. Itwashorrifying.
Yet I couldn’t look away.
Why in the world would Miles read this garbage? And more importantly, why did he have it stored away so preciously?
I would have to keep reading to investigate this mystery further. There was an answer lying somewhere, just out of reach.
2
Miles POV
There wassomething about the natural world that embraced an individual once civilization had been left behind. Each day, my connection to the earth deepened; the subtle energies spoke to me in ways I’d only vaguely recalled in distant dreams.
I pressed forward along the thin, overgrown path as the scent of damp soil filled my senses. I had to be careful and quiet while following the trail that might lead to my purpose. This had to work. I couldn’t bear the thought of returning to the others, to Bianca, without making any progress.
Things were at a critical point—I had to impress her. After all, she relied on documentaries to show her what a real witch could do. I couldn’t let that stand.
Such inaccuracies almost made me feel bad for subtly steering Bianca to read dragon books to learn about Titus. On one hand, it was hilarious. On the other…
My situation was probably worse.
I was running out of time, though, and I had to hurry. Halloween was almost here. I had no time to brew the potion—therefore, my only other option was to face my final hurdle as I was.
I paid no mind to the path behind me—my trail was marked. My priority was to find the creature so I could complete this trial, graduate, and finally be useful to my quintet.
A branch grazed my cheek, and I absently wiped my face, belatedly remembering the ritual markings. The paint smeared, and I sighed softly, forgetting, for an instant, the furry beast that was my target.
The slight sound alerted my quarry, and the dark mass before me froze as a low growl rumbled through the area.
My heart raced, but I straightened, gripping my walking stick—a poor substitute for my bo staff, but it would have to suffice. I was so close now!
The creature rose, and my hopes sank as I realized it was just a bear. I hadn’t been able to get a clear view earlier, and now I was face-to-face with a far more immediate concern.
“It’s all right,” I murmured, as much to myself as to the bear. “We don’t need to fight.” Animals typically responded well to witches. We shared a special connection; historically, those we deemed worthy were allowed to turn into humans.
Like Titus. I might not have remembered much about my existence as Tu, but I did recall that Jin was so much more pleasant to be around as the cute white lizard who loved me. He was the perfect little sidekick. Then Mu had to go and ruin everything by giving my pet a frightening name, and Jin popped up as a dastardly general, started eating people, and grew an ego too large for even the continent to contain.
That was another story, for another time. But needless to say, Mu—and now Bianca—would never be permitted to name another creature of mine again.
“I apologize for disturbing you,” I told the bear. “I’m searching for a different creature. Perhaps you’ve seen it? Fur-covered, large, bipedal but hunched?”
The bear regarded me silently, then yawned widely. I couldn’t help but empathize—this journey was indeed exhausting, physically and spiritually.
For a long moment, we held each other’s gaze. Then, mercifully, the bear lowered itself and ambled away. The forest sounds gradually resumed, and I released the breath I’d been holding.
As the adrenaline faded, hunger gnawed at me. The trip was taking longer than anticipated, but I’d packed emergency rations. The fasting was an integral part of this trial, though, and I was determined to see it through unless absolutely necessary. I had to succeed; it was the only way to face Bianca and the others with my head held high.
