Page 1 of Tanglewood Magic (The Three Sisters 2)
ChapterOne
“Go back where you came from!” The hateful words traveled through the walls of the apothecary where Circe worked and hit her right in the heart.
Reflexively, she raised her wand and cast a defensive spell toward the front window, just as the assailant’s blast shattered the glass. Fates’ blessing, her magic successfully halted the explosion. She grunted with the effort of holding the window together, the tip of her wand glowing purple. But while she’d saved herself from a face full of glass, mending the spider-web crack proved problematic. If she lowered her wand for even a moment in order to throw the next spell, the shards would surely fall apart.
“Synchónefsi!”Rhys Bloodgood stormed from his laboratory, his wand flashing emerald before his spell plowed into the glass. The pieces fused themselves, brilliantly. Circe lowered her wand, relieved the window looked new again.
“Thank you,” she offered, but Rhys wasn’t listening. Without even pausing his stride, he thrust through the front door, looking both ways for the vandal.
“They’re long gone,” Circe called. “Flew by on their broom faster than a falcon. It was a man, but I didn’t get a good look. Had the hood of his cloak pulled over his face.”
“Fates’ fury.” Rhys marched inside and slammed the door. Circe braced herself, hoping the reverberation wouldn’t shatter the front window again. She was relieved when the glass held.
She sighed and shook her head. “Listen, Rhys…”
“Don’t.”
“You have to let me go. I’m not good for business.” Circe certainly wouldn’t blame him for firing her. Guilt plagued her over the position she’d put him in.
There was no question that the attack and the message that came with it were meant for her. Since her sister Medea had been named queen of Darnuith, the violence and threats against Circe and her sisters had gradually increased in intensity. Never mind that Medea had been magically chosen for the role by the Fates during the ritual of the Sacred Lots and named by her predecessor, Ferula Northstar, with her last breath. Never mind that Medea wouldn’t have ever chosen the role for herself.
The people of Darnuith had thrust the title upon Medea and then immediately criticized her for taking it. All because Circe, Medea, and Isis Tanglewood had grown up in the Garden of the Hesperides. They had come to Darnuith as strangers. Medea’s selection was highly unusual. Not only was it the first time a chosen queen hadn’t been born on Darnuith soil, it was the first time the prior queen’s adviser was not chosen for the role.
Zelaria, the previous queen’s adviser, had trained at Ferula’s side for decades and had offered sacrifices to the Fates. It was only natural for the people here to assume history would repeat itself. When Medea’s stone glowed and Ferula whispered her name, the crowd initially acknowledged the results. Zelaria accepted Medea as queen and agreed to continue as her adviser.
But over time, Darnuith’s outward agreement with the results became overshadowed by growing rumors the three sisters couldn’t contain. People had barely trusted them before. It was too easy for the citizens of Darnuith to believe that their otherness was cause for concern. Perhaps the Sacred Lots didn’t work with someone like them in the mix. Perhaps their magic altered the proper results. Suspicions about the validity of the selection had grown to a fever pitch recently and, with it, the violence.
Go back where you came from.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Rhys said firmly. “I won’t let a few small-minded imbeciles bully me out of a trained employee.”
“Rhys… It’s not just a few. Business has dropped off this season. It’s because of me. I don’t feel right costing you income.”
He leveled a dark stare on her that sent a shiver along her spine. Rhys Bloodgood did not suffer fools. The intensity of being the center of his attention made her knees weak. His mind was razor-sharp, and when he focused on her, she could feel it cut right through her like his surgeon’s blade.
“I wish you to stay.” His voice was eerily quiet. “Now, unless you plan to walk out on me, I need your assistance with something in my laboratory.”
Without another word, he strode toward the back room from where he’d come, his command lingering in the air around her, expecting to be obeyed.
Circe released a deep, relieved breath and followed him. The truth was that if he’d told her to stand on her head, she would have obeyed—or tried to anyway. Rhys had that effect on her. There was something about his voice that made her want to please him. Plus, she was grateful he wanted her to stay. This job was her favorite thing about living in Darnuith. If Rhys still wanted her here, she wasn’t going anywhere.
The attacks on her and her sisters were testing her in the most personal way. For most of her life, Circe Tanglewood had thought of herself as a conformist. While her sisters Medea and Isis acted as if every rule was meant to be broken, she preferred to keep her feet firmly on the ground and her steps safely on a well-worn path. Although she’d gone along with her sisters’ risky schemes in the past, it was only after much cajoling and voicing her fears about their antics. It wasn’t so much that she feared punishment or injury as she thought things simply worked better when there was order.
Now, she had people breaking windows to try to scare her from her job. Worse had happened at the home she shared with Isis. Dead animals left on their lawn. Ill wishes thrown through their windows. Neither of them had stepped a hair out of line to invite such behavior. In fact, Circe’s accommodating personality led her to have goods from the marketplace delivered to her cottage so that her presence would not cause discomfort to the vendors or her fellow shoppers.
Which was why, she supposed, she’d become enthralled with Rhys Bloodgood. Not only did he accept her, he seemed to genuinely appreciate her help. As she watched the stern and stoic healer at work in his apothecary, she couldn’t help but admire his methodical nature. The wizard adored order and cleanliness. Everything in his apothecary and the attached infirmary had its place. His stringent attention to detail ensured that his patients enjoyed the finest of care in the five kingdoms.
Her respect for his practice was why she’d taken a job working for him at Bloodgood’s Apothecary. Once her sister Medea had become queen of Darnuith, they’d sold the fruit farm they’d once managed. Tavyss and Medea had moved in to Maelhaven Palace, as was tradition, and Circe and Isis had moved to a small cottage in Mistcraven, nestled in the Dark Mountains. The apothecary had been a welcome distraction, where her natural inclination for potion making had come in increasingly handy.
It was a safe, prudent, and perfectly acceptable job.
And if her mind sometimes sent her a delicious and perfectly unacceptable fantasy about grabbing her aloof and taciturn boss by the lapels of his laboratory coat and pressing her lips to his, well, there were worse problems to have as a witch.
“Bring me the container marked Mystic Snail Shell,” he commanded once she’d arrived at his side in his laboratory. The cauldron he hunched over smelled of something sweet and vegetative.
Without hesitation, she jogged into the storage room and searched for what he’d requested. She wasn’t exactly sure when she’d become enchanted by Rhys. The waves of his shoulder-length black hair weren’t exceptionally silky, and the short beard that muted the hard edge of his jaw looked more rugged than handsome. But she found herself spending more and more time imagining what it would feel like to run a hand down his body, toned from hours of hiking and gathering herbs and roots in the woods. Would Rhys Bloodgood’s flesh feel as hard as his personality?
To be sure, the man had done nothing to invite her attentions. He barked orders at her throughout the day.Sweep the floor. Disinfect the counters. Bring me the forage beetle powder.There was no softness in his tone or his eyes, and the two of them rarely spoke of personal things.But she sensed that if that icy veneer ever cracked, underneath would be a steaming passion as wild as his waves and as potent as his deep blue stare.
