Chapter Text
Gemma was currently experiencing a crisis.
“What you’re feeling isn’t real,” she called out to the man bent on chasing her around his parlor room, located in his magical tent that defied all reason and logic. Because this was apparently her life now. Running away from a daft magic user who fancied himself in love with her .
“ Gemma .” This was the aforementioned craftmage, sounding a mix of exasperated and affectionate. Rumpelstiltskin, better known as Stil, was a clever craftmage who’d helped Gemma escape from her unjust imprisonment by the mad king of Verglas. He was kind, handsome, and vainer than Gemma had thought humanly possible.
He was also evidently under some sort of mental strain, and she told him as such as she continued to evade his grasp by circling around his settee.
“Love affairs between mages and seamstresses just aren’t done,” she finished primly, certain she had put the issue to rest.
That was before he revealed his true reason behind demanding her firstborn. Specifically, that should she ever want children, he would be the father.
Gemma was going to kill him.
“I must say I pictured many reactions when I confessed my love to you. Rage was not one of them,” Stil said, ducking the pillow that Gemma had hurled at his stupid, conniving face.
“How could you do this!” She yelled in response.
“Why are we shouting?”
“I DON’T KNOW!”
The creak of the front door halted the dramatically one-sided pillow fight as they turned to face the front door.
It was a woman. Quite possibly the most beautiful woman in the world, in fact. Stil was handsome, but this woman had such great beauty it made Gemma’s soul hurt just to look at her.
The woman—who surely had to be a magic user, as if her opalescent color-changing gown didn’t give it away—arched an eyebrow, which did not detract from her beauty. “I take that this is a bad time?”
“Yes,” Stil cut in before Gemma could stop him. “Come back in an hour.”
“Wait!” Gemma said desperately, just as the beautiful mage was joined by another figure in the doorway, this one hooded.
“Well that’s exceedingly rude,” said her companion, a male whose voice was every bit as melodic as the woman’s. Another magic user. “We raised you to have better manners than that, Stil.”
“Please stop saying it like that,” the woman was sighing as Gemma seized her chance to rush across the parlor.
“You must be here to see Stil,” she said loudly. “I apologize for our loud discussion, but you have not interrupted anything. Please, come in. Can I get you something to drink?”
She wanted to get out of the room and as far away from Stil as possible. And if she had to use literal strangers to do so, she would.
“Gemma,” Stil said warningly at her back. She tensed as she felt him creeping closer and closer.
Surely he wouldn’t resume his original antics in front of his guests?
“A drink sounds lovely.” The beautiful woman smiled as she glided in, taking pity on Gemma’s evident desperation. She was Gemma’s favorite person in the world as of this moment.
“Indeed,” agreed her companion, following a step behind her. “Thank you. Your friend is exceedingly polite, Stil. Unlike you, you brat.”
“Spare me the lecture,” Stil grumbled—grumbled!—as he stepped back to allow the two visitors to file in. “Speaking of manners, what are you still doing with your hood on? Afraid of scaring us off with your ugliness?”
“ Stil ,” Gemma hissed in admonishment. But it was unnecessary, for the man was laughing as he flipped the hood of his cloak back and let it fall back.
And Gemma felt her jaw literally drop.
The man was easily every bit as gorgeous as his female companion, with the same sort of ethereal beauty that would have had every woman in Gemma’s town sighing over him.
She gulped. Mages. Highly powerful mages, if their stunning appearances are anything to go by.
“Never mind,” said Stil, narrow-eyed as he observed Gemma closely for some unfathomable reason. “Put your hood back on.”
~+~
Gemma soon gathered that the female mage went by the name of Angelique and her counterpart, Evariste. They were here in response to the distress note that Stil had sent out weeks ago about being forced to take refuge in Verglas after being chased down by a nightmare and his rider. It seemed that lately, a worrying string of incidents involving dark magic had occurred all across the Continent, and this was the latest one to come to their notice.
Gemma processed this all in a dazed sort of manner as she sat in the parlor with three bona-fide magic users, having tea and biscuits while discussing international conflicts that affected thousands of lives. Who was she to partake in such world-changing events?
She had tried several times to slip out of the parlor, but every time, Stil caught her wrist and anchored her to the spot. So she had tried, discreetly, to pull away, unwilling to ruin the conversation but eager to leave the delusional Stil. His grip was as malleable as iron.
The blindingly handsome mage, Evariste, had seemed to notice this a couple of times. But instead of doing the practical thing of helping her exit, he’d winked . As if this was all a game!
Perhaps all male mages were delusional to some degree.
“I’m so sick of true love, the very thought makes me ill,” said Angelique in a scathing sort of way, and Gemma hastily tuned back into the conversation.
Stil, for some reason, seemed extremely amused. “Really now.”
“It’s been an interesting few years,” said Evariste, giving Angelique a sidelong glance. “I’ll admit, I find it rather amusing that a wide-spread campaign of evil and darkness has inadvertently produced such a high amount of true-love royal couples. Though it does make a certain amount of sense.”
“If you say another word about love being the most powerful, righteous emotion possible, I will summon Pegasus to take me home out of spite,” Angelique shot back with a toss of her head.
“Trouble in paradise?” asked Stil, who was now grinning. Gemma tested his grip on her wrist. He still wasn’t budging, unfortunately.
“You are certainly one to talk,” said Evariste, his gaze flitting briefly to their interlocked hands. “Are you finally going to make introductions to us, Rumpelstiltskin? Or are you going to keep accosting your young friend here and hoping we don’t notice?”
Stil exhaled as he finally let go of Gemma’s hand. “Angel, how do you live with him?”
“That’s Angelique to you,” Angelique said in the resigned manner of one who’s said it a thousand times over. “And I ask myself that every day.”
“Hey!”
Gemma took this time to silently begin inching her way out of her seat again, only to freeze when she heard Stil say her name.
“It is my great pleasure to introduce the both of you to Gemma Kielland, one of the most talented seamstresses in the continent. Gemma, this is Lady Enchantress Angelique and Lord Enchanter Evariste—two of the highest ranked magic users in the Veneno Conclave.”
Well, Gemma could hardly leave now . “Good afternoon,” she said, curtseying to the enchanter and enchantress. Skies and clouds, two enchanters . Most people went their whole lives without ever seeing one!
“Delighted to meet you, Gemma,” said Evariste with a warm smile.
Angelique responded with an equally warm, “I am charmed”, her silver eyes piercing in their sincerity. Her attention swung back to Stil. “How did this lovely young lady come to be traveling with you? Is the rider chasing her as well?”
Gemma shuddered. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Gemma is fleeing the country with me. She’s in a spot of trouble with King Torgen,” Stil explained.
“Ah, him,” Angelique said knowingly as Evariste frowned in thought.
“It really is about time one of us did something about him,” he said reflectively. Angelique, most shockingly, elbowed him with a distinct lack of grace.
“The Conclave would hunt us down,” she said flatly.
He smiled at her. “You mean they would try.”
“It’s times like this I can see the strong resemblance between you and Enchanter Clovicus.”
“Why, thank you Angel.”
The two of them are…quite interesting , Gemma mused, observing their antics. They may be powerful mages, but they are also empathetic and approachable. I didn’t expect that. I thought mages were all aloof and untouchable, with Stil being the exception .
“With all respect, Craftmage Stil, you were going to take me to the border, and then we were going to part ways,” Gemma stated as she turned to Stil.
“Yes, but now we don’t have to. These two will take care of the rider for me, won’t you?” Stil said. He looked over to the two playfully bickering enchanters, who paused.
Evariste glanced at Angelique. “It would be good practice for you, don’t you think?”
Angelique sighed. “Sometimes you overestimate my capabilities.”
“Like Clovicus said, Angelique. You can’t get better at your core magic if you don’t use it.”
“And the rider is no match for that,” Stil said with fervent enthusiasm, ignoring the face Angelique made in response.
“Core magic?” Gemma asked, too curious to let the comment pass her. The two enchanters obligingly launched into a brief explanation about the differences between core magic and learned magic, and how that differentiated enchanters like Angelique and Evariste from mages like Stil.
“There are checks and balances to our power, of course,” Angelique said. “For example, neither I nor Evariste will ever be as powerful in weather magic as a weather mage. And no enchanters are capable of infusing magic into weapons like Stil is—although that is to be expected as he is a genius in his core magic.” Angelique smiled at Stil as she finished her explanation.
The embarrassed smile Stil exposed made Gemma pause. She looked back and forth between Angelique and Stil as she realized, Angelique is the person who taught him about the obligation to help those in need. She is the magic user that is precious to him.
“Don’t forget how he graduated the academy early and made Grandmaster at such a young age,” Evariste added, also smiling. “A genius and a prodigy. You make us proud, Stil.”
Stil fidgeted, flushing slightly as he grew even more embarrassed at the praise.
Huh . Gemma frowned in thought as she recalibrated her assumptions. So they’re both important to him. They did mention they raised Stil. I thought it was an exaggeration, but I guess not. It makes sense he would care deeply for them and hold their opinions in high regard.
She eyed them speculatively, feeling hopeful. Perhaps they can help talk some sense into Stil. Convince him that there is no need to settle for a mere seamstress like me.
“Evariste is one to talk about being a genius. He’s considered to be one of the greatest magic users since the Snow Queen, and he’s the youngest enchanter ever approved,” Stil was saying, still blushing slightly in a rather adorable manner. “Excluding Angelique, that is. She’s in a class of her own. But we are getting off topic. Angelique, I know you can destroy the rider with your core magic.”
“Yes, destruction was never the issue,” said Angelique, an expression of disgust crossing her beautiful face. “Besides, I might be an enchantress now but the Conclave will still pitch a fit if I go about abusing my core magic willy-nilly. Something about validating their fears and all.”
Seeing Gemma’s inquisitive look, she added for her benefit, “My career as an enchantress was and continues to be unusual because my core magic makes most…squeamish.”
“Angel, we’ve been over this.” Evariste reached over to clasp Angelique’s hand, ignoring the scowl he got in response. “Plenty of people find your magic a wonder.”
“ You don’t count. You’ve always been an oddball,” Angelique muttered, half-heartedly trying to tug her hand away. Something about that amusing sight seemed familiar. Stil was barely holding back a laugh, judging from his twitching facial expressions.
Gemma sensed this was a deeper issue than she was aware of, and prudently refrained from further questions. She politely cleared her throat. “I see.”
Angelique flashed her a grateful smile. “Rest assured, though. If I can’t handle the rider, Evariste undoubtedly will. Although we will have to be careful. The forest is crawling with soldiers.”
“Pardon?” Gemma said.
“They’re King Torgen’s men,” Evariste explained. “At first we believed they were the followers you referred to in your letter, Stil. But now I suppose you’re the one they are searching for you, Gemma?”
Gemma shifted uncomfortably. “Yes.”
Angelique smiled reassuringly. “Do not worry yourself over it. You are safe in Stil’s home, and the border is but a short ride away.”
“Is it? That’s a relief,” Stil said. “It feels like molasses runs faster than Pricker Patch is willing to move.”
“Ornery as ever, I see,” Evariste commented with a smile. “Pegasus can be the same way.”
“Pets. What can you do about them?” Stil shrugged. “But, it would appear we are here for the night, so we should enjoy it. Tonight we will have a feast,” he promised, eyes lighting up at the prospect.
“Looking forward to it.” Angelique chimed in. She looked over to Evariste, who nodded and stood beside her. “We’d like to rest briefly, in the meantime. Could you accommodate us?”
“Certainly. Any of the rooms are open—except mine and the frost room,” Stil said, getting to his feet.
Both enchanters froze at that.
“The frost room, you say,” Evariste said slowly, turning to stare at Gemma curiously.
“Gemma, are you in the last room in the hallway?” Angelique asked, her eyes gleaming.
“Yes.”
“A most intriguing choice, Rumpelstiltskin,” Evariste called loudly to Stil’s retreating back. “The frost room. It seems, dear Angel, you have been displaced as Stil’s favorite lady, the first in his heart-”
“ Don’t ,” Stil practically growled as he departed, leaving Gemma speechless with astonishment.
“Stop embarrassing him.” Angelique lightly smacked Evariste, who broke into laughter. Her lips twitched in response as she turned a thoughtful eye to Gemma, scanning her from head to toe. “Well. I’m glad you are so lovely. If you will excuse us, we will see you at our banquet.”
And with that, she dragged her still-chuckling companion away. Leaving Gemma, all alone in the parlor, to attempt to organize her thoughts as to what just happened.
“ I’m lovely?” She mumbled in bewilderment. “Me? Has she seen herself? Is delusion a base requirement of having magic??”
Two hours and an entire feast later, she was still struggling to process all the revelations the day had brought. They had just finished the massive amount of food Stil—or, more correctly, Stil’s magical kitchen—had prepared for them. The craftmage was off getting dessert. Gemma didn’t think she had any room to spare, and she thought they had already eaten dessert between the fresh fruits, candied nuts, and pastries, but Stil insisted she eat more.
So, Gemma, Evariste, and Angelique sat together, waiting for Stil to return. It was a little awkward, truth be told. Especially since Angelique appeared determined to reminisce about Stil’s childhood to Gemma.
“We found Stil in a market in Baris. He was just a youngster and was selling magic-infused items. Evariste, who was my teacher at the time, recognized him for what he was and tried to get him to leave with us, but Stil was suspicious of him.” Angelique paused to take a sip of wine.
Gemma nodded politely to show she was listening.
I don’t understand. Is she trying to show that she knows Stil better? Or is that she thinks I am unsuitable? That is silly, since I am not in a position to be competition. I had better make that clear.
Gemma glanced to the third member of their little party, but Evariste was still polishing off the last of his dinner. He seemed content to let Angelique take the lead in this current conversation.
Gemma couldn’t help but slightly envy how polished the two mages seemed, this far into the evening. Gemma felt positively drab in comparison.
Yet another reason not to indulge Stil’s madness. I could never emulate the grace and poise of a magic user!
“Eventually, Evariste realized Stil found me less intimidating and instructed me to talk him around. I…managed it. We brought him to the school at the Veneno Conclave where he proved to be a veritable genius at craft magic,” Angelique finished with a bright smile.
“…I see,” Gemma said, not knowing what else to say.
“You’re leaving out the best part, Angel,” Evariste spoke up. There was a mischievous sparkle in his eye as he looked over at Gemma. “What Angel’s being kind enough not to mention is that Stil was an absolute rascal when we first met him. No manners at all, running around the streets of Baris like a wild thing. It’s true the little brat found Angel less intimidating, but that was before she chased him down, cornered him by a market stall, and yelled at him until he meekly agreed to shape up. It was awe-inspiring. I’m positive Stil remains as terrified of her all these years later as he did at twelve.”
Angelique, who had taken another sip of wine at precisely the wrong moment, choked. Amidst the coughing and sputtering, Gemma poked her jaw to make sure it wasn’t hanging wide open.
“I would have liked Gemma to have a charitable impression of us for more than a day, Evariste,” Angelique wheezed out when she had recovered slightly, eyes tapered to a sharp, silver glare at her companion.
“Gemma deserves to know what she’s getting herself into,” Evariste said cheerfully, unruffled by the disruption. “She doesn’t seem the sort to scare easily. Right, Gemma?”
Gemma might not ‘scare easily’ but she was definitely feeling a tad overwhelmed. “Why does it matter what I think of you?”
“Oh!” Evariste laughed. “Why indeed. Forgive me for not explaining, but it’s not everyday Stil introduces his sweetheart to his parents.”
And now it was Gemma’s turn to choke.
“Right! The tarts finally set—what happened? Gemma?” Stil asked, blowing into the room, carrying a number of tarts on a silver platter.
“We’re getting to know our future daughter-in-law,” Evariste said simply as Gemma waved her assurances to Stil that she was fine.
“I am not his sweetheart,” she managed to get out, just in time for Angelique to hiss at Evariste, “He is not our son.”
Stil smirked as he set down the platter. “It’s like I’ve entered an echo chamber.”
“Stil, please tell Enchanter Evariste,” Gemma said desperately, not caring if she appeared rude in her agitation.
“Tell him what?” Stil said as he set three different tarts on a pewter plate in front of her.
“That he’s wrong!”
“Oh.” Stil tilted his head in consideration. “But he’s not?”
Gemma resisted her powerful urge to shake him.
“Gemma.” His voice softened and he knelt down, putting them at eye-level. “I meant what I said earlier. I am in love with you.”
Gemma shifted her chair away. “Well, that’s not proper.”
“Why not?” Stil scooted closer, oblivious to his audience.
“Because I am not a magic user. Mages are supposed to fall in love with mages,” Gemma said firmly. She turned to Angelique and Evariste, who had been stealthily attempting to tiptoe their way out of the room. “Like you two! You make perfect sense, unlike-“
“Um,” Angelique interjected, looking for all the world like a deer caught in torchlights. “No. We’re, ah, not a-that is to say, Evariste and I are not together. I mean we are together as in yes, we occupy space near one another but not together like, together. Does that makes sense?”
“Not to me,” Stil said, rolling his eyes as he stood up. “Do explain it again, would you? I think the lady doth protest too much.”
“There’s no rule that says mages have to fall in love with other mages,” Evariste said calmly to Gemma, barely blinking an eye as his companion grabbed the nearest throw pillow and stalked over to Stil, murder in her eyes. “It’s uncommon, but there are several magic users and non-magic users who have been happily married.”
“Okay okay I apologi-mmpf!” Stil cut off as Angelique’s pillow finally found its mark.
“You’ve heard of the late Queen of Arcainia, yes?” Evariste asked Gemma, who nodded. “She was a celebrated enchantress before she stepped down from her role to marry King Henrik. They had seven beautiful children together, along with a foster daughter.”
“Seven mule-headed children, more like,” Angelique added, momentarily ceasing her pummeling of Stil. “Princess Elise has my respect for being their herder. Gabrielle’s insane for marrying into that family.”
“Even so, it still wouldn’t be proper.” Gemma lifted her chin. “Because of the age difference.”
Time seemed to grind to a halt as three extremely startled heads swung in her direction.
“The what?”
“Huh?”
“Age difference?” That last one was Stil, whose brows were furrowed as he regarded Gemma with confusion.
“Of course. Surely you can’t be a day younger than fifty or sixty,” Gemma said with absolute sincerity.
Stil’s jaw dropped. At his outraged expression, Gemma tried to shift her chair but found she was stuck against a table leg.
“You think I’m an OLD MAN?” Stil thundered.
“Most magic users are not the age they physically appear to be,” Gemma said, slightly surprised at his vehemence. “And it is well known that they age much more slowly.”
A noise like a deflating balloon came from the far corner of the dining room, near the door. Gemma quickly glanced over to see Angelique with her face buried in Evariste’s cloak, her shoulders shaking violently with…laughter?
“YOU THINK I’M AN OLD MAN!” Stil cried, drawing her attention back to him.
“You dress…uniquely, and you went through the schooling,” Gemma rationalized. “That must have taken at least a decade.”
“I’m not even twenty-five yet, you mean-spirited mule, and my clothes are fashionable- STOP LAUGHING!” Stil rounded to the pair of enchanters in the corner, who were now both bent over, wheezing and red-faced from the effort of keeping their mirth contained. Did…did Angelique have honest-to-god tears rolling down her face? “This is all your fault! You two are the true ancient ones, never aging a day from the moment I’ve laid eyes on you! But I’m a craftmage, not an enchanter!”
“You didn’t remove your hood until a few days ago,” said Gemma. “Until then, I had no idea what you looked like. And what does being a craftmage have to do with anything?”
“It means that unlike the two laughing hyenas in the corner, I would only outlive you by a little, like a decade or two! You thought I was old?”
“I get the impression that offends you.”
“IT DOES.”
Gemma only lifted her eyebrows and prodded a tart in silence.
“Aren’t you going to apologize?” Stil asked mulishly.
“For what?”
“For thinking I’m old!”
Gemma shrugged. “It seems you have only yourself to blame for that misunderstanding.”
“I think I’m dying,” Angelique confessed in a strangled-sounding whisper. “Evariste, help me. I’ve been mortally wounded.”
“Can’t. I’m already gone. I leave behind all my earthly possessions to you, Angel.”
Gemma ignored the dramatic byplay in the background. “But if you are not yet twenty-five, and if Lady Enchantress Angelique and Lord Enchanter Evariste met you when you were twelve or thirteen, you must be freshly out of the Conclave school.”
“And now you are accusing me of being a green mage! No. I went through the schooling system quite quickly and finished my apprenticeship by the time I was eighteen,” Stil said, his voice wry but at a much lower volume.
“Impressive. You must be the genius they say you are.”
“He is!” Came a distant chorus from the corner of the room. Not so dead after all.
Stil sighed deeply and scuffed his feathered, black hair—it was short again—with what seemed like pure aggravation. He plopped down in a chair and scooted it so close to Gemma, the legs scraped against each other. He looked so hassled that she didn’t have the heart to immediately scoot away.
“ Thank you for that. I don’t know about genius. It is true, though, that I am the most gifted craftmage in the past few decades. Possibly the century. Which isn’t quite as impressive as it sounds. Craft magic is useful for luxuries—protection charms in jewelry, clothes spelled to dazzle, that kind of thing—and for everyday work—like wagon wheels spelled to last extra long or wood furniture charmed to resist fire.”
“But when one reaches your level, your usefulness expands,” Gemma guessed.
Stil nodded reluctantly. “I can place higher-level charms and magic into objects, and I am one of a few living craftmages who can spell weapons.”
Gemma narrowed her eyes. “If others can spell weapons, why are you called a genius?”
He made a face at Gemma. “I don’t like to boast,” he said, “but I can bespell weapons faster with higher spells and at a greater rate than anyone else. I could spend a single day spelling a hundred weapons to hold lightning magic. The other mages would take an hour just to produce one or two.”
“So, you could outfit an army,” Gemma said.
Stil shrugged. “If I chose to. Most members of nobility are unaware of that particular skill of mine. They treasure me for spelled jewelry and clothes.”
“But it would explain why you are being hunted.”
He blinked. “What?”
“If you could supply spelled weapons for an entire army in a matter of days, that would make you a great threat.”
“To…?”
“To this plague of darkness you spoke of. Wouldn’t it be plausible that the masterminds behind it know of your abilities and realized that if war is declared, your skills would give us a significant advantage?”
Stil was a frozen statue. He didn’t blink, even when Gemma shifted, attempting to untangle her chair from his.
“You are right,” he said. “Gemma, you are brilliant!”
Gemma shrugged. “I’m not sure how you missed it before.”
Stil abruptly stood, pushing his chair away and whirling to face the door. “Angel! Evariste! Did you hear what-“
Stil stopped mid-sentence. The dining room was empty.
“…where’d they go?”
She shrugged again. “They left halfway through our conversation.”
Stil scowled. “What a poor sense of timing. They couldn’t have left before this entire debacle or after this earth-shattering revelation?”
“Is it truly so earth-shattering?”
“Yes! I hadn’t thought of the possibility of actual war, but if they are planning for it, there is much to be done.” He glanced down at Gemma. “Don’t think our conversation about my love for you is over.”
Gemma raised an eyebrow. “I expect you will come to your senses eventually.”
Stil chuckled and swooped in, quickly kissing Gemma on her cheek. “Sleep well. Thank you, darling.”
“I am not your darling!” Gemma said to his retreating back. The mage only laughed and disappeared through the door.
Gemma scrubbed at her cheek, frowning when she felt her face heating up.
Stil would come to his senses sooner or later. Now that he was surrounded by his fellow magic users, he would remember just how impossible it was for a mage like him to love a poor seamstress with a drunk for a father.
She just had to endure until then.