“And you make this judgment based on…?” Grandmother Guri asked, removing a mitten to unhook a small sack of nuts tied to her belt.
“My interactions with Stil. He follows the most strange and complicated rules of magic that I have ever heard of,” Gemma said. “He will spin enough gold to purchase a manor, and do it in exchange for one gold ring. He lends me an expensive charmed ruby but asks for a trade for a thimble.”
“He is a bit unstable,” Grandmother Guri said. “So what will you do?”
“About?”
“About the King and this spinning. I assume this mage cannot be at your beck and call forever. Eventually you will have to leave, or King Torgen will discover the truth.”
“I have hopes that eventually I will talk the King into allowing me to spin without guards posted, and I can escape then.”
“You cannot talk the King into anything, my girl,” Grandmother Guri said, looking in the direction of the palace.
“Yes, but if he wants the gold badly enough, he will do what I ask,” Gemma said.
“Bartering with the crazed is like baiting a rabid bear,” Grandmother Guri warned.
“What else can I do?” Gemma asked.
“There aren’t many alternatives,” Grandmother Guri admitted. “But if you flee, you cannot stay in Ostfold.”
“No,” Gemma agreed.
“Nor can you stay in Verglas.”
“No,” Gemma repeated.
“Does that bother you?” Grandmother Guri asked.
“A little. I love Verglas. While I would enjoy seeing other countries, I cannot fathom a time when I would not think of Verglas as my home.”
“It is a wild, magical country. But you can carry it in your heart, and Verglas will always you welcome back—whether you stay here forever or you are gone for fifty years. Leave if you must, my girl,” Grandmother Guri said.
“If I flee, I will leave everyone I love.”
Grandmother Guri was silent for a long time. Gemma knew better than to disturb the woman while she thought, and she waited patiently for the reply.
“Escape,” Grandmother Guri finally said. “It’s your best chance. You’re a smart girl; I’m sure you’ll make friends wherever you go. And you might not be alone.”
“You think Lady Linnea would go with me?” Gemma asked.
Before Grandmother Guri could reply, Jo-Jo wandered up to the pair. She sneezed on them both before shaking her hand, smacking Gemma with her ears.
“You darned goat!” Grandmother Guri shouted.
Jo-Jo pranced away, evading Grandmother Guri’s cane.
Gemma almost fell over in an effort to also avoid Grandmother Guri’s flailing.
“Miss Kielland?”
“Yes?” Gemma said, as she looked up at Foss.
“We should probably return to the palace.”
“Yes. Thank you, Foss,” Gemma said before she stood up and dusted herself off.
“Help an old lady up,” Grandmother Guri said as she started to haul herself to her feet.
Gemma rushed to help her. When Grandmother Guri was safe and adjusting her clothes, Gemma folded the blanket, stowed it in the saddle bags, and retrieved the mischievous Jo-Jo.
“Thank you,” Grandmother Guri said, taking the goat’s lead when Gemma brought her back.
Gemma nodded and stooped over to hug the older woman. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered.
“And I have missed you. Take care, my girl. Send word when you can,” she said, kissing Gemma’s cheek before releasing her.
Gemma nodded. “Of course. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, child.”
Gemma thought she was getting used to a life of imprisonment and a murky lifespan. But her heart clenched tight in her chest as she forced herself to walk away, leaving Grandmother Guri behind as a bright spot on the lakeshore.
Chapter 10
Stil adjusted the fall of his worn cape on his shoulders as he cautiously poked through the forest. The border Verglas shared with Kozlovka was just ahead, but there was no sign of the hellhound, nightmare, or the rider.
Stil looked back at the setting sun. “I should further investigate tomorrow in daylight,” he said, taking another step forward. “But I don’t think a quick look will hurt.”
It was risky to spy out the enemy’s movement at sunset when the rider moved only at night. Some might even say it was stupid, but the threat couldn’t be too imminent. It was unlikely the rider was still around.
Stil chuckled as he pictured what Gemma would do if she knew the risk he was taking.
She wouldn’t say anything, just give him that look that said she questioned his intelligence and arch her expressive eyebrows at him.
“Ahh, yes. Gemma,” Stil said. I have no idea what I’m going to do about her.
Stil had decided to help her when he first heard that someone had brought news to the king about her father’s drunken utterances. Stil had a feeling it was the weasel-like thug he silenced at the tavern fight. Feeling partially responsible, and with Angelique’s lecture about responsibility beating in his head, Stil knew he had to help her.