Courting the Witch Read online

  Courting The Witch

  A Four Arts Novella

  M.J. Scott

  emscott enterprises

  Contents

  Free Sneak Peek

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Bonus epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  A note from M.J.

  Also by M.J. Scott

  About the Author

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  Copyright © 2021 by M.J. Scott

  * * *

  All rights reserved.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, alive or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Published by emscott enterprises.

  Created with Vellum

  For all the authors writing the stories helping everyone escape right now. You rock.

  Chapter 1

  Lieutenant Imogene Carvelle held on to the leather strap that was all that was keeping her from being bounced off the unyielding seat of the charguerre and wished devoutly to be anywhere else.

  Three weeks of one uncomfortable, too hot or too cold, bone-shaking conveyance after another to return to Lumia from Reyshaka. She did not begrudge her emperor, His Imperial Majesty Aristides Delmar de Lucien, her services—in fact, she was most grateful for the opportunities and adventures it had afforded her thus far—but she remained baffled that his Imperial Army could not come up with some more comfortable modes of long-distance transportation. At least now that they were back in Illvya, the weather was far more pleasant than the icy conditions in the empire's far north.

  The charguerre shuddered to a halt, and the door opened. "Last break before Lumia. Do what you will," one of the sergeants bellowed, and her squad companions began to climb out, muttering various degrees of complaint and relief. She was last to leave the charguerre and she headed straight for the queue that would be forming for tea and whatever the last of their food supplies was to fuel the remaining three hours to the city. Her other squad mates would be gossiping or finding a handy spot to relieve themselves or taking time to stretch their legs, but she wanted nothing more than tea and a few minutes in the relative quiet of the countryside before having to climb back into the noisy iron box that was the charguerre. She joined the end of the queue and, while she waited, sent her magic seeking down for a ley line. It took a minute or so to find the closest one. It was weak, but she pulled a little power, using the magic to chase away some of the fatigue making her bones ache.

  "Are you looking forward to being home, Lieutenant?"

  She blinked up at the speaker. Captain Honore Brodier was regular army, not part of the Imperial Mages as Imogene was, and one of the leaders of the company who had escorted the mages on their diplomatic mission. She was tall and blonde, showing her Elenian ancestral roots in the glacial blue of her eyes. Some of the squad called her, unoriginally, the Ice Queen, but she had always been kind to Imogene.

  But the question, well-intentioned as Honore may be, was difficult to answer. "It will be nice to see my family," Imogene said as they stepped closer to the wooden trestle table that held hastily heated kettles of water.

  "Keen to get back out, are you?" Honore said with a smile. She had a few years on Imogene's twenty-four, and the experience to go with them.

  "Yes," Imogene said. There was no point denying it. She'd spent her first year in the Imperial mages doing mainly desk work and standard magic at one of the army’s administrative centers just outside Lumia. She'd put her head down, worked hard, and won the respect of her captain, who'd recommended her for the Diplomatic Corps she'd been so eager to join. Her first mission had been a diplomatic assignment like this one—to Andalyssia, a part of the empire no more warm, though supposedly less wild than Reyshaka.

  She wasn't sure she agreed with that assessment. The Andalyssians had been aloof, the magic they practiced bound up in a worship of nature that was somehow ponderous and secretive. Even thinking of it now, she could smell the moss and peat and salted ash that perfumed the court, an aroma from the ritual fires they burned continuously that seemed to permeate the entire frigid country. The magic she'd caught glimpses of seemed smoke-wreathed and heavy. The Andalyssians recognized earth and water and air and blood in their magic, as Illvya did, but they did not use them in the same way. Their ley lines were deep and old and resistant to Imogene's attempts to tap that power in a way that had made her glad there were soldiers as well as diplomats on that mission. A mission plagued by disasters and headed by a fool who no longer served His Imperial Majesty. Not that any of it had been Imogene's fault, but the army had shunted her into six months of boring, short-term courier assignments before deciding she'd done her time and could try again. It had seemed an eternity while she waited for the stink of disaster—which might always be linked to those Andalyssian memories—to clear from her.

  Reyshaka had been a second chance. One she’d seized. She liked to think she’d succeeded in her duties. And, despite the discomforts of the climate, she’d found it fascinating.

  She was very much hoping not to get stuck in Lumia again for more than a few weeks, if only because being stationed so close to home would give her mother more opportunities to tout the wonders of marriage and plot Imogene’s betrothal. Imogene's two older sisters were both married, as was her brother, and her youngest sister had just become engaged. Which left Imogene as the sole target of her mother's matchmaking tendencies.

  As much as she missed her family and her friends—her best friend, Chloe Matin, in particular—she was not yet keen to settle down. Not when she'd just begun seeing some of the corners of the empire she'd grown up reading about.

  She accepted tea as Honore said, "I'll be glad of a rest. This is my ninth extended mission in a row. Sometimes I think my backside will never regain feeling."

  They both turned and looked at the line of solid square charguerres and the chunky fer-taureaus that pulled them, grimacing in unison. The fer-taureaus were modeled after iron bulls, but they looked about as much like actual bulls as the charguerre did like carriages. And their gait was less graceful than any real animal.

  "Your father is an ingenier, is he not?" Honore asked. "Maybe when you get home, you should ask him how to make those damned things more comfortable."

  "An ingenier, but not a mage ingenier. I asked him once. He said he would have to inspect one to know what might be possible. But he thought it would be difficult to improve the ride much without altering the structure in ways that might weaken them."

  "We're doomed, then," Honore said, pushing her free hand into the small of her back. "Maybe I should try for a sea voyage
next. Ships don't bounce."

  Imogene shrugged, smiling. "They roll, though. And sink. And there's always more travel when you disembark." And ships were still slow. Even the fastest courier craft were at the mercy of the ocean and the winds.

  The part of her that was her father's daughter stowed the problem away to chew on at another time. She was a diplomat, not a mage ingenier, and in another three hours, she would be home in Lumia. Where she would be putting in the work to make sure she stayed a diplomat.

  She stared back at the charguerres. Cesarus, the familiaris sanctii bonded to Major Fontaine, the senior mage for this mission, was standing near the last one in the line. He was very still, as was his nature, but Imogene thought she'd caught his eye and waved as she would to any other member of the squad.

  The sanctii nodded back.

  "You do well with them," Honore observed. "Have you thought of bonding one yourself?"

  Imogene blinked, startled. Sanctii fascinated her as much as diplomacy. They always had, since she'd first lived with them at the Academe di Sages. But while she was a water mage, and technically any water mage was free to bond a sanctii, it was an unwritten rule that an Imperial mage would not do so without permission. Such permission usually only came with seniority. "I'm a little young, I think."

  Honore shrugged, sipped her tea. "Old enough, perhaps. You have a talent for this work. You did well in Reyshaka."

  And sanctii were useful to diplomats. They could be used to spy, to intimidate, or to fascinate. Or to protect.

  "It's something I had considered might be possible in the future," Imogene said carefully, hiding her pleasure at the praise and her excitement at even a hint that she might be able to bond a sanctii.

  Cool blue eyes studied her. "The major and I would be happy to make a recommendation. Should you want to move that future somewhat nearer." Honore swigged the last of her tea. "But you don't need to decide now. No doubt you are tired and longing for a bath, as I am. Come see me in a day or so and let me know." She handed the mug back to the waiting orderly and tugged her uniform jacket straighter, clearly preparing to move on to whatever was next on her mental list of tasks to complete in this break.

  "I will. Thank you, Captain." She hoped the excitement and apprehension suddenly fizzing through her veins wasn't too apparent. "I appreciate your confidence in me."

  Honore smiled, but then her expression turned serious. "Just keep your nose clean. I know that mess with Alexei had nothing to do with you, and you've proven yourself here, but the army has a long memory."

  Chapter 2

  "So was it wonderful?"

  Imogene looked over at Chloe Matin, who was currently bouncing on Imogene's bed in a manner which would make Imogene's mama, should she walk into the room right now, tell them both they were acting like children. It was always strange to return to her parents’ home after the freedom of a mission. Being back under their roof, in the same bed she'd slept in since childhood, gave her an odd sense of being caught between her past and her future. Though Chloe, her best friend for many years, was always welcome wherever Imogene was.

  "Stop bouncing and I might tell you. Better still, start passing me things out of that trunk." She waved her hand at the battered wood and iron trunk near the bed.

  On Chloe's arrival, Imogen had shooed Dina, the Carvelles’ maid, away, preferring to talk in private. Dina had obeyed after removing all the clothes that required washing—which, after the long journey home, was most of the contents of the trunk. But some had survived Dina's inspection and deemed clean. Which left Imogene with the task of rehanging them and unpacking the other bits and pieces she had taken with her.

  Chloe slithered off the bed, kneeling beside the trunk and peering into it to see what remained. "Well?"

  Imogene shoved aside two silk ball gowns that were distinctly not the type of clothes she preferred—and she was dreading her mother's explanation as to why they had appeared in her wardrobe—and tucked her sole clean uniform jacket into place before turning back to Chloe, who promptly handed her a pair of boots.

  "It was...intriguing. And exhausting. Fascinating. And nerve-racking." She grinned at Chloe. "I can't wait to do it all over again." She bent to put the boots away. When she straightened, Chloe's expression had turned gloomy.

  "So you're definitely going to ask for another assignment, then?" Chloe asked.

  Imogene hesitated. Chloe, a year younger than Imogene, wanted to join the Imperial Corps, too. But her mother had fallen ill not long after Chloe turned twenty-one and manifested her magic, and Chloe had temporarily given up her plans to help her family out. "Temporarily" had stretched to several years already. Chloe had completed her studies—her father was the Maistre of the Academe di Sages, after all—but spent all the time she could running the Matin household and looking after her younger brother and sister.

  "How is your mama?" Imogene asked gently. They'd written to each other while she had been away, but Chloe had kept her letters relentlessly positive and gossipy, so Imogene didn't know what the actual situation might be.

  Chloe's smile was a little too cheerful. "She continues to improve. We are hopeful she will be fully well again within the year."

  In other words, Chloe would not be joining up this year either. And might not like Imogene's response. But Imogene wasn't about to start lying to her best friend.

  "I am planning to ask for another assignment. I don't think I'll be in town very long." Too long and her mother would start getting ideas. The Carvelles weren't part of the level of society that partook in the palace's season of balls and entertainments that were prime matchmaking territory for the Illvyan nobility, but there were similar events amongst the families of the well-off merchants and such. Her mother had, no doubt, already made a list in triplicate of potential suitors, as she had every year since Imogene turned twenty-one. There was no other explanation for the new ball gowns.

  "So we must spend time together while we can," she continued, reaching for Chloe's hand, squeezing it.

  Chloe looked away. Then she lifted her chin, another of those too-bright smiles stretched across her face. "Speaking of which, Father has an invitation to the imperial ball this week. Mother cannot attend, so he asked permission to bring me. And a friend. Will you come?"

  To a palace ball? Her mother would go into a frenzy. "It's not really—"

  "Oh don't be boring. It will be fun," Chloe said. "In fact, it's the perfect way to outwit your mother. None of the aristocratic bachelors will be looking for anything serious with the likes of us, so you can flirt and dance in perfect safety." She grinned then, dark brows lifted in challenge.

  There was an argument Imogene hadn't considered. Chloe, as Henri's daughter and a strong witch, was perfectly eligible, as she herself was. But there were also plenty of women with power among the noble families. Most of the bachelors at an imperial ball would be on the hunt for someone with a title, or a dowry far more impressive than either she or Chloe could bring to the table, or trying to avoid matrimony altogether.

  Chloe was right. Those men were safe. Those men might even offer the opportunity for the kind of entertainment she hadn't indulged in at all during her mission. Smart girls didn't have liaisons with members of their own squads. Or companies. She missed sex. In some parts of the empire—and in mysterious Anglion across the ocean—they had odd rules about such things, particularly for young witches or potential witches. Or so she had heard. Here in Illvya, other than perhaps in the highest families, the unwritten rules were "don't get pregnant and don't cause a scandal." Easy enough for a witch with the brains to choose a sensible, discreet partner, and to wield a basic knowledge of herbs and the ways of female and male bodies. So why not enjoy herself?

  Captain Brodier had told her to keep her nose clean. That meant stay out of the spotlight, not avoid fun altogether.

  Furthermore, if she was at a palace ball, she couldn't be at one of the balls she suspected her mother would be forcing her to attend where the men w
ere far more likely to be looking for a wife like her and therefore apt to become troublesome.

  She threw an arm around Chloe and kissed her cheek. "Darling one, I believe you're a genius. A ball sounds wonderful."

  Chapter 3

  The palace was lit up like a chandelier. Light streamed from every window, casting a shimmering golden hue over the white marble facade, making it look like something summoned from a dream. A floating, gleaming confection of magnificence defying the night.

  Imogen knew the size and scope of the palace, the arc of its marble and gilt and glass designed to shout power and might to the world. She knew the less grand administrative buildings in the complex of barracks, office, workshops, and stables that nestled behind the palace best but had some familiarity with the public parts of the palace itself. But its beauty tonight left her almost giddy as the Matins’ carriage drew closer to the head of the queue of carriages waiting to deliver their occupants to the ball.

  She flexed her hands in their white satin gloves and tried to draw a deep breath. The corset she wore under her sapphire blue gown made that difficult. She'd made Dina lace it as loosely as possible, but the truth of the matter was that the dresses her mother had ordered were cut tight, and "loosely" was a relative term. The corsets she wore with her uniforms were sensible, front lacing so she could get herself in and out of her clothes, and comfortable as old shoes. She'd forgotten the restrictions of formal gowns.