Mystic by Jason Denzel Page B

palanquin down and opened the carriage door. Out stepped the most beautiful girl Pomella had ever seen. Long tresses of dark hair spilled down her back like shimmering silk. Her green embroidered dress rested off her shoulders, displaying a wealth of pale skin. Pomella sighed and fingered her muddy dress. Were all the nobility so beautiful?
    Another round of bells rang, this time from the northern end of the lawn. “Another one?” she asked.
    Quentin nodded. “It appears so. Oh, by the Graces, look at that. That can only be House Hanjalus.”
    Pomella watched as a line of at least fifty horses trotted into the clearing, each carrying an armored rider. In the center, surrounded by bannermen, rode an unhelmeted young man with perfectly styled blond hair. He held his head high, surveying the grounds and tower like a general. Moments later, his horse reared as Ox rose from the ground to greet him. The man deftly settled the animal.
    â€œI bet they traveled overland together from Port Morrush and planned this dramatic entrance,” Quentin said with a thoughtful look.
    â€œHow many candidates are there?” Pomella asked.
    â€œI only know of four, counting you,” he replied. “Decent odds, wouldn’t you say?”
    She laughed. “I don’t think my odds are very good regardless of how many candidates show up.”
    His dark eyes caught hers. “You have a beautiful laugh.”
    Her heart hammered. It took every scrap of her will to keep her voice from trembling. “I’m … um, going to go bathe. I’m filthy.”
    The corner of his lip curled up in a small smile.
    Pomella bit her lip. “Do you know where the baths are?”
    He shrugged. “Just ring for Oxillian and he will draw one for you.”
    Before she could object, he reached out and rang the silver bell by her entrance. In the distance Ox looked toward them, and sank into the ground. A moment later, he rose up in front of the cabin.
    â€œYes, Quentin?” the Green Man said.
    â€œOxillian. Lady Pomella is feeling fatigued and road weary from her journey. Draw her a bath and bring soap. I imagine she would appreciate several draws.”
    â€œOh, Ox, please don’t trouble yourself. I can fetch my own.…” She trailed off as she realized that a noblewoman would never offer to haul her own water.
    Ox bowed. “It will be no trouble. I will ready it immediately, Goodmiss AnDone.” He stepped back into the soil, and vanished.
    â€œThank you,” she murmured to Quentin. She noticed him staring at the place where Ox had vanished, a slight frown on his face. “What is it?”
    Quentin shook his head. “It’s just that he called me by my first name. I’ve never had a servant do that before. But I suppose that by becoming a Mystic, my old ways will have to change, right?”
    Pomella nodded, but realized with alarm that the Green Man called her Goodmiss, and not Lady. “Yah, I mean, yes. But maybe he’s not a servant?”
    â€œHe certainly looks like one to me.”
    Pomella rolled her eyes. “Let’s just call him an assistant, then.”
    Quentin grinned. “Yes, I suppose that’s fine. Enjoy your bath, Pomella-my. Maybe we can meet afterward and greet the other candidates?”
    â€œI’d like that,” she said, wondering what he meant when he said “Pomella-my.” She thought she’d seen another twinkle in his eye when he’d said it.
    He bowed and left, striding over to one of the other cottages. Pomella watched him for a long moment, then closed the door and leaned her back against it, head thumping against the wood.
    That boy was going to be a distraction.

 

    SIX
    THE CANDIDATES
    Later that afternoon, after a luxurious bath in a tree-concealed wooden tub, Pomella toweled off her hair and put on a clean work dress. She returned to her cottage and unpacked her meager possessions, suppressing