The Toad Prince

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Sorin walked behind Nadaria, trying to watch the tree line but catching himself staring at her back more often than not. She had all of her ingredients clutched to her chest again with her left arm, and she wielded a sword with her right hand. They walked down the washed out road in a heavy fog, the air around them thick with moisture and tension.

Aside from necessary words, she’d said nothing else. She’d cast her spell on him again, drawing on his forehead with oil. Not rosemary this time because it was all used up, but peppermint.

Light drops of rain fell on his cheeks, and he glanced up at the sky. He saw Nadaria do the same, and while he cursed the weather, she took a long deep breath of relief.

“Rain again?” he asked, whispering to keep the undead away.

“The Goddess does what she can. Cleansing rain to help me purify this evil energy.”

“I see.”

She was so serious. He missed her lighthearted humor and her silly jokes. It seemed there would be no more of that between them.

The brief words only made the tension thicker, and it settled over them like an itchy wool blanket. He rubbed the back of his neck, almost wishing some undead would show up, so he had an excuse to escape the awkward feelings.

They made it all the way without incident. Maybe the fog slowed the undead, or maybe they were that lucky. Nadaria knelt at the crossroads again, digging into the dirt with her fingers. Sorin could feel the evil of the jar as she unwrapped it from the red cloth she carried.

It was as if it called to them, the first high-pitched squeal sounding just beyond the tree line out of his visibility in the fog. Nadaria was focused, chanting under her breath. She didn’t even glance that way, trusting Sorin to keep her out of harm’s way. Something about that made his heart heavy, because he was the one yesterday who wasn’t with her while what was left of Crina hurt her in the lily pod. It was he who harmed her the most with his words. As he’d done many times since he’d said them, he assured himself it was for her own good. That he was saving her from a future with him.

The rain picked up, sensing her need for help, and Sorin strode over to the location of the squeal. His fangs and claws elongated, and he gripped the undead around the throat and tore his windpipe free. From the distinct curve of mustache and the heavy apron he wore, Sorin knew it had once been Ionut, the blacksmith.

Behind him, hands grabbed his back, and he turned to capture the skull of the young girl, maybe fifteen, in his palm. Her curly black hair told him he no doubt held the head of one of Mihal’s daughters in his grasp. Sorin squeezed, and his supernatural strength combined with the degraded state of her body led to her skull bursting like an overripe melon in his hand.

He closed his eyes and swallowed. Oh, how he hated this.

Sorin hurried back to Nadaria, seeing that they were swarming again. Twenty or more stumbling up the hill from the town and slipping out of the trees. Less than last time so far, but still a lot. He drew his sword and moved with grace bestowed upon him when he was turned, making him faster and stronger than any human could ever be. The smell of rot and slide of his blade became the only things he knew, and he kept one eye on Nadaria at all times, filled with a stark determination that she wouldn’t be hurt again.

She was filling in the hole, one handful of mud, followed by what he now understood to be sacred dirt from his son’s grave. It was the same as before, and the ground seemed to roil with evil. Nadaria’s voice was louder now as she finished the spell, and he heard her cry out in pain.

That hadn’t happened the first time, and he looked over to see the burns traveled far beyond her lower arms. The welts and blisters seared up her arms to her shoulders, but stopped there. She trembled with effort, in some kind of fight with the dark magic.

Sorin lunged forward, stopping an undead from reaching her. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to help. He didn’t want to intervene and ruin the spell, or distract her, but the thick tears streaming down her pinched face scared him.

He knelt and laid a gentle hand on her back. “I am here. It is okay, bubblegum witch.”

She sobbed and squeezed more tears from her eyes, but he felt the explosion from before beneath the surface of the soil. Sorin turned, alarmed by how many undead he’d let get close. He lifted his sword, but Nadaria slapped the ground.

He watched in awe as a sheet of ice rippled from her, trapping the undead in icy shoes. They stopped where they stood, squealing in frustration and reaching for them.

Sorin glanced down at her, and for a moment she was herself again. She beamed up at him, and a flare of excitement glowed in her eyes. He chuckled, but the moment faded as soon as it began, and she jerked her gaze away from him with a frown.

Nadaria stood, and his arms fell lax at his sides as he watched the most incredible thing he’d ever witnessed. She caught the falling water droplets with each hand and suspended them in the air inches above her palms. He watched slack-jawed as she formed an “o” with her lips and blew on them. The water solidified into ice, and the round drops elongated into sharp little spikes.

With a sudden movement that caused him to jump back, she whipped her arms and threw them. Like bullets, the frozen spikes ripped through the air and buried themselves into the eyes and temples of the twenty immobilized undead around them. The creatures fell, collapsing to the ground and not moving to get back up.

“I think we can kill them for real now,” she said, breathless. “I think we’ve weakened the spell enough.”

“That’s good. Nadaria… that was incredible.”

Sorin had seen little witch magic, aside from Relia and what she did. The anti-magic ward had prevented it with the last two witches.

“I told you I wouldn’t need you anymore once I had my magic. But closer to the house, it will be weaker again. I don’t think I’ll need you to come here anymore to destroy the rest of the jars, though.”

Her words were sharp, and it felt like she plunged them into his chest like a knife.

“Well… I want to come.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to make sure you’re safe.”

“How nice of you,” she said. The words were curt and insincere, but he was actually glad to hear her sassy tone. It was better than the flat demeanor she’d had since the ballroom yesterday.

“You can’t stop me from accompanying you.”

She giggled, and the sound was so sweet.

His feet grew cold, and he looked down to see ice crawling up his legs.

“You sure about that?” she asked, and he saw the ghost of her smile hiding behind her tight expression.

He chuckled, but noticed the bags were back under her eyes again, and she looked worn.

“I should get you back.”

Nadaria nodded, and he thought she would refuse him, but she let him pick her up in the cradle of his arms. He was careful to be tender with her.

“Oh, your poor arms. Why is it so bad this time?”

She was leaning against his chest again, nearly asleep already, and she mumbled, “I struggled to find positive energy within myself this time.”

It took a second for him to understand, and by the time he whispered, “Because of me?” Nadaria was already asleep.

*******************

Later that night, long after he’d helped her bandage the burns and left her to rest in her bed, Sorin stared at the wall of books. They were repaired, back to their spots on unbroken shelves, thanks to the curse.

A soft knock rapped the door, and he sat up, cursing the silly part of him that hoped it was her. Aurelian stepped in and he relaxed back into his chair with a sigh.

“Good to see you, too, my Lord,” Aurelian said, chuckling in his deep tenor.

It had started with Codi, and he wasn’t sure why, but he was so tired of being called Lord.

“Just call me Sorin, Aurelian. I think we’ve been through enough together for that, yeah?”

“Okay.”

Aurelian took one of the plush chairs across the desk and wasted no time getting to the point.

“So you meant what you said by the bridge, then? You are choosing to be a dolt and denying yourself the happiness of being with Nadaria? Because I know you want it, so that was a lie. You just don’t think you deserve it.”

“And is that not true? Do I deserve her? I think not.”

“Why must you question it? Just go with it. Is she amazing, bright, and loving? Yes. But maybe that’s what you need? Maybe that’s why she’s here just in time for the last lily.”

“You like her so much and you would doom her to a life with me?”

Aurelian smiled, and it was bright. The skin around his mouth wrinkled, and there was a gleam in his amber eyes. They were once blue, Sorin remembered, before he was turned.

“Well, yes, I would, because unlike you, I actually like you.”

Sorin scoffed and ran his hands down his face. “She can’t fix me, Aurelian. I don’t care how magical and wonderful she is.”

“Ah, to mend you. Well, no, she can’t. Not on her own, anyway. Mend yourself, Sorin, with her help. I know you’ve suffered more in this lifetime than most, but it’s time, my boy. It’s time to pick the pieces up, and move forward.”

He glanced up at Aurelian. “How can I do that? How? Just move on and forget?”

“No one is asking you to forget. I know she isn’t. As a matter of fact, I believe she was trying to get you to remember when you said those awful things to her. To remember Mikolas. And visit him.”

Sorin winced at the use of his name and laid his head in his hands, resting his elbows on the desk.

“So,” Aurelian said, standing. “I am going out to the garden. And she will be there, even though I know she is exhausted. I will apologize for… biting her, my gods. That was awful. And she will forgive me because that’s who she is.”

Sorin looked through his fingers at Aurelian, feeling oddly like a little boy in front of the tall butler at that moment.

“She’s so angry with me, Aurelian. I hurt her.”

“And,” the older man answered, dragging the word out. “If you happened to show up and, I don’t know, walk across that bridge… maybe she would forgive you, too.”

Aurelian turned and went to the door, he was closing it behind him and paused. “Sorin, my boy?”

“What is it?”

“I… I love you, you know?”

Sorin’s eyebrows shot up, but the door clicked shut before he could answer.

He went to the window and watched the lanky figure make his way across the bridge. And, as promised, a few minutes later, a figure in a pink robe followed.

He stared at the bridge, knowing it wasn’t just a bridge.

It was a choice he had to make.

Stay, and live as he had for almost two centuries, or cross it to her and take a chance.

A chance at love. But with love, there’s the possibility of pain. Of losing her, like he’d lost Crina.

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. Suddenly, a hundred and seventy years didn’t feel like long enough to make such a decision.