The Mage's Toy (Aria Afton Presents) Read online

  Aria Afton Presents:

  The Mage's Toy

  by MeiLin Miranda

  Copyright © 2012 by Lynn Siprelle writing as MeiLin Miranda

  licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/

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  This work is published by

  Sans Culotte Press

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  For C.S.

  The Mage's Toy

  Chapter One: A Runaway

  Jennia Wick brushed her russet hair--and much sweat--from her eyes. She'd run far enough that she was well away from Nuttalston, but not nearly far enough. She had to keep walking toward the western border; she'd already run as far as her legs would carry her. If only she'd managed to stay away from Master Romnel's son--no, if only that Willet weren't such a lout! She hoped the knee in the balls she'd given him kept Willet doubled over for days.

  She peered out of the brush where she'd hidden herself to rest; the road was clear. Time to move on. Or should she wait until dark? It was early in the day; the sun wouldn't set for hours, and they'd be sure to catch her up if she didn't keep moving. A ditch ran alongside the road and it was dry this time of year. She would risk the daytime travel, keep a sharp eye out, and duck into the ditch if need be. Her brown cloak would give her some camouflage.

  Her cloak. She fingered the fabric as she walked. Her best weaving--she'd fought hard to keep it and paid too high a price as it turned out. She'd given Master Romnel an extra two weeks as an apprentice in exchange for the wool and silk that went into it. Only a week had been left--she'd been so close to her Weaver's Guild certification! She knew more about her trade than Willet, as much as Master Romnel himself. If the constables caught her, she'd be sent back to Romnel with another six months added to her apprenticeship, a mark against her in the Guildhall and a losing battle against Willet.

  So she'd run. It meant she'd never become a Guild member, but giving in to Willet wasn't worth even that longed-for prize.

  Jennia had one hope: that she could make it to Starret. They'd promised to one another years ago, when they were barely teenagers. Starret was a soldier now. If she could find him, they'd finally marry; then Master Romnel couldn't touch her legally and Willet couldn't touch her any other way. Apprentices of either sex who married during their contracts were freed, though in return they gave up the chance of their chosen Guild's membership. It meant the last five years of her life would go for nothing, but it was better than accepting Willet's constant attempts at molesting her, even if he called it proposing. She sighed in frustration and kept marching.

  Harness bells jangled behind her; someone was coming! Jennia dove into the ditch, pulling her cloak around her and tucking her long braid inside it. The silk and wool twill over her head stifled her even in the coolness of the early morning, but she had to keep her hair covered. A horse's hooves thudded up the road; from the sound, it pulled a wagon. A man called on the horse to stop. Had she been seen? She wanted desperately to peek out from under her hood, but she held her breath, forcing herself to absolute stillness.

  "What are you hiding from, brown lump in the ditch? Awfully warm day to wear a cloak like that over your head, however lovely a cloak," said the man. His voice was rich, deep and amused. Something in it almost compelled an answer from her, but she remained still and silent. "Come now, I won't hurt you or turn you over to the constables if that's who you're running from. What are you, a pickpocket? A murderer? A runaway apprentice?"

  He knew--he'd been sent to find her! Jennia threw back her hood, jumped to her feet and scrambled over the far side of the ditch into a hayfield; behind her, the man's cry of surprise ended in a laugh. She ran headlong toward a copse of trees. If he were just a passing tradesman, he'd leave her alone at that point. Not worth the bother of a possible bounty. If her master had sent him, well, she'd figure out what to do then. Maybe she'd give him the same as she'd given Willet. Maybe she could bargain with him. He'd liked her cloak. Maybe--

  The grasses rustled behind her. He was chasing her, was nearly on her, had her by the arm in a grip she couldn't shake. He spun her around, grabbed her other arm and pressed her close. "Well!" he grinned, "and aren't you a pretty thing to be getting herself all dirty and ragged and torn!" He looked down at her from a height; he was tall, trim and lean, muscles clear on the forearms his rolled-up sleeves revealed. Dark, somewhat shaggy hair framed his long, well-defined face; a neatly trimmed beard fringed his strong jaw and wide, quirked mouth. Something deep within her loosened and tightened all at the same time, and her heart beat fast from something entirely different than fear.

  Nearly black eyes locked on to hers and widened until she could see the whites all round. He pulled her closer, and a suspicious length pressed against her belly. The grin left his mouth, leaving him almost slack-jawed. Did he recognize her somehow? Jennia could not break the gaze, and it seemed neither could he. "Well," he repeated, his voice huskier; it sent a shiver down her.

  Whatever spell had held them broke; the grin spread across his face again and he held her further away from him. "You're likely not a murderer. Nor are you likely to be a pickpocket--you're too pretty to escape notice, and no one could forget hazel eyes like those." She cursed herself for blushing. "So I'm betting you're a runaway of some kind. Am I right?"

  She wrenched against his grip, covering her fear in indignation. "It's no concern of yours! You will let me go this instant!"

  "In a moment, in a moment!" he laughed. "It's no concern of mine, I agree. I'm something of an outlaw myself--or at least an outcast. I have no desire to bring a constable down on either of us. Promise me you won't run, and I'll let you go." She promised, and he released her. She rubbed her arms sullenly, though in truth he hadn't hurt her. "Now, shall we stop trampling this poor farmer's hay and return to my wagon? Dolf is probably getting impatient, not to mention thirsty."

  That reminded Jennia she was thirsty and had no water--nor had she had any breakfast. "Dolf?"

  "The horse. Come, you can at least get out of that cloak and out of sight to boot. You can ride just behind me in the wagon and we'll talk." She stood, still poised to run. "I have cheese, bread and fresh peaches, too," he wheedled. She gave in and trailed him back through the field. The road was empty but for his wagon, and she scrambled into and out of the ditch scorning the offer of his hand.

  The wagon looked like a little house on wheels and had doors and porches front and back. She'd seen many a peddler pull into town in a wagon like this, but never one this richly painted: robin's egg blue body; gilded leaves framing red-silled windows, yellow wheels with red and gilt detailing, bright printed curtains hanging in the doors and windows. A riot of color, intended to catch and keep the eye. Over each door was painted the motto:

  FOR LOVE AND MONEY

  So he was a hedge mage. Wonderful. Well, then, he was less likely to turn her in, seeing as how he probably had to stay one step ahead of the Mage's Guild himself.

  The front door was open. The man gestured her up onto the little porch; she climbed up and sat down out of plain sight just inside the door on a little padded chair that folded out from the wall. The man settled himself on the door sill, his feet on the porch. He took up the reins and clacked his tongue; Dolf the horse resumed his amble down the road, the bells on his harness ringing serenely.

  Jennia stripped off her cloak. Despite the warmth of the day, a gentle wind blew, coolin
g her hot, grateful face. She untied her chemise neck ribbon and slowly fluttered the garment's opening in the breeze; she closed her eyes in bliss as the air hit her body. When she opened her eyes again, the man was leaning back against the door frame, watching her intently--hungrily. His gaze felt like a hand, slipping down her bodice to cup her breast...she found herself wishing it were, and her nipples tightened.

  He was handsome, this dark stranger, and well-made. His shirt was open at the neck to the top of his low waistcoat, exposing a muscular chest lightly furred with dark hair. Buckskin breeches emphasized the long, lean muscles of his thighs and traced a substantial bulge tucked discreetly but clearly to one side. The hands holding the reins were long-fingered, graceful--and she already knew how strong they were. How tempting to loosen that ribbon even further, let the breeze blow back the linen chemise's edgings to show him her breasts. How tempting to offer them to his gaze, and to those strong, long-fingered hands--

  What am I thinking, he's a stranger! Starret, Starret, I am promised to Starret. She hastily tied the drawstring.

  "Oh, don't do that on my account," he drawled.

  Jennia sat up straighter. "You promised me water."

  "I promised you more than that, but only if you told me all about it. Let's start with names. Mine is Antony--Antony Onyx. And you are?"

  "...Jennia Wick."

  "And you are?" he persisted.

  She chewed on her lip. "First off, you need to understand that I was driven to it."

  "Murder, thievery or running away?"

  "The last," she admitted.

  "Why?"

  She found herself telling him everything: her pride in her expert weaving, the cloak, the scant week remaining in her contract, Willet's increasing attentions, Willet's now-tender ball sac, and her flight from the village. Anthony gave a low whistle. "Breaking an apprenticeship. That's serious business. Couldn't you just have gone along with it until you got into the Guild? Putting up with a little slap-and-tickle seems preferable to abandoning your apprenticeship mere days before your certification."

  "Slap-and-tickle?" Jennia cried. "How dare you call it that! The man was going to rape me!"

  "Your pardon, your pardon," Antony said, spreading his free hand wide and bowing his head contritely. "My attempt at jest falls through. I didn't realize he was as bad as all that. He really would have forced you?"

  "He told me if I didn't let him do as he pleased--if I didn't lie with him--he'd blackball me from the Guild," she spat. "And Romnel--a good master would never allow even a slap-and-tickle to be forced upon me, but Romnel was in on it! He wanted me to marry Willet. If I got my Guild certification, I might become competition, but if I married Willet he'd keep my work in the family. I decided if I couldn't be a Guild member it'd be because I chose not to, not because of those greasy bastards. I'd never lie with Willet--never! No matter the circumstances, no matter the loss. I wouldn't have anything to do with him if he were King of the North and made me Queen." She tilted her nose up at a grand angle. "And as it happens, I am promised to another, a wonderful man, a brave soldier who's been fighting in the west and is now marching homeward victorious. We've been promised since we were fourteen, just before I left for my apprenticeship, and I love him with all my heart!"

  Antony's face hardened; his flirtatious grin disappeared. To her surprise, it dismayed her. She almost wished she hadn't told him. "In that case," he said, "why didn't he come fetch you and save you from this horrible fate?"

  Jennia had wondered this, too. "Marrying Starret would have lost me my apprenticeship just the same," she said.

  "Yes, but you wouldn't be on the run from your master and the constables he's bound to send to force you back."

  Jennia's mouth was dry and her tongue bitter. "I don't know where Starret is," she admitted. "Well, I think I know where he is, but he hasn't answered any of my letters. I don't think they've reached him. So I'm on my way to find him, and when I do then we'll be married and my troubles will be over. Now I've told you everything. May I please have that water?" Antony directed her to the cabinet containing the food and the barrel full of water, a tin cup beside it in a tidy holder.

  As Jennia ate her bread and cheese, she looked about the wagon's neat interior. It was as bright and clean inside as it was outside, cheerful yellows, reds, pinks, oranges, blues and greens tumbling over each other on every surface. The bed was folded down, blocking the back door; it was much wider than she would have expected, big enough for two but only just. It looked so inviting. She hadn't slept at all the night before, making good her escape before dawn. The back door's top half was open, its curtains pinned back; the smell of warm grasses, dirt, and a bit of horse dung wafted in to her, along with the peaceful jingle of the harness bells, and the chirruping crickets.

  The sun was well up now. She crawled onto the bed and watched the scenery, eating a peach and carefully avoiding the eyes of the man behind her. How could she find him so attractive? She hardly knew him, and he'd been absolutely piggish about Willet. But she remembered the sudden hardness pressed against her, that deep searing look they'd shared. Somehow she felt she'd known him longer than she'd known Starret, and she'd known Starret all her life. She and Starret had been each other's first lovers, and while she hadn't been entirely chaste since they'd parted--one could make love many ways that didn't involve a penis in a vagina, after all--Starret was still first in her heart, the one she'd always assumed she'd marry and the only one she would allow to enter her.

  Now, for the first time, she doubted. And on what grounds? Her attraction to an oaf she'd just met? She was being ridiculous. She could hardly marry him. No, she had to find Starret and get married as soon as possible, before Master Romnel and Willet caught up with her.

  The peach spurted with each bite; though she did her best to hang out the window, the juice still ran down her chin, down her neck and between her breasts before she could stop it all. She stayed turned away from Anthony for fear that if their eyes met she'd tell him to come lick it off--or he'd come lick it off without asking. When she finished, she threw the pit out the back window, leaned against the sill and dozed off, finally ending up lying on the bed and dreaming fitfully of long-fingered hands slipping up her thighs.

  Antony watched the weaver girl from the corner of his eye until she fell asleep. He looped the reins loosely over the front porch railing and let Dolf have his head; the horse knew where they were going and wasn't one to frighten easily. Antony had fallen asleep and still gotten to where he was going, with horse, wagon and man all in one piece. If he didn't get to the next village in one piece, it wouldn't be Dolf's fault.

  It would be this Jennia's fault. He was falling to pieces over her already.

  He shifted on the door sill, in part to give himself a better view of the sleeping girl and in part to relieve the tightness in his breeches. Ever since he'd held her tight in that hayfield his cock had been at rigid attention. He'd told the unrepentant thing she was a stranger--a girl in trouble at that, and someone quite likely to get him in trouble if he didn't get rid of her soon. Antony was a member in fair if not good standing with the Mages Guild, but Jennia was a fugitive from the Weavers Guild. He might be liable if she were caught in his company, and jail was no place for him.

  His cock had paid no attention to the lecture.

  Antony looked back at the sleeping girl. She was a plump one, with full breasts that needed the bodice she wore. He bet they'd be heavy in his hands. What color were her nipples? Did they match that dark red braid of hers? These thoughts did nothing for his comfort, and he tried to turn them into more sober if still uncomfortable channels.

  Women! he said sternly to himself. He had no business thinking of women! A woman was the reason he was traveling about in a wagon selling charms--half his magic gone, and frightened of losing the rest. Granted, his latest line of charmed toys was doing quite well...his eyes wandered back to Jennia's breasts. She had shifted in her sleep and twisted her bodice around; a dark,
rosy nipple peeped at him through her chemise.

  Wrong thoughts, wrong thoughts. If he kept this up, he'd have to use one of his toys himself soon. He turned his back on her and faced the horse's placid backside.

  Once again he tried to summon his wroth against women, and this time he succeeded. Perhaps it was the horse's ass that did it. Whatever the reason, Magda's pale, cold face rose before him. He'd sacrificed more than half his lifetime's supply of magic to save that woman's useless life, and for what? The ungrateful bitch left him with nothing, not even two coppers to rub together, and his magic so depleted all he dared do was enchant the simple love, sex and money charms he sold to make his living. Else how would he eat? He certainly wasn't fit to do anything else, and he was only in his mid-twenties. If he doled the magic out carefully, he might make it last to the end of his life. She'd robbed him almost entirely of his profession, and broken his heart in the bargain.

  Dolf delicately lifted his tail and relieved himself with a plop; Antony laughed bitterly. "Too right, old friend. That's what women amount to." He'd learned his lesson from Magda. No partners--no sweethearts--no wives. He could always find a willing girl for a laugh and a fuck in almost every town he stopped in, especially after a demonstration, but he left them behind without a backward glance and if he saw one of them on a return trip he rarely bothered to greet her. He'd hardened his heart.

  And yet his eye kept wandering to the spirited girl asleep on his bed. How lovely to crawl in beside her and let his hands roam.

  It hadn't been that long since he'd bedded a woman. Just two nights ago, in fact, he'd had a sweet armful in Dallaberg who'd left him grinning and walking a little funny for a day and a half. He hadn't wanted to take her with him, though. He didn't even remember her name. He had a feeling when he and Jennia Wick parted company, he'd remember her name for a long time to come even if he never touched her. If he did have her, he ran the risk of losing his heart, that much he was sure of, but the ache in his groin kept repeating that not having her might kill him.