The Goblets Immortal by Beth Overmyer (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

“About the goblet? Or about legend concerning yourself?”

“Both.”

Isaac popped outside the tent for a moment, yelled at some of his crew, and then returned. “For the goblet, I have no idea. Probably won’t melt because of its magic. But as for yourself…. Legend says that there were men and women among us who could do all sorts of remarkable things. Making objects appear and disappear at will.” He nodded at Aidan. “They also had incredible luck, succeeding in everything they tried. Some say that they’d seen these mysterious folk – well, fly.”

Aidan could only nod like he understood. His luck had been abominable most of his life, and flying? If only that were possible for him. It would save him a sore seat after riding horseback for hours on end.

Isaac looked at him with a knowing eye. “Maybe these abilities haven’t come about yet. But I wonder…. Well, where did these abilities come from? Why some and not others? Luck? Fate?” A moment passed between them in uncomfortable silence. It would seem Isaac was warring with himself over something. A few times he opened and closed his mouth, his weight shifting as he looked heavenward and muttered a blessing. “All right. There’s one who might know, and her you’ll want to avoid.”

With arms crossed over his chest, Aidan turned the Roma’s words over in his mind. If he could discover the origins and limits of his abilities, perhaps he could find a way to undo the damage he had done. “Tell me.”

Isaac shuddered and muttered something that sounded like, “Curse my hide,” before coming out with, “The mage’s name is Meraude.” He scratched his beard. “She’s…well, she’s not a good sort. Some say she hunts down magic folk and kills them.”

Aidan tried to keep a neutral expression, his heart racing all the while. Isaac, he remembered, had not been the first to mention that name. “How would I go about finding this Meraude?”

Again Isaac hesitated before admitting, “There are four sisters who could tell you. In truth, they’re elves, but—”

“Elves?” That caused an uneasy stirring in Aidan’s stomach. He’d had dealings with elves in his youth, when he was still naïve and wandered too far into a certain wood. He’d barely escaped two of the ‘fair’ folk with his life, and he had the scars on his back to show for it. “What are their names?”

But Isaac was shaking his head. “They go by many. But I won’t be telling you any of them. No, the sisters would know I told you about them, and above all, you must not say it was I that sent you. They’ll accuse me of working for Meraude, see?”

Aidan nodded. “How shall I know these sisters?”

“Deep calls to deep. Most likely, if you want to find them, and they wish to be found, they’ll find you.” He nodded at the goblet. “Keep your belongings close to your person, and make no deals with them. But when you do make a deal, make sure you don’t break it, or there’ll be hell to pay.”

“Yes, but what do they look like?”

Isaac sighed. “Well, they use Glamour, don’t they? Their faces must change half a dozen times a day. At least, that’s how I would work that sort of magic.”

Aidan had seen Glamour before, of course. It always looked like a puff of colored smoke to him, a thin screen in front of the real image. Perhaps it had to do with his other abilities that he could see through it.

“Thank you, Isaac. For everything.”

The man blushed beneath his beard. “Nah, no trouble. No trouble. And truly, I’m rightly sorry for what went on last night with the women. If there’s ever any way I can make up for it….”

“No harm done.” Aidan extended his hand, and the men shook.

“If ever you need anything, know that the Bartlett Band of Romas is always at your service.”

“I shall hold you to that,” Aidan said with a smile, leaving the tent behind.

“Milord?”

“Hmm?”

“I hope you find happiness,” Isaac said through a pained smile.

Aidan shrugged and replied, “I neither need nor seek it. But I thank you all the same.”

He untethered his steed. The beast turned his head to look at his master, and then went back to grazing on a bag of feed that had been left him. Aidan patted Triumph’s side. “Getting fatter, are we?”

The horse whinnied. And that is when Aidan felt a strong Pull.

Pulls of varying degrees of strength were not uncommon to Aidan. He experienced them on a daily basis from everything and everyone. But human Pulls were the strongest. The more people within a mile, the more he felt anchored down.

What he felt now was pure magnetic misery. He’d never experienced anything like it, not by a half-fold. It was as if – but no, the thought was crazy. And yet…and yet it felt like someone was Calling him. But you couldn’t Call a person; their strong Pull would hold them where they were as an anchor. I’m being absurd.

The feeling abated, and Aidan decided that he had imagined it, until he involuntarily skidded two paces from a standstill position. He frowned. Who would try to Call me? Lord Dewhurst? The man didn’t have a drop of magic running through his veins.

Aidan’s stomach lurched, and he gave whatever was bothering him a tentative Pull, knocking himself onto his bottom. With a grimace, he leapt to his feet, mounted his horse, and walked him out to the main road.

“How about some exercise?” Aidan turned the reins in his hands, and left the company and so-called protection of the Roma camp.

* * *

Aidan rode through the day and into the early afternoon, guided by no map, no memory, but by the Pull, foolish though it was. And whenever he thought he might doze off in his saddle, that Pull would jerk him awake.

When noon came and went, Aidan was scarcely able to remain in his saddle, so strong and