Hexen Hand: Tales of Turin, #3

By A.L. Davroe

Merimeg is just trying to get by on her own as a hedge Hexen when Gastin shows up at her door. Merimeg agrees to do a card reading for him. She quickly learns that he's planning a secret mission through The Deep Rend Forest, a terrifying place filled with dark magic. Worse, the cards tell her she has to go with him! Merimeg is not an adventurer nor is she confident that her magic will be able to protect Gastin and the soldiers serving under him. She's about to learn just how pivotal a role she's going to perform on a mission that could change the fate of Turin forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Night Hunter Press
• Release date: Nov 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393251552

A.L. Davroe

A.L. Davroe writes adult and young adult speculative fiction in various popular genres such as science fiction, fantasy, horror, and paranormal romance.

Book preview

Chapter one

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The cottage creaked as the wind screamed outside. Marimeg threw another log on the fire and went back to sweeping her floor. It was the new moon, a good time for cleaning, and there was little else demanding her attention since she’d had no customers today. She glanced at the jar on the mantle. The storm wasn’t helping bolster the meager earnings she’d made so far this month.

Sighing, she slumped her shoulders and stood the broom in the corner. She didn’t bother bending to collect the dust. Today’s sweep hadn’t collected anything. She’d only just swept yesterday, after all. And the day before that. And the day before that.

She busied herself with straightening the pots and jars on the shelves and then tending her herbs.

Marimeg had just climbed onto the bench and was reaching for a bundle of drying lavender when suddenly the door burst open. Wind and water tore into the cottage like a demonic knife accompanying a lanky, dark-clad figure who blustered in and shoved the door shut in his wake.

She stayed frozen, arms upraised and her hair blown in her face.

The figure stomped his boots and shook himself, smattering the puddle he’d brought in. She grimaced at what had once been her nice, clean floor.

Then he shoved the hood of his cloak back and ran strong fingers through hazelnut hair that had gone dark with dampness.

Cheeks heating, she recognized him immediately. Gastin. What was he doing here?

His fingers started unfastening the cloak as he turned warm, brown eyes into the room, exploring until they found her frozen on the bench. His brows knit and he frowned at her. Meg, he gruffed, nodding his head once in greeting.

Her heart started hammering at the familiarity of his greeting.

Feeling stupid, she lowered her hands and clasped them in front of her. What was she supposed to call him now? They’d gone to school together, but they’d never been on speaking terms. She hadn’t realized he actually knew her name. He’d always been too far above her socially to even look at. He was even more so now that he’d joined the ranks of the soldiers who protected the Vossnaugh Merchant Guild. She wasn’t sure what title he held these days, so she just stepped down from the bench in as dignified a manner as she could in bare feet and bowed her head. Sir, to what do I owe this visit?

Honestly, why was he here? In such a storm? So late at night? Granted, she was a hedge Hexen and it was known that they were accessible at all times—illness and childbirth kept no strict hours. But Gastin looked just as whole and healthy as she remembered him. More so. He’d gotten more handsome if that was even humanly possible.

He turned from hanging his cloak. He was in his military uniform, the deep gray stained to charcoal from the rain, but he had no weapon or armor on his person that she could see. I need a reading.

She cocked her head. You didn’t think of going to my mother?

It’s storming, if you haven’t noticed. He flashed a tight smile. And you’re closer to the keep.

Marimeg tried not to let it show that she was somewhat disappointed that his visit was one of simple convenience over preference. She was flattered that he’d even noticed she was there at all. Her cottage wasn’t exactly easy to find. But she supposed that if your job was to patrol the province and secure the guild’s assets then, perhaps, you’d know if a Hexen had built a cottage nearby.

I’m not as clairvoyant as my mother, Marimeg warned. My talents lie elsewhere.

Gastin frowned. You’re unable to assist then?

I didn’t say that. She gestured toward the dark doorway at the back of the cottage where she’d set up a reading room. I am my mother’s daughter, after all.

He seemed to hover for a moment, his eyes sweeping the cottage, before he shifted his weight and began stepping out of his boots.

Y-You don’t have to do that, Marimeg said in a rush.

He glanced up at her, a shock of his hair falling over his brow. You keep a clean house, it would be rude to soil it. He went back to removing his boots.

Mortified, she turned away from him and set about lighting a lantern. Will you take tea? It’s cold and you’re wet. She thought about suggesting he remove his clothes and let them dry by the fire lest he fall ill, but didn’t have the courage to voice it.

If it’s not trouble, please.

Her nerves settled as she went through the familiar motions of alternately preparing tea and priming her back room. The practiced rituals were as old as her oldest memory, things of comfort. Tea was warmth and social interaction, the reading room bonding and home. Both reminded her of her mother who’d set Marimeg off on her own a year ago at the age of sixteen. She still saw her mother often, but it wasn’t the same as sharing a home.

Water went to boil, cups were set, herbs selected and bundled. The lamp was hung in the back room, the candles lit, and the shutter behind the hearth opened so that it might warm the tiny space.

Despite the comfort of the rituals, she was all too aware of the soldier standing in her main room. Like when she was in school, she stole glances at him. Arms crossed, he was examining her home with an indiscernible expression. Unlike many who came to her with an air of fear and foreboding, he seemed entirely at ease—as if being in the home of a Hexen was nothing of concern. Perhaps it wasn’t something to concern someone like him. Even from childhood, he’d been strong, athletic, and the leader of the boys in their school; and he surely was brave—to be a soldier for the guild.

As she lifted the kettle to fill the pot, he spoke to her. You live alone like this?

She glanced up through the steam. He was staring at her, one brow lowered. Turning away, she put the kettle back on the trammel. I’m a Hexen.

She heard him let out a long breath. Stupid question, I suppose.

Her chest tightened. She hadn’t meant to make him feel stupid. Perhaps you meant to ask if I’ve found myself a husband, she said, trying to sound lighthearted.

It’s not abnormal for someone our age.

No, it’s not. She turned back to him and took the tray up in hand.

I guess I was wondering if it’s lonely, he added.

Lifting her eyes from the tray, she met his gaze. Mother visits often, she noted. And Catiana comes to see me when she can get away from the farm.

From school?

She nodded. Catiana was her best friend since childhood, the only one who’d really never minded that Marimeg was a Hexen. They’d been inseparable once, but Catiana had married six months ago and she was busy with the duties of a farm wife now. This way, please.

She led him to the reading room. The space seemed smaller with him in it. She set the tray on the side table and waited for him to settle. When he pulled out the chair he glanced at her.

Oh. Stepping forward, she pulled Rupert, her tabby cat, off of the seat. Sorry.

Once Gastin was seated, she served him the tea then set herself down at the other side of the table. She watched him sip the tea for a long moment before shaking herself. So, what is it you’d like?

His lashes lifted and he stared at her for a long moment. Then, he said, Meg, do you know what I am?

She swallowed. No one but her mother had ever called her Meg before. She’d thought it was a fluke when he’d said it before, but now she was sure he’d meant it. He’d never called her by name before—she’d have remembered it. She chose her words carefully so as not to seem like she’d kept tabs on him. If I’m any judge of garb, then I’d say you’re working for the guild as a soldier. She nodded toward the guild badge sewn onto his shoulder.

Glancing at what she’d gestured to, he said, In outward appearance.

She frowned at him. Outward appearance? So, you’ve come on a personal matter then? Not for work? Ugh, if he was going to ask her to do a relationship reading she’d die.

He smirked. No, it’s guild related.

The knot in her stomach settled—partly from his words, partly from the smirk. Thank the gods. Okay...so, what exactly is it you are for the guild that you need a reading for?

Exactly what is...a bit need-to-know.

Unnerved by the sudden emotionlessness of his expression, she raised her hand and rubbed her forehead. Not to be rude, but the more specific, the better able I am to assist.

Stoicness fading, he nodded. Look, this is a top-secret matter.

Offended, she squared her shoulders. Did I give the impression that I wasn’t taking it like one? Did he take her for a common gossip?

His eyes flitted back and forth, examining her. No. I suppose not.

Lifting her teacup, she leaned back and gestured for him to continue.

Gastin steepled his fingers then pressed them to his lips. He had perfectly sculpted lips. Lips she’d dreamed of kissing as a girl. She felt her cheeks heating again. All right, maybe she still wanted to try kissing them.

As you may know, the guild soldiers are charged with protecting and escorting both merchants and their wares between the guild territories, he said. My unit has been charged with the safe transport of a particular item of great importance to Sigmartine province.

Marimeg lowered her teacup. Sigmartine is a rarely visited place. In fact, Sigmartine was entirely surrounded on all sides by mountain, sea, walls, and an impenetrable enchanted forest. "There are few ways in and they’re heavily