frowned upon a hill in the south, crumbly and overrun with roses. The church still towered behind old pines, spires scratching the sky. Down the road, patrons were entering the Porcupine's Quills, the town's busiest tavern. There were a few more houses, and some of the side streets were now cobbled, but otherwise it was the same old Burrfield, the same old town where Jan had spent his first sixteen years.
Will Amabel be the same too?
Jan walked toward the Porcupine's Quills, which Amabel's father owned. He knew he'd find her there. It was a large tavern, three stories of waddle-and-daub, green tiles covering its roof. Its stained-glass windows sparkled, and its five chimneys pumped smoke into the winter sky. The smell of ale, fresh bread, and beef stew wafted into the street, making Jan's stomach rumble.
He paused outside the tavern to steady himself. More than it ached with hunger, his stomach ached with nervousness, and his fingers trembled. This is stupid, he thought. I'm a warlock now, not an awkward youth; there's no reason to be nervous. And yet his stomach still whirled and his breath was shaky. For years at the Coven, Amabel had filled his dreams. All that time, he'd been waiting for this moment, the moment he'd return to see the only girl he'd ever loved.
She's twenty now, a voice in his mind whispered. She's probably married. She probably forgot you.
And yet he dared to hope, to dream she's run into his arms, that she'd be his wife.
Jan approached the tavern's doors, heavy cherry doors engraved with pomegranates. Once this place had been Jan's home away from home, the place where he spent his happiest hours—his only happy hours.
With a deep breath, Jan stepped inside.
Indoors, the Porcupine's Quills hadn't changed. Fires crackled in two towering fireplaces, lighting the room, casting out the winter cold. The firelight glinted against the stained-glass windows, which depicted scenes of frolicking spiderlings. The smell of beef, bread, and beer filled the room, making Jan's mouth water.
Old Jon Brewer—Amabel's father—stood upon a barrel, a crowd surrounding him. He was speaking to the crowd, a mug of ale in hand, his cheeks rosy.
"Thank you, my friends, for joining us here. The ceremony this morning was beautiful, just beautiful." The beefy man wiped a tear from his eye. "When the happy couple read their vows, I knew it was the happiest day of my life. Now let's drink and celebrate the marriage of Amabel, my beloved daughter!"
The crowd cheered.
Jan stared, mouth opening.
As men and women raised their mugs in blessing, Jan caught sight of his love. Amabel stood among the crowd, wearing an azure gown, her hair strewn with flowers. She held the arm of her new husband, a tall man with a handlebar mustache. The man looked familiar, but Jan did not spare him a second glance; he could think of nothing but his pain.
His heart felt like hellfire, crackling and flaming. He took quick breaths, feeling faint. Head spinning, he marched forward, pushing aside drinking patrons. He wanted to cry, and every breath ached in his lungs. Amabel—married? He had spent years away, and she got married this day of all days? His eyes stung. Had God cursed him? Was this punishment for weaving his dark spells?
Knees shaky, breathing heavily, Jan reached Amabel and stood before her. She looked at him with a smile. At first she did not recognize him, and Jan's head spun. He had dreamed of seeing her for so long, and she looked so much the same. The girl had become a woman, but still had those sparkling gray eyes, that impish nose, that curly hair. She's so beautiful, more than I remembered, a million times more. Jan's chest ached.
Slowly Amabel's smile vanished, and her eyes narrowed."Jan," she whispered, paling.
"Amabel," he said, love for her filling him, flowing through his bones like electricity. God, I love her, more than ever.
She still held her husband's arm, and finally Jan recognized him. The tall, mustached man
Will Amabel be the same too?
Jan walked toward the Porcupine's Quills, which Amabel's father owned. He knew he'd find her there. It was a large tavern, three stories of waddle-and-daub, green tiles covering its roof. Its stained-glass windows sparkled, and its five chimneys pumped smoke into the winter sky. The smell of ale, fresh bread, and beef stew wafted into the street, making Jan's stomach rumble.
He paused outside the tavern to steady himself. More than it ached with hunger, his stomach ached with nervousness, and his fingers trembled. This is stupid, he thought. I'm a warlock now, not an awkward youth; there's no reason to be nervous. And yet his stomach still whirled and his breath was shaky. For years at the Coven, Amabel had filled his dreams. All that time, he'd been waiting for this moment, the moment he'd return to see the only girl he'd ever loved.
She's twenty now, a voice in his mind whispered. She's probably married. She probably forgot you.
And yet he dared to hope, to dream she's run into his arms, that she'd be his wife.
Jan approached the tavern's doors, heavy cherry doors engraved with pomegranates. Once this place had been Jan's home away from home, the place where he spent his happiest hours—his only happy hours.
With a deep breath, Jan stepped inside.
Indoors, the Porcupine's Quills hadn't changed. Fires crackled in two towering fireplaces, lighting the room, casting out the winter cold. The firelight glinted against the stained-glass windows, which depicted scenes of frolicking spiderlings. The smell of beef, bread, and beer filled the room, making Jan's mouth water.
Old Jon Brewer—Amabel's father—stood upon a barrel, a crowd surrounding him. He was speaking to the crowd, a mug of ale in hand, his cheeks rosy.
"Thank you, my friends, for joining us here. The ceremony this morning was beautiful, just beautiful." The beefy man wiped a tear from his eye. "When the happy couple read their vows, I knew it was the happiest day of my life. Now let's drink and celebrate the marriage of Amabel, my beloved daughter!"
The crowd cheered.
Jan stared, mouth opening.
As men and women raised their mugs in blessing, Jan caught sight of his love. Amabel stood among the crowd, wearing an azure gown, her hair strewn with flowers. She held the arm of her new husband, a tall man with a handlebar mustache. The man looked familiar, but Jan did not spare him a second glance; he could think of nothing but his pain.
His heart felt like hellfire, crackling and flaming. He took quick breaths, feeling faint. Head spinning, he marched forward, pushing aside drinking patrons. He wanted to cry, and every breath ached in his lungs. Amabel—married? He had spent years away, and she got married this day of all days? His eyes stung. Had God cursed him? Was this punishment for weaving his dark spells?
Knees shaky, breathing heavily, Jan reached Amabel and stood before her. She looked at him with a smile. At first she did not recognize him, and Jan's head spun. He had dreamed of seeing her for so long, and she looked so much the same. The girl had become a woman, but still had those sparkling gray eyes, that impish nose, that curly hair. She's so beautiful, more than I remembered, a million times more. Jan's chest ached.
Slowly Amabel's smile vanished, and her eyes narrowed."Jan," she whispered, paling.
"Amabel," he said, love for her filling him, flowing through his bones like electricity. God, I love her, more than ever.
She still held her husband's arm, and finally Jan recognized him. The tall, mustached man
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