Ella and Ash

  Ella and Ash

  K. A. Last

  www.kalastbooks.com.au

  Copyright © 2019 K. A. Last

  All rights reserved.

  First published in Australia 2019 by K. A. Last

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  the first book in the Tate Chronicles.

  Dedication

  To everyone still looking for their happily ever after, I hope you find it.

  Contents

  FREE eBook Offer

  Dedication

  Chapter one

  Chapter two

  Chapter three

  Chapter four

  Chapter five

  Chapter six

  Chapter seven

  Chapter eight

  Chapter nine

  Chapter ten

  Epilogue

  Thank You

  FREE eBook Offer

  Also by K. A. Last

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Chapter one

  THE COARSE ROCK IS cool beneath my hand as I press my palm to the headstone of my mother’s grave. I close my eyes, and listen to the rustle of leaves, jostled by the breeze wafting through the weeping willow that grows here. I planted it myself when Mother died three years ago, to watch over and protect her. The tree is our connection, and through it I feel as if she is right here with me.

  I open my eyes, and run my finger over the gold lettering etched into the headstone.

  “How are you today?” I ask, kneeling on the grass.

  There’s no answer. None that I can hear anyway. She usually speaks to me in different ways. Through the earth, and the plants, and the animals. Today, the majestic willow tree sways gently, and I take it as a sign all is well with her.

  “I’ve not had such a great time,” I say. “Anna and Drew are up to their usual tricks. And I don’t want to complain, but it’s so hard to be nice to them. They wouldn’t let me into the house at all the other day. Lady Roche didn’t allow me to have dinner. She said I’d slacked off on my chores. But I couldn’t do them because I couldn’t get inside.”

  The grass at the base of my mother’s grave tickles my knees, and I readjust my position so I’m sitting cross-legged in front of her. I run my fingers over the soft blades, and watch them move at my touch.

  “I won’t complain anymore,” I continue. “I’m sure you don’t really want to hear how badly they treat me. It’s just ... some days are much harder than others.”

  My eyes grow hot, and I get to my feet. I always cry when I come to see my mother. It’s the only place where I’m able to really be myself, and not worry about anyone looking or seeing or judging me. I step around the headstone and go towards the willow tree, part the weeping branches, then place my palm against its rough bark.

  The tree sighs under my touch, and tears spill from my eyes, falling on the earth at the base of the trunk. The tendrils of leaves sway around me as light from my magic seeps out of the ground, coiling in wispy lines around the tree, before spreading out to every branch, feeding it and helping it grow.

  The pendant around my neck glows the same azure blue as my magic, and I close my eyes as my last tear falls to water the tree. Turning my face upwards, I open my eyes again and gaze at the shroud of magic I’ve created. I’m protected inside its bubble as it drips from the branches and leaves. The willow grows visibly taller, and the branches extend.

  I reach out with my mind and snag a wispy blue trail of magic, twisting it gently until it forms the shape of a swallow. The little bird chirps, swooping from branch to branch, flitting through the curtain of leaves. I giggle, my tears forgotten, then create two more birds as companions. I hold up my arm where the three of them alight.

  “Would you be so kind, and keep me company for a bit?” I ask.

  The birds chirp in unison, then dart in and out of the leafy curtain before perching high in the tree.

  “That’s a pretty neat trick,” a voice says.

  The smile falls from my face.

  Someone’s here. Have they seen my magic?

  I part the willow tree’s curtain. A boy stands in the open, his head tilted back, watching my birds as they fly in and out of the willow. I wave my hand, and my magic dissipates. The birds dissolve and disappear. Leaves from the willow flutter to the ground.

  “You startled me.” I step away from the tree, not wanting this boy, whoever he is, to come any closer to it.

  He doesn’t reply. He just stands there with a funny little smirk on his face. His lips curl up ever so slightly, more so on one side. I get a strong feeling that I know him from somewhere, but I’m sure we’ve never formally met. He’s smartly dressed, wearing pressed navy trousers and a crisp white shirt. The boy puts his hands in his pockets, and rocks back and forth on his heels. I study him, trying to remember where I’ve seen him before.

  “I’m sure you know who I am,” the boy says in a rather confident voice. “I’m Ashwin Chethan.”

  My mouth drops open, but I quickly close it.

  Ashwin Chethan.

  No wonder he looks familiar. And no wonder he’s standing there in all his self-assured glory. He’s the son of the richest and most powerful man in the county. Anna and Drew fawn over Ashwin all the time, and I’m forever bombarded with their arguments over who will eventually get to marry him. I personally don’t think my stepsisters should be allowed to marry anyone, even if there was someone who would take them.

  Now that I know who he is, I can remember where I’ve seen Ashwin before. Anna and Drew each have his framed portrait in their rooms, which I get to dust every other day.

  “Can you not speak?” Ashwin asks.

  “I ... I’m sorry,” I say, dipping my head, and offering a small curtsey, an action that doesn’t appear very ladylike when wearing old hand-me-down trousers with the knees worn through. The result of scrubbing many floors at Roche Manor.

  Ashwin chuckles. “Don’t do that, you look ridiculous.”

  “Sorry,” I mumble, clasping my hands in front of me, and staring down at them.

  “Don’t do that, either. I’d like to see your eyes. And stop apologising.”

  I look up again, heat creeping into my cheeks, sure that my face has turned an embarrassing shade of crimson. I don’t have the chance to spend much time with boys, or anyone really. I’ve never met Ashwin before because Mother home schooled me before she got sick, then I spent my time nursing her. Now, I’m usually too busy with chores and lessons to have any friends, and all my spare time is spent visiting the cemetery. If my stepmother, Lady Roche, had her way, I would never be allowed to leave the grounds of Roche Manor.

  “Are you going to tell me your name?” Ashwin asks.

  “It’s Eleanor.” I don’t tell him I go by Ella, and that no one calls me by my real name, even though I prefer it.

  “You should be careful, Eleanor,” Ashwin says. “Using magic can get you into a lot of trouble.”

  “Why?” I raise my chin in defiance. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Who taught you? And where did you get that artefact?”

  “My mother.” I curl my fingers around my pendant. “And I rightfully own it. Which means I also have the right to use it.”

  Ashwin narrows his eyes. “Where are you from? I haven’t seen you around before.”

  I hesitate. He has a funny way of going about getting to know someone he has just met. Why is he giving me the third degree? How dare he come up here and demand these answers of me? Although, I don’t voice my opinion. It’s one thing for someone to be rude to me, but another for me to be rude back.

  “I’m not comfortable telling someone I don’t know where I live,”
I finally say.

  “Well, you mustn’t live near Chethan Manor.” He looks me up and down. “In the village, perhaps?”

  “And what are you trying to imply? Just because you haven’t seen me before, and I’m not dressed fancy like you, doesn’t mean I don’t have the right to be here.”

  Ashwin glances at my mother’s headstone. “My apologies for your loss, although I don’t recognise the name. I admit I’ve not been to this part of the cemetery before.”

  I’m glad my mother’s memorial doesn’t have my father’s surname on it. They were never formally married, which is why Lady Roche is so terrible to me. She thinks I’m illegitimate, and that she therefore has more right to Roche Manor than I do.

  I stare at Ashwin, not sure how to respond to him. I’m doing my best to remain polite, but he obviously thinks I’m beneath him. Which unfortunately I am, but how dare he think that?

  “What exactly are you doing in this part of the cemetery?” I fold my arms over my chest, and feel self-conscious dressed like a scruffy stable hand. “Do you have a loved one all the way up here?”

  “Not exactly.” Ashwin looks out over the main part of the cemetery, which spreads into the distance along the hillside. He points towards the road that winds past. “Over there. My brother. He’s in the—”

  “Section reserved for your family members,” I say.

  The Chethan family have been in the county for several generations, and are so rich they even have their own section of the cemetery. Like a cemetery within a cemetery. My father and I had to bury my mother in a far off unreserved corner, a good ten-minute walk from the main gates. I prefer it though. It’s usually very peaceful up here.

  “Yes, there are many Chethans buried down there. Unfortunately, my older brother was lost only months ago. He was nineteen.”

  “I remember,” I say, recalling how horrified my stepsisters were that they had lost a potential husband. “I’m sorry for your loss as well.”

  Ashwin smiles with a closed mouth. “Thank you. This is the first time I’ve come to visit since the funeral.”

  “What brings you all the way up here then?”

  “I saw your magic.” He studies me, hands back in his pockets. “Why does someone of your standing own such a beautiful magical artefact?”

  “My standing?” I put my hands on my hips. “What is wrong with my standing? You don’t even know me.”

  Ashwin looks me up and down again. “Only the highest ranking citizens have access to such things.”

  I clench my fists, and try to keep an even temper, but this boy is pushing all the wrong buttons. Yes, most of the magical artefacts in the county are owned by the rich, passed down from generation to generation. But there are a few who are lucky enough to have heirlooms, even if they don’t have money.

  “This pendant was my mother’s,” I say. “And it was her mother’s before that. No one has the right to take it away from me.”

  “You should be careful with it,” Ashwin says. “Some might think you’ve stolen it.”

  “Because I’m poor?”

  “I apologise if that’s what you think I’m implying.”

  I scoff, because it’s very obvious that’s what he’s trying to say. “You don’t know me, and you shouldn’t judge me.”

  “I could say the same to you.” Ashwin looks back towards his family plot. “You judged me the moment you found out who I was.”

  And you are living up to your family’s pompous reputation.

  I refrain from saying such a thing out loud, and turn away from him towards the willow tree. The leaves sway in the breeze, sending me a subtle message, and I take a moment to check my manners. Mother didn’t raise me to be rude, and I won’t be, no matter how much I’m goaded.

  “Perhaps you should leave now,” I say. “It’s clear you don’t think much of me.”

  Am I that transparent? Is it so obvious I’m a servant? I try to keep my clothes clean and mended, and my hair brushed. My hands are always spotless from the endless use of soap. I’m not dirty or offensive looking.

  “Now you’re putting words in my mouth,” Ashwin says.

  I turn, and he is so close I almost bump into him. To avoid touching him, I take a step backwards, and the weeping branches of the willow brush my shoulders.

  “If you won’t leave, then I will.”

  Ashwin takes a step closer, and I step back again, under the canopy of the willow.

  “I apologise if I have made you uncomfortable. I find you rather fascinating.”

  I frown and purse my lips. “Fascinating? Like observing an experiment?”

  Ashwin chuckles. “No. You just ... seem well educated and have good manners, but your clothes—”

  “And I suppose you judge everyone by the way they dress?” I snap. “Perhaps you’d get a little further in your relationships if you put aside your prejudices.”

  “I don’t seem to be able to say the right thing, do I?” Ashwin pulls a hand from his pocket and runs his fingers through his dark hair.

  “Maybe if you stopped making assumptions, you would get somewhere.”

  “Okay.” He studies me for a moment. “Your pendant. What can it do? My family has many magical artefacts, but I’ve never seen anything as remarkable as yours.”

  I clutch the necklace. My stepsisters and stepmother don’t know I have a magical artefact, and now that Ashwin does, it worries me. I’ve kept it hidden from my family because if they did know about it, they would take it away from me. The only people who know it exists are my father, and me. My mother told me the stone holds the tear of an ancient, and very powerful, witch.

  “It really isn’t that remarkable,” I say.

  “Are you serious?” Ashwin looks at my hand hiding the pendant. “That’s a Paraiba tourmaline. They’re quite rare and unique.”

  I’ve never heard of a Paraiba tourmaline, but I don’t let Ashwin know that. I just thought it was a pretty stone in a filigree setting. I love how it seems to glow on its own, even when I’m not near the willow, or using my magic.

  My insides flip at the thought of owning something so rare and precious. All the more reason no one can know about it.

  “Please don’t tell anyone I have it,” I say.

  “So it is stolen?”

  “No! Of course not. My mother gave it to me.” How many times do I have to tell him? “She passed it on to me when she died.”

  Ashwin comes closer, and reaches out to take my hand that’s covering the pendant. My brain is screaming at me to move, run away from this boy, but my feet are planted firmly in place. He curls his fingers around mine, and looks into my eyes. I want to look away, but I can’t. I’m lost in his stare.

  “It’s very beautiful,” Ashwin says. “What does it do?”

  I still can’t tear my gaze away from him, and his hand tightens around mine.

  “It’s connected to the willow ...”

  Ashwin raises his eyebrows. “Yes?”

  “It ... it’s connected to ...” I yank my hand free, and take a few hurried steps back until I hit the tree’s trunk. I was about to tell him exactly what my pendant does, even though I don’t want to. I frown, and stare at him.

  “That’s interesting. But what does it do with the tree?” Ashwin looks up at the majestic branches of the willow. Branches that have grown in the time we’ve been standing here.

  A moment ago, while Ashwin was holding my hand, I would have told him everything. I don’t know how I was strong enough to pull away. And now, my head feels a little fuzzy, but I’m certain I don’t want to tell him anything.

  “What did you do to me?” I ask. “You touched me, and ...”

  I glance at his left hand. The middle finger is adorned with a black opal set in a wide silver band. The band is plain, but the stone is a glorious kaleidoscope of colours. I know it’s his artefact without having to ask, and I definitely won’t be letting him touch me again.

  Ashwin’s gaze connects with mine, and I have t
he strong urge to flee.

  “Tell me about your brother,” I say, in an effort to distract him.

  He smiles sadly. “There’s not much to tell, really. Only that I am not him.”

  I’m not exactly sure what he means by that, so I don’t ask any more questions.

  “I should be getting home,” I say. “My family will be waiting.”

  “Where do you live? I can escort you.”

  I shake my head and step around him, out from under the tree and into the afternoon sunlight. “No, thank you. I can make my own way.”

  I head off down the hill, the silhouette of Roche Manor looming on the horizon in the distance, and hope that Ashwin won’t follow. It takes all my effort not to look back until I reach the main gates of the cemetery. He hasn’t moved from where we were standing under the willow tree. To be safe, I take a convoluted route home.

  If Ashwin finds out where I live and who I am, there’s no way his family will let me keep my pendant.

  Chapter two

  DUST SWIRLS INTO THE air as I sweep the kitchen floor. My stepmother and stepsisters will be down for breakfast soon, and I need to have everything ready in time. I slept in this morning, and came over from my cottage in the woods a little late. I’ve usually done most of my kitchen chores by now, but today I haven’t even set the coffee pot on the stove. Lady Roche is even more horrible if she doesn’t get her morning coffee.

  My stepsisters tumble into the kitchen, Drew jumping to snatch something from Anna’s hand.

  “Show me,” Drew demands, jumping again, but failing to grasp the piece of parchment from her taller sister.

  “He handed it to me,” Anna replies. “You can look at it when I say you can.”

  “I’ll use my magic on you.” Drew puts her hands on her hips. “Then you’ll be sorry.”

  Anna scoffs. “You can’t even levitate a pencil.”

  Drew scowls, but she doesn’t retort. Anna is more powerful than her sister, but my magic is more refined than both of theirs put together. I dare not display it in front of them though. Lady Roche has forbidden me to use my magic in the house. I’m too afraid to anyway, because I fear she has put some sort of spell on me, and if I do use magic I don’t know what will happen.