The Nation Charmer-Book 1

Chapter 29

Picture of Dahlia on the side. :)

Chapter 29

           Varmer bristled. For the first time since he had set foot inside her room, Dahlia relished that he felt slightly uncomfortable.

          “My dear,” Varmer began. “Would you be so obliged as to join the guard? I have never met a charmer as powerful as you. With the right training, you may have the world under your thumb. The world may be yours to control.”

         “What about you?” Dahlia demanded. “You won’t stand by and let me rule.”

          Varmer paused. “We can be partners. I shall make you immortal and train you until you can rule the world and, in turn, you can help me rule and persuade the magicians to believe that this is the right way for everyone.”

          Those words tipped the scales for Dahlia. All at once, she saw Varmer clearly.

          He wasn’t right in ruling the world. Whatever he had told her before hadn’t made much sense to her but now it did.

          It wasn’t the right way for everyone. There was a way out. All she had to do was to find it.

          Anyway, Varmer was evil. Her memories of Ella’s version of the story came to the surface of her mind. Varmer was not right.

          Varmer just wanted the world to himself. He wouldn’t let her rule anyway. There was still Ellie, Leo and all the other members of the guard.

         Dahlia’s mind raced. She had to come up with a plan to stop Varmer.

         Quickly, she said, smiling, “I would be honoured to join the guard, my lord.”

         Varmer smiled back and said, “An honourable attempt, Dahlia McLean.”

         Then he stepped backwards and made a shoving movement with one hand at her. Dahlia was propelled across the room and smashed into the opposite wall. Varmer stepped out the door and waved his hand.

         The door slammed shut and the locks clicked.

         Dahlia groaned as she felt the welt on her head. She had been knocked on the head twice in a very short time and dizziness was gaining on her.

         Black dots bloomed before her eyes and her vision was swimming. She collapsed in a heap on the bed and welcomed the blackness which only meant unconsciousness.

         Dahlia awoke some time later with an aching head. She lifted one hand to the back of her head. A large lump had grown during the time she had been unconscious.

        She rose stiffly and walked, swaying, to the closet. Inside were a number of old-fashioned clothes, neatly arranged.

       “Gross,” Dahlia muttered.

        She swiftly showered in a small adjoining bathroom which she hadn’t noticed the day before. When she was done, she began rummaging in the wardrobe.

        There was a bunch of old-fashioned clothes. Ankle-length dresses with hoop skirts and lacy petticoats. Knitted shawls with smart button-up shoes. Woollen stockings and thick fleecy coats.

        “Gross,” Dahlia repeated.     

       She had to dig into the back of her wardrobe to find a slightly more sensible outfit. She pulled on a pair of old-fashioned breeches, the kind which men wore.