The Source of Magic: A Fantasy Romance

by Rowan, Cate

  “I need a favor. I’ve asked her not to say anything of the journey, except to Varene. It’s a small thing, but since I don’t know if she’s honorable—”

  “You wish me to test her.”

  “Yes. I’ll ask Varene to bring her to meet you soon. See what you think of her, and win her confidence as best you can. She’ll swear an oath of fealty tonight, and we’re to leave at dawn.” His boot heel tapped a restless rhythm on the ground.

  Rokad nodded and narrowed his eyes. “My magic’s gone, but I hope my intuition’s intact.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  At the sound of soft footsteps, Jilian turned from the window toward Varene’s friendly smile.

  “Do you want to see Rokad now? He could answer your questions.”

  “I’d like that.” Jilian followed the healer out the door before the tic in her stomach could interfere. Why must she feel guilty about something that wasn’t her fault?

  Varene led her through hallways lit by merry torches and down wide, curving staircases with round windows that let in light, but were too high to see out. The hall rugs were scruffy in places, and Jilian wondered how many years they’d lain there, with the feet of servants, guests, and royalty wearing away at them.

  As she walked, her hands pressed self-consciously on the cranberry silk of her gown. Varene had brought her several underkirtles and two long and lovely medieval-looking dresses—one of cranberry and gold, the other cobalt linen—along with ebony silk slippers. Jilian was grateful to be fully clothed at last, and also for her greatly reduced bandage. And the bath she’d taken had seemed a luxury beyond words.

  They emerged into a quiet courtyard. Trees basked in the sun and sheltered a wrought iron table with four chairs. Three arched blue doors led into the single-level, U-shaped building that enclosed the space. Each wall held broad windows that must have offered the occupants a lovely view of the courtyard, although dark curtains were drawn across the windows along the right side. Leaves rustled above Jilian and Varene as they crossed the grass to a door on their left, near the table.

  Jilian stood to one side as Varene knocked. The door opened inward, revealing a handsome man with sky-blue eyes. His carbon-black hair seemed at odds with his convalescent pallor. He swung the door wide. “Greetings.”

  “Rokad,” Varene said, “this is Jilian na Sara.”

  “Yes.” He turned to Jilian and inclined his head, retaining a kind smile. “I remember.”

  No doubt he did, and she couldn’t blame him.

  “Please, come in, both of you.”

  Jilian returned his smile but didn’t move, waiting for a cue from Varene, who stayed in place.

  “You look well, Rokad.” The Healer peered at him. “No headaches?”

  “None since yesterday. I feel fine.”

  “Good. I’ll be back in a bit to check on Findar and Nenth.” Varene placed a hand on Jilian’s shoulder. “Jilian has questions about our world and the Crossing.”

  His astute gaze took in Varene’s gesture. “I’ll answer as best I can.” He stepped back from the doorway and swept his hand toward the interior. “Welcome. Would you like some lirrah? I’ve made a fresh brew.”

  Jilian nodded goodbye to Varene and entered. A brew…something like alcohol, or coffee? “I’ve never had lirrah. I’d love to try it.”

  He escorted her from the small foyer to a sunny room that overlooked the courtyard. “Please have a seat. I’ll return in a moment.”

  Jilian chose to face the window, sitting hesitantly on a white couch with rounded armrests and a broad, curved back.

  Next to the couch stood a chair of burnished wood with arms carved into unknown animals and birds, their legs and wings folded up against their bodies. On an ornate silver hook hung a cloak of pale gray-blue. A jolt of recognition went through her; that cloak had once been the color of sapphire.

  Beyond an archway lay a room lined with hundreds of leather-bound books. Some of the volumes looked ancient, but she saw no dust, and the shelves neatly displayed their honored burden. The view reminded her of the study in her professor father’s house. Back in Scotland, near her mother.

  With a pained breath, she turned her head toward the sunny courtyard. A breeze outside toyed with the fluttering leaves. As her hunched shoulders relaxed, a movement of the drawn curtains in the building across the yard drew her gaze.

  A slender hand lifted the edge of the curtain away from the window glass and a woman’s face appeared, her delicate features and hair shadowed by the heavy fabric. She glanced at the iron table and chairs outside, then her gaze swept to Rokad’s window, and Jilian. Their eyes met.

  The curtain dropped back into place.

  Jilian blinked, embarrassed by the encounter as if the privacy of both women had been violated.

  Whistling, Rokad returned with a tray, two wooden mugs, and a kettle. His dark hair fell over his brow as he poured a golden liquid into one of the mugs and offered it to her.

  Taking the mug, she sniffed the lirrah. Its steam smelled like a mix of apricot tea and apple cider. She blew discreetly to cool it.

  Rokad spoke as he filled a cup for himself. “I hope you’ll enjoy this. It’s my own blend. A farmer in Qali Province supplies me with his best lirr and I make it fresh.” He settled on the carved chair.

  She let a small sip slide over her tongue. It was fruity and tasted much like its scent, though it had something else—a sparkle, almost a mild effervescence. “Mmm, it’s lovely. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He seemed pleased.

  She studied his handsome face—wise blue eyes, dark brows and chiseled jaw. “If I may ask, Rokad…how old are you?”

  “163,” he answered, and took a sip from his mug.

  Sweet cheese! He looked thirty, at most. “So you’ve been here at the castle for a long time?”

  “Since decades before Alvarr’s birth. I was part of his parents’ Council of Mages.”

  “Then…did you know my mother?”

  “Yes.” He rested his cup on his knee. “A kinder lady never lived.”

  That warmed her and loosened the knot in her stomach. It was still so odd that her mother had been born here and hidden her past…but it sounded like she’d been appreciated and cared for in this world.

  “When Alvarr emerged with you,” Rokad said, “I barely got a glimpse because I was battling Gurdan’s band. But now I see you bear a strong resemblance to Sara. And thus Ysanne is graced by your presence…and your beauty,” he added, eyes twinkling.

  She blushed at his flirting, but caught his affable smile. Somehow she knew that beneath his courtly words he was simply trying to make her feel better. She took another sip of the fragrant lirrah.

  “At any rate,” Rokad continued, “once you’d arrived, it was too late.”

  “For what?”

  “The Council spent its power on the Crossing. It was a risk.” He shrugged. “I wish I’d considered the lifespan differences on your world and realized that Sara would look different than when she’d left. The error lies at my feet, too.”

  Jilian was silent for a moment, trying to take that in. Clearly he knew more about her world than she’d ever known about his. “This place…is it a different planet? Where are we, compared to my home?” Not that an explanation of astral geography would help much. She should have paid more attention in astronomy class.

  “Yes, this is a separate world—Alaia. Alaia and your world are…very close, in one sense.”

  “Meaning…”

  He looked away as if organizing his thoughts. “One could say we share the same sun.”

  “That’s impossible. We know all the planets around our sun. There’s no other one that has life, or temperatures like Earth’s. Besides, if our years match in length like Varene said, we’d be on the same orbit.”

  “In a sense, we are Earth.”

  “What?” She shook her head. “Start over, please.”

  “Perhaps you’d call it a different dimension, or an
alternate plane. Our worlds share the sun but we don’t exist at the same time. We are each other’s shadow. While on your world, you can’t see ours. And on ours, we can’t see yours. Our Old Letters hint of your world, though cryptically. A few people have realized the implications and found a way to Cross there, like your mother.”

  Jilian stared into her mug of golden lirrah. It sounded like…well, utter crap. But then again, on her world it wasn’t possible to turn people into rat-things, or shoot green fire from one’s palm. “Has anyone from my world figured out how to Cross into yours?”

  “Not as far as I know.”

  “Why not?”

  He hesitated. “I’m not certain, but your world…seems to lack some of the magic we have in ours. Or perhaps it’s only that your people haven’t discovered it.”

  Huh, fair enough. “So my mother did this…Crossing. And you came to find her. Well, Alvarr did.” She looked at him quizzically. “If you knew my mother, why did Alvarr come instead of you?”

  “Sara left here…abruptly. Alvarr, as Teganne’s prince and her FriendSon, wanted to go in person to ask for her help.”

  Okay, except he didn’t do much asking. “Why come all that way for her? Aren’t there any other Sources you could conscript—uh, ask—right here on Alaia?”

  Rokad’s lips twitched upward in response, then he leaned back. “Sara was the most powerful, and the last. And she and Alvarr’s parents were very close.”

  Jilian looked away, flummoxed. Why had her mother kept this life an utter secret?

  Her gaze fell on the curtained window across the courtyard. The drapes swayed as if recently disturbed. Had the woman been watching again?

  She turned back to Rokad. “What exactly does a Source do?”

  He cleared his throat. “Perhaps it’s best that Alvarr explains that to you, since you’ll be his Source.”

  “His?”

  “Yes. Once Source and mage have made a bond, it’s difficult to break it. Not impossible, but it’s not a simple matter.”

  “What kind of bond?” she asked suspiciously.

  “A Source and a mage transfer energy. Once each have learned the taste of each other’s kyrra, it isn’t easy to change to another taste.”

  She raised an eyebrow. Taste. It sounded vaguely…sensual. She didn’t much like the idea of being bonded to the prince that way.

  In her mind rose an image of Alvarr above her, his warm lips closing over hers…

  Well, maybe she did like the idea. But she’d never let it happen. She wasn’t stupid, and the only thing men could be trusted to do was to leave.

  Besides, she’d be going home—escaping this place somehow to help her mother, and leaving that aggravating male far behind.

  Rokad poured himself another cup and settled back. “Has Alvarr mentioned when he’ll begin your training?”

  She was just glad it hadn’t already begun. Her stomach knotted up again. “He said soon.”

  “In the next few days?”

  Damn. Alvarr hadn’t wanted her to talk about the trip. “Um…I think so.”

  “Fine. Come by tomorrow after lunch. I’ll show you the Old Letters that reference your world. And I’ll try to find some of Sara’s journals. She based herself in Ysanne, and I believe she left some of her belongings here before she Crossed away.”

  Her journals, her things! They might tell her a lot about her mother back then and this completely hidden life. Maybe that would clear up some of the mysteries…

  But tomorrow Jilian would be on the way to the Nerils, and Alvarr had said they’d leave at dawn.

  She chewed on her lip. “That sounds wonderful.”

  “Good, I’ll see you then.” Rokad gave a bright smile.

  “Yes.” Double damn. How many lies could she tell and not explode? What was it with this place? Back on Earth she’d always tried to be honest…

  A knock sounded at the door. “Excuse me.” Rokad got up to answer it.

  Dully, Jilian drained the last of her cup and stared into the empty mug.

  An unfamiliar tenor interacted with Rokad’s baritone. The door clicked closed and Rokad returned with a tall, reedy man with pinched cheeks and blond hair pulled back into a rumpled ponytail. His clothing was ash gray, and that, combined with his light hair and unusually pale skin, created the image of a disheveled stork.

  She remembered him. He was another of the mages who lost the fight with Bhruic’s men.

  “Jilian,” Rokad said, “this is Findar. He’s on the Mages’ Council.”

  Findar regarded Rokad glumly before turning to Jilian. “Fair welcome, Jilian na Sara.”

  “Thank you,” she said in a quiet voice, doubting it really seemed fair to him, since he’d lost his powers soon after she’d arrived.

  To Rokad, the man murmured, “I was a mage of the Council. That was before.”

  “Your power’s gone, Findar, but your knowledge remains. That’s what Alvarr relies on most.”

  Findar looked at Rokad a moment longer, then away, as if unable to let the words sink in. “I’ve come to borrow the Book of Five. There’s a passage I’d like to study.”

  “Of course.” Rokad glanced at Jilian. “I store many of the Council’s books and papers here for easy access. Mages have a tendency to read.” With a grin, he strode away to the room of books.

  Findar laid his charcoal gaze on Jilian. “I’m sorry you were brought here without an understanding of our world and our ways. But Alvarr said you’ll be his Source. We’re all grateful for that.”

  She blinked, caught by surprise. Being thanked and apologized to was a change, and a nice one. Too bad she didn’t deserve the apology, since she wouldn’t be following Alvarr’s edict to assist. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “Here, Findar.” Rokad returned with a large book with gilt edging.

  “My gratitude.” Findar nodded at him, bowed to Jilian with the tome hugged to his bony chest, then turned for the door.

  A funny old stick, Jilian thought, but she liked him. And felt sad. The loss of his power had clearly affected him deeply. Whereas Rokad seemed to be taking it with equanimity…at least on the surface.

  She watched Rokad as he escorted Findar out. Was there more to him, or was he just as he appeared—calm and serene? Whatever sadness he held seemed to vanish when he smiled.

  She shook herself and placed her mug on the table. I should get going. I’ve spent enough time dodging lies and covering things up.

  As she rose, she glanced through the window and spotted Varene at the door across the courtyard, next to the drawn curtains. The Healer knocked softly, her ear turned to catch sounds. Curious, Jilian walked to the foyer.

  “Rokad, thank you very much for your hospitality, and your answers. I’d like to ask Varene something, and I’ll return to my room.”

  “You’re quite welcome. I’ll see you tomorrow. Are you sure you know the way back?”

  “I think I can manage.” Flashing him a grateful smile, she crossed through the open doorway.

  As she heard Rokad close his door behind her, she paused in the courtyard. Across the grass, Varene still knocked and called out softly. “Nenth, please, it’s time. You’ve locked me out.”

  Nenth? The third mage emptied in the fight—the woman.

  Alvarr, Rokad, Findar, Nenth—and Jilian suspected Thoren was a mage as well. Three or four male mages, one female. Was that sexism, coincidence, or something else?

  A voice called out from behind the door, but Jilian couldn’t make out the muffled words.

  Varene apparently could, because she turned the knob and cracked open the entrance. Then, as though sensing herself observed, she glanced over her shoulder at Jilian and hesitated. Her lips parted in a half-hearted smile. “Jilian… ah… perhaps…”

  The door swung away from Varene’s hand.

  In the entrance stood a pallid woman with a narrow, elfin-like face and black, thinly arched brows. A robe of inky gray drooped around her body. She stared past Varene
at Jilian, her features devoid of expression.

  “Nenth,” Varene said, taking a step toward her, “I’m glad you answered. I need to check on you.” When Nenth didn’t take her gaze from Jilian, Varene awkwardly introduced her. “This is Jilian, whom Alvarr brought…”

  “Yes,” Nenth said in a solemn voice. “I know.”

  Beneath the hem of Jilian’s gown, her toes clenched in discomfort. She hadn’t realized how strange it would be to meet the woman from behind the curtain; it felt as if Jilian had broken an unspoken agreement. Seen up close, Nenth’s emotionless gaze unnerved her.

  She recalled the last time they’d been in the same room: when Nenth had laid pale and immobile on the flagstones as her magic was stripped from her. The third mage who’d lost her power because Jilian hadn’t known how to be a Source.

  “Hello,” Jilian said, not knowing what else to say.

  Nenth nodded, her gaze unmoving. With a thin arm, she swung open the door and waved the two women through it.

  They entered quarters that looked much like Rokad’s in frame, but Nenth’s style was austere. Little light passed the heavy curtains. The walls were blank, and a single hard bench occupied the space where Rokad’s graceful couch had sat. Jilian stole a discreet glimpse at the room where Rokad had stored his books, but Nenth’s stood empty.

  “How are you, my dear?” Varene’s concerned blue gaze scanned the woman. “Headaches, still?”

  Nenth nodded slightly, her dark eyes betraying nothing.

  “Have you been taking the sellin infusion?”

  “As you asked.” Her voice was quiet. Joyless.

  Varene lifted her wrist to Nenth’s forehead and frowned. “Too hot. You should return to bed—but this time leave the door unlocked so I can check on you.”

  “Very well.” But Nenth’s gaze returned to Jilian.

  Who began to fidget. This is so weird. I should go. Instead, she dipped her chin. “I’m sorry, Nenth. Sorry you lost your magic. I didn’t know how to…give Alvarr help.”

  The mage inclined her head in turn, with no change in her expression. “I understand.”

  Well, a fat lot of good this surprise visit has done me. Great move there, Jil. She edged toward the doorway, anxious to escape before she shoved her foot any farther down her own throat. “I’m glad we met.” Okay, not really. “Goodbye, Nenth, Varene.” Nodding at both of them, she reached for the door handle.