“No need to be sorry. I think of my mother all the time.”
* * * *
And that was no lie.
In the dark of the night when I couldn't sleep, or truly wouldn't let myself sleep, I unlocked the small carved oak chest. Rosanna gave it to me when I was old enough to understand and wonder about my mother. Notes and books with mother's neat script, commenting on important or interesting points, and people were stacked in the chest. My grandmother's handwriting in the earlier notes was as impossible as a child's first attempt at scribbling. But not Emila Daine Keltie's handwriting. She'd taken on the task of chronicling events and setting down principles and guidelines for renegade mages who chose to keep away from the corrupt mage councils.
Some months before I was born, she'd given the oak chest to Rosanna. My responsibility, I suppose, to carry on. I wasn't a mage though, despite Jules and Elena's ridiculous insistence. Not to mention Seamage Brandt. And no renegade mage ever come to see me. Everyone knew I didn’t have the talent the lords of the sea had gifted my mother.
I never knew the woman, only learned about her through her witty, dry commentary in the chronicles. Along with wispy remnants of memories Rosanna shared whenever I asked. And sometimes when I didn't ask. Emila Daine Keltie was beautiful, loving, and full of good-humored passion until the day she gave birth to me. Cursing my foolish thoughts, I blotted the tears from the worn leather cover that bound her notes. I hadn't lied to Jules, not completely. Nothing that hinted of mage talent happened ten years ago. But something peculiar did happen time and again which taught me other things about Mother. Not through my father's memories. Sernyn Keltie died of fever soon after I was born.
No, not through his memories, but through one half of a copper pendant Rosanna had wrapped in soft black velvet. One half of a tidal crest etched delicately in copper, a seamage's token. Unwrapping it with care, I held it in the palm of my right hand, and felt strangely comforted. Felt something of my mother I could never express to Jules, or even to Rosanna. But I knew my mother, felt her affection, humor, and overwhelming compassion as the half pendant warmed at my touch.
Mage talent?
I laughed, unable to hide the bitterness even from myself, brushing away unwelcome tears. Not likely. Only an orphan child's delusion of memories, and a plea for forgiveness. Because I survived and she didn't.
Chapter Four
“I won't be able to survive another moment in his presence.” Khrista Barlow, Jules’ younger sister, sighed melodramatically. “I think my brother should be locked away in the deepest, darkest dungeon in Ardenna. Surely Elena owes us a favor for something or other and can arrange it?”
“And throw the key into Shad's Bay?”
“Alex, what's wrong with Jules? He's been talking about nothing except the Crownmage.”
“Can you blame me for staying away so often?”
“I've been thinking about packing my things and moving down to the cottage with you until he starts making sense again. It's much quieter, and probably more civilized.” Khrista handed over a cup of hot cinnamon tea, shaking back a rogue lock of brown hair. “When I finally cornered Jules this morning in his study, I demanded to know why he was so obsessed with this nonsense.”
“And?” I prompted, gratefully letting the tea's warmth course through my body. I stifled a grin, sorry to have missed the confrontation in person.
“He went on so about the threat to Elena's rule and the dire troubles sure to arise if a Crownmage appeared and, worse, turned out to be a renegade. No offense intended to your mother,” she added with an earnest apology in her light green eyes. When I waved away her regrets, she continued her complaint. “Jules went on in such nauseating detail. I don’t know how I managed to keep myself from smacking sense into him.”
A renegade Crownmage linked with a treasonous duke and a mistrusted renegade mage's orphan child would be a problem. Khrista obviously didn't know that, and I wasn’t about to enlighten her.
“What I want to know,” I interrupted her long-suffering sigh, “is who started this ridiculous rumor?”
“According to Jules, the Ardenna Crown Council of Mages declared the Crownmage to be a real person, not a myth. They're just waiting for another one to appear.”
“Why would the council be behind such a ridiculous rumor?” To discredit Jules or Elena, even if they didn't believe in the Crownmage? What did the council know my mother didn't? That was the scarier possibility. “Why push a legend no one believes?”
“Ah, but people do believe, Alex, including my idiot brother. That's precisely the trouble.”
“Why don't you?”
“I know better. Besides,” she pointed a finger at me, her expression daring me to disagree, “you don't either. I feel safer with your logic than Jules' arguments. I'll wait until the Crownmage comes knocking at my door before I believe it.”
I glanced out the window behind her restless pacing to the busy harbor below. Assuming they believed in the Crownmage’s existence, did Jules and Elena want him—or her, for that matter, allied with them against the Council of Mages? I hated to admit it, but it would make sense, not that I trusted their judgment at the moment, however.
“If all four mages on the Crown Council are afraid of the Crownmage, wouldn't it serve their purpose to keep quiet about the matter and destroy the Crownmage in secret? Even better, be smart and bribe the Crownmage with the treasury Elena keeps locked away?”
“I’d think so, but I'm not a mage or a diplomat. To be honest, I'm glad I'm neither, particularly a mage. With all this unsettling talk, I'm not sure it's an advantage to be one these days.” Khrista frowned, green eyes somber, as she leaned against the window ledge, blocking my view of the harbor.
“Why?” Not that I cared.
“Kerrie and I were speaking the other night about—”
“I thought you had better things to do when he was around.” I raised an eyebrow and settled a pillow behind my back. “That is, when he’s not busy playing steward to the Barlows.”
Khrista’s face flushed bright scarlet, though she laughed good-naturedly. “We do talk.”
“I wondered. So did your mother.”
The flush spread to her neck. “Is nothing private?”
I started to laugh, couldn't help it. Khrista wasn't in the least shy. There'd been so many other men lusting after her, I'd lost count. But Kerrie was different, and we all adored him. Not one of us questioned the propriety of the duke’s steward courting the duke’s sister. Rank or breeding didn’t matter in the Barlow household. If they did, I’d never have been raised by Rosanna on an equal footing with her children, nor befriended by a queen.
“So what did he have to say?”
A sidelong glance darted mischievously in my direction. “Before or after he left my bed?”
“Whichever is more interesting.”
“What if the Ardenna Council of Mages is so afraid of the Crownmage they start watching people who have nothing to do with magery or politics? Serious watch, Alex, might frighten villagers into hiding their talent or their children's talent if they thought they might be different?” Khrista's expression grew pensive again.
Lords of the sea, did Khrista remember the stories about me? And how Elena pushed me until I nearly killed Jules? Or had Khrista been too young?
“Are you all right, Alex?”
“Sure.” I tossed an embroidered pillow across the sitting room, narrowly missing the fireplace. And then another, followed by a third. “Damn Jules, damn the Council, damn the Crownmage, and damn Elena.”
Khrista sat motionless, saying nothing. I studied her expression. There was nothing in her eyes to suggest she knew. So maybe she didn't. And maybe I wouldn't tell her. I stood and stretched.
“The dungeon's too good for your brother. Let's ask Elena to sell him to the Meravan raiders.” Catching a glint of mischief in her eyes again, I added, “I'd even give him away for free.”
* * * *
“Raiders, Alex!
Pirates!”
I glanced up barely in time to snatch Carey in my arms before the little beast knocked over the pile of books and papers I was sorting through. “Easy.”
“But Alex—” The child protested; eyes alight with unsuppressed excitement, fidgeting in my strained arms.
“Pirates, Alex!” Hunter, never far from his twin, rushed right behind him into my outstretched arms.
“Pirates?” I asked calmly, looking both boys in the eye.
“From Meravan.” Hunter volunteered the information, instinctively wary of my tranquil tone.
“Did I teach either of you that heirs to the duchy of Port Alain were free to spread idle harbor gossip?” Brendan scolded from his sudden appearance in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. “Did Alex?” He met my gaze across the cluttered schoolroom as the boys squirmed, still held loosely in my grip.
I dropped my arms. “Why don't we start at the beginning? What exactly did you hear?”
Carey looked at Brendan's unyielding expression before answering in a slightly subdued tone. “Two of our merchant ships were attacked and set on fire, not far from Belbridge Cliffs.”
“Who brought in the word?”
Carey shrugged, staring uneasily at his scuffed boots. “I don't know.”
“One of the few survivors,” Brendan said quietly. “There was only a handful. Not one of them saw any recognizable identification on their attackers.” He frowned at Carey who fidgeted, knowing without looking up the disapproval was aimed his way.
“Why do you think they're from Meravan?” I asked Carey, as he shifted from one dust-covered boot to the other.
Before answering, the child exchanged a sidelong glance with Hunter, who wisely wanted no part of the trouble his twin brought down on his head. Hunter possessed Lauryn's common sense rather than Jules' impulsiveness. A twin for each of them, Rosanna often remarked.
“Father said we should watch the coast for trouble from Meravan raiders,” Carey murmured reluctantly.
Why wasn't I surprised? “I see.”
Carey hesitated before blurting out, “But who else could it be?”
Not the twins' fault, really.
“Listen to me.” I tugged at their small, dirty hands. “Meravan has been trading with us long before your grandmother was born. They need a good amount of our food just to survive their dry seasons. But you know this, or you should,” I tugged on their hands a trace harder, “if you've been paying attention to my lessons.” I put a hand under Carey's chin and held his gaze. “Now why would they be so foolish to risk the queen's anger?”
Hunter touched my arm when Carey didn't answer. “Maybe they're tired of buying things from us. Maybe they just want to take it.” His eyes were serious and thoughtful, so like Lauryn's when she was troubled. But Carey's expression still held barely controlled excitement.
“We don't know for sure, do we? And it wouldn't be right for the duke's sons to spread unfounded gossip, would it? After all, people believe what the duke's sons tell them.” I met Brendan's dark blue eyes, so like Elena's, over their curly heads.
“Alex is right. Now if I hear another tale about Meravan pirates from either of you,” he threatened, biting back a laugh at their fervent nods, “I'll send you back to Alex for punishment. Next time, she won't be so forgiving.”
* * * *
“Were they from Meravan?” I asked Jules a few minutes later as he stared out the window of his book-lined study, ignoring me. Straining over his shoulder, I could see the distant masts of the merchant ships bobbing unevenly on the incoming tide.
“We're not sure.” He tapped his fingers in a random rhythm against the window. “There's not a shred of proof. None of the survivors could identify the attackers. The ships were nondescript, the attackers masked and silent. No accents, no crests, no flags, nothing.” Jules scowled as he turned to face me. “This incident won't help me or Elena,” he said bitterly. “They'll drag me into it somehow and ruin every bit of good my family ever did for Port Alain. I don't give a damn what they say about me, but Lauryn and the boys, and mother, and you…”
I sat on the soft leather chair opposite his oak desk and propped a worn boot on a low wooden footstool. “They've no proof of your involvement. Or mine.” At his frown, I asked uneasily, “Or do they?”
“No. Elena's not sent any word to that effect, but they could fabricate any evidence they wanted to. All too easily.”
“True. But they'd still need a Crownmage to prove their point.”
“They could create one,” he insisted, leaning back against the window ledge, blocking my view.
“How?” I propped the other leg on the stool and balanced my weight with care. “They'd need a mage capable of controlling all four elements, which is the talent the Crownmage is supposed to have. We both know the Crownmage doesn't exist,” I reminded him. “At least I do.”
“If they had a seamage, or any other mage, the council could just cover for the Crownmage.”
“What are you babbling about?”
“Look,” Jules explained impatiently at my blank stare, “let's say they have a seamage they're claiming to be the Crownmage. Now this seamage can only use mage talent to control water in any of its forms. Right?”
“Yes.”
“Then they prove he's also a firemage because the council's firemage will be the one controlling the flame behind the scenes—”
“But make it appear as though the fraud mage is really the Crownmage and controlling water and fire. And they’d do the same to show he controlled air and earth with the help of a windmage and earthmage,” I finished, utterly appalled at the potential for trouble and deception.
“Precisely.”
“Damn.” I pounded my hand against the arm of the chair, envisioning the faces of the Crown Council’s mages under my fist. When Jules turned moodily back to the window and stared out, I warned, “You'd better be prepared to defend yourself if the council really wants to cause problems for Elena.”
He didn't answer.
“Jules?”
“What I despise,” he said softly, still looking out over his own private kingdom, which, despite my teasing, he ruled fairly, “is they believe either you or me capable of disloyalty to Elena. The Dunneals have held the crown for centuries, winning the Mage Challenge all those years ago. As far as I'm concerned, the Barlows didn't hold the crown legitimately in the first place. My family has never sought possession of the throne again in all these years.”
“There was your great-uncle James.”
Jules ignored my snide comment. “That's why the Dunneal and Barlow children were always raised together, to foster friendship and loyalty. And you were thrown in with the lot of us.”
“You wanted more than friendship,” I reminded him quietly.
Jules spun back around, green eyes dangerous. “Not for the crown, Alex. You know that. So does Elena.”
“Yes.”
“But…” He practically snarled.
I took a deep breath, not flinching under his angry gaze. “But is that really all in the past?”
His eyes never left mine. “Of course, it is. Elena made it very clear—”
“Yet you didn't tell Lauryn Elena visited in the middle of the night,” I persisted, not out of cruelty but concern. Despite my cry for independence, I perversely worried about all of them, sometimes more than others. This time was one of those moments.
Jules pushed a hand through his hair in frustration. “She'd have gone to a lot of unnecessary bother. Elena didn't have the time. I told you already.” His eyes suddenly widened. “Alex, you don't think…”
I chose my words with exquisite care. “I thought it possible.”
His handsome face clouded over with old familiar sadness. “I told you it's all in the past. It was over before I married Lauryn.”
“If the council decides to use that against you, it might be a good idea to warn Lauryn,” I suggested, wanting to offer something practical, something besides do
ubt and meaningless comfort. “It would save her needless pain.”
“I love my wife, Alex. I'd never hurt her.”
“I know.” I smiled suddenly, easing the tension. “I just wanted to make sure you weren't in that kind of trouble.”
* * * *
I decided to stir up my own brand of trouble because matters were still a little odd, despite Jules' apparent sincerity. Somehow I couldn't quite believe I was in any kind of danger. Yet instinct was screaming for caution, and I’d found out often enough the hard way it was usually best to pay heed.
So I tacked a note to my cottage door early the next morning, careful to wedge it in the very same groove I always used for such a purpose. No one should be alarmed by my disappearance. I'd vanished before when there'd been some days between the children's lessons. Then again, if Jules and Elena were plotting something nasty, they might be a trifle concerned. Honestly, I hoped they would be. With a satisfied grin, I shouldered my worn leather travel pack and set off for the one place in all of Tuldamoran that set my teeth on edge.
Chapter Five
Tramping along dirt roads to Ardenna was thirsty work; so naturally, I made sure my route passed through the lush Marain Valley with its irresistible vineyards. Row upon row of vines stretched across the valley floor as far as the appreciative eye could see. With an extra bottle or two tucked in my bulging pack, I made my way toward the Kieren River and met up with an old weathered seaman. I traded a bottle for a chilly ride upriver to the outskirts of Elena's fortress capital.
When we came in sight of the city nestled within the foothills of the Arditch Mountains and flanked by thick woods, I thanked the old man. Scurrying back to dry land, I searched, once I was alone, for traces of the old tunnel. It led from the borders of Blane Woods through the outlying districts of the city to the castle library. Through a series of connecting tunnels, I could easily make my way unseen to either the old storage rooms or the throne room where Elena held formal daily audiences. The tunnel network provided an easy way out, and in, for those granted knowledge of the family secret.
Mage Confusion (Book 1) Page 4