Mage Confusion (Book 1)

by Virginia G. McMorrow

  “Why? To make your guilt disappear?”

  “Because it's true.”

  “I’m not so gullible.”

  “But it’s true, Alex. Just as it’s true Elena needs the Crownmage allied with her against the Crown Council. A Crownmage who controls all four elements could easily balance the council's powers and neutralize their influence.”

  “About time you said something honest.”

  “Elena believed you might be the Crownmage.” Jules faltered, gazing at her averted profile, half hidden behind strands of her hair. “She still does. And maybe I do, too. I don't know anymore. But that doesn't mean she thoughtlessly tossed aside your friendship.”

  I snorted in bitter amusement, hugging my knees to force the pain away.

  Elena flushed scarlet and met my accusing stare. “You're so wrong, Alex.”

  “Am I? You didn’t care about what I wanted the day Jules caught on fire, either. All you wanted was to see me use my mage talent.”

  “Will you never forgive me?” When I looked away, Elena pushed on, likely believing she had nothing more to lose. “Maybe if you'd learned to control it then—”

  “You wouldn't have to force me years later to try to harm him again. I'd already be your puppet, just like Jules, who’ll do anything you ask, and this conversation wouldn't be necessary. Sorry to ruin your plans.”

  “We lied because you were being difficult, unwilling to even consider you have potential. I pushed you again because I need your talent. I can’t deny it. But damn you, Alex, I'd rather just be your friend.”

  I murmured something crude.

  “I was wrong to do what I did. Don't you think I know that? But I've never thought so little of our affection as you believe. You dishonor our friendship, and you dishonor me, if you believe I'd be so cold-hearted. I may wear the crown, but I've always been your friend first.”

  I met the pain in her dark blue eyes evenly, forcing myself to ignore the dampness on her cheeks. “Maybe in your eyes, Elena, but not in mine.”

  Elena sighed, resigned to the stone wall I'd built between us. “Go home, Alex.” She grabbed her cloak. “Neither Jules nor I will trouble you any further. I promise you.”

  Chapter Ten

  “I've promised my grandsons you'll tell them all about the holiday adventure you decided to take without saying a word to anyone.” Rosanna chatted as she fixed a pot of cinnamon tea in my cottage some days later. As though I hadn't sat there weeping from the moment she walked in, going on about gossip in Port Alain. She stopped only when she sat opposite me, leaving my cup on the low, wooden table to my side. Shaking out a lace handkerchief, she handed it to me. “I doubt you have one as fine as this.”

  “I wouldn't know what to do with it.” I sniffed, wiping my eyes and blowing my nose.

  “You're managing well enough.” She took a sip from her cup, waving me to do the same. “I didn't prepare this tea so you could stare at it. Now drink it before it cools and loses its tastes.”

  I obeyed, took another sip. “What did you put in it?”

  “A little Marain wine.”

  Another sip improved my mood. Rosanna settled back against the overstuffed cushions she'd embroidered, fixing me with an intolerant stare.

  “Must we?”

  “I'm afraid so. Where did you think you were going? To Glynnswood?”

  “Glynnswood?” I twirled the cup in my hands, sitting back against my own chair. “Why?”

  “I thought you might be looking for your father's family.” Her tone very subtly changed, but I couldn't read it.

  “I never wanted to before,” I hedged, studying her expression.

  “I thought it possible. After all, Jules and Elena lied to you, abused your trust. Jules confessed the entire travesty. Why not assume you'd leave your adopted family and find your father's kin?” She toyed with the Barlow signet ring that had graced her finger since the old duke passed away. “I would have understood.”

  Flameblast Jules. I wanted to rip out his heart. Clamping tight control over the tears which threatened to betray me again, I said quietly, “I wasn't rejecting you, Rosanna. I was angry at Jules and couldn't bear to be near him.” I put my cup on the table. “It had nothing to do with you. I wasn't even headed for Glynnswood. If I wanted to find my father's family, I would've badgered you long ago. Even then, it wouldn't have anything to do with you. Lords of the sea, you would've let me go freely if I asked. I know that.”

  “Yes.” Satisfied for the moment, Rosanna decided to return to the matter at hand. “Jules is hiding from me, as he should. They were both wrong, Alex, but they did it for the right reasons.”

  “Some of the right reasons. I just want them to leave me alone. Maybe someday I'll be able to speak to them with civility.”

  “Someday, you'll be gray like me, and still ignorant of your talent.”

  “What do you want me to do? If this supposed talent has disappeared, I can't very well bring it back,” I said in frustration, tapping my fingers absently against the half-empty cup. She gave me a long appraising stare, the kind I didn't like. And the old seawitch knew just how to use it on me to best advantage. “What?”

  “Speak to the mages in some other town since the Port Alain mages aren't very friendly.”

  “Absolutely not.” I slammed my fist on the table, spilling several precious drops from my cup. “My mother despised the councils, and you'd have me run straight into their hateful arms? Don’t you think word’s gotten around about me?”

  “They're the only ones who could help you unlock your talent if it's there.” Rosanna sighed. “Why are you so stubborn all the time?”

  “Cynicism, disbelief.”

  “Fear.”

  I refused to take the dangling bait. “Maybe. I don't care. I won't do it.”

  “One day you might have to.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Instinct, wisdom.”

  “What aren't you telling me?” I asked, pushing some strands of damp hair back behind my ear. “Is there something else I should know?”

  “Perhaps.” She drained her cup, smacked her lips with exaggerated delicacy, and stood.

  I grabbed her silken tunic sleeve to hold her back before she made her escape. “What do you mean 'perhaps'?”

  “Perhaps there's something else you should know. Perhaps a talk with a mage might jolt my memory of what that something else might be.” She shrugged again. “Perhaps.” Eyes wide in feigned innocence, she left me alone.

  * * * *

  I didn't think it possible, but Jules and Elena kept their word and their distance. Rosanna, on the other hand, remained her usual mischievous, affectionate self, though there were no further hints to intrigue me. As some peaceful weeks passed, the dreams faded. So did I, from the life outside my own private world. News of sporadic, vicious marauder attacks along Belbridge Cliffs and the Bitterhill coast, still linked by rumor to Meravan, didn't trouble me. That was Elena's problem, not mine. She had her retinue of diplomats and armed troops to keep the peace.

  I ignored Rosanna's worried chatter about Elena's harassment by the council at every move she tried to make. They blatantly overstepped their advisory role, taking a far more active stand against her than ever before. Every small measure of improvement she tried to push through was twisted until it turned against her. Each of the four mages in the council now spoke out openly against the crown, distorting her words and policies until her every intention was suspect. The loudest voice of all, of course, was Charlton Ravess.

  And Elena was powerless to stop them. Too new to the throne, she lacked the full confidence of her father's advisers, cowards, in my opinion, who should have supported her from sheer loyalty to the old king. Well, I suppose, with all that, if I were Elena, perhaps I'd want a Crownmage beside me, too.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lessons ended for the day, without, thankfully, any questions about the Crownmage. I sent the children scurrying off for adventure, and planned to enjoy a
well-deserved lazy afternoon in the unseasonably warm sunshine behind my cottage. I started to tidy up the scattered chairs and books swept aside as the children escaped. If I didn't know better, I'd think they didn't enjoy their lessons.

  “Mistress Keltie?”

  Mistress Keltie? No one in all Port Alain except Seamage Neal Brandt dared be so formal with me. Glancing up, I studied what was obviously a well-traveled stranger, judging from the scuffs on his worn boots and his clean, though well-faded woolen cloak. Hard to tell what its original color had been.

  “Yes?”

  “Lady Barlow told me you'd be here.” A polite bow accompanied his courteous, unruffled tone.

  Why would Lauryn send a stranger to see me? Particularly one old enough to be my father. No, not Lauryn. It had to be Jules.

  “You must mean Duke Barlow,” I commented dryly, without offering an explanation as I continued to straighten the chairs.

  He looked puzzled. “No.” His reply was accompanied by a shake of his full head of black hair, liberally streaked with gray. “Lady Barlow. The duke's mother.”

  The old seawitch, of course. I returned the stranger's befuddled expression with suspicion as I narrowed my eyes to study him closer. Only then did I recognize his features, those sea-gray eyes had studied my own face with interest over thick sausage and eggs in the Seaman’s Berth.

  “Have I done something to offend you?” His hasty question didn't mask the too-innocent gleam in his eyes.

  I knew by the immediate warning of my instinct he was trouble. “Not yet.” Though it was ill-mannered not to suggest he lower his bulging pack to the floor and make himself comfortable, I didn't suggest it anyway. The stranger hadn't budged from the doorway, except to shift the pack on his shoulder. He smiled uneasily, waiting with an expression of infinite patience. He may have been at a loss.

  Maybe. Maybe not.

  I didn't trust Rosanna, or understand why she’d send a stranger to my door, particularly one asking questions about me in town. Though maybe she was unaware of that fact.

  “Why?” I asked curtly, walking toward the table and throwing a few books together into a smaller sack at my feet.

  “Why am I here? Why did Lady Barlow send me to your schoolroom? Why,” he paused, a twinkle in those sea-gray eyes, “are you being so inhospitable?” He smiled as I flushed in embarrassment, and held out a hand.

  “My name is Anders Perrin,” he said quietly, studying my face as though searching for something. “I was a friend of your mother's.”

  * * * *

  I was silent on the walk down the Hill to my cottage. Anders Perrin, Mother's friend, trudged along behind me. I didn't stop him, nor did he ask permission. An amused tolerance in his cool eyes spoke volumes of what he and Rosanna probably discussed about me. I felt trapped, torn, wanting to know, wanting not to know, and desperate to escape.

  It was the longest walk of my life.

  At the door to my cottage, I stopped in mid-stride and spun to face him. I faced instead a dangling half copper seamage pendant swinging in the afternoon breeze as Anders held it out between us.

  “I thought this might at least guarantee me a cup of tea.”

  None of the vicious oaths I wanted to hurl at him managed to get past the lump in my throat. Turning my back to hide the sudden tears, I left the door wide open behind me as I stormed inside. Anders was patient and tolerant as I prepared hot cinnamon tea. He tossed his faded cloak over a chair, busied himself starting a fire, and stayed out from under my feet as I slammed teakettle and cups from cupboard to table. When I brought everything into the cluttered sitting room by the fireplace, he sat in one of the armchairs, plumping pillows behind his back.

  “I've been rather rude.”

  “I assumed it was a Port Alain custom.” When I flushed, he added with unnecessary kindness, “Though you've rather a good reason to be rude.”

  What had Rosanna told him? What hadn’t she told him? “That's no excuse. If any of my students behaved like that, I'd give them a proper tongue-lashing for hours.”

  “Are you giving me permission to do so?”

  “No.” I took a sip of tea, noting the quality tailoring of his somewhat faded tunic and trousers, which managed to still look presentable. “Of course not.”

  Following my lead, he sipped the tea, closing his eyes in contentment. “By the way, Lady Barlow suggested a good bottle of Marain wine might make you civil, so she sent one along.” Opening his eyes, his grin impish, Anders pulled a bottle from his worn leather satchel.

  “That woman is—”

  “Many things,” he interrupted, holding the bottle out as peace offering. “But above all, devoted, concerned, and protective of you.”

  I laughed without hostility. “She already has you on her side.”

  “I didn't know there were sides,” he commented blandly, stretching long legs toward the fire's blazing warmth.

  He was definitely trouble.

  “Listen, Alex.” He paused. “It is Alex?” When I nodded, he stayed quiet, a sad expression replacing the mischief. “Lords of the sea, but you have her blue eyes.” Anders sighed with regret and old grief. “Sorry. It's been a long time.”

  “That’s all right.”

  “I won't force you to listen. But if you're willing, I'll tell you what I remember about Emila. It's your choice. What would you like to know?”

  I sighed deeply, running hands through my unruly hair. My choice. What would I like to know?

  “Everything.”

  “That could take some time.” He rearranged the embroidered pillows behind his back.

  “Do you have the time?” I leaned forward, surprised to find myself afraid he would leave without telling me a flameblasted thing.

  “That's why I'm here.”

  “Oh.” Had Rosanna contacted him weeks ago? But no, she said she didn't know who Mother's friend was. But there were many things she said that troubled me. Or didn't say. “Why now?”

  “Fair question.” His tone was equable as he tugged at a loose strand at the frayed edge of his sleeve. “I felt it was time to make your acquaintance, though I've passed through Port Alain before.”

  “I told Rosanna you probably did, and left disappointed.”

  “She told me you were hasty in reaching conclusions.”

  I flushed at the truth of his comment but stayed silent. Anders was more than simple trouble. He was dangerous.

  “As I was saying, I've passed through Port Alain without speaking to Lady Barlow. She didn't know who I was until this morning. When I did visit in the past, I observed you and the Barlows.”

  I blinked. “How?”

  An impish grin lightened the deep gray of his eyes. “I can't tell you my secrets, but trust I never intruded on anyone's privacy.”

  “You were asking the innkeeper about me over the few weeks.”

  He didn’t deny it. “Your friends are admirably protective of you. Chester, I presume, warned you. And the duke—” A grin took years from his face. “I caught on to his tail the day he sent the boy to watch me. The very next day after you had tea at the inn.”

  “Don’t tell Jules.”

  “I wouldn’t dare. I don’t particularly wish to be at odds with him. Anyway, I didn't visit with you in the past because you seemed well and content with your life. No need to disturb calm waters. But lately,” he shrugged, sitting back again, “I've felt those waters were troubled and getting a bit muddied.”

  Despite his collaboration with the old seawitch, I trusted Anders when I had no reason to do so. Maybe it was just I trusted my mother. “How did you know?”

  “I'm a seamage, Alex. Your mother and I were very close friends. Her pendant…” Anders pulled the half pendant out of its pouch and gave it to me, shrugging again. “It might seem crazy, but somehow, I don’t know, it felt different.”

  I took his half of the copper pendant and went to my bedchamber to get the matching half. Taking it lovingly from the small carved chest, I brough
t the two pieces back to the table and placed them side-by-side. Anders leaned over and pushed them together so that the tidal crest was complete within the etched circle.

  “This might seem crazy, too, but I often feel some sense of my mother when I hold my half,” I admitted, certain Anders wouldn't laugh.

  He didn't, and his smile was kind. “So do I. It's peculiar. She never told me how she split it so evenly. When I felt the subtle change in my half, I knew it was time to come take another look and make sure you were all right. Maybe she was warning me somehow. Emila always had ways of keeping an eye on those she cared about.”

  As an unexpected flash of deep grief shadowed his expression, deepening the gray of his eyes, I wondered about his relationship to my mother. Was there only close friendship? Or had there been something more? “Why did she give the pendant to you and not my father?” I studied his face as he thought about my question.

  “Well,” he finally muttered. “Why don't I open this bottle?”

  “I'll open it, and even see you have something to eat after you answer my question.” I grabbed the bottle and kept it out of reach.

  “Rosanna told me you were stubborn.”

  “And beastly difficult, I'm sure.” I grinned. “Well?”

  Anders sighed in resignation, pushing a hand through gray-streaked hair. His seamage token, worn on a bracelet around his wrist, jingled as it struck the arm of his chair. “Your father never trusted mages and their elemental talents. Sernyn avoided mages, though he was civil enough to me.”

  “But he married Mother—”

  “Well, yes.” Anders smiled in bemusement. “Your mother had a certain charm that could wrangle anything she wanted from anyone she wanted anytime she wanted. She promised your father never to use mage talent when she was with him.”

  “That wasn't very fair of him.”

  “Well, no, maybe not, but he did love her. And,” he added solemnly, “she loved him very much, Alex. Never, ever, doubt it. Not using mage talent in front of him wasn't a hardship to her.”