“Apparently. Though you did mention she’d lose her temper with you.”
“Not often, young lady. Anyway, when Emila wanted to learn something, or get to the bottom of whatever matter was intriguing her, sooner or later, she'd lose all patience. Then she’d start throwing things as though those particular flying objects might somehow resolve the missing piece of whatever eluded her.”
“Did they?”
“Every so often, yes.” Chuckling again, he sighed, lost in thought, and took another sip of wine.
“So if I inherited part of her, ah, temperament, you'd be wise to hide behind a chair? Or maybe the old seawitch?”
“Precisely. Now back to your problem.” He cocked his head to the side. “And don't call Lady Barlow an old seawitch.”
“She is. All right, here’s what I remember. I was mocking you and found myself putting out a blaze that threatened to burn down my humble cottage.”
“I can't have you calling up your mage talent by mocking me, but let that go for the moment. What fascinates me is you were able to touch on three elements.” He stared off into the air above my head, muttering to himself.
“Two,” I said. “Fire and water.”
“Three.” Scratching his head, he frowned, narrowing his eyes. “Earth. Remember when you changed Jules’ chair all those years ago?”
“Oh, right. Well, I haven't touched the wind.”
“Not yet,” he muttered. “Intriguing though. The Crownmage—”
I scrambled to my feet. “Don't ever say that name in front of me. If you do, the truce is ended, and I'll rip your heart to bloody shreds.”
“It seems I may have to bind and gag you before we get anywhere.”
“Try it.”
“Just listen for one brief moment.”
“No.”
“For your mother's sake.”
“That's unfair.”
“That's how I've been told to deal with you if I'm to make any headway.”
“If the old seawitch would mind her own business—”
Anders rapped my knuckles. “Pay attention. All I was about to say was the legendary figure…” He paused. “Is it quite all right, to use those words instead?” When I didn't bother to answer, Anders sailed along. “That legendary figure had control over all four elements.”
“That legendary figure is simply legend.” I crossed my arms in defiance, on certain ground now.
“That legendary figure is quite real. I can assure you.”
“Mother's notes—”
“Were incomplete. I have the rest of them.”
I sank down in defeat. “He's real?” I asked in a small voice.
“He was. About five hundred years ago. She was. About five hundred years earlier.” Pouring a bit of Marain wine for me, he said dryly, “On second thought, maybe a glass will improve your concentration. Listen, neither Crownmage could do what you've done.”
“What do you mean?”
“According to your mother's detailed notes, they both could control all four elements on their own. You, on the other hand, are altogether different.”
“That's a relief.”
“You try to call on one element, and end up calling another. Except for that bit about the pendant. I’ll consider your mother somehow responsible. She always had a way to drive me mad.”
“I don’t blame her.”
“Anyway, your talent is uncontrollable.” He raised his glass solemnly to me. “So far.”
“How can I possibly do what I did? It makes no sense.”
“Mage talent rarely makes sense to ignorant apprentices.”
How did Mother tolerate him? A better question, really, is why? And another thing... “Why do you have mother's notes on Crownmages?”
His neutral expression was eloquent. “I was collecting information for her.”
“I see.” Not really. “Why was my father so against mages?”
Anders stared at me. “Are all your students this curious?”
“Not half as much.”
His eyes were unreadable as he looked away and then back at me. “Your father was from Glynnswood. There's not much known about his people because they've kept somewhat to themselves. As you would know,” he added reprovingly, “if you paid attention to what you teach the children.”
“I'll continue mocking you to use my talent.”
“Maybe something happened to your father that shaded his thinking.” Anders shrugged. “I don't know. But your mother respected his feelings about magic because she loved him.”
Instinct tugged at my heart. I felt as though half this conversation was missing. “It still wasn't fair of him to impose his fears or dislikes on what she was.”
“No, it wasn't.” Anders twirled his glass between his hands. “But your mother went along with it. And I respected her feelings.” A tinge of regret colored his words.
I wondered again about their friendship, but couldn't bring myself to ask. Not yet. “Was he afraid?”
“Like you?” When I flushed, thinking evil thoughts, Anders leaned over to ruffle my hair with affection. “I'd be afraid, too, if I had half your potential. In fact,” he graced me with a disarming smile again, “I'd be terrified.”
* * * *
Some days later, I leaned against the low garden wall, watching Rosanna dig around the roots of her beloved shrubs, Anders working amiably beside her, neither of them mindful of the chilly gusts of wind. Ample time for them to plot nasty intrigues. Dusty and covered with dirt and loose weeds, they were intent on their work, necessary before winter cloaked her gardens with snow.
“Are you sure he knows the precise difference between ferns and weeds?” I asked when I was sure they hadn't heard me approach.
Rosanna's head came up sharply to peer over her shoulder. “He's already proven he does. Just as clearly as you've proven you don't.”
“Well, perhaps if you had the patience to teach me,” I suggested, one eyebrow raised in a failed attempt at innocence.
Anders stopped digging and laughed aloud, brushing specks of dirt from his face. “Whoever teaches you needs more than simple patience.”
“I never made any promises, Master Perrin,” I grumped, taking a seat on the rough wall. “At least I've made progress. Or haven't you admitted that to Lady Barlow in between your nasty plotting?”
“Of course Anders told me.” She gave me a smug smile when she added, “I told you so.”
I snorted in disgust. “It doesn't matter. I can't do a thing with it.”
“Not yet. But you will. I know you, Alex. You're very determined to put me in my place and exact your just vengeance.”
I couldn't argue with her logic. “You've become more obnoxious since Master Perrin arrived.” I shifted on the wall to counter the rough surface. “I didn't think it possible.”
Rosanna threw me a careless grin before turning back to her relentless weeds.
“You haven't told Jules anything, have you?”
She shook her head, tugging at a stubborn clump of tangled dirt and weeds. “I told you I wouldn't.”
“You tell me many things.”
She sat back on her heels, studying my face, her expression serious. “I didn't tell him, Alex. My son knows Anders was a friend of your mother's, so he may be curious. Lauryn promised she wouldn’t say a thing to him.”
“I can trust Lauryn.”
Rosanna frowned at the implied insult but chose to sidestep it. “Jules hasn't asked me anything he shouldn't have, or anything to make me suspicious.” She brushed a spider's web from her pudgy hand, frowning. “Has he been pestering you?”
“Not really,” I admitted with a grudge. “It's just he keeps telling me the latest news from Ardenna, and how troubled Elena's been. And how he wants to help her, but doesn't know how.”
“Elena is his friend,” she said quietly. “And yours, too.”
I looked away.
“You've made your peace with Jules, but not Elena. Why not?” Her tone
was mild but insistent, keeping a careful balance between pressing me and leaving me alone. Under her scrutiny, I stayed silent for a long, tense moment. “I don’t understand, Alex.”
“If anything should come of this abominable talent of mine, I expect Elena to hound me again. And she won't care who gets hurt, just so I'll do as she wishes. I wouldn't be surprised if she sent her own spies to hustle me north to Ardenna the very moment I do anything near miraculous.”
“You’re wrong, Alex.”
“No, you are. Elena’s the one who needs the help. She's the one who wants to use my mage talent for her own power-hungry reasons. Not Jules,” I said fiercely. “He just wants to help Elena for all she means—” I stopped in mid-sentence, aware of Anders' curious glance as I flushed in embarrassment.
Rosanna skirted my careless words. “Elena won't easily come to you. She gave her word not to trouble you.” Rosanna stood with a muttered oath as she rubbed her knees. “And she'll keep her promise, despite her need. When you build a wall around yourself, you're very persuasive at keeping people away.”
“You think I'm selfish,” I said in an injured tone, uncomfortable beneath Anders' quiet scrutiny.
“No.” Rosanna shook her head. “But I do think you're doing Elena an injustice by not accepting her apology or believing her sincerity. And I think you're afraid because you've no idea where all this will end. I know you well enough to know you wouldn't hesitate to help Elena if she were desperate. You'd complain and protest loud enough she'd hear you in her fortress,” Rosanna said wryly, “but in the end, you'd help her, because Elena wouldn't ask lightly. You love Elena too much to see her hurt, particularly when you could aid her in your own way.”
“That's your interpretation.”
Stubborn, Rosanna rolled right over my denial. “And despite your supreme indifference to what Jules is telling you, I can't believe the distance between you and Elena doesn't cause you grief.”
I met Rosanna's gentle eyes without flinching, refusing to acknowledge the truth of her words. “Maybe you don't know me as well as you think. Maybe you don't know me at all.”
* * * *
“Since you're the keeper of the juicier remnants of mother's notes, I suppose I should ask you,” I said moodily as Anders and I ambled down the path to my cottage. He'd trailed along in companionable silence when I left the garden, still smarting.
“Go ahead.” He sighed in mock resignation.
From the corner of my eye, I watched him. “If you'd rather I didn't ask questions, I won’t.” When Anders growled, shaking stubborn, clinging dirt from his patched tunic sleeve, I asked a question that had been troubling me. “Why are you so sure it's time for another Crownmage to appear? There have only been those two.”
“Actually, there've been more. Though they're somewhat hidden in time, they seem to have appeared at about the same rough approximate time interval. Don't ask me why, because I haven't a clue.” He fended off my questioning look with a shrug. “Neither, it seems, did your mother. The records of their appearances are more tangled with legend than the two most recent Crownmages, and details have been lost over the years. To be honest, I'm not sure the time interval means anything. It could be simple coincidence.”
“Here’s another question. Why was my mother so interested in the Crownmage?”He stopped walking and stared, bewildering me. “That was a reasonable question, wasn't it?”
He shook his full head of dark hair, streaks of gray ruffled by the light breeze, and continued down the path. I quickened my pace to catch up with him, restraining my impatience as he started to answer. “Emila was interested in anything new and different. The Crownmage was that if anything. She wanted to see one in her lifetime,” he said wistfully, old grief surfacing again.
“But she didn't.”
He didn't answer. I didn't press him. We were silent until we reached the cottage door.
“Is it hard to be with me? Am I a constant reminder?”
He shook his head. “Yes, you're a constant reminder. No, it's not hard to be with you. Your mother wanted to know everything she could possibly know about everything that possibly existed. You ask no less questions than she ever did.” His smile was affectionate, though sad, as he touched my cheek. “I'm certain you have plenty more.”
“Sure. But I won't ask until I rummage through my cupboards and feed you.”
“No need.” He pulled a wedge of cheese, some apples, and a loaf of brushed oats from his pack.
“That old witch,” I muttered, grabbing an apple from his hands as he struggled to balance the food in his arms without dropping it.
Once everything was placed on the table, Anders cut a bit of cheese and bread, and made himself comfortable on the cluttered floor. “Now then.”
“Shouldn't you be sitting in the chair? It might be easier on your old bones.”
“I'm not as old as you think,” he grumbled, trying not to look insulted. “Now ask your questions.”
Settling myself opposite him, I bit into the apple, savoring its sweet juices. “Does the Crown Council of Mages really believe in the Crownmage?”
Anders blew out his breath with a loud noise. “Yes. Unfortunate that. It’s the one thing Jules didn’t lie about. The council’s giving Elena a difficult time.”
“She deserves it.”
His expression was eloquent. “They want the Crownmage on their side to control Elena, and Elena wants the Crownmage on her side to control the council, or at least neutralize their influence. The ridiculous fact is the council thinks it can control the Crownmage.”
“Is it ridiculous?”
“Absolutely. They should be thinking the way Elena is. She wants an alliance with the Crownmage, or so Jules tells me.” Anders ignored my deepening frown, as he'd ignored my careless words about Jules and Elena back in the garden. “The council's causing her endless grief by making her lords doubt her ability to hold Tuldamoran together. With Charlton Ravess leading the wolves, they want to dictate how Elena should deal with the Crownmage and themselves. The Firemage is more ambitious than past council heads. And Elena, by the way, strikes me as exceedingly stubborn.”
“She is.”
“You should know. If they crush her influence, they'll pay dearly.”
“Do you think the council's behind the trouble with the Meravan raiders along the Belbridge coast?”
“Unproven as yet that they're from Meravan,” he reminded me, bringing to mind my own words to Carey the day he came shouting into the schoolroom about pirates. “But, yes, I do. Still, it troubles me because I can't think why the Meravan monarch would risk Elena's displeasure. They've too much to lose.”
“Maybe the monarch's a victim of his own political intrigues.”
Anders looked thoughtful. “Maybe.”
“Why doesn't the Crownmage make an appearance if trouble’s brewing?”
Anders shrugged, swallowing a bite of mild cheese. “Maybe the Crownmage isn't sure yet which side would offer the better alliance.”
“An opportunist.”
“Perhaps.” Anders' sea-gray eyes were amused. “Perhaps he, or she, doesn't think the time is right. No crisis yet, simply trouble brewing.”
I ate in silence for some long moments, thinking unwillingly about Elena, until Anders interrupted my thoughts.
“Do the dreams still come?”
“No.”
“That means we're making progress,” he said with a satisfied smile, draining his glass of Marain wine.
“Please explain, wise master.”
“Well, if you were still fighting the talent within you, I should think the dreams would still trouble you. Since you're not, well then—”
“Anders,” I said with a trace of impatience. “I'm not fighting the talent. It's fighting me.”
* * * *
“Is it fighting you?” Lauryn asked some days later, after listening to my grumbled complaint.
“Easier than blaming myself, isn’t it?” I grinned, prompting
my friend to toss a cushion at my head.
“You’re impossible. Alex,” Lauryn looked thoughtful. “I spoke with Anders yesterday while you were in the schoolroom.”
“He’s the impossible one.”
“I’m sure he’s a match for you.”
“I thought you were on my side.”
“I am, though he thinks I’m on his. That’s why…” Lauryn shook her head, bemused. “Nevermind.”
“Oh no, you don’t.” I threatened to return the pillow. “Finish the thought.”
“It’s nothing.” She fiddled with a lock of unbound auburn hair.
“You expect me to believe that?” I tossed the pillow anyway, catching her in the head. “Finish your thought.”
“He knows you told me why he’s here, so he was pleased to have a willing ear. Alex, he really believes in your potential.”
“That’s his ego talking.”
“I don’t think so. Alex, he…” She stopped, unusually flustered. “Listen, it’s just a hunch.”
“You’re a mother. Your hunches are usually sound.”
“Stop flattering me.” Lauryn hugged her knees close to her chest before daring to answer. “I think you’ve taken him by surprise.”
“In what way?”
“Hard to say. I just get a vague impression he enjoys teaching you.”
“I hope so.”
“No, I mean really enjoys teaching you.” When I stared blankly at her, Lauryn shook her head. “I think he enjoys teaching you because of you, Alex, because he enjoys your company.”
“I insult him half the time.”
“It’s part of your charm.” When I frowned at the affectionate insult, she shrugged. “I told you it’s just a hunch.”
“He’s twice my age. Be realistic.”
“I don’t think he’s as old as you think he is.”
“That’s his opinion, too. But it doesn’t matter. This particular hunch is one of your incorrect ones. He’s not interested in me, not that way. And I’m certainly not attracted to him. Anders is here to help me uncover my mage talent. And then he’ll be on his way. Besides,” I said matter-of-factly, as though it explained everything, “he can’t stay at the Seaman’s Berth forever now, can he?”
Mage Confusion (Book 1) Page 11