Fugitive by Magic: a Baine Chronicles novel (The Baine Chronicles: Fenris's Story Book 1)

by Jasmine Walt

  “To the Mages Guild,” I ordered imperiously.

  The cab lurched forward, and I settled back for the ride. As in most other states, the Watawis Mages Guild and governmental offices were in the same building as the Chief Mage’s residence. It stood in the center of the mages’ section of town, a large, sprawling manor with green roofs a few shades darker than jade and a pale stacked-stone exterior. Balconies and verandas adorned the front, and spring flowers were bursting from the hedges and gardens.

  If not for the patrolling guards and the state flag waving from the balconies, I might have thought it someone’s grand home.

  Had I grown up in Abbsville, I might have felt awe as Fenris and I descended the steamcar and glided up the path. But I had been born into wealth and luxury, and had spent most of my childhood in Haralis, a much larger and richer state capital.

  It was only when I had run away and spent time living amongst human communities in several different states that I had begun to experience life among the middle class and the poor. Living without my creature comforts had bothered me at first, but my freedom was worth far more than the luxuries I had given up, and I’d soon grown used to making do with less.

  Should I fail today, should my deceit be revealed, I might lose any kind of choice about my circumstances, where and with whom I lived, for several years. I could not bear that—this had to work.

  Head held high, I boldly stepped into the building, my shoes a bare whisper on the stone tile. Chandeliers and stained glass gleamed above me. The broad windows were framed with heavy damask curtains and the floors were covered in thick rugs. Four guards stared at me and my unlikely companion, but I swept past them, approaching the grand reception desk in the center of the foyer.

  A female mage in teal-and-white robes beamed, her youthful face not yet hardened and emotionless, as so many mages tended to be by early middle age. “Welcome to the Watawis Capitol Building,” she said cheerfully. “How can I help you?”

  “My name is Tuala Harmon,” I said coolly. “I have come to sign the guest book.”

  “Ah! Yes, Ms. Harmon.” There was the slightest change of tone as she said the word “miss,” as if she wasn’t sure a lady of such an advanced age should be called that. If I wasn’t only twenty-eight years old, I might have been offended, and as it was, I had to hold back a snort. “Mr. ar’Contir told me to expect you.”

  I refused to betray even a flicker of discomfort at the mention of the mage who had come so perilously close to revealing my secret.

  “My name is Clostina ar’Mees, by the way,” she continued as she pulled the guest book out of a drawer—the heavy red leather book’s front was embossed with the Watawis state emblem in gold. She opened it to the most recent cream-colored page and placed a manicured fingernail to indicate where I should print, sign, and date before handing me a pen. “I was fascinated by your story when Mr. ar’Contir told us about you. Did you really choose to live amongst humans for three whole years simply because of a bet?” Her pretty brown eyes, long-lashed and the color of a fawn’s hide, widened with unabashed curiosity as she looked up at me from her seat.

  “The mages around here are bigger gossips than the townsfolk I’ve been living with,” I groused, picking up the heavy pen. It was glossy red, like the guest book, with tiny etchings of leaves carved into the otherwise smooth surface.

  Clostina’s cheeks pinkened slightly, but she did not back down. “I take that as a yes, then,” she said, leaning in and lowering her voice a bit. “Was it very difficult? Are you going to keep living there, now that you have lost your bet and are known as a mage?”

  I decided to handle her impertinent questions the way my grandmother would have—by looking down my straight nose at her and giving her a withering stare. “I will depart on my own schedule,” I said coldly. “Perhaps in a month, if I am so inclined. Perhaps longer.”

  The receptionist finally lowered her gaze, but I had a feeling she would not be quelled for long. As I signed the guest book, careful to disguise my handwriting, she produced a heavy, elegant envelope and handed it to me. I recoiled at the sight of the Chief Mage’s personal seal stamped on the back and forced my hand not to tremble as I took it.

  Fenris moved closer as I opened it, brushing up against my legs. “What does it say?”

  I stared down at the meticulous handwriting on the glossy card. “It’s an invitation from the Chief Mage and his wife to attend a reception here at the Residence,” I told him, stifling a groan of frustration. “In three weeks’ time.”

  “Damn,” Fenris said, dismay evident in his tone. “It would have been wiser to announce that you planned to depart immediately.”

  “And just how was I supposed to know this was going to happen?” I snapped.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Is everything all right?” Clostina interrupted our silent conversation.

  I lifted my gaze, suddenly aware I’d been glaring down at Fenris. “My new pet is still in the middle of training and has not yet learned the meaning of personal space,” I said smoothly, nudging Fenris away with my leg a little sharper than necessary.

  “Oh. I thought perhaps it was the invitation that had upset you.” Clostina’s eyes sparkled, her words practically bubbling from her lips. “The Chief Mage is my grandfather, and he was telling me over dinner yesterday how interested he was in meeting you. It seems he has heard of the Harmon family—from the northeast, aren’t they? I can tell by your accent. He thinks he met your cousin, or was it your nephew?”

  My stomach dropped straight into the soles of my shoes.

  “You’re welcome to bring an escort,” she continued, oblivious to the panic squeezing around my throat, “although I’m not certain if there is anyone suitable in your tiny human town.”

  “I daresay I can manage to rustle up someone,” I said haughtily, closing the guestbook with a snap. “Good day to you, Miss ar’Mees.”

  I swept from the building with the letter clutched tightly in my fist, ignoring Clostina as she gaped after me, no doubt wondering what she’d done to offend me. Fenris trotted down the steps beside me, a silent, watchful presence, and we strode down the garden path and to the street, toward the row of steam cabs waiting for fares.

  “I would strongly advise you to reject the invitation,” Fenris said once we were settled into the back seat of the first cab and driving away. My heartbeat, which had been thundering in my ears, slowed with each rotation of the wheels, each foot of distance that was put between me and that cursed manor.

  “And just how am I supposed to do that,” I asked bitterly, “without insulting the Chief Mage? I may not be as well-versed in mage protocol as I should be, but I do know that invitations like this are practically commands.”

  “A refusal may indeed ruffle some feathers,” Fenris said, unperturbed at my own ruffled feathers, “but it is better than ruining your disguise. Attending a gathering with so many mages is too dangerous. They delight in comparing genealogies, finding out your political views, and seeing if you have acquaintances in common. Not to mention the degree of magical expertise they would expect from a three-hundred-year-old mage.”

  I gritted my teeth, a string of curses running through my head, each one more profane than the last. Fenris was right. It was one thing to fool a single inspector, or a naïve young mage, like I had today. It was quite another to try to pass myself off as an experienced mage to a crowd full of them. Besides, I had never attended such a formal event in my life. I might slip up over some stupid detail everyone else expected me to know.

  The cab dropped us off on Main Street, and I ducked into another alley to change back to my normal self. Fenris took the opportunity to shift back to his human form, and we spent the next several hours shopping. At first, it was hard to shake the worries plaguing my mind, but Fenris distracted me with adventures from his past—he had traveled extensively when he was young and had experienced many different cultures and customs. The way his eyes sparkled as he regaled m
e with tales of exotic dancers and acrobats, of strange foods, sprawling vistas, and architectural marvels, had me wondering why he had chosen to settle in a small, provincial town like Abbsville when he could have gone anywhere.

  But I was loath to break the easy flow of conversation by reminding him of some painful secret, to watch those eyes shutter and that smile dim. Fenris was more open, more relaxed, than I’d ever seen him, and I found myself wanting to be open too.

  Except there wasn’t anything all that interesting I could tell him, I realized with dismay. His long life made it easy for him to talk about his experiences without revealing his secrets, whereas mine did not. Even so, encouraged by his evident interest in my mundane experiences, I found myself telling him about various places I’d seen in my cross-country trek that eventually led me up to Watawis, and about the trials and tribulations of veterinary school.

  “Oh,” I said as we passed under the shingle of a bookshop. “I should pick up a new title for the book club while I’m here.”

  “That is an excellent idea,” Fenris said, even though we were already laden with bags. Most of them were mine—his purchases were too big to carry, and we were going to pick them up from the supplier with our rented steamcar once we were ready to leave.

  The bell tinkled as he pushed the door open and held it for me. The comforting smell of paper and ink enveloped me, and Fenris sucked in a deep breath next to me, as if he was enjoying the bookshop’s scent as much as I was.

  We spent a good half hour perusing the rows of shelves, and I ended up selecting a collection of memoirs from the time the western part of the Federation had been settled. This would make for an interesting discussion, I thought as I made my way up to the register.

  Fenris joined me at the counter, and I was surprised to see he’d picked two books—an old classic novel and a history tome. He also bought a farmer’s almanac and several magazines and newspapers covering a variety of subjects. Setting them before the clerk, he plucked my own book from my hands and paid for them all.

  “It saves time,” he said, ignoring my protests.

  I gave up, taking the book back from him the moment we were done. “You certainly seem to read widely,” I commented as we walked toward the car rental company.

  Fenris shrugged. “I like to educate myself. Is that so strange?”

  “It is in Abbsville,” I said. “Roor and his ilk view reading as a ‘feminine pastime.’ I doubt they’ve opened a book since the day they left the schoolroom.”

  But Fenris wasn’t from Abbsville, and neither was I. There were many learned men in the world, and from what I could observe, Fenris was one of them. I wondered if his natural super speed and strength as a shifter freed him of the need to appear “manly,” or if perhaps he was simply too mature to bother worrying about that sort of thing.

  I had known from the moment I met him that he was going to be the most eccentric man in Abbsville. But I didn’t know that he was going to be so intriguing.

  Fenris snorted. “I think I’ve made it very clear,” he said mildly, “about what I think of Roor’s opinions.”

  Definitely intriguing.

  I winked at him. “You’re far more of a man than he ever will be anyway,” I said, flouncing ahead before he could respond. And though I didn’t look back, I could have sworn he was grinning behind me.

  18

  Mina

  In the weeks following our return home, Fenris and I settled into an easy rhythm. We continued our lessons every other day in the late afternoons, mostly focusing on spells that would help me heal animals, or make my life easier by saving time and effort, like a deep-cleaning spell for the household that I wished I had known years ago.

  We discussed what magic should and should not be used for, and how it set mages apart from the general population, over tea and biscuits. I also made lemonade on warmer days, now that spring was nearly over and summer just around the corner.

  These pleasant, informal sessions were quite unlike a regular mage apprenticeship, which would follow an established curriculum. Some of the spells he taught me were third- or fourth-year spells, but they did not strike me as that much harder. The main trick was to correctly remember and pronounce the Loranian words and visualize the desired effect as clearly as possible.

  “I’m glad you already know Loranian,” Fenris told me one day. “Your pronunciation is very good. If you had to start learning it as an adult, it would be a real pain. All those declensions and tenses…”

  “It must be almost impossible,” I agreed. “Luckily, children pick up even the hardest languages with enough exposure. My parents would speak Loranian with me for at least an hour every day, and my grandmother sent me to a special tutor the year before her death in preparation for my apprenticeship.” If I had to think about grammar at the same time as I memorized a new spell, it would have been a highly frustrating experience.

  Although these new techniques were just a tiny part of a trained mage’s repertoire, with each spell I mastered I found myself more confident in my identity as a mage and eager to grasp all the other intriguing abilities that still eluded me.

  I had not realized, until now, just how removed I was from my own magic. For fear of discovery, I’d tried to use it as little as possible these past few years, mainly when medical means were not enough to save an animal and in situations where I felt safe enough to get away with it. But under Fenris’s patient tutelage, I was learning to use my magic on purpose, to shape it to my will and make it do things not out of desperation, but because I wanted to. Magic could be fun, a concept I had all but forgotten over the years of my exile. Or was it that Fenris was such an excellent teacher?

  At first, we’d kept the lessons to my house. But my quarters were cramped, and the cat did not care for the spells, so we eventually moved the lessons to Fenris’s farm, where the wide-open spaces meant I could practice freely without worrying about damaging furniture or hurting any animals.

  On a particularly sunny morning, I woke up with a bounce in my step…and a surprisingly clear calendar. I only had two patients to see, both routine check-ups, both quickly done in the morning. Such a lovely day should not be wasted lounging around at home. I saddled up my mare, and cantered over to Fenris’s farm. I saw no reason why we couldn’t get in a little extra practice time if he was available.

  I heard a horse snorting just as I was dismounting from my own mare in front of the house and frowned. After tying her up at the post, I went around the back of the house to see that the stallion and gelding were grazing in the backyard, untethered, their tails swishing lazily as their coats gleamed in the sun. Further off to the left, I could hear a rake scraping through hay and wood shavings.

  The sound stopped, and Fenris walked out from the stalls, wiping sweat from his brow. “Mina,” he said, blinking in surprise, and I blinked right back. He was completely shirtless, bits of hay clinging to his muscled stomach and broad chest. My mouth went dry at the sight of his tanned skin gleaming with sweat, and my fingers twitched as I wondered how it might feel to touch those bulging muscles.

  His nostrils flared, eyes going dark, and my cheeks colored as I realized he might very likely be scenting my arousal. “S-sorry,” I said, taking a step back. “I had a bit of spare time, and I thought maybe we could put in some extra time on magic lessons.”

  Fenris smiled, his face clearing. “Normally I would be happy to, but I’m afraid I’ve been neglecting the horses.” He strolled over to where they were grazing and patted the stallion on his flank. I swallowed as I watched his back muscles ripple with the motion. “This one in particular needs to be exercised.”

  “I wouldn’t mind helping you with that,” I said, approaching the animals. The gelding lifted his head to look at me, and I stroked his velvety muzzle. “It’s a lovely day for riding.”

  Fenris agreed, and we saddled up, leaving my own horse to graze in the orchard. “I guess I should put in a proper paddock, but for the time being, I have spelled a pe
rimeter that makes the horses reluctant to go far from the stables by themselves,” he explained. “I would not want them to try and run back to their former home or get into the forest and meet a bear.”

  “Oh.” It hadn’t occurred to me that he could do that. “I suppose there are very few things that one can’t do with magic, are there?”

  Fenris shrugged. “I don’t believe they’ve come up with a spell to bring the dead back to life, beyond necromancy.” There was the briefest flicker of distaste on his face, and from my time spent with him, I knew that was the equivalent of a full-body shudder for anyone else. “And I haven’t yet found a spell for eternal life, either. But yes, there are boundless possibilities for what can be done with magic, just by combining and refining what is already known. It is somewhat risky to try out new or less well-studied techniques, and most mages prefer not to try. You need the required amount of power, and have to be willing to pay the cost.”

  I raised an eyebrow at that. “The cost? Do you mean sacrifices?”

  “Not precisely, though there are groups of magic users across Recca who do make sacrifice a part of many of their magical rituals.” The look in Fenris’s eyes grew distant as we trotted up the road—we would have to pass through the town to get to the hills that I had in mind. “For most spells, there is no cost beyond the drain of your own resources, but there are some that demand more. You are already familiar with the cost of healing magic, for example—taking in the pain and suffering of the victim in order to alleviate the wounds.”

  I nodded, wondering at the pensive expression on his face. “I gather that you have made some sacrifices?” I probed.

  He was silent. “Yes,” he finally said, so quiet his voice might have been the breeze itself, playing with the curling hairs that lay against the nape of my neck. “I sacrificed the man I used to be, most of my power, the love of my family, and the respect of my peers. Sometimes, I wonder if it was truly the right thing to do.”