“That is precisely what I am afraid of.”
If she hadn’t been so worried herself, Nia would have smiled at that.
Saeran finally took his place behind her as they reached the altar. The procession cheered and the music rose louder. Nia was glad for it. She performed the ceremony, moving her mouth in the right places, though no sound left her lips. She silently thanked the gods for a good harvest, and prayed for protection from bad spirits bent on mischief this night. The revelers were mostly oblivious, caught up in their own celebrations, observing only the necessary prayers for the sake of ritual.
Nia was so drained she could no longer understand the earth, or the breeze. Both hummed and whispered to her, and she sensed their worry but couldn’t answer to soothe them. The shadows moved with a mind of their own. There were beings all around them, lured closer out of their hiding places by the sound of celebration. Nia had no way of knowing if they were benevolent or not, and without the ability to see them, she could do nothing to warn the others.
She concluded the rituals with haste and began to lead everyone back to the safety of the castle. The bonfire was lit there tonight because Samhain revelry was always longer and wilder than any other. This way the castle guard could keep an eye on the people and make sure nothing from within or without harmed them.
Nia shed her illusion and joined the dance for a round or two, enough to show the people she was one of them but not more. She couldn’t risk losing even more of her strength.
The Trickster had told her very little about what she needed to do. It was his way of making sure she was ready without giving her any kind of advantage. But not even a god could foresee everything. From what he had told her, Nia knew exactly what she would be fighting. She’d seen the pendant born of hate and greed, of a dark prayer on a darker night, to a god who cared little about the fate of mortals. She knew she couldn’t use magic on it, because it would only make matters worse.
She couldn’t risk having her magic turned against her and had never trained in physical combat. But there were ways to use magic without using it directly. Loki’s stone could only absorb powers straight from the wizard directing them at it or through physical touch. Nia planned to do neither.
The king called to his people, catching Nia’s eye. There was a warning in his gaze, and his posture was rigid, as it always got when he didn’t want to show weakness or fear. He worried, and he should.
Nia came to his side, and the two of them led the nobles back to the great hall. It was ablaze with candlelight. Everything had a golden glow about it, even the lavish feast laid out on three long tables, one that ran alongside the dais and two others at each end to form a U. Many nobles were present for this occasion, some even from the neighboring kingdoms. Saeran wanted to make an impression, and Nia had to admit he had succeeded. The foreigners would think this kingdom strong and bountiful, wanting for nothing.
They would be right. Nia, and Nico before her, had made sure of that.
The guests exclaimed in delight and sighed in awe as the castle bards began a different kind of music. Everyone took their place at their seats and politely waited for the king to make a royal motion before they sat. Nia remained standing behind Saeran’s right shoulder to keep everything in sight.
Saeran reached for his fork, hesitated, and then shook his head and rubbed his eyes as if they stung. “Your magic is everywhere,” he said, “even in the tables. I will go blind before the night is through if you do not do something about it.”
“What would you have me do?”
“Take it back. If it’s back where it belongs, it will not make my eyes water where it doesn’t.”
“I cannot do that,” she told him, her heart squeezing at his tactics. Saeran wasn’t above dirty tricks when he wanted her to do something for her own good.
He shook his head and ate a little from his plate. A moment later, he stopped again, his fork clattering from his grip as turned to look at her, his face gone pale with horror. “You can’t hear me anymore, can you? In your head. I just…gods, Nia, what have you done!” He grabbed her wrist and squeezed hard enough to make her bones scrape together.
“Your Majesty,” Jasper’s voice carried from the other side of the great hall. “My lords and ladies.” He bowed to all sides, but that cold, empty smile never fell from his face. He was puffed up with self-importance, walking on his toes as he came forward, one hand over his heart, the other behind his back. When he was before the king, he bowed again in a mockery of respect and announced, “I have come as summoned to entertain the masses.”
CHAPTER 36
There were shadows, and within them the Trickster god paced, a caged beast impatient for the play to begin. The other gods had caught a whiff of his dealings with mortals, and they were searching the worlds for him. So long as he remained in Shadow, he was safe. But so long as he remained there, he could do nothing but stand by and watch. Any interference would draw the others’ wrath down upon his head, and he wasn’t keen on their punishment, especially when, for once, he didn’t plan to cause any harm.
He looked at the palm of his hand again and scowled. The lines had changed, just as he’d predicted they would. Yet, thanks to Fate’s sick sense of humor, they’d not changed the way he wanted them to. Curling his fingers into a tight fist, he struck out at the darkness around him. It reverberated like a great, soundless bell, making his bones shudder.
The Trickster was at the edge of his patience, a rare instance in time when he was not in control of whatever trick he’d played. He’d let the jest go on for too long. Loki’s shoulders fell in what might have been a sigh. He hated admitting defeat.
A sharp pang of uncomfortable awareness made him tense, and his gaze turned to the great hall. It was filled with Others. Incensed, he rushed the barrier between darkness and light, snarling at the congregation. Did the wizard think to cheat him of his victory? Loki almost laughed. She should have known better than to expect the Others to involve themselves in human affairs.
Tilting his head, the Trickster watched them awhile, wondering at their intentions. Others always wanted to be entertained. But this felt excessive. It felt… What was the word? Deliberate. Yes, that was it. Deliberate. He could tell by their number, the way they moved—or rather not moved—that there was a reason for their presence.
They knew he was here. Perhaps not his true identity or his exact location, but they knew something was here which did not belong. Countless sets of eyes were trained on his Shadow, trying to guess at its secrets. He grinned savagely. They never would. Not even other gods could find him where he now was, a world of his own; a construct of the Trickster’s imagination.
Eyes trained on the Others directly before him, Loki stepped away from the barrier. If they interfered with the game, he would wipe their clans from this land and every other.
A commotion broke his stare and brought his attention back to the matter at hand. The ambitious sorcerer was making his entrance. Lofty as ever. To look at him, one might think he was the king. Every gesture, every word from him was a jibe the monarch seated before the dais couldn’t possibly misunderstand.
The Trickster’s gaze turned to the king. Or perhaps he could, he amended. Perhaps he’d noted the other things amiss, such as the bright glow of his beloved wizard’s power everywhere, but within her. Perhaps he’d already discovered the state to which she’d brought herself, draining every last drop of her magic from her mortal shell. Perhaps, at this very moment, the king might possibly have other things to fret about than some stranger’s manners.
Loki’s curious gaze settled on the girl wizard. She leaned on her staff, drained magically and weak physically. There were those who likened magic to a warm cloak of comfort. The wizard had shed hers for the occasion. He wondered how she bore such separation. Did she feel lighter? Or perhaps heavier, weary, without the brace of her power.
The air shifted, though it should not have. Distracted away from his musings, the Trickster glanced o
ver the great hall once more. The noble guests were stirring. They didn’t need magic to know something was amiss when a peasant approached a royal gathering without being summoned outright. Some grumbled, some subtly shifted farther from the table, and to his surprise, the Others in attendance drew near, an Other to each noble like guards against bad spirits. Curious.
Loki had no need to look at the king and his wizard to know they were alert. Lady Nia would lean closer to her king’s ear to whisper a few words. He would acknowledge with the slightest of nods, hiding his unease very well, circumstances being what they were. He would touch a hand to his chest, to the dragon pendant that lay beneath his shirt, and the muscles in his jaw would bulge and jump, the only outward sign he was displeased with his wizard. She wouldn’t notice.
The sorcerer began performing his tricks. He spoke nonsense to ease the nobles’ minds while his hands moved to hide the actions of his magic. The Trickster’s mouth pulled into a sharp smile at this sight. How utterly frustrating it had to be for the little old young man to try time and again to send his magic out and have it return to him without sticking to anything. He couldn’t See. The pendant had not absorbed the power of Sight, or Hearing, and he had not been born with them, so he couldn’t See the great hall glowing with the wizard’s magic. He couldn’t Hear the ancient stone around him laughing at his efforts.
For the smallest instant, his smile skewed in anger, but he smoothed it out quickly. He met the king’s gaze as he juggled an illusion of balls, his eyes sparking the same way the crystal at his chest tended to do. The Trickster straightened. The sorcerer was losing patience, and that was when he usually started to make mistakes.
He did not disappoint this time.
His power flowed from him again, sliding down his waist and legs to the floor, like slime with hundreds of hues. It slid and slithered in every direction toward the tables and the nobles sitting behind them.
The Others countered but their magics slid off the spreading mass. They looked at each other and tried again. And again. And once more before they realized it was of no use. Loki smiled. A god’s creation, however warped, would ever carry its maker’s mark, and there was no creature, human or Other who could counter a god’s wish with anything but a god’s power.
When they realized this, the Others changed tactics, laying hands, vines, paws or wings on their charges. It wouldn’t shield the mortals from the sorcerer’s spell, but it would keep them alive until he was finished. Several of the nobles shivered, but none of them moved. Soon the writhing mass of dark magic engulfed them and it was too late for them to try.
The sorcerer tossed the balls high into the air, making them explode in a shower of sparks. It was to disguise the cries of those around him as awe, while his power sealed them to their seats. They were now sufficiently under his spell and wouldn’t cry out again unless he allowed it.
But he had been foolish. He’d left the king and his wizard free. Had he bothered to imprison them as well, he would have sensed the protection spells on their persons. The king didn’t wear the dragon pendant for decoration, after all. Nor had the wizard stuffed charms and pendants into her clothing for nothing. Clever, clever little cat. She’d known, or gathered, that black ice couldn’t draw magic from anything that did not live. She would have warned the king to refrain from casting spells, and she’d drained herself of her own magic to keep it from the sorcerer.
The entertainer let his arms drop to his sides as he sucked in a breath of premature victory. “Now, then,” he said, his smile taking on a fragile, vicious edge. “The spectators are stuck to their seats in anticipation. They wait for the players to take their place.” He held his hand out toward the king and his wizard. “Come, magicker, let us give them a performance they will not forget.”
The foolish king pushed to his feet, sweeping the lady behind him with an arm outstretched. His guests didn’t move to stand with him, as propriety dictated, and he finally looked at them. Could he see the Others filling his great hall?
Lady Nia grasped his arm to free herself, but he would not budge. “Stay behind me.” He barked the words at her, though his gaze never left the guests. Loki shaped his will and consciousness to See everything through the king’s eyes, with his mind.
The monarch was furious. He’d allowed himself to get distracted by the stranger’s display, and hadn’t noticed the subtle sheen of his power. Nia’s magic had blinded him, bright as it was. Now he could see his nobles covered with a multicolored veil and he couldn’t free them; Nia had warned him not to. Though she was often foolish with her own life, she had never been with his, and so he had no choice but to trust that she had good reason for keeping him back.
His free hand rubbed over his chest. The pendant burned him. In his mind, he could hear the great dragon shifting restlessly. Saeran could sense him, but he couldn’t understand yet.
Nia tried to move past him once more, speaking, though he couldn’t hear her through the thundering of his own heart. Loki pitied the king at this crossroad. His royal duty was a double-edged sword in its own right, but his love for the wizard added a third edge, the sharpest. For, as king, he had a need both to protect his people, and to survive to beget an heir. As a man, his being screamed at him to keep his mate safe. But against these forces, he was powerless.
The sorcerer laughed at the look on the king’s face. “Still you protect her?”
Thoughts raced through the young king’s mind, so many and so fast that Loki didn’t bother trying to make sense of them. Memories he couldn’t recall itched in his mind, but with each word the sorcerer spoke, the wall around them chipped and cracked a little more.
“You try to hide your love, and it only makes it so much more obvious. I never had to guess whom to use to force the wizard back from her quest.”
At this, even the wizard tensed, ceasing her struggles to get free of the king. When his hand on her tightened, hers responded in kind, letting him know she was still there, perfectly safe. For the moment.
Yet, even without her magic, Loki could feel through the king how the air changed around them both. Drained or not, power was in Nia’s very blood. She could no more get rid of it than she could live without her heartbeat. The king shivered, and within him the Trickster did as well. The air pulsed with her wrath, a whirlwind built around her and the king, snatching at his robes. With a slight nudge to his consciousness, Loki made Saeran turn to look over his shoulder.
The wizard was as he had never seen her before, and even the king had to suppress the slightest twinge of fear at the sight. Never before had Lady Nia lost her composure this way. Ever the calm lake in the storm, now she was the storm, her hair wild in the wind, her eyes shining like sapphire stars.
The sorcerer grinned, satisfied to have found a weakness. And now he would milk it for all it was worth, to his own peril.
The Trickster sighed, and left the turmoil of the king’s mind to watch the battle with his own eyes.
“Nia,” King Saeran said softly.
The wizard didn’t look at him, but spoke with a voice not her own. “You may use illusions, but do not use them on him directly.”
Without further question, the king nodded, and a moment later stepped out from an illusion of himself and took up a place in the shadows opposite Loki. He pulled out his pendant, rubbing the surface to draw strength from it as he worked his spells.
“I lose my patience, woman,” the sorcerer said, beckoning. “Come and give me what I want. Or I may just decide to play by myself for a while.” One of the noblewomen pushed back from the table, toppling her chair. Clumsy as a puppet on strings, she came around toward the sorcerer, her eyes wild, tears streaming down her face, and her determined Other guardian holding her hand. Her efforts to scream came to naught.
The king’s illusion leaned back, as though to say something to the wizard and then sat down to watch.
The sorcerer smiled again. “Have you obtained permission to die?”
Lady Nia stepped
through the table, as if it was no more than mist, the wolf skin at her back bristling. “Before this night is through,” she said without emotion, “You will know suffering like no other.”
The noble woman stopped in her approach, quivering with silent sobs.
Eyes blazing with madness, the sorcerer’s smile finally died, his illusion wavering to reveal just a glimpse of what lay beneath. “You do not know the meaning of suffering,” he snarled and the noblewoman fell to the floor in a faint.
In his Shadow, Loki’s smile turned dark. “Let the games begin.”
CHAPTER 37
Nia felt power gathering within her, fueled by her emotions. She was livid, intent on the sorcerer’s death as she’d never been on anything before. She couldn’t keep the magic at bay, and at the moment she didn’t want to. It gave her strength enough to advance on the sorcerer and make her stand.
Jasper’s eyes shone black as the crystal he wore. He watched her approach, his anticipation rising in palpable waves, so focused on her that his glamour began to waver over him. He expected to make short work of her, and Nia would use it against him.
Words whispered over her, a warm breeze of magic settling around her like a cape—Saeran’s magic. She’d told him to use illusions; it hadn’t occurred to her that he would use them on her. The feeling was alien, though not unpleasant. What was he up to? For all that she could feel the spell, sense it taking shape, she couldn’t see its result.
Can’t think about it now. She curled her hands into fists at her sides, then opened them, sending the tables and those who sat around them sliding across the floor as far as the walls would allow. The tables turned on their sides, spilling food and creating a barrier for the nobles to hide behind, meager though it was against a magical assault. Nia would simply have to keep Jasper occupied fighting her.
Jasper grinned. “That’s it,” he taunted. “Bare those claws.” Power as black as the night pooled in his hand. He grew it into a sloppy sphere and threw it at her with all his might. It shattered on an invisible shield an arm’s length from her. Her charms were holding. “Ah,” he breathed in understanding. “I am glad. I would have been disappointed if you had let me win so easily.”
The Royal Wizard Page 26