A Muddle of Magic

by Alexandra Rushe

“You’re hilarious,” Raine said to the boots. “A brisk walk will do, thank you.”

  The boots vibrated and chugged into motion. Traveling at a reasonable pace, the boots led her through the meandering confusion of corridors. Raine kept to the shadows along the walls. Once, she encountered a manservant with a tray. She lowered her head, but the man hurried by without a glance. In another hall, she heard a furtive giggle and stepped into an alcove, pressing her back to the wall. She peeked around the corner and saw a man and woman locked in an embrace. The man’s hands roamed over the woman’s body.

  “M’ lord, you are wicked,” the woman whispered. “Someone will see. Let us repair to my chambers.”

  To Raine’s relief, they slipped away, and she continued down the corridor. At last, the boots stopped before a door in the east wing. Raine glanced to her left and right. No one in sight. She knocked on the door and waited, but there was no answer. She knocked again, shifting from one foot to the other in growing impatience. She was about to give up and return to her chambers when the door opened.

  “Raine.” Drawing her robe around her, Glory stared at her in surprise.

  “Sorry to wake you, but we need to talk.” Raine pushed past her without waiting for an invitation and looked around.

  Glory’s sitting room was decorated in shades of deep rose and green. Candles burned in filigree brackets on the walls, and cushioned chairs with pillows and a large settee were situated around a table with carved legs. The effect was cozy and inviting. There was no fireplace, as the apartments were connected to the heat source below the mountain, and the room was blissfully warm.

  “Won’t you sit down?” Glory asked in a polite tone. “I can offer you refreshment. A slice of cake or a bit of pastry, perhaps?”

  “No, thanks. This isn’t a social visit.”

  “What then?” Tilting her head, Glory regarded Raine curiously. “What brings you to my chambers at so late an hour unescorted?”

  “Two things,” Raine said. “First, I want to apologize. I insulted you the other day on the Storm. I was wrong. I owe you my life, and I’m sorry.”

  Glory arched a brow. “Your opinion of me has changed, then?”

  “No,” Raine said. “I still think you’re a joy suck and a know-it-all, but it was rude of me to say it. Mimsie taught me better manners.”

  Glory’s mouth tightened. “I’m delighted we had this little talk. I feel much better now. You mentioned two things?”

  Raine closed her eyes briefly and opened them again. “I know you hired the Durngesi seeker to steal the Eye.”

  “I see.” Glory clasped her hands at her waist. “And you learned this…how?”

  “Never mind how I know. I know, and I want to know why.”

  “That I cannot tell you.”

  “Are you in league with Glonoff?”

  Glory stiffened. “Certainly not.”

  “Do you want the power of the Eye for yourself?”

  “Do not be absurd,” Glory said. “Were I to try to use the Eye, ʼtwould reduce me to ash.”

  “Then why?”

  “I cannot tell you.”

  Tapping her foot, Raine considered the seer. “Can’t or won’t?”

  “I have told you. I cannot.”

  “It’s the curse, isn’t it? It won’t let you say anything about it.”

  Glory blenched. “The—you know?”

  “Yeah, I know. Raven’s mother is your sister, and she’s under a curse. Is that why you stole the Eye, to save her, somehow?”

  “I…I…” Glory’s mouth worked, but nothing came out.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Raine said. “How much trouble would you be in if people found out you hired Alden to steal the Eye?”

  “The consequences would be serious. Lethal, even.”

  Raine took a deep breath and blew it out. “Okay, I won’t tell anyone, but this makes us square.”

  “Square?” Glory frowned. “I do not understand.”

  “You saved my life, so I won’t tell anyone you stole the Eye.” Raine stepped up to the seer. “But listen, you. If I find out you’ve lied to me, and you are in cahoots with Glonoff, I’ll go straight to the rowan.”

  Raine turned and stalked to the door. Behind her, Glory gasped.

  “Tekla’s mirror,” Glory said, stopping Raine in her tracks. “Of course. ʼTwas supposedly lost, but you’ve found it somehow. That is how you came by this knowledge.”

  Slowly, Raine turned to face her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re a bad liar, my dear.” There was a faraway look in Glory’s luminous eyes. “The mirror is your diviner. I can see it in your hand. Beware. The things Tekla saw in the mirror drove her mad.”

  “You don’t know that, for sure.”

  “I am a seer, my dear. Heed my words. Some things are best left alone.”

  “Like the Eye,” Raine said. “People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.”

  Glory drew herself up. “My actions are motivated by love and remorse, not prurience.”

  Hands on hips, Raine glared at the elf. “Maybe I found the mirror for a reason. Maybe it will help me break the curse. Did you think of that?”

  “You grasp at straws. Already, the mirror has its hold on you.”

  Furious, Raine stormed out, slamming the door behind her. The boots took her back to her rooms without mishap. She opened the tower door and stepped onto the stairs.

  “Who’s there?” Mauric called from the landing. “Is that you, Bree?”

  “Crap,” Raine muttered. “I forgot to shift.”

  Hastily, she changed into a mouse and pressed her tiny body into the shadows.

  “Hullo?” Mauric came down the stairs with his sword drawn.

  His usual amiable expression was gone, and he was in warrior mode. Raine squeezed her body closer to the wall, thankful that the tower was unlit but for two torches, one halfway up the stairs and the other on the landing.

  “Kron, boy, do you mean to skewer me with that needle?” Gertie said from the doorway behind Raine.

  Mauric lowered his sword. “Oh, it’s you. I heard the door open and called out, but no one answered.”

  “Likely a passerby, lost in this rambling old heap.”

  “Mayhap.” Mauric sheathed his sword. “I’ll bid you good e’en, then, Mor.”

  “Good night, boy.”

  Mauric left, closing the tower door behind him, and Gertie continued up the steps to the landing. Raine sneaked after her, scurrying quietly up the stairs, taking care to keep to the gloom. She was two steps from the landing when she realized her mistake. Dismayed, she huddled on the step, her brain racing. What should she do? She was too small to open the door to her apartments, but if she shifted back to human form, the jig was up.

  She heard a rich chuckle from the landing above her.

  “Flummoxed, eh?” Gertie said from the top of the stairs. “You might as well come out. I see you, you know.”

  Raine shed her mouse form. “What gave me away?”

  “I spotted you on the steps when I opened the door. Trolls have excellent eyesight.” Her nose twitched. “And a keen sense of smell, besides. You stink of peonies.”

  “Hedda’s soap,” Raine said. “Damn. It gave me away.”

  “Pah,” Gertie said. “Remind me to send you something that’s less sickly sweet.” Her bushy brows lowered. “Now, miss, what are you about, sneaking around the castle at this hour?”

  Raine climbed the steps and opened the door to her apartments. “I went to see Glory.”

  “On purpose?” Gertie said, following her inside.

  “I was mean to her and owed her an apology.”

  “Kron, if I apologized every time I snapped at that flap jaw, I’d never be done.” Gertie threw herself in
to a chair, the wood creaking in protest. “Glory makes me cross as crabs.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “Watch yourself, girlie. I’m that vexed with you, sneaking around while others are trying to keep you safe. I should turn you over my knee.”

  “How would you like to be cooped up and treated like a prisoner?”

  “I wouldn’t like it atall, but I’m not the rowan’s ward. What’s more, I ain’t got people after me.”

  “Yes, you do. There’s a reward on your head.”

  Gertie’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

  “Oh, you know,” Raine said with a shrug. “Word gets around.”

  “Humph. There’s a reward on your head, as well, and here’s the difference.” Gertie flexed her claws. “I can take care of myself. You, on the other hand, are a foolish little chit with more hair than wit.”

  Raine regarded her sullenly.

  “I mean it, gal. No more mousing about, or I’ll tell the others. Raven won’t be happy to hear of this stunt, and Bree will fly into a rage. You know how he gets.”

  “Damn,” Raine muttered. “All right, all right.”

  “I have your word on it?”

  “Yes, dammit.”

  “Good.” Gertie leaned forward in the chair, her gaze on Raine’s boots. “Have you a death wish? Aren’t those the same boots that ran away with you today?”

  “Yes, but we’ve reached an agreement,” Raine said. “They don’t run away with me, and I don’t toss ʼem into the fire.”

  “Kron, child, you make me feel old.” Gertie waved her closer. “Let’s have a look at ʼem.” She held her wizard stone close to the boots, and Raine felt a slight tingle. “Hmm, I detect powerful magic, but no taint of evil. You’ve no idea who gave them to you?”

  Raine shook her head.

  “Common sense tells me you should put them away and forget about them, but I misdoubt you’d listen.”

  Dropping her wizard stone, Gertie leaned back in the chair and made herself comfortable.

  “What are you doing?”

  Gertie cracked one eye. “I should think it obvious. I’m sitting guard. Propriety demands that the others stand outside your door, but your virtue is safe with me. Go to bed, pet. It’s late.”

  Raine went into the bedroom and closed the door. Crossing the room to the bed, she pulled the mirror from beneath the mattress, her hands trembling with eagerness.

  It’s not a compulsion, she told herself. A little curiosity is normal and healthy. Another peek won’t hurt.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the closed door. There was a troll sleeping in the next room, and trolls had sharp ears.

  “We should wait until morning,” Raine whispered to the mirror. “It’s not safe.”

  The dull surface shimmered in response.

  “Okay,” Raine said. “But wait until I get into bed.”

  Raine stripped off her clothes and donned her nightgown. Crawling under the covers, she pulled the pillows over her head to muffle the sound.

  “Ready,” she whispered, staring into the mirror.

  The metal disk glimmered and swirled, and Raine was gazing once more into the crumbling tower room. A fire blazed on the hearth, and the big bed on one wall was fitted with fresh linens and turned down. Candles burned in sconces and a simple repast of fruit, meat, bread, and cheese was laid on a table set for two. A flagon of wine sat, ready to be poured.

  The door opened, and the rowan came in. He prowled around the room like a man possessed, twitching a corner of the covers into place, adjusting a pillow, straightening the knives and spoons on the table. Apparently satisfied, he braced his legs and shrugged his shoulders.

  To Raine’s astonishment, his tall form shifted and blurred, like a snake shedding its skin. The ruggedly attractive older man with the lined face and silvering hair disappeared, and a man in his prime stood in his place, viral and firmly muscled, his shining blond hair untouched by gray.

  “Holy smoke,” Raine said, staring at the man in the mirror. “The rowan is a babe. He’s like Mauric to the tenth power.”

  The rowan turned at a light tread on the tower stair, his breath quickening. The door opened, and a woman entered the room. She was tall and lushly built, with high, full breasts, a tiny waist, and curving hips. Her glorious red mane was thick and wavy, and her face, while not classically beautiful, was captivating, with a sensuous, kissable mouth, stubborn chin, and slanted cheekbones. But it was her eyes that captivated. Large and greenish gold, they sparkled with intelligence and fire.

  The smile she gave the rowan lit up the room.

  “Finn, my love,” she said, striding toward him with the grace of a lioness. “Or should I call you Gorne? You have many names.”

  “Gwen.” The rowan snatched her close with a groan. “Call me anything you like. Gods, I’ve missed you.”

  The couple swirled and disappeared.

  Raine frowned at the shimmering disk. “She called him Finn. I don’t understand.”

  The mirror flickered impatiently and Raine was looking down a long hall. The walls of the chamber were hung with paintings of stern warriors wearing the crown of Finlara. Marching beside these stalwarts were paintings of beautiful women, bejeweled and clad in rich gowns.

  “The portrait gallery,” Raine whispered. “Why are you showing me this?”

  The mirror narrowed on a likeness of an impossibly handsome young man with long, blond hair and a devilish gleam in his eyes.

  “Finn the Founder,” Raine murmured, reading the plaque beside the frame. “You were a roguish fellow, weren’t you? No wonder you had all those wives. The ladies must have loved you.”

  The mirror moved to the next painting, a depiction of Rogoth Bloodmantle, the second rowan. Rogoth’s hair was dark brown and wavy, and he had a long, crooked nose. Korr, the third king of Finlara, had ebony tresses and a sneering, sardonic mouth. The fourth rowan, Linn, wore his auburn locks close cropped. A puckered scar ran from his right brow to his cheek. Last came Gorne, the present rowan. Handsome and blond, he most closely resembled Finn, the first ruler.

  Five hard-muscled men with broad shoulders gazed at Raine from the canvases, their blue eyes twinkling in conspiratorial delight, as if to say, Look at me. Am I not clever?

  Raine threw the covers aside. “Their eyes,” she gasped. “They have the same eyes. Finn and Gorne . . . Rogoth and Korr, and Linn—they’re the same person.”

  Raine pressed her hands to her temples, her brain buzzing like dozens of tiny insects were burrowing into her skull. Was this what had happened to Tekla? Had the mirror’s revelations driven her mad? Would she leap to her death, too, to forget what she’d seen?

  She leapt out of bed and strode to the window. The mirror lurched in her hand, as though sensing what she was about to do.

  “Enough,” she said, holding on to the struggling mirror. “No more secrets.”

  She opened the window and heaved the mirror into the night. It tumbled, end over end, into the darkness and vanished.

  The door opened, and Gertie poked her massive head into the bedroom. “You all right, pet? I heard a noise.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Raine faced her with a shaky smile. “I just needed to clear my head.”

  The troll’s eyes narrowed. “You’re awfully polite. What are you up to?”

  Raine crossed her fingers in the folds of her gown. “Nothing, Gertie. I swear.”

  “Humph. Close the window. The draft is making the fire smoke.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Gertie gave her a hard look and closed the door.

  Chapter 19

  Boondag

  Six weeks later

  “Joyous Trolach, milady,” Drifa said, bustling into the bedroom.

  Raine snuggled deeper under the covers, reluctant to leave the warm
bed. Summers in Finlara were cool, with breezy days and cold nights. Though it seldom snowed in the warmer months, temperatures often dipped below freezing when the sun went down.

  “Joyous Trolach,” she said, sitting up. “Today is the ale fest?”

  “Aye, milady. Last year’s ale barrels are opened and sampled, and folks make merry.” Drifa knelt beside the hearth. “Boondag, this day is called.”

  Raine stretched. “Tomorrow, the games begin?”

  “Aye, and the day after is a grand feast, where we exchange gifts.”

  “It sounds amazing.”

  “So it should be,” Drifa said with a touch of pride. “ʼTis the festival to celebrate the day Trowyn accepted Finn and his people for his own. There’s no holier day in all the year.”

  “Carr says people come from all over for the festival,” Raine said, “even from other countries.”

  “Aye, the city is fair to bursting, and so is the fast,” Drifa said. “I’m told there’s not a room to be had in the Citadel.” She gave Raine a sly glance. “You and the young roark have grown close.”

  A month earlier, Carr, Hedda’s son, had returned from visiting relatives in the north. Raine, knowing the queen’s dislike of her, fully expected Hedda to discourage any friendship between them. To her surprise, the queen encouraged their acquaintance, insisting that Raine be seated by Carr at every meal.

  “Carr will be happy to escort you anywhere in the city,” Hedda had announced at dinner the first night of Carr’s return. “And you needn’t fear for her safety, m’ lord,” she’d said, giving Raven a glittering smile. “My son is an excellent swordsman.”

  “Have done, Mother,” Carr had said, flushing. “I am accounted a fair swordsman, but I’m nothing compared to my brother and cousin.”

  “Nonsense.” Hedda waved a hand in dismissal. “You’re too modest, my darling. Lord Malryn trained you personally, is it not so, m’ lord?”

  “Indeed, my queen,” Malryn murmured in response to Hedda’s question. “The Roark was an apt pupil. You have reason to be proud of him.”

  Raine studied Lord Malryn through her lashes. Malryn was tall, with ash-blond hair and the pale Korek eyes. His face was too narrow to be handsome, his mouth too cruel, and there was a calculating glint in his eyes that she disliked. She shifted her regard to Carr. The young roark was tall and slender, and fair haired, like Hedda, but, unlike his mother, Carr had a ready smile and a laughing gleam in his eyes that Raine liked.