“The Lady Raine is my ward, and under my protection,” the rowan said. “Return to Glonoff with my answer and caution him to importune me no more. I am resolved.”
Joresh’s protruding eyes slowly blinked. “Glonoff anticipated your response, and bids me give you this.” The demon tossed a rolled-up piece of parchment on the steps. “ʼTis a formal declaration of aggression. Shad Amar and Finlara are at war.”
“Be gone,” Gertie snarled. Lifting her wizard stone, she uttered a single word. The bells in the city and on the gates of the fast rang out with a dissonant clanging. The demon shrieked in pain and shot into the sky, flapping away on heavy wings.
“Demons can’t bear the sound of bells,” Gertie said, dropping her wizard stone. “Let’s get a drink. We’ve a war to plan.”
* * * *
“There you are, milady,” Drifa said, tying the ribbons of Raine’s gown. “Now that you’ve supped and had your bath, I will bid you good night.” The maid turned down the covers and patted the bed. “You’re worn to a whisker, and no wonder. A terrible day this is, what with brandings and demons. Things will seem better in the morning, I promise. The roark will find his way back from this, and Finlara will defeat that dreadful wizard, no matter what the queen says.”
Raine gave Drifa a wan smile and crawled into bed. She was weary and depressed, and sad. Finlara was at war, and she was to blame. You could dress it up any way you liked, but that was the naked truth. Mary Raine Stewart, troublemaker extraordinaire. She’d brought misfortune on Raven. Hell, she’d brought misfortune on an entire country. She was a humdinger, a peach of a gal, a natural disaster.
She fell into exhausted sleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. The light woke her sometime later. She opened her eyes and sat up, groggy and confused. The sky outside the tower windows was dark. It was still night. The bedroom door was cracked, and the light was coming from the sitting room. Had Drifa forgotten to put out the candles?
She slipped out of bed and padded next door. The light was so bright, it hurt her eyes. She blinked, giving her eyes time to adjust, and looked around. The candles were dark, but a golden haze poured from beneath the window seat. Clutching her wizard stone for protection, Raine opened the lid. Tekla’s mirror glowed sullenly at her from the bottom of the trunk.
“No,” Raine said, slamming the lid of the trunk.
She ran back into the bedroom and shut the door, her heart pounding. How was this possible? She’d thrown the mirror into the sea weeks ago. This was a dream. It had to be. She pinched her arm, hard, and yelped. Not a dream.
She was not going back in the sitting room.
Resolved, she latched the bedroom door and turned around. The mirror lay on the bed, glowing like an eerie nightlight.
“No.” Raine shrank back. “Go away. I don’t want you here.”
The surface of the mirror shimmered, and a woman’s voice drifted out. The woman was singing. Her voice was lovely, rich as chocolate and soothing. Hypnotic.
Mesmerized, Raine walked to the bed and picked up the mirror. Though her mind shrieked in warning, the compulsion to gaze into the swirling metal disk was too strong. The shining surface cleared and Raine was looking into a cavernous room. A woman sat in a chair, strumming a lyre and singing. It was the voice from the mirror.
The mirror swirled again, and Raine was gazing into a lavishly appointed bedroom decorated in red and black. Xai’s eyeless head was mounted on the wall.
The demon’s head turned blindly in Raine’s direction. “Raaine,” Xai said. “I knew you would come. You have seen her?”
“The woman in the cave with the lyre?” Raine said. “Yeah, I’ve seen her. Who is she?”
The demon laughed, a dry sound like rustling leaves. “Can you not guess? She is your mother.”
“Liar,” Raine said. “My mother is dead.”
“Glonoff killed your father, but he allows your mother to live. She soothes the Mad God’s pain and is of use.”
Her mother was alive? Raine began to shake.
“I don’t believe you. Why would you tell me this? You belong to Glonoff.”
“A demon belongs to no one,” Xai said with a furious hiss. “Glonoff bound me with forbidden magic.”
“He gave your body to Joresh.”
“Yeeesss. A demon cannot die, it must be banished. He stuck my head on the wall for his amusement. Later, when Joresh failed to deliver you as promised, Glonoff cut off his head and fastened it on my body to punish us both. You will release me from my suffering?”
“Sorry, no can do,” Raine said. “You tried to kill me.”
“You will come.”
“To Shad Amar? No way. I don’t have a death wish.”
“You will come to free your mother…” Xai said. He paused as the door to the chamber opened, and a boy padded into the Dark Wizard’s bedroom on bare feet. “And to save him.”
“Keron,” Raine shouted into the mirror. “It’s Raine. Keron.”
“He cannot hear you,” Xai said with a raspy chuckle. “Glonoff killed his father. He kept the boy because it amused him. Hurry, Raine Stewart. The Dark Wizard is fickle. Soon, he will tire of his new toy.”
The mirror went dark. Raine threw it aside and jumped out of bed. She paced up and down, thinking. Her mother was alive. She and Keron were Glonoff’s prisoners. The idea came to her, and she rejected it. The very notion made her insides quake. No—absolutely not. She was no hero.
She was a screwup.
She couldn’t do it. She’d have to be nuts.
But you can’t stay here, either, an inner voice whispered. Not knowing Keron and your mom are in danger.
She sat down on the side of the bed, her thoughts churning. Flame was safe with Kron and Mimsie, and Mauric would look after Chaz. Her heart squeezed at the thought of leaving the boy, but he’d be safer with her gone. Everyone would. Glonoff had declared war on Finlara, because of her. If she left, there’d be no reason for bloodshed. Problem solved.
Except she couldn’t find her way out of a paper bag, much less to Shad Amar.
They’re to help you find your way. Mimsie’s words flitted through her mind.
The boots—of course.
Raine jumped up and stripped off her nightgown before she could come to her senses. She donned her tunic, thick woolen stockings and breeches, and Deekie’s boots. Abbah’s cloak completed her outfit. Slipping Mastering the Glow into the pocket of her cloak, she went into the sitting room and lit a candle. She moved the stone on the mantel and slid the jewelry pouch from the secret compartment. Setting the bag on the table, she filled her money pouch with coins from the stash Gertie had given her. She picked up the bag of jewels and shoved it back into the hole. After a moment’s reflection, she took it back out. She sifted through the baubles until she found the simple gold circlet with the clasping hands.
“To remember Gertie by,” she whispered, her throat tight.
Slipping the ring on the finger next to Tiny’s iron band, she returned the rest of the jewels to the mantel safe. Taking out her quill and parchment, she penned a short note of explanation, and left it on the table under the fruit bowl.
She looked around. There was something she was forgetting.
“Mirror,” she said, snapping her fingers.
Striding into the bedroom, she snatched the mirror off the bed and returned to the adjoining chamber.
“And stay there,” she muttered, placing the mirror back in the trunk. “I mean it.”
She tucked the money pouch in her tunic pocket and straightened her shoulders. “Now, to get past my guard.”
Taking the book from her pocket, she reread the instructions for the spell. She tucked the book back inside her cloak and blew out the candle. Striding to the tower door, she opened it and found Carr standing watch on the landing.
“Raine,” he s
aid, his eyes widening when he saw her attire.
Holding her wizard stone, Raine waved her hand at him. “Sleep,” she said.
Carr’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped to the floor.
Raine slipped down the tower stairs and into the corridor. The castle was a bustling place during the day, but it was long after midnight and everyone was asleep.
“Take me past the guards on patrol and out of the fast without being seen,” she whispered to the boots.
The boots took her on a circuitous route, through winding, lonely halls and abandoned rooms, and up and down stairs until Raine’s sides ached and she was out of breath. At last, the boots took her out of the fast. She looked around to get her bearings and spied the crumbling tower where Gwen and Finn held their trysts.
“I wish I could have broken the curse,” she said with regret, “but don’t give up. You’ll be free someday. I swear it.”
She directed the boots to take her to the west gate and set out. It was a long walk down the mountain and through the drowsing town. Passing the burnt hulk of the ruined stable, she thought sadly of Clegg, who’d died at the hands of brutal men, and of Flame.
Morven? Flame’s voice came to her, thin and distant. You are sad?
Morven is fine. Raine’s bottom lip trembled. I love you. Be a good boy.
Morven?
Heart aching, Raine broke the link and walked on.
Dawn was approaching when she reached the west gate, and the fishmongers were setting out baskets in preparation for the day’s catch. Shops in this part of the Citadel catered to fishermen and opened early. From a sleepy-eyed shop keep, Raine procured bread and cheese; from another, she bought a ruck sack, a small knife, a leather water bottle, and a woolen cap.
She shoved her hair under the floppy cap and put the rest of her purchases in the ruck sack. At the gate, she found a bustle of carts and wagons carrying cod, flounder, haddock, and mackerel. She slipped unnoticed past the gatekeeper in the flurry, and out of the city. She took the road south toward the Greenwood. Less than half a league from the Citadel, Chaz was waiting for her on the side of the road.
He got to his feet when he saw her and brushed the grass off his tunic and breeches. “There you are. What kept you?”
“Chaz?” Raine stared at him in astonishment. “What in the world are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you, of course. You didn’t think I was going to let you go alone?”
“How did you know I was leaving?”
Chaz shrugged. “I just knew.”
“You are, without a doubt, the strangest boy.” Striding up to him, Raine gave him a fierce hug. “I love you,” she said, releasing him and stepping back, “but you can’t go with me.”
“Because you’re going to Shad Amar?”
Raine gaped at him. “How did you—”
“I’m going, and you can’t stop me,” Chaz said. “I’m bigger than you, now. You can yell and shout, and tell me to go away, but it won’t do any good.”
“I see. You’ve made up your mind about this?”
“Yes,” said Chaz. “If you try to go without me, I’ll follow.”
“I’m sorry, Chaz, but you leave me no choice.” Raine touched her wizard stone and wiggled her fingers at him. “Sleep.”
Chaz tilted his head and looked at her. “Does that usually work?”
“It worked on Carr.”
“Huh.”
Raine sighed. “Seriously, Chaz, you can’t come with me. It’s too dangerous.”
“I can walk through dragon fire.”
“There aren’t any dragons in Shad Amar.”
“That’s not the point. You need me. You aren’t very good at this wizard thing.”
“I know. I’m lousy at it.”
“We’ll work on it along the way. What’s in the sack? I’m hungry.”
Raine laughed. “You’re always hungry. I bought some bread and cheese. Enough for one, I’m afraid. I wasn’t expecting company.”
“Don’t worry. We can buy supplies in the next village.” Chaz set off down the road. “Come on. Shad Amar is a long way.” Pausing, he looked back with a grin. “Well, what are you waiting for, Rainey? Let’s go.”
Meet the Author
Alexandra Rushe was born in South Alabama, and grew up climbing trees, searching for sprites and fairies in the nearby woods, and dreaming of other worlds. The daughter of an English teacher and a small-town judge, Rushe developed a love of reading early on, and haunted the school and local libraries, devouring fairy tales, myths, and tales of adventure. In the seventh grade, she stumbled across a worn copy of The Hobbit, and was forever changed. She loves fantasy and paranormal, but only between the pages of a book—the flying monkeys in The Wizard of Oz give her the creeps, and she eschews horror movies. A psychic friend once proclaimed the linen closet in Rushe’s bedroom a portal to another dimension, and she hasn’t slept well since. Rushe is a world-class chicken.
Please visit her at www.alexandrarushe.com.
A Meddle of Wizards
Read on for a sneak peek of where the Fledgling Magic began!
Welcome to Tandara, where gods are fickle, nightmares are real, and trolls make excellent bakers . . .
Available now!
Chapter 1
Through a Glass Darkly
Raine settled deeper into the upholstered armchair and opened her book. It was after midnight, but she wasn’t sleepy. God knows she spent enough time in bed. A breeze blew through the screen window, and she tucked the blanket around her thin legs. The April air was cool, but she didn’t mind. Alabama summer lurked around the corner and this might be her last spring.
“Watch this,” Mimsie said, whizzing around the bedroom like a helium balloon escapee from a birthday party.
Raine smiled at the ghost’s antics. Mimsie was a vision today in a polka dot Suzy Perette dress with rounded shoulders, full skirt, and cinched waist. A triple strand of pearls graced her slender neck and she wore her light brown hair curled and brushed away from her youthful face, a face Raine recognized only from faded photographs. The elderly relative who’d taken her in after her parents had died, the woman she remembered, had been more than half a century older, wrinkled and riddled with arthritis.
Mimsie paused in her aerial high jinx. “You look awful. When’s the last time you ate?”
“I don’t know. I’m not hungry.”
“You’re skin and bones. I’ll see what’s in the kitchen.”
The ghost sailed through the bedroom wall, leaving a cloud of Arpege in her wake.
Raine shook her head in amazement. It had been five years since Mimsie had died. Five years without so much as an ectoplasmic peep and then bam! Mimsie was back. The ghost’s sudden appearance a few weeks earlier had sent her scurrying to the doctor, convinced she had a brain tumor. Headaches, nausea, blurred vision, and now the ghost of her dead aunt—what else could it be?
The scans had come back negative. Raine had been sick her entire life, tested for every disease known to man with no diagnosis. The MRI to rule out a brain tumor was just one more procedure. She was twenty-five years old and she was dying, and no one could tell her why.
In the ghost’s absence, quiet settled over the old house, unbroken but for the creak of a settling board and the hum of the electric clock on the table by the bed. Raine returned her attention to Ghosts of Behr County, a worn volume of eerie tales, and one of her favorites. She was engrossed in the story of the Wampas Kitty, a feline banshee whose shriek warned of impending death, when a sudden gust of briny air made her lift her head. The tangy scent of the sea blowing through the open window was overpowering and intoxicating.
Raine loved the smell of the ocean, but she lived sixty miles from the Gulf. Inland. The universe wasn’t satisfied with hallucinations. Now she was imagining smells.
> A flicker of movement in the dresser mirror caught her eye, and the book in her hands tumbled to the floor. A ship rode a wintry sea in the silvered glass, the image shaky as an old silent movie. The sky above the vessel was sprinkled with stars, hard chips of brightness against the inky black, and a sliver of moon peeked from behind dusky clouds. A tall, broad-shouldered man strode about the narrow deck, flags on a mast snapping in the breeze. He paused and looked back, as though sensing her regard.
Time slowed and stilled. How long she sat there—seconds? hours?—Raine did not know. The neighbor’s dog barked, breaking the spell. She blinked, disoriented for a moment, and shook off her paralysis. Brain tumor. Definitely. Closing her hand around the heavy flashlight by her chair, Raine hurled it at the mirror. The glass shattered, and the ship and the man disappeared.
Mimsie darted back through the wall. “I heard a noise. Are you hurt?” She spotted the broken glass. “Oh, dear. Why’d you break the mirror?”
“There was a roach,” Raine lied. “One of those big, icky ones with wings. You know I hate those things.”
Raine got to her feet and tightened the string at the waist of her cotton pajamas. She’d lost more weight. Mimsie was right—she should eat something, but she had no appetite. Averting her gaze from the broken mirror, she headed for the bedroom door.
“Careful of the glass,” Mimsie warned. “You’re barefoot.” She fluttered after Raine into the upstairs hall. “There’s chicken noodle soup in the pantry and saltine crackers.”
“Yay. I’ll have a whiskey instead.”
“You don’t drink.”
“I’ve decided to take it up.”
Raine needed a drink. A lot of drinks. First the ghost and now the medieval hunk in the mirror. She’d lost her ever-loving mind.
“But what about the glass?”
“Later, Mims. It’s not going anywhere.”
Holding on to the rail, Raine staggered down the stairs and made her way into the library with the ghost at her heels. She switched on a lamp and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniel’s out of the liquor cabinet. Sloshing two fingers into a glass, she took a hefty swig, coughing and gasping as the fiery liquid burned its way down her throat.
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