Mage Evolution (Book 3)

by Virginia G. McMorrow

  Emmy laughed and hugged me tight. Lords of the sea, but I’d missed her, even for the few short days we’d been away.

  “And what is this?” Keeping my expression stern, I plucked a fanciful carved wooden horse from her tiny hand. “Did you make it? Is it a dragon? A wild pig? I can’t tell.”

  “Oh, Mama. It’s a pony.” Emmy giggled and cast a sidelong glance at my twenty-year-old half-brother. He was a decade younger than me, and had, as ever, crept beside us without the least bit of noise. “Uncle Gwynn made it for me.”

  “Did he now?” I barely managed to keep my balance under Gwynn’s overwhelming hug. “And did he teach you to run about like a wild mountain lion and disgrace your grandfather?” Free from Gwynn’s grip when he went to greet Anders, I turned to welcome Maylen Stockrie, my brother’s constant companion for the past five years.

  “I think Emmy learned wild manners from you.” Gwynn’s dark brown eyes danced with merriment as he tugged at Emmy’s curls, tickling until she finally gave in and laughed. “But I am teaching her to creep up on unsuspecting victims, such as her mother, who still makes far too much noise in the forest.”

  “Nuisance. When will you ever grow up?”

  “Is my son bothering you again? Shall I punish him for troubling the queen’s Mage Protector?” My father’s gentle, bemused voice shattered the brittle restraints I’d placed on my emotions. Anders instinctively grabbed Emmy from my weakened grasp with a murmured loving promise and shoved the bewildered child into Maylen’s unquestioning arms. The moment Emmy vanished with Maylen, I turned for comfort in my father’s arms, a far cry from my hostility seven years earlier when Sernyn Keltie unexpectedly entered my life.

  “Bring Alex inside.” Gwynn’s mother and my stepmother, Anessa, appeared at the door to their low, sprawling cottage. “Now, Sernyn,” she commanded, taking maternal control of the situation.

  With a protective arm still around my shoulders, Father obeyed, guiding me to a well-worn favorite armchair, away from polite inquisitive villagers who may have noticed our noisy arrival. Anessa forced a steaming mug of cinnamon tea into my hands, holding her questions, and everyone else’s, until I’d settled down. My trembling hands were saved from scalding when Gwynn’s protective fingers closed over mine, steadying my grasp.

  The three of them, along with Maylen, were the family I’d long been denied, struggled against, and finally accepted with an open heart. For long years, I believed my father dead, until an innocent venture into the forest to understand my unconventional mage heritage brought me face-to-face with Sernyn Keltie. For two years, I’d hated the man, blaming him for my mother’s death. Elder Keltie, a mage as afraid of his own power as I’d been, had made my mother promise never to use her seamage talent when he was near. But Sernyn never admitted the truth to my mother, that he, too, was a mage, never suspecting they would create a child with unusual magical powers. When my mother was deep in labor with me, she couldn’t defend herself, never understanding what was happening to her fragile body.

  For a lifetime, I blamed myself, and then blamed Sernyn. It was a near miracle I’d found the courage and strength to bear my own child. And five years earlier, I declared a truce. I’d forgiven my father, taking his family into my heart and mind as fiercely as I’d fought to keep them away.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmured, shamefaced. “I promised myself I wouldn’t be weak and make a scene when I got here.”

  “If you cannot be vulnerable in front of your family, then we are of no use,” Gwynn scolded, his hands resting over my own, though they probably itched to tug at his still-misbehaving lock of hair.

  “Still, I shouldn’t fall apart in front of you.” I shot a crooked smile in my brother’s direction, trying to lighten his concern. “You’ll never let me forget. Worse, you’ll tattle on me to Rosanna, who’ll claim I might be human.”

  “True. But she will never believe it.”

  “Gwynn, leave her be.” My father broke into our banter, running a slender, sun-browned hand through his graying hair. He leaned forward, studying my face with care, as though he were a healer like his wife. “Tell us what has happened.”

  When all I did was sigh, unable to relate the horrifying tale, Anders stretched over to touch my cheek before making himself comfortable on the woven wool rug at my feet. “Someone mixed feyweed into our wine. Alex was the only one harmed,” he added, squeezing my fingers in reassurance. “It happened so fast, too fast.”

  Gwynn’s easy voice was fierce. “Who did this?”

  “We don’t know. I’m sure Elena will do whatever she can to find out.” Anders gratefully accepted a cup of tea from Anessa. “You know she won’t rest, not when her closest friend has been so grievously hurt.”

  My father kept his face on mine, though his question was directed at my husband. “Was Alex the only target?”

  “I don’t know. We were all sharing the same bottle.”

  “Is it possible one or more of the renegade mages you and Jackson captured five years ago escaped from their Spreebridge prison? Though the two women were out of their minds with madness, the lone man was lucid. Vengeance is something you are all too familiar with.” My father’s smile was sad as he placed a consoling hand on my arm.

  I shrugged, careful to sip the tea without spilling it. “It’s possible. But I thought the feyweed potion was a secret known only to the elders of Spreebridge. If the renegades knew how to make feyweed, and had the opportunity, it’s very possible they would do to us what we did to them. Knowing what it feels like, now, to lose my magic,” I admitted with bitterness and regret, “I wouldn’t blame them. It’s not something any mage should ever experience.”

  “It is also possible that Jackson is involved.” Gwynn’s huge brown eyes locked on mine, daring me to argue, challenging me to counter his words.

  Surprising my brother, I managed a wry grin at his handsome clean-shaven face, dangling a possibility in front of him. “Apparently, you’ve never forgiven Jackson for striking you all those years ago when he captured us.”

  “No, I have not.” Though Gwynn’s smile matched mine, his protective fury leaked out. “But that is not why I mentioned him, Alex. I have a sound reason that goes beyond my personal humiliation.”

  “And that is?”

  “Mage Tunney’s magic is identical to the rare magic you have.”

  “Had.”

  “Stop that.” Gwynn frowned in annoyance when I tried to be practical.

  The sooner everyone got used to the fact I was without mage talent, the better.

  “And do not forget it was Jackson’s idea to send the renegade mages back to Spreebridge for punishment and that he introduced us to feyweed to use against the rogue mages. He knows how to mix the potion.” When I started to protest, my brother held up a hand with uncharacteristic impatience. Rather than argue, I took another sip of tea before Anessa scolded me. “And yes, so does Anders, though you still do not know the contents.” When Gwynn shook his head, bemused at my refusal to know what herbs went into making feyweed, for fear that I’d use it indiscriminately, I grumbled something rude. Ignoring me, he continued his argument. “And there is another point to consider, Alex. The queen has not married Jackson yet, though she is so taken with him. They became lovers soon after they met, so why has she still not wed him?”

  Shrugging, I blinked at my brother, who was never this persistent and, in fact, had never broached this particular opinion with me. “I have no idea, though I’ve wondered, too.” Sipping his tea, Anders exchanged a thoughtful look with Gwynn, and then my father. “Stop that,” I scolded them. “Jackson’s never done anything to make us distrust him. Lords of the sea, Anders, he knocked the glass from your hand.”

  “Before he knocked it from yours.”

  “You were closer.”

  “Maybe.”

  “That makes no sense. If anything, your mage talent, which is still unique, is even more a threat than mine.” I lost patience and slammed my near-empty teacup o
n the carved wooden table and stood up. “Don’t forget that Elder Frontish, a mage from Spreebridge, may I remind you, was also in Ardenna when I drank the feyweed. It’s possible he was behind it.”

  “Alex.” My father caught the wool of my tunic sleeve and held me back, though I shook his hand from my arm. “Stop frowning, and hold still a moment. While we may be wrong with our suspicions, and I hope we are for Elena’s sake, we should keep an open mind.” He held my gaze, his voice even and unstressed, despite my anger. The fact that he so easily offered advice and criticism was testimony to the strides we’d made over the last five years. “Maybe, just maybe, we have been too trusting.”

  “You mean,” I growled, correctly interpreting his careful words, “maybe I’ve been too trusting.” When my father didn’t answer, I headed for the door to find my daughter. One hand resting on the wooden frame, I stopped and spun back to face him, aware of Anessa’s concern as she stood in silence behind her son. “I’ve never lived in constant fear, and I won’t start now. Besides,”—I gave my father a pained smile— “the damage has already been done.”

  “To you.” With eyes locked on mine, Sernyn pressed his point. “What if you were not the only target? Even Jackson may be a target, if we presume his innocence. Anders, then, may also be in danger.” My father shrugged; his expression eloquent. “That is why I caution you.”

  “Lords of the sea, but I hate you when you’re right.” Grumbling, I went out in search of Emmy.

  * * * *

  “What will you do?”

  Fastening Emmy’s wool cloak around her neck early the next morning, I pulled my daughter close, kissed her smooth forehead, and sent her outside to join her father. Gwynn had cornered me in the guest bedchamber at the back of my father’s cottage. “Go home, I suppose.”

  “That is not what I meant, and you know it.” Gwynn didn’t bother to disguise his irritation, which made me wonder why he was so prickly. His manner and temperament had always been more in line with the serenity exhibited by his parents. I was the contentious, cranky member of the family. To his credit, my father had never intimated I’d inherited that behavior from my mother.

  I sat back on my heels, braced against the bed, and matched my brother’s sober expression. “Years ago, when you were afraid I’d run away and that you’d never see me again, I told you it was quite all right to be angry with me. You haven’t been angry since, well, not really angry, but you’re furious now. And I’m not sure I like it, particularly since I don’t understand it.”

  “I am not angry with you.” Stubbornness crept into his voice. “But I want to know who was responsible. I am worried about you because—” Gwynn waved a rough hand in a futile gesture, at a loss, and looked away, finally resorting to a futile tug at the rogue lock of brown hair.

  “Because?” I prompted, crossing my arms, puzzled.

  Gwynn shrugged. “How can I explain it? Sometimes you are tough, Alex, stronger than all of us together. And sometimes I am afraid that with one wrong word, you will—” He hesitated, choosing his words with care as he faced me again. “You are fragile now, vulnerable, and I am frightened for you.”

  Lords of the sea, how had I ever survived my first twenty-five years without a younger brother? “I’m all right.” I stood up, muffling a groan of protest, and ruffled his thick hair.

  “Liar.”

  “That’s my line.”

  “Not this time. I told father I want to go to Port Alain for a little while.”

  “No. Besides,” I added as the immediate protest formed in his eyes, “what will Maylen do without you here?”

  My brother looked at me as though I was a mad woman, or a fool, possibly both. “She will be with me, of course.”

  “I don’t want you to come.”

  “Why not?”

  “What’s wrong with you?” I shouted, finally losing patience. “You’re never this argumentative. You always give in to me.”

  My brother crossed his arms in open defiance. “Why not?” Though his tone was more reasonable, it was no less stubborn.

  “I don’t want you to see me like this,” I whispered, blinking back tears. “I feel useless, powerless, flameblasted empty, Gwynn. And worse, I don’t know what mage talent Emmy has yet, though she’s inherited a wild mix of potential. I wanted to teach her, show her how to use it. My mother didn’t survive to teach me—” I couldn’t go on and turned away.

  “I told you,” Gwynn spoke in the same gentle, measured voice he inherited from my father, “there is nothing wrong in weeping in front of those who love you. Alex.” He edged closer. “From the moment I led you around our village five years ago to keep you out of trouble, knowing you for the half-sister I had never seen, I pledged to keep watch over you. I have been through adventures with you and will do so again. But for now, I just want to be in reach if you need me. Please do not fight me on this.” He tugged at my sleeve. “Please. It is important to me.”

  Wretched nuisance.

  I sighed with heavy drama, wiped tears away with the back of my hand, and turned to face him. “Well, I suppose Rosanna could use an extra hand to clean out the Barlow stables.”

  Chapter Two

  “Well, well, well.” Sarcasm dripped from its owner’s voice. “I can’t believe I managed to corner the ill-tempered seabeast in her dark lair.”

  Ignoring the comment and the speaker, I continued rummaging through the illustrated books I’d spread out on the schoolroom table. Delighted to be back in Port Alain, a short journey south from Glynnswood’s forest, I took refuge in my private sanctuary.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me.” When I tossed two books onto the left pile and slanted Rosanna Barlow a nasty look, she shrugged. “What did you expect me to think, young lady?” Jules’s mother, hair heavily gray-streaked, left her sentry position by the open doorway. “Well?”

  “Can you shut that door, please?” Just in time, I slapped a hand down on the papers primed to fly away as the wind kicked up outside. “Looks like a storm brewing.”

  Rosanna obeyed, and then came to perch on a low wooden stool opposite me and rested her chin on one plump hand. “Hmm, speaking of storms, I always thought that weather often matched a person’s mood.”

  “Listen, old seawitch—”

  “Now, Alex.” Rosanna raised one eyebrow, unfazed by my unflattering words. “You know better than to sweet talk me. It never works.” When I started to laugh, despite my reluctance to answer, she smiled. “Much better. Now, were you avoiding me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “One honest answer,” she mumbled under her breath. “Let’s see what else I can find out that Anders and Gwynn haven’t told me yet. Maylen’s a bit more close-mouthed and loyal to you, but I’ll eventually wear her down. All right, Alex.” Rosanna sat back on the stool to give me breathing space and crossed her arms. “How are you? Really? And no nonsense.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Liar.”

  “You sound like Gwynn. I am fine. Why doesn’t anyone believe me?” I asked in frustration, tossing three books onto the right pile to appear my activity really had a purpose. But Rosanna’s sudden visit caught me off guard, and the piles were no doubt mixed.

  “They all know you better. Alex, Alex, Alex.” Rosanna sighed, shaking her head in disapproval. “You’re not talking to Lauryn, who has far more patience for your round-about way of getting to the truth, or my daughter, Khrista, who might actually believe you if you said it with sufficient authority. You’re talking to me, the formidable Lady Barlow. I raised you, remember?”

  “How could I ever forget those years of cruel discipline?” At her sudden frown, my own sigh was loud and equally dramatic. “What do you want from me?”

  “The truth. That’s all I ever ask.”

  I could play that game, too. “You want me to be honest with you just like you’ve always been honest with me?”

  Scarlet with emotion, Rosanna defended herself. “Don’
t you dare throw any past white lies in my face. It’s old history.”

  “White lies?” I laughed, finding it difficult to keep sarcasm from my tone. “My father dead when I was barely a week old, for one thing. Let’s see, what else?”

  “All right. I was wrong, and Sernyn was wrong. But my intentions were good, and he had his reasons. You know that, or you should if you’d been paying attention for the last five years.” Rosanna’s sigh this time signaled her resignation to my contentious mood.

  I took pity on her. “Your intentions are always good.” As she appraised the subtle change in my tone, free of mockery, I went on. “What do you want me to say about what happened? I lived without magic for most of my life because I denied its existence. It frightened the breath from me. So I’ll learn to do it again.”

  “Not so easily.”

  “No,” I admitted, running a hand along the edge of a well-worn book. “But I have no choice. I can’t keep thinking about it or I’ll go mad. I feel lost. Lost, empty, and useless. Does that make you feel better? And worse, Rosanna, I’m worried someone else will be hurt because of me. I know,” I stopped the indignant protest that sprang to her lips. “It’s not rational, but it’s how I feel. I thought I knew what feyweed could do when I saw despair in the renegades’ eyes.” I glanced up at the older woman, not bothering to hide my own despair. “But to be frank, if I’d any idea how devastating it felt, I might not have allowed Jackson to punish them in such a way.”

  Rosanna played with the old duke’s signet ring. “I wish there was some way to make it better for you.”

  I shrugged, dismissing her worry. “It’ll pass. These things always do.”

  “Yes, of course,” she said, not bothering to argue. “But in the meanwhile, what will you do?” Rosanna rested her chin back on her hand, keeping a precarious balance on the low wooden stool.