“You sound like Gwynn again.”
“Yes, well. We’ve been chatting,” she said, and then added with a smirk, “while he’s been cleaning out the stables.”
As though she’d ever make him do such a thing. Having me do it, on the other hand, was an entirely different story.
“I’m sure you’ve enjoyed numerous chats,” I said dryly. “Anyway, since you’ve asked about my plans, I’m also sure you’ve thought about an answer.”
“You always misjudge me.”
Straightening the confused piles of books, I cleared the table of loose documents, waiting patiently, knowing I was right when Rosanna cleared her throat with great delicacy.
“You could, ah, well, travel north to Spreebridge.”
I’d thought of that on the journey back to Port Alain while Anders kept Emmy preoccupied with a story about wicked stepmothers.
“Whatever for?”
“To find out if there’s a way to reverse the effects of feyweed.”
I’d thought of that, too.
Rosanna kept her expression neutral. “And, ah, maybe find out who’s behind the attack if Spreebridge was involved, and, well, if there are any other targets.”
I’d thought of that, as well.
Rosanna tapped a finger in a sporadic rhythm on the scarred tabletop, waiting for my answer.
“I’m not interested.”
Standing, with a very unladylike oath about my lifelong stubbornness, Jules’s mother gave me a long, piercing look. “You’re not interested at the moment.” She sighed and turned away from me, heading toward the door. “I know better. It’s not like you to do nothing.”
“Go away.”
“We’ll see, Alex. We’ll see.”
Watching Rosanna depart, I waited until she was out of sight before taking a blank scrap of paper from the far end of the table. In silence, I held it in the sweaty palm of my hand and called on the fire and ice that had come so easily these past years. I waited in vain. I tried to concentrate, imagining the paper as the flame of a candle, or the drip of water from a pipe, or, even, as a puff of air. But the paper remained paper, and my gut held no fire and ice, held nothing but cold ash that was as bitter as the wind howling outside the schoolroom door. Crumpling the paper into a ball, I flung it across the room and out of my sight.
* * * *
“Elena!” Emmy squirmed like a slithery sea serpent in my arms until I set her down on the hard ground.
“Easy. Easy— Don’t run.”
Elena? She was holding court in Ardenna, wasn’t she? Obviously not. My queen was sitting on a stone bench, dark head bent in close, intimate conversation with my brother, a cozy little scene that set my instinct humming. At Emmy’s joyful shout, Elena glanced up barely in time to snatch the imp in her arms, settling Emmy on her lap with a warm hug.
“Don’t you have a kingdom to run?”
“Don’t you have children to teach?”
“I did this morning. What’s your excuse?”
“Queens don’t need an excuse, according to your husband. Besides, I left Brendan in Ardenna, allowing my heir the opportunity to see what he can sneak by me when I’m not there.” Dark blue eyes shone with amusement as Elena nudged Gwynn. “That’s what younger brothers do, cause trouble behind your back when you’re not there to stop them.”
“They do not.” Warring with high regard and affection for Elena, Gwynn’s indignation lasted only a brief moment. “Well, sometimes they do,” he added with reluctance, though a bright smile lit his face.
“All the time. And it’s disgraceful how that unsuspecting child adores you,” I complained to Elena, waving at my daughter, quietly content to sit on Elena’s lap, swinging her short legs with little regard for the authority of the person holding her.
“She doesn’t adore me. We’re just good friends.” Elena hugged my daughter close again. “And we don’t see each other often enough, do we?” When Emmy shook her head as though she’d participated in a delicate three-way trade negotiation between Tuldamoran, Meravan, and Spreebridge on behalf of the Crown Council of Mages, Elena chuckled.
“The child is a traitor,” I mumbled, taking a seat on the opposite bench. “Just like her father. I knew I should’ve booted him out of the cottage years ago.”
When Elena bent her head of jet-black hair to my daughter’s brown curls, wicked dark blue eyes met solemn seagray ones. “Does your mother always mutter to herself?”
Emmy nodded, after a cautious sidelong glance at me, and then smiled shyly as Elena laughed aloud.
“It’s all my brother’s fault, too. I should have kept him away until Emmy turned twenty-five. If not for Maylen curbing his trouble-making tendencies—” When Gwynn started to protest, I waved him quiet. “And lords of the sea know what lies and deceptions he’s told you just now.”
“Not one lie.” Gwynn stood, towering over me, making me aware of how tall he’d grown in the past few years. “Not even a tiny deception.” With a polite, affectionate nod to Elena, a wink at Emmy, and a ridiculous childish face at me, Gwynn vanished down the garden path, heading back to the manor.
“Fool.”
“Yes, all of them.” Elena shifted my daughter to her other leg. “But we love them, anyway. And without Anders,” —she stroked Emmy’s soft, rosy cheek with unaccustomed tenderness— “you wouldn’t have this exquisite and sweet-hearted child.”
“Who obviously doesn’t take after either Anders or me,” I said lightly, not sure of Elena’s subtle mood shift or why she was visiting, although I had some ideas.
“You’re wrong, old friend. She has the best of both of you, though Anders has more favorable traits.” Despite her playfulness, Elena’s tone was wistful.
“You can have your own little seabeast, you know.” When Elena smiled, I paused to think about my next words. For all the secrets we’d shared, I couldn’t read her expression. Gwynn’s disturbing question some days earlier came to mind. “You’re wildly in love with Jackson, as even Elder Frontish must know by now after your scandalous, decadent behavior in front of the poor man,” I hedged, trying on a feeble smile, “yet—” I waved a hand in the air, pretending to search for the right word, which didn’t fool Elena.
“Why haven’t I married him?” She swiftly guarded her expression, a thick wall threatening to crash down between us.
“I don’t mean to pry.”
“Sure, you do, Alex. But why shouldn’t you?” Elena’s laugh, though earnest, was uneasy. “I’m always pushing you for explanations when you’re being evasive.”
“As you are now.”
“I suppose.”
“Well, then, why not?” Assuming she’d just given me approval to badger her, I watched Elena’s face with care, not because I suspected Jackson of involvement in the feyweed incident but because I was suddenly, inexplicably, fretting about Elena.
Thin shoulders shrugged beneath her wool cloak as she closed her eyes to the sunlight. “I don’t know. No, Alex.” She shook her head slowly, her voice soft and uncertain. “That’s not entirely true.”
And I knew, without asking, what Elena would say. Yet I needed to hear her speak the words aloud, so that maybe, somehow, I could help her slide past the pain destined to haunt her peace of mind.
“Because of Erich?”
I trod with delicacy. The heartache had never fully healed when her lover, the former Duke of Barrow’s Pass, allied himself five years ago with Firemage Ravess to topple Elena from the throne. That same lover, whom I’d pushed into a compromising situation to reveal his treachery, fell into a trap that ended with Elena executing him in cold blood.
“Hmm.”
“Jackson is a different animal. Erich was a traitor.”
Elena met my gaze. “Though I’d had warning, I never fully acknowledged that ugly truth until the end, until it was almost too late.”
“Yes, but we all saw it earlier without our hearts blinding us to the truth. And none of us see ugliness in Jackson,” I s
aid with what I hoped was sufficient persuasion, pushing Gwynn’s disturbing speculation from my head. “He’s as wild about you as you are about him. Lords of the sea, he can’t keep his hands off you, even when a distinguished elder mage from Spreebridge is visiting.”
Elena’s voice was pitched low, not responding to my tease. She toyed with Emmy’s curls, the child solemn and content. “I’m afraid, Alex, afraid to take that next serious step that binds us together.”
“So was I.”
“And look what you now have.” She kissed the top of my daughter’s head and closed her eyes. “I think Jackson’s afraid, too. Marrying me makes him Prince of Tuldamoran. I’m not sure he wants the responsibility and status.”
“Does he ever press you on the subject?”
“No.” She shook her head, studying me. “In fact,” —she laughed with a trace of bitterness— “we speak freely of everything under the sun but where our relationship is heading.”
“Maybe you should.”
Her laugh this time was genuine and relaxed. “From what Anders tells me, you’re a fine one to lecture.”
“That son of— Hmm.” I coughed with exaggerated delicacy at Emmy’s sudden wide-eyed look. “Anders is more loyal to you than to me. Someday, when Emmy’s not looking,” —I winked at my daughter— “I’m going to throw him out and send him to you.” Thoughtful, I tucked my legs beneath me and settled my chin in my hand. “Do you know, since Emmy’s birth, you haven’t barged into our cottage in the middle of the night? It’s distressing to have these civilized daytime conversations. It loses something essential to be sitting in Rosanna’s gardens on a chilly afternoon when I ask you why you’re in Port Alain.”
Elena settled the ends of her cloak around my daughter’s wool-clad legs as a light breeze stirred her hair. “I was wondering when you’d get around to that.”
“Well?”
“I was worried about you.”
“You have more than enough willing spies and conspirators in Rosanna’s manor. Surely they’ve been sending you detailed reports,” I complained, sounding no older than my daughter, who never once in her short life had ever whined.
“True.” Scratching her head in an absent-minded gesture, Elena narrowed her eyes. “And I didn’t like what I was hearing.”
“I’m all right.”
“You keep saying that. But you can’t tolerate being near anyone who openly uses magic or discusses it,” she challenged, daring me to contradict her truthful words.
“What else have they told you?”
“That you’re prone to weep at a moment’s notice, somewhat more contentious than usual, if that’s possible.” She tossed a grin my way. “And withdrawn more times than not.”
Well, yes, that was pretty accurate.
“Frankly, Alex,” she continued, ignoring my growing pout, “it’s a miracle they haven’t sent you off on an adventure.”
“Are you planning to send me off on an insignificant diplomatic mission?” When her only answer was a low growl, I said, “All right. I admit I haven’t been my usual delightful self, but I’m not that bad.”
“I don’t believe you.” Elena lowered her voice as Emmy drifted off to sleep, so content in Elena’s arms I was tempted to send her to Ardenna for Elena’s sake.
“Listen,” I whispered with a heavy sigh, “I don’t know what they expect me to do. For the lords’ sake, Elena, do you know how many times I try to feel the magic and use it or, worse, forget it’s gone?” I leaned forward, almost losing my balance on the chilled bench. “More times than I care to remember. And each time, it hurts all over again.”
“I’m so sorry.” Elena kept her gaze fixed on mine. “I wish I could give you an easy answer. Elder Frontish said he’ll investigate the matter in Spreebridge, so I hope he finds something useful. In the meantime, Jackson had word from his mentor, Westin Harlowe.”
“Wasn’t he the one who sponsored Jackson as an elder and allowed him to join the governing council up in Derbarry?”
“Yes. Elder Harlowe confirmed the three renegade mages are still safely imprisoned.” Her expression was grave as she wrapped a fallen end of cloak around Emmy’s leg. “Apart from you, Alex, we don’t know if there are any other targets.” When I turned my face away, Elena poked my knee. “What?”
“I was wondering,” I chose my words with care, “when you’ll make a royal proclamation to your subjects that your fierce Mage Protector can’t protect you. A mage without magic is useless. You may as well save the taxpayers’ money.”
“I haven’t said anything, and I don’t plan to. Lords of the sea, Alex.” Blue eyes flashed in annoyance. “You’re not useless, though some days I think you might be witless. You’re my friend, which you often forget.”
“True, but I’m also your Mage Protector. Wait, Elena, let me think for a moment.” I got to my feet and paced away from her bench and then back in her direction until she grabbed my arm to hold me still.
“About what?”
“About how to convince you I’m serious. I can no longer be your Mage Protector. Face it, the Crown Council of Mages would be horrified and scandalized to know that you still consider me in that role. That—”
“You’re giving me a headache. Whom I choose to appoint to the role of Mage Protector is my privilege. The Crown Council needn’t bother itself with that information.” She glared when I started to speak, effectively shutting me up. “Their role is to monitor and guide the local Mage Councils throughout Tuldamoran and ensure everyone is using their mage talent for the good of their people. Although,” she continued, narrowing her eyes when I tried to sneak in a word, “they’re also supposed to counsel the throne on mage-related matters. I choose to use my Mage Protector for that purpose. In fact—”
“In fact,” I suggested, cursing my brother for his suspicion, “you could and should declare Jackson as your new Mage Protector since his magic is identical to mine. Or what mine was.”
“Stop that, Alex.”
“Well, if he doesn’t want to be Prince,” I said amiably, not fooling Elena, “it’s a respectable position he could fill. Besides, I’d feel better, knowing he was acting in my place.”
“I hate to admit it, but you’re right about these daytime visits.” Annoyed, Elena cradled Emmy in her arms as she stood up. “Apparently, you’re more civilized and reasonable in the middle of the night.”
I flashed Elena a disarming smile. “That’s why Anders married me.”
Chapter Three
“Is that the Dunneal royal seal?” Head cocked to the side, Anders peeked with open curiosity at the note I’d just started to read, some weeks later, in the Seaman’s Berth. “You carried it into town without opening it? Or even mentioning it? I’m impressed.”
“I have patience.” I refused to admit, even to my husband, the bad feeling I harbored about the contents and procrastinated until I had some ale in my belly.
“I love you more than anything, Alex, but honest? You have as little patience as your dear departed mother, which was” —Anders grinned as I craned my neck to look at him— “practically nonexistent.”
“According to my father, Emila Daine Keltie had no faults.” Ignoring my husband’s smirk, I waved the note and complained, “Your queen was too lazy to deliver it herself.” I signaled Chester, the bartender and owner of the establishment, whose young daughter was a firemage. “Another ale, please?”
“Another?” Anders sank back against the seat. “You think it’s bad news.” Though I continued to read, I laughed in appreciation, prompting a nudge in my ribs. “Well?”
“Be patient. I just started reading.”
“You’re too slow.”
“All the better to savor bad news.”
“Ah. Then it is bad.”
“Flameblast it,” I grumbled, immediately apologetic as the innkeeper set two mugs of ale on the scarred table, raising his bushy eyebrows. “I’m not cursing you, Chester. It’s my husband, who won’t let me read in peac
e.”
“Better you than me.” Chester grinned at Anders, tossing over his retreating shoulder. “Lords know, I don’t want Alex bewitching me into a goat.”
“Gee, thanks.” Cool seagray eyes tried their best to look contrite as Anders blinked at me. I wasn’t convinced of his innocence or apology, but he did sit obedient and quiet, sipping the foam from his mug, until I started to frown.
I didn’t look up when he tugged at my tunic sleeve, couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “There’s no way to reverse the effects of feyweed,” I explained, trying hard to keep disappointment out of my voice.
“Yet.” When I refused to look up, he repeated with more emphasis, “Yet, Alex.”
“You said that already. Be original.”
Anders raked a hand through his gray-streaked black hair and exhaled noisily. “Just because there’s no antidote now doesn’t mean there won’t be.”
Not wanting to arouse Chester’s suspicion, since I’d agreed to keep my loss a secret for the moment, even though I’d trust the innkeeper with my life, I blinked to fight back the tears. “If I believe there’s no hope,” I whispered, “I won’t be disappointed.”
“That’s the coward’s way to think.”
“Then maybe I’m a coward.”
When I met Anders’s stare with a valiant effort at defiance, he met it with an unreadable expression. “Maybe you are.”
Without taking the bait, I looked away. “If the surviving renegades are still locked away, and if they’re involved at all, so is someone on the outside. They must have had help particularly since only one of them is lucid enough to even plan vengeance.”
“Someone in authority.” Anders seemed thoughtful when I looked up. “How trustworthy is Jackson’s mentor, Westin Harlowe?”
I smacked his hand. “You sound like my brother.”
“I’m not implying anything about Jackson’s innocence or guilt,” Anders said evenly, “only his mentor, who happens to be a Spreebridge elder and mage. Just like” —he sipped the ale, wiping foam from his lips with a finger— “Derek Frontish.”
“I forgot that.”
Mage Evolution (Book 3) Page 3