Mage Evolution (Book 3)

by Virginia G. McMorrow

  Maylen gasped at my side. “We must follow him.”

  “Yes. I should think so. Come on.” Anders slanted me a bleak look as he shouldered his heavy pack.

  I sighed and followed after, ill at heart, to trail Jackson Tunney.

  Chapter Six

  Following Jackson at a discreet distance, my heart heavy with dread and foreboding, I pushed aside all thoughts of Elena and speculation about why Jackson was this far north. Was it simple chance that made our paths cross again? Or were the lords of the elements more active in their interference than anyone really imagined? Two miles down a meandering road that had the feel of a very drunken road builder, Jackson came to a halt in front of a neat, though weathered, cottage. Rapping smartly on the wooden door, the queen’s lover glanced from side to side, doing nothing to improve my mood. Even from our distance, I could see his slender form taut with some visible emotion.

  Before I could make the suggestion, Maylen shot me a quick grin. “I will go. After all,” she added, “I am quieter than you, Mage Protector, no offense.”

  “I hate when you spend time with Anders and Gwynn.” As Maylen crouched to dart across the road, I grabbed the young woman’s cloak. “Be careful.”

  With a nod, she was gone to eavesdrop the moment Jackson slipped inside the small building. Anders stayed close beside me, both of us hidden in the late afternoon shadows, while we watched and waited for what seemed an eternity, until Maylen returned.

  “It seems Jackson has lost his magic.” The scout’s expression held none of its usual mockery or dry humor as she whispered the surprising news.

  Huddled in my cloak against the damp chill, I blinked. “What? How?” Before she could answer, I asked a more important question. “Do you think he’s telling the truth?”

  “Why wouldn’t he?” Anders looked puzzled.

  “Jackson might somehow know we’re here. Maybe someone recognized us on the riverboat or when we arrived in Derbarry. Or,” I added, thinking out loud and trying to solve the puzzle, “he might be trying to fool whoever he’s telling.”

  “The cottage belongs to Westin Harlowe, Jackson’s mentor.” Maylen held my gaze as she pulled the edges of her coarse woolen cloak around her shoulders when the wind picked up. “I think he was telling the truth to Elder Harlowe. Another thing to consider, Alex, is that Jackson—” She looked past Anders, pressed her lips together, and turned back to face me. “He seemed truly upset, claiming someone in Ardenna tricked him into drinking feyweed.”

  “What was Harlowe’s reaction?” When Maylen frowned as dry leaves scattered in the wind, I pressed her for an answer. “What is it?”

  The young woman shook her head. “I could not read his expression. Elder Harlowe was sympathetic, surely, but not given to much open emotion. But that says nothing, Alex,” —she offered a small smile— “because Spreebridge people are more reserved than, well, people in Tuldamoran, especially those who live in Port Alain.”

  “Including Glynnswood? Or do you put yourself in the more polite, restrained category of your northern neighbors?” I teased back, watching the younger woman’s furtive glance at Anders, trying to figure out what was bothering her when she didn’t respond to my jest. “What else, Maylen? There’s something you’re not telling us.”

  “Elder Harlowe sent Jackson off to sleep, explaining that tomorrow—” Maylen bit her lip, while I waited, fighting the temptation to pull the words from her mouth. “Alex, he plans to take Jackson to visit Kimmer Frehan tomorrow.”

  “Kimmer— Lords of the sea, what mess have we gotten tangled in?” I sighed, knowing nothing much would make sense until I had peace and quiet to sort it all out. “I’ll take first watch. I can’t sleep just yet.” I shrugged. “And tomorrow we’ll just tag along. At least, we won’t have to ask for directions.”

  * * * *

  Tailing Jackson and his mentor for several miles in broad and brilliant daylight was a challenge. For the hundred thousandth time, I wondered why mages were blessed with marvelous ability but not invisibility. Was that too much to ask? We tried our best to stay as close as possible to catch any loud conversation, as impossible as that was for spies darting constantly behind trees and avoiding undergrowth along the sides of the road. I was thankful for Maylen, who made up for the numerous mistakes Anders and I made.

  We stopped a short distance from Kimmer Frehan’s home, a small building that appealed to my sense of what home should be. Not so very different from our cottage in the woods back in Port Alain, though a bit larger. As Anders and I settled back to let the expert scout ply her trade, Maylen scooted ahead with enviable stealth.

  I guessed that the woman who opened the door was Elder Frehan, judging from my father’s warm, though decades-old, description. Standing in the bright sunlight, she greeted Harlowe as an old friend and Jackson with a reserved, but welcoming manner. Tall and slender, she wore her hair, blonde streaked with silver, unbound. Falling past her shoulders, the long strands caught the sunlight’s brilliance. It wasn’t hard to imagine her thirty years younger, or understand why my father lingered awhile in her company, despite his responsibilities in Glynnswood.

  And despite me.

  I kept my thoughts to myself, though Anders gave me an odd look when I sighed.

  When Kimmer ushered her guests inside, Maylen edged closer, cautious and discreet. Anders and I watched and waited, impatient to find out what was being discussed. My imagination was wild with speculation when our scout returned some time later. Maylen’s expression showed clear confusion, but we held our questions until Jackson and Westin departed. Only then, when we moved silently to a hidden thicket back from the road that still provided an unobstructed view of the cottage, did I shake Maylen gently to grab her distracted attention.

  “What is it?”

  Maylen scratched her head, looked at me, then at the cottage, and back at me again. “There was a man inside—” She stopped, rubbed her eyes, and hugged her knees to her chest. Though all that activity was far too much fidgeting for Maylen Stockrie, I waited, with patience this time, despite the loud clamor of instinct. “Elders Frehan and Harlowe seem to be on friendly terms,” she said, sheepishly aware of my restraint. “She knows Jackson, but I do not think she knows him well. They spoke of trouble in the elder council in Spreebridge once Jackson explained what happened to him and to—” Maylen glanced at me then away, “to others. Jackson did not mention your name, Alex, only that other mages in Tuldamoran had been similarly harmed.”

  Anders tapped his fingers against his leg. “Did they seem surprised?”

  “Yes. Jackson had not told Westin Harlowe about the others.” At my questioning look, she added, “Perhaps he was too weary last night.”

  I yawned, barely covering my mouth. “Sorry. I can understand that, although it doesn’t make too much sense to leave out that kind of information. And?”

  Maylen gave me a cautious grin, still uneasy, and I couldn’t figure out why. “They were both horrified. Even Elder Harlowe’s expression, this time, was clear.”

  “And the trouble they spoke about?”

  “I am not certain what the trouble is.” Smoothing her braid, and then her cloak, Maylen caught her restless actions and brought them to a halt before I did. “But that is how I knew there was someone else in the cottage. A man, Alex.” The scout scrutinized every single crushed blade of grass between her boots, avoiding my eyes.

  I didn’t know where this discussion was heading, but I knew my father was involved somehow.

  Maylen’s blatant reluctance spoke volumes. “The other man— He was young, Alex. He mentioned trouble in the elder council, something that did not seem to surprise either Elder Frehan or Elder Harlowe. I would guess it is because they are both involved in council politics and know what is going on.”

  I knew I should have stayed in Port Alain and played games with my daughter. “They must have given some kind of hint about the situation.”

  Maylen shrugged, entranced by a particular b
lade of grass that clung to her boot heel. “There seems to be a power struggle. Elder Frontish is involved, so they claim. Kimmer Frehan admitted that her son, Sloane, supported Derek Frontish, which troubled her.”

  “Sloane is the other person who was there?”

  “Ah, no. There was another young man, who said that Derek Frontish was a threat to the stability of the Spreebridge council.”

  “There go Elena’s plans for a trouble-free trade relationship.” I rubbed my bleary eyes, dreaming wistfully of a steaming hot bath and soft bed. “All right. Three questions leap to my confused, tired, and hungry mind. Is there a connection between their council trouble and our feyweed trouble? Who is the other young man in Kimmer Frehan’s house? And last, do we trust any of them?” I leaned against Anders’s warm body, thinking hard.

  Anders wrapped his arm around my shoulders and drew me closer. “To your first question, I’m inclined to think the answer is yes. Derek Frontish, the supposed senior elder from Spreebridge, was in Ardenna when you drank the feyweed potion. So I think we need to be suspicious. As to your third question,” —he ignored my raised brow when he skipped to the last question— “if we assume that Elder Frontish means trouble and believe that Jackson is innocent, I think we can trust them to a point. We may have to confront Jackson back in Ardenna, on our own turf. I just don’t know. If we talk to Kimmer Frehan, we needn’t tell her everything unless we trust her. Your instinct is usually sharp, and Sernyn hasn’t mentioned any reason not to trust her. So we’ll take a calculated risk, all right?”

  “What about my second question?”

  “Ask Maylen.” Anders removed his arm from my shoulder and stretched, doing a fair imitation of someone who wasn’t the least bit interested. But I knew better.

  During our little discussion, the young woman in question had been busy destroying the grass at her feet as we turned to look at her.

  “I do not know who he is.” Her expression was bland, expressionless, and evasive. In other words, clear as glass.

  Flameblast my father.

  “All right.” I hugged my knees close to my chest and rested my chin on top of them. “Who do you think he is? Be honest.”

  “Alex—”

  “It’s all right, Maylen. I have a very open mind. Go on.”

  Anxiety flashed across her young face as she glanced up and sighed in resignation. “He looks a little like you, Alex, and a little like Gwynn. And,” she added, poised to flee at the merest hint of trouble from me, “a lot like your father.”

  I shut my eyes tight and clenched my fist, banging it softly against my leg.

  “Maybe he didn’t know,” Anders suggested, tugging at a strand of my curls. “Give him a chance.”

  “Why?” I demanded, opening my eyes to snarl at my husband.

  Anders stole a furtive look at Maylen and winked, before turning to me. “If Sernyn didn’t know, then no harm’s done. But if he did, Gwynn will have a chance to beat him senseless.”

  “Remind me” —I punched Anders in the arm— “to ask my father when we get home where else he’s traveled. Lords of the sea know where else I have kin.”

  Chapter Seven

  Clear blue eyes studied my face with polite intensity before cautiously appraising Anders and Maylen, and then returning to me. Kimmer Frehan recognized me before I’d uttered a sound. “You are Sernyn Keltie’s daughter.”

  “There are quite a few days when I wish I wasn’t his daughter,” I muttered, jumping as Anders discreetly pinched my backside. “Yes. Yes, I am.” Her eyes strayed back to Anders, who met her gaze with infuriating calmness. “My husband, Anders Perrin.”

  “Crownmage.” Kimmer nodded with respect as I introduced Maylen and waved us all inside her warm cottage, graciously restraining her curiosity. “Alexandra. No,” she corrected herself with a smile before I could snarl. “Alex. Is that right?”

  “Yes. Listen, Elder Frehan, I’m sorry we didn’t send word. It’s rude to just show up on your doorstep.” Gratefully accepting a glass of cool wine, I discreetly sniffed the contents to be sure there was no taint of feyweed when she reached for another glass, and then took a sip and raised a brow in feigned surprise, remembering Maylen’s words about smuggling across the border. “Marain Valley?”

  “The same.” She smiled in appreciation, offering a glass to Anders and Maylen before pouring one for herself. “Is there any other that can match its quality?”

  “Not to my taste, no.” Eying Anders to warn him that it was safe, I took another small sip and leaned back against the pillows stuffed behind me. “I didn’t know it was traded north of the border.”

  Her smile intensified. “There are ways.”

  “Ah. Well, understandable, under the circumstances. But again, I’m sorry—”

  Kimmer raised a hand to stop my apology. “Sernyn’s daughter is always welcome here, as is he, though I have not seen my friend in many years.” Blue eyes narrowed in concern. “Is your father ill?”

  “No, he’s as strong as a seabeast,” I reassured her, pushing aside all thoughts of feyweed and our mission as curiosity took over. “And sends his warmest regards.”

  The Spreebridge woman flashed a smile that was filled with open affection, shedding years from her face. Easy to see how my father found comfort in her arms so long ago, as well as honest friendship. “Your stepmother? She is well? And Gwynn?”

  I matched her smile. “Anessa suffers only from the presence of my father and her son, both of whom drive her to distraction. As for Gwynn,” —I gestured in Maylen’s direction— “she keeps close watch over him.”

  “Indeed.” Kimmer sipped her wine as she reappraised Maylen. Turning again to me, she added, “You have a daughter.”

  “A little minx.”

  “She’s no such thing.” Anders elbowed me without bothering to be discreet.

  Laughing, Kimmer added her own opinion. “According to Sernyn, she is perfect. I would guess that is her father’s opinion, too.”

  “Sernyn tends to be a typical grandfather, thinking the world revolves around his granddaughter. As for my husband—”

  My words stopped cold as a young man rushed in from a back room at the far end of the cottage. A young man who looked, well, a little like me and a little like Gwynn and a lot like Sernyn Keltie. I studied the newcomer, roughly my age, with avid interest. Taller than both Gwynn and me, he shared our dark Keltie hair, as well as Gwynn’s deep brown eyes. Maylen exchanged a furtive glance with me.

  “Your pardon, Mother.” The young man flushed bright red. “I did not know you had visitors.”

  “My son, Corey,” Kimmer said evenly, taking careful note of my silent exchange with Maylen as she inclined her head in our direction. “Corey, our visitors are kin of an old and dear friend I have not seen in many long years.” Giving only our first names, she concealed whatever thoughts were running through her head. Well, yes and no. Her tight grip on the wine glass threatened to shatter the crystal, and I was glad to see Elder Frehan wasn’t quite as sure of herself as I’d originally thought.

  Corey nodded with absent courtesy and excused himself with a rushed, though genuine, apology, scrambling out the cottage door. Kimmer watched his departure, undisguised affection in her eyes, which she then focused on me. It was obvious she knew I was aware of his parentage.

  I cleared my throat and gestured in the direction Corey had gone. “Handsome young man.” Keeping my tone exquisitely neutral as I’d learned from years of being on the receiving end of Rosanna’s blandness, I took a sip of wine. “Is he always so, ah, rushed?”

  “Only when he is late.” Kimmer matched my tone. “And today, he is very late. In fact, I thought he had already left.” She kept those clear blue eyes fixed on mine as I reached for my glass again and took a sip. “He teaches the village children.”

  I choked on my wine. Anders patted my back until I waved him away, but not before I caught the mischief in his eyes as he handed me a linen handkerchief to dab at the wine spl
attered across my dark tunic.

  “Shall I get some water?” Kimmer met my gaze with an odd expression in her eyes, part mischief, part concern, and, damn my father, part fear. When I shook my head, she said quietly, “Your father does not know about Corey.” When I stayed silent, uncertain how to respond, she clenched and unclenched the fist she held on her lap. “Sernyn was suffering enough guilt about leaving you behind, Alex. I could not add to his burden.”

  Burden? Is that what I was to him?

  Before she could read the reaction on my face, I pushed the bitterness aside with effort. “Does Corey know about Sernyn?”

  “No, Alex. My son believes his father dead—” At my involuntary movement, in spite of the tight restraint I’d placed on my emotions, her eyes softened. “Sernyn wrote to me some years back and told me how you hated him when you encountered him so unexpectedly in the forest. I could not do that to myself. I— Alex, I did not have the courage.” Gathering her resources, Kimmer shrugged with gentle grace in calm acceptance of a decision she’d made so long ago. “If I lost Corey’s affection—”

  “Don’t you think Corey has a right to know? My father, too?” I couldn’t keep the heat from my voice.

  “It’s not your affair.”

  When Anders gripped my arm with subtle pressure, I flung him away. “Corey’s my half-brother. Just like Gwynn. How can you look at Gwynn and me and then tell me Corey isn’t my affair?”

  Anders took my face in his hands. “Because he’s not. It’s different. Elder Frehan made that decision long ago. Judging from the Keltie blood that runs through your veins, I’d say she runs a grave risk by telling Corey the truth at this point in his life.”

  I despised Anders when he was right. Dragging my eyes away from his, I turned back to face our hostess.

  “I have another son, Sloane.” With a grateful look at Anders for taking her part, she added, “His father, my husband, died only recently. My sons are several years apart, Alex. I could not pretend Sloane’s father was Corey’s, though they are separated by more than just age.” She managed a cautious smile. “Corey could easily fit the Keltie name, but not Sloane. He is ambitious for power without responsibility, a follower in search of those who can give him that power. He supports some of our more outspoken elders who crave control of the elder council without thought of the damage they will inflict.” Abruptly, she stopped talking and poured herself another glass of wine. “I am sorry. Those are my troubles. It was thoughtless of me to go on so. You do not need to hear all that.”