Mage Evolution (Book 3)

by Virginia G. McMorrow

  Elena placed a restraining hand on my arm. “We are in public, Mage Protector.” She used my title to enforce her authority, but her eyes were locked on the foreigner’s face. “Perhaps Elder Frontish can explain his words better.”

  “I am sorry to say, your majesty, Jackson was a rogue mage in Spreebridge before ever coming to Tuldamoran. His eye is set on one thing only, your throne, and—”

  “If that’s true—”

  “Let him speak, Alex,” Elena said, edging closer to me. “Let our guest say what I expect he will say.”

  Elder Frontish smiled as though Elena were a star pupil. “Your majesty is wise indeed. To answer the Mage Protector’s query, my words are simply this—If it is true, then why has Jackson not pressed you for marriage? I can assure you, his reluctance is no more than an act. The word in Spreebridge” —he looked with apology at Elena— “is that he is playing you for a fool. Westin took Jackson under his wing as a protégé. He dare not reveal his vast disappointment, not yet. Jackson seeks to undermine your throne, but he is biding his time, knowing how cautious you would be after your hurtful betrayal by Erich Harwoode. Though he may be treacherous, your majesty, Jackson is no fool.”

  I was incensed, and didn’t need to play act. “This news is how you greet the queen of Tuldamoran? With poisonous words and—”

  “Alex.” Elena’s smile was full of sorrow as she met my gaze. If I didn’t know better, I would have believed her emotion was true. “Elder Frontish brings warning of something I have suspected for some time. And you, my fierce and devoted Mage Protector, missed the signs. I don’t blame you. I blame the feyweed that poisoned your mage talent and took your mind away from matters around you, locking you inside the prison of your own sorrow. So you see, Elder Frontish,” Elena entreated the man, “why I am desperate for an antidote. I am vulnerable, as is my crown. But not” —she slid a glance at Jackson, who was chatting with Westin— “without resources. My thanks, Elder Frontish. I am in your debt, and I promise you, that debt shall be repaid.”

  * * * *

  “Of all the things he might have said,” I growled, too busy pacing the length and breadth of the parlor to pay attention to my friends’ silent exchange, “that was certainly not it.”

  “I must thank you for defending me.” Jackson smiled, trying to deflect my still-hot anger at the elder. “I understand you were fierce.”

  “I could have strangled him.”

  “That was clear. Thank you for superb playacting, Alex, in light of the fact Derek tossed us that new little element of surprise. If you’ll hold still for just a moment, I might be able to hand you a glass of wine.” Elena grinned as I stopped in my tracks and turned around, grabbing the glass from her outstretched hand. “In fact, I think we all did rather well. Though I’m sorry about Westin.” She went to Jackson’s side and caressed his cheek. “Suspicion is one thing, knowledge a very different matter, as I’ve come to know firsthand. Alex, do we still intend to switch the crates tonight?”

  “I don’t see why not. The sooner we get our hands on the feyweed, the safer I’ll feel.” I sipped the wine, staring out the window, where my father was tossing a ball with Emmy and Linsey in the garden.

  “Under the circumstances, now Derek has accused Jackson of betrayal, would it help if I pretend to have an argument with him? It would allow Jackson to give you a hand tonight and explain his absence at the dinner,” she explained when I turned back to face her.

  “Sure. In fact, it would explain my absence, too.”

  “How?”

  “Well, since I don’t believe a word Elder Frontish said, I want to keep an eye on Jackson myself. Right?”

  “Excellent, yes.” Elena brushed a strand of hair from her eyes that now held a bright glimmer of impish plotting. “Anders will be more agreeable than you, anyway.”

  “Not fair. He gets all the easy jobs.”

  “That’s because” —Elena shrugged— “Anders isn’t my Mage Protector.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  With one last lingering look at the glowing lamplight within the manor on the Hill, I turned my back on the festivities and gathered Maylen, Gwynn, and Jackson in the darkening shadows. We headed down the path that cut through the forest past my cottage, walking in companionable silence, until we reached the outskirts of Port Alain. Maylen ducked into the bushes and returned a few moments later with a handful of my father’s scouts, woven rope coiled around their shoulders beneath their dark cloaks. Still silent, we split into pairs, Gwynn with me, and Maylen with Jackson, dividing our magic. Reaching the Seaman’s Berth, Jackson and Maylen went inside.

  Watching from a short distance away beside the seawall, I waited with my brother until Maylen signaled us from the roof of the building, where the two had a clear view of the Stoutheart, rocking in its berth with a soothing motion. The young woman’s job was to protect Jackson while he wielded his magic, as Gwynn would protect me, should either of us be discovered. I spied Corey a block away, with his well-chosen whores paid in advance from the queen’s treasury, some of them carrying a bonus of ale and wine with which to entertain the sailors and keep their senses fully occupied. When the small group passed within earshot of our position, I was barely able to keep a straight face when my pest of a brother nudged me at a choice comment that had to have poor Corey’s skin flaming.

  “Stop that.”

  “I just wished to be sure you heard it,” Gwynn whispered in my ear, “so that you can tattle to his mother.”

  “I’m going to tattle to your mother if you don’t behave.”

  We watched in silence as they approached the ship. Breaking away from the group, a bosomy blonde, whose chest was not securely contained within her half-laced tunic, glanced up at the wide-eyed sailor on watch. “Welcome to Port Alain, my handsome lad. Care to come down and join us for a little fun and excitement? A special gift from your hosts here in town.”

  “Who coached her?” I murmured to Gwynn. “Do whores really talk like that? About fun and excitement?”

  “I would not know.” Gwynn’s handsome face was neutral, though he couldn’t resist allowing a tiny smile to escape. “Though Corey might.”

  “I cannot leave my post,” the sailor answered, regret evident on his weathered face. “But—” He glanced over his shoulder as a fellow crewman came by and whispered in his ear. “As our captain and his honored passengers are off visiting with the nobility up at the manor for a few hours, if you and your lady friends would care to come aboard—”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” The blonde smiled, leading her girls briskly up the gangplank as though she were an experienced seaman, and guided the sailors aft, away from the bridge. Once they’d all boarded, Corey disappeared into the shadows to wait for us.

  “Men,” I pronounced, keeping my voice low, knowing how it carried near water, “are so simple and easily led.”

  “And women are not?” Gwynn whispered back. “Look how Maylen believed me about the coins I lost.”

  “She’s in love with you, though I don’t see why.” I elbowed him in the ribs. “But this— I’m not talking about love. I’m talking about lust. And besides, wait until Father hears about your deception. You didn’t win that wager fairly.”

  “Alex, please. That man scolds me like a child, even when I am innocent.”

  “You’re never innocent. Hush—” I raised my hand to stop our banter and listen to the festivities on board and watch the unfolding drama. “Those women are good, I must say. Look at them, leading the sailors all aft like stupid sheep. Ah, there. The blonde just waved to Corey that she has things under control. That’s our signal.”

  Gwynn dogged my muffled footsteps as we approached the Stoutheart, a light fog drifting along with us, compliments of Jackson, who changed the moist air to cloud. As my father’s scouts emerged from their hiding places, Corey stepped into view. I craned my neck upward to be sure Jackson had created the light barrier on board the ship, transforming air to a thin layer of ear
th, hidden in the fog, blocking the view of the bridge from where the sailors were carrying on with their visitors.

  Gwynn tossed a padded hook over the side of the ship and swung aboard like a monkey, motioning me to follow, while Corey remained on the wharf as lookout. All the girls had to do was keep the men entertained, drunk, and away from the bridge area, so that we could smuggle the crates of feyweed out from below and transfer the crates of sand waiting in Chester’s storeroom a block away.

  One by one the scouts slipped aboard, silent as the proverbial grave, putting me to shame. Gwynn went below deck first, an argument I’d lost earlier when he pointed out that if he was there to protect me, what good would it do if there were sailors below waiting to clobber me over the head, or worse. When my brother waved me down the narrow steps, signaling that it was safe, his face wore a peculiar expression. I took the steps with care and stopped abruptly on the bottom, a blistering curse on my lips.

  The ten crates of feyweed were gone.

  “How?” Gwynn whispered, as I signaled to the scouts to wait.

  “I don’t know.” Scanning the cargo hold, I noted everything in its place as I’d seen earlier, all but the feyweed. “Either they know our plan, though I’ve no idea how that would have happened,” I whispered back, “or they didn’t want to take a chance keeping the feyweed crates on board.”

  “But our scouts kept watch on the ship all day. That is not to say that they are perfect,” my brother added, “but—”

  “It’s not their fault.” Furious, and resigned to failure, I pointed to a barely visible trap door cut into the port side. “They snuck the crates out right under our noses, with the Meravan ships blocking our view.” I turned to the patient scout behind me, who looked as chagrined as Gwynn. “Can your people watch the ship tonight and tomorrow? See if anyone comes or goes?”

  “Of course, Mage Protector. I am sorry that—”

  All too familiar with misplaced guilt, I placed a hand on his arm. “It’s not your fault. Besides, I have every intention of catching them at their game. I refuse to let that arrogant man best me.”

  * * * *

  Keeping in character with our little charade, I didn’t bother to change into formal attire to attend the dinner because I had no intention of staying. My sudden appearance at the door to the manor’s formal, brightly lit dining room, dressed in dark tunic and trousers, my dusty cloak still clasped at the throat, and the dual pendants of office clearly visible on my chest, stopped the pre-dinner conversation for a brief moment. Across the room, Rosanna, deep in conversation with the captain of the Stoutheart and Jules, glanced up and frowned, making me wonder whether she guessed my tight-lipped expression was genuine. Without signaling to her, I scanned the crowded room, caught Elena’s alert eye, and bade her, silently, to leave off her discussion with Seamage Brandt, of all people, and follow me. Waiting just outside the chamber, I remained visible, on purpose, to the residents of the manor, merchants, community leaders, the Port Alain Mage Council, and, most important, our Spreebridge visitors.

  “You’re back far too soon, Mage Protector,” Elena murmured, smoothing the silk of her royal blue gown as she studied the restrained emotion on my face. “You’re angry, and I have a feeling that the fury is real instead of the fake emotion we planned to prove that yet another lover has indeed betrayed me.”

  Cautious, I covered my words with a feigned cough. “The crates are gone.”

  “Gone? How? Where?” Blue eyes widened as her cheeks lost their rosy color. “Lords of the sea, Alex—”

  “Careful,” I warned, turning my face away from the door. “Here comes our guest of honor. Look furious, your majesty. That’s right,” I said, not needing to encourage my friend as she considered the implications of our discovery.

  “Mage Protector? Your majesty?” Elder Frontish interrupted our little private conversation, as we’d hoped he would, though not under these circumstances. “Has something happened? Is there trouble?”

  “Trouble?” I hissed, not bothering to hide my anger from the guests who wandered near enough to hear without seeming to listen, including Seamage Brandt. When I glanced up, staring at the mage until he felt my eyes on his back, I met his gaze with a chilly expression. If I’d had my way, he wouldn’t have been on the invitation list, but Rosanna’s common sense had prevailed. You couldn’t host a dinner party in Port Alain without inviting the head of the local Mage Council, along with his cronies. Turning back to Frontish, I snapped an answer, taking the man by surprise. “I’ve spent the past few hours tailing Jackson Tunney, and, for the lords’ sake, I’ve still no idea what he’s up to.”

  “No good, I fear.”

  “You don’t know that for sure,” I made a fair attempt to defend Jackson, turning to Elena, as I added, “You don’t. You suspect him, but you have no proof. Queen or not, what kind of justice is that? What message does that send to your subjects? You’ve thrown Jackson aside and— Oh, what’s the use?”

  While I shook my head in disgust, Derek frowned with sympathy in Elena’s direction, placing his hand on her silk sleeve. “I am so very sorry, your majesty. I know the Mage Protector has doubts, for which I cannot blame her. If Jackson’s treachery is true, then Mage Keltie feels she has failed you.” When I started to protest, wanting instead to smash my fist in his face, he said with false compassion, “No blame to you, Mage Protector. Westin always thought highly of the young man, though, in his heart, feared the worst. If there is anything I can do to help you in this dire time, your majesty—”

  “No, thank you.” I cut off Elena’s polite reply. “You’ve done quite enough.”

  “Alex—” Elena grabbed my cloak as I turned to leave, her expression a believable mixture of irritation and worry. “I don’t have proof but what’s in my heart. It’s not your fault. How could you have known about Jackson’s treachery?”

  “It’s my job, isn’t it? And maybe Elder Frontish is right, though I don’t have to like it. I failed to protect you. I—” My cloak flowing with a dramatic flourish around my knees, I spun on my heel, almost barreling into my husband, who’d edged near our group. Waving Anders away, I bounded for the main stairway and left him with Elena to play out the drama. I’d just reached the private parlor where Jackson hid with Kimmer while I playacted below, when my father followed me out of the dining room and caught up to me on the upper floor.

  “Superb acting, Alex,” he complimented my performance, though when I turned to face him, his careful appraisal of my mood changed his mind. “But you have come back too early. Something has gone wrong.”

  “That’s an understatement.” Pulling him into the parlor, I greeted the others before exploding in frustration, “The crates were missing from the ship.” I saw his immediate response and squashed it. “Your scouts are not at fault. The Stoutheart has a trap door on the port side that enabled them to remove the crates under cover of the Meravan ships in broad daylight. My guess is that they rowed a far distance before unloading the crates on land and hiding them somewhere close by, though it makes me wonder if anyone along their route, land or sea, saw anything unusual. But how do we ask the local populace” —I flung my cloak over a chair in disgust— “without arousing suspicion?”

  “Chester can help,” my father offered, pouring a glass of Marain Valley wine from the bottle on the table and handing it to me.

  “Thanks, yes. We’ve told him to be on the lookout. Maylen and Gwynn are down at the Seaman’s Berth now with Corey.” Turning to Kimmer, I gave the Spreebridge woman a tired smile. “He played his part well. If the crates had been there, it would have been easy.”

  “Yes, but we are back to the beginning,” she said quietly. “All that information, all that planning, wasted. I am sorry, Alex.”

  “Don’t be.” Weary, I shut my eyes and savored a sip of wine. “We’re on my turf now.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Befuddled, I sat on a tree stump behind the cottage, beside the little pond that entertained a family of
ducks from time to time, watching Maylen teach Emmy and Linsey how to plait daisies, or some other weed, into a crown. Weary from lack of sleep after the night’s disappointing failure, I’d opted to stay with Maylen when she volunteered to watch the girls, while the rest of the manor’s residents joined the townsfolk in the festivities down at the harbor. I didn’t want the children in town, not until the danger was past.

  Besides, I needed space and time to think.

  If the Spreebridge elders had planned to unload the feyweed crates through the trap door, it implied either knowledge of the town or a local connection to someone with that knowledge. They needed a hiding place, which meant the feyweed could be anywhere, without a guarantee that it had been brought to land. For all I knew, it was still floating somewhere in Shad’s Bay. It was easy enough to camouflage the crates, transport them on a small boat back upriver, or further along the east coast of Tuldamoran. Not knowing where the feyweed was stashed, not knowing when they planned to disperse it, or how, left a knot in my gut that grew larger as the day wore on, despite the existence of an antidote. The harsh memory of the absence of magic was a nightmare that still haunted my dreams.

  “This flower is too big.” Emmy held up the bright yellow blossom for Maylen to inspect. “Isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Linsey answered before Maylen drew breath to answer. The scout met my gaze over their heads and smiled, as Linsey added, “Throw it away and get another, Emmy. Just throw it away.” And without apparent effort, the flower vanished from Emmy’s hand, prompting my daughter to gape in shock, while Linsey’s eyes glittered with tears at the unexpected appearance of her fledgling magic.

  I was on my feet and by their side in a heartbeat, crouching in front of Khrista’s little girl. “Linsey, sweetling, hush. It’s all right.”

  “Mama?” Emmy tapped my arm, her voice hushed. “Did Linsey do magic?” When I nodded, my daughter knelt beside her friend who’d climbed into my lap. “It’s all right, Linsey, Mama and Papa do magic, too. So does Uncle Gwynn. And so does your mama.”