The Sorcerer’s Guardian

by Antonia Aquilante

  “You never speak of them,” he said slowly, trying to figure out what was going on behind the wall Savarin had suddenly put up. “Are you estranged? I’m sorry if I shouldn’t have asked.”

  Savarin shook his head. “We’re not estranged. I don’t see them often, but we’re not estranged. I grew up down near the port. My father is a laborer, working on the ships. So is my brother, and everyone assumed I would be too. But I never entirely fit in, never really wanted to build ships. Then my Talent came into being, and I nearly blew up half the street. That changed everything.”

  He stared at Savarin for a moment. Nearly blew up half the street? How had he not heard that? He shook himself. “I suppose it would.”

  “The sorcerer who became my mentor came and got me, took me to live with him. He trained me and sponsored me through school and university.”

  “Your parents still live there?”

  “Yes. They say they like it there, that they’re comfortable there.”

  By which Loriot took to mean they weren’t comfortable with their son’s life or being in it. And Savarin was hurt by that if his walled-off countenance was anything to go by. Loriot might be becoming adept at reading Savarin’s mood and emotions by now.

  “I’ll see that my nieces and nephews are educated,” Savarin continued. “Especially if they prove to have Talents, but not only then. Talent doesn’t run in my family.”

  It must have been shocking for them to end up with a son with a powerful Talent. Loriot’s own family would have been shocked and out of their depth in such circumstances. It had to be doubly difficult for Savarin’s family to have him pushed into worlds they had no understanding of. Magic and the circles of the wealthy and learned and noble. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate that.”

  Savarin quirked a half smile. “Maybe.”

  He thought it best to leave the subject there, despite being curious about the state of Savarin’s relationship with his family and how no one knew of Savarin’s origins. “Thank you for telling me.”

  Savarin nodded and glanced away for a moment, then back. “And your son?”

  It was only fair that he tell Savarin what he wanted to know, especially when the information he would share had to be far less difficult than what Savarin had. “He’s five. I had an affair with his mother. She’s a widow with children from her marriage, and she didn’t want another. When she found herself pregnant, she told me I could take him or she would give him away. To someone in her family maybe, or to an orphanage. Of course I took him, and I’ve never regretted it. My sister moved in to help me with him when he was born.”

  Savarin gave Loriot his words back. “Thank you for telling me.”

  “Thank you for entertaining Alain when he barged in on you.”

  Savarin smiled. “A pleasure.”

  “We’re all right, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Loriot stepped forward and kissed Savarin quickly. “Now I need to go tell my son that he can’t demand things of his aunt. And then we can go to dinner?”

  “All right.”

  PHILIP HADN’T spent much time in the royal family’s private archive. There was a normal archive, of course, one with a Royal Archivist and that was open to scholars by petition. But that was separate from the private archive, which contained the most confidential records of the royal family going back hundreds of years. Only members of the royal family were allowed inside, and only some members at that, because of a spell that had kept the archive secure for generations.

  The archive was accessed through an unassuming door in an often overlooked corner of the royal library. It opened at Philip’s touch, the spell recognizing him and allowing him to pass. The door closed on its own as soon as he stepped through, leaving him in a small area with nowhere to go except up a steep flight of stairs. The magic light globes that were present in much of the palace illuminated the entrance to the archives from sconces fixed to the stone walls.

  As best he could tell, the archive occupied the space above the palace library, which made it quite large itself. With many small rooms that were not particularly well-organized, it was a bit difficult to deal with. He was selfishly happy it was Etan’s domain and not his own.

  He reached the top of the stairs and opened another door into a windowless octagonal room. Shelves filled with books lined the walls, broken only by more of the sconces. A domed ceiling was crowned by a stained glass skylight, which threw a glow of colored light onto the table in the middle of the room and the man sitting at it.

  Etan had been spending even more time with his research since Loriot and Savarin made their individual reports upon their return to Jumelle. They knew Savarin didn’t suspect their secret, but they still weren’t sure if he needed to know. Savarin was searching for an anchor for the spells, since he didn’t think the usual ones—places, objects—would sustain a spell for as long as the protection spells had survived. Loriot had mentioned that Savarin seemed intrigued by some of the old spells in the palace, perhaps even their connection to the royal family.

  It was enough to make them all concerned. Etan had skipped fencing practice with him, Amory, Tristan, and Cathal earlier that morning. According to Tristan, Etan had come up to the archives at dawn and he’d been in the archives until late the night before. It was enough to make Philip both concerned about Etan and curious as to whether he’d found something. Which drove him up to the archives to check on Etan.

  Etan looked up as soon as Philip entered the room. His eyes were wide and worried, his hair disheveled. Philip walked farther into the room, close to the table and his cousin. “Everything all right, Etan?”

  “I—I’m not entirely sure. I’ve found something that could help Savarin.”

  “That sounds like good news.”

  Etan flopped back in his chair. “It would be, but it would entail telling Savarin more than we hoped to.”

  “I see.”

  “I want to continue researching. I might have missed something.” Etan shoved a hand through his hair. “It’s a disaster in here. The organizational system defies logic, if there even is one.”

  “I’m not surprised. Great-Aunt Nerilla wasn’t as sharp toward the end, but you’ll get it the way you want it in time.”

  Etan jerked in his chair. “Me?”

  “Yes, of course.” Philip didn’t understand why Etan looked so confused. “You’re the archivist.”

  “I’m the what?”

  Etan’s shock came as something of a surprise to Philip. “You’re the archivist of this collection. It’s yours to care for. You spent so much time in here when you were younger. I thought you knew.”

  “Great-Aunt Nerilla liked to show me things, and you know I’ve always loved books and history….” Etan glanced around. “I didn’t even know it had a special archivist, but I guess that’s ridiculous. Someone has to take care of it.”

  He watched Etan with some concern. “I’d have thought Great-Aunt Nerilla would have told you. Explained everything.”

  “Maybe she meant to. Or maybe she thought she had. Like you said, she wasn’t as sharp toward the end.” Etan took a deep breath. “So I’m the archivist.”

  Philip nodded. “Father told me. Apparently there’s always an archivist, but I don’t know too much more.”

  “How did I out of the whole family get to be the archivist?”

  “I’m not positive, but there’s a lot of magic in these rooms, protecting them and the information they contain. From what Father told me, I think the magic recognizes the right person. It’s probably why we can’t all access these archives. It’s less preference and more who the magic recognizes as… appropriate? I’m not sure how to say it. This is far closer to your expertise than mine.”

  “I’m not certain about expertise,” Etan said, his face settling into the lines that denoted him falling into thought. “But interest, yes. And what you’ve said has certainly piqued my interest.”

  “I’m not at all surprised.”


  Etan focused back on Philip and laughed. “You wouldn’t be. And I think I’m in the right place to find out as much as I can.”

  “If there’s an explanation anywhere, it’s probably here.” It was the most secure archive in Tournai, and the only place anything written about their family’s unique Talent was kept. The Talent that some members of the royal family possessed was the closest-guarded secret of their family. It allowed those who possessed it to turn themselves into cats—some large and fearsome—and was likely the source of many legends that surrounded Tournai, stories of man-sized cats that protected the country. But it was far safer for their family, and for Tournai, for the truth to remain obscured by legends. “And you would be the one to find it.”

  “I’ll do my best. But that’s a task for another day.”

  He sobered immediately. “You said you found something?”

  “I think so.” Etan sighed, the troubled look returning to his eyes. “The anchor, or whatever Savarin called it, for the spells?”

  “Yes?”

  “I think it’s us.”

  “Us?”

  “Well, our bloodline, our Talent. I think they tied the spells protecting Tournai to Tournai’s royal family. We worried about the possibility, but we couldn’t imagine how it could be. I think it is, somehow. The connection to our family is what Savarin is missing.”

  Philip dropped down into a chair, mind already spinning with the possibilities. “How?”

  Helplessness and frustration warred in Etan’s eyes. “I don’t know. The magic of this is far beyond me, and it isn’t all set out explicitly in what I found.”

  “But you’re sure it has to do with our family and our Talent,” he pressed. He had to know.

  “As sure as I can be at this point. I haven’t been through everything in the archives, and information is scattered. I might have missed something. I can keep working.”

  “All right. But we’re meeting with Savarin this afternoon, and if this really is the information he’s been searching for… we have to decide what to tell him.” The only person outside their family who knew of their Talent was Loriot, and he’d found out by accident. The oaths sworn by the royal guardsmen and Loriot’s own sense of honor and loyalty reassured Philip that the knowledge would go no further. He didn’t want anyone else to know about their Talent. The more people who knew, the easier it would be for the information to get out and into the wrong hands. It seemed like there were a lot of wrong hands in Tournai these days. It also seemed that his wishes didn’t matter.

  “I’ll see what I can find this morning and then come to you.”

  “Good. I’ll tell Amory and Cathal. We’ll discuss it when you’re ready.” They’d worried that Etan might have to redact whatever he found about the protection spells if it was in the same book or set of papers as something referring to the family’s Talent. But whatever he’d imagined when he sent Loriot with Savarin, he’d never truly believed the spells were tied into their Talent itself. Why couldn’t anything ever be simple?

  Chapter 19

  SAVARIN WAS mildly surprised that the exchange of confidences about his and Loriot’s families—or rather the information Savarin shared about his own family—hadn’t affected their affair, at least not in an adverse way. It seemed that Loriot didn’t care about Savarin’s humble origins, despite his own noble family. He could have sworn Loriot had wanted to say something else that night, but he hadn’t, and Savarin chose to let it lie, since all seemed to be going well. And everything had continued to go well over the last week. He and Loriot had seen each other several times, a couple of them evenings spent at Loriot’s house during which he’d seen Alain again and been coaxed into reading or playing. Savarin saw no reason to make trouble for himself. Besides he had other things to worry about. He had to make his weekly report to the princes and Lord Etan, and he hadn’t made progress since his last report to them.

  There had to be something anchoring the spells, but he was no closer to figuring out what it was. He should be. He felt as if it was there, just out of reach, just out of his grasp.

  He was seething with frustration, and he couldn’t go up to the palace in that state. However arrogant he was—and he acknowledged his own arrogance—he did know that leaving himself tempted to yell and snap in the presence of the royal family, even a prince as fair and slow to anger as Prince Philip, was a very bad idea.

  After gathering his papers into his bag, he wound through tables and desks in the library, passing students and lecturers at work who barely noticed him, and left the building. Outside, the afternoon was hot and dry, the last of summer hanging on as the season changed. Despite the heat, he began to walk, rather aimlessly, around the university, trying to calm his frustration or at least push it aside. The university grounds were crowded with students on their way to classes or lectures or tutorials, or to meet friends. Though they should be working.

  Not that he was working. He was just wandering.

  And if he thought about that, he would only get more frustrated.

  So he kept wandering, and let his mind wander as well.

  He followed the stone paths as they wound through the old stone buildings that made up the university. He’d loved it here from the first moment; he’d never seen anything like the university with its stately buildings and neatly manicured flower beds and lush grassy spaces shaded by century-old trees. And the books, of course. It was so far outside his realm of experience as a child, he’d had no idea what to make of it, but it had also felt like home, even more so when he was old enough to attend as a student.

  Without his realizing it, his feet pointed him toward the building where his old mentor had kept an office and workroom, and when he did, he almost turned around. But he kept going, following the impulse of nostalgia or whatever had pushed him in this direction. He entered the building through a side door and climbed the worn stairs up to the top floor. He didn’t see anyone in the shadowy corridor as he began to walk. His mentor’s office was halfway down the hallway. He’d always thought it odd that such a powerful man kept such a small, unassuming office in such an out-of-the-way place. But he understood it too. He preferred the privacy of his own home. Which was why he hadn’t taken this office or any other when offered to him.

  There was no nameplate on the door, so the office was probably unused. He was tempted for a moment to go in—a lock wouldn’t have kept him out if he really wanted to—but there was nothing in there for him, just memories. They wouldn’t help him today, or none but the memory of Firmin’s steady voice telling him to work it out step-by-step.

  He sighed.

  He could just hear the bells in the center of the university grounds chiming the hour. Time to go if he wasn’t to be late for his meeting at the palace, which he couldn’t allow himself to be. He continued along the corridor, aiming for the stairs on the other side. Closer to the far stairs, a door stood half open, and the sounds of footsteps came from within.

  A nameplate next to the door proclaimed it to be the office of Master Corentin, the visiting scholar Savarin had been trying to pin down with little success for weeks. For some reason Master Corentin always had an excuse to not meet with Savarin. It annoyed him and made him rather suspicious as well. Why was Master Corentin avoiding him?

  Irritation bubbled up inside Savarin again, this time directed at Master Corentin. He didn’t have much time, but perhaps he had enough to at least make Master Corentin agree on a time to meet. Even though he’d made little progress with his project for the princes, he could finally deal with this problem. He strode closer to the half-open door.

  SAVARIN ARRIVED at the palace a little while later in a rush. His brief conversation with Master Corentin hadn’t gone as he’d anticipated, except that Master Corentin had continued to be irritating and less than forthcoming. Savarin hadn’t had the time to push, and he had to put that desire aside for the moment as a meeting with the princes was not something he could reschedule. He could keep many people wai
ting but not royalty.

  He didn’t expect Loriot to be waiting when he arrived at the palace. “Everything all right?” he asked as soon as he got close to Loriot.

  “What? Not happy to see me?”

  He laughed at the teasing tone and ignored the servant who stared at him. “I’m always happy to see you.”

  The words surprised even Savarin, or at least he was surprised he’d said them out loud, but Loriot only smiled. “Good to know.”

  He chose to ignore Loriot’s response, and his own statement that had prompted it. “What are you doing here? I can’t believe you just wanted to see me for a few minutes.”

  “I don’t know why not.” Loriot gestured toward the door, and they began walking. “Prince Philip asked me to be present at your meeting, so I thought I’d meet you out here and have a few minutes alone with you before.”

  The idea that Loriot really had wanted a few moments alone with him in the middle of the day fizzed sweetly inside him, leaving him surprised and slightly giddy, but the rest of Loriot’s statement couldn’t be ignored. “Prince Philip wants you at our meeting? Why?”

  “I have no idea,” Loriot said as he walked at Savarin’s side. “He didn’t explain himself.”

  And of course there was no reason for Prince Philip to do so. “The last time he surprised us like this, we ended up packed off together against our wills.”

  Loriot shot him a sidelong glance. “And that didn’t turn out so bad, did it?”

  “I suppose not,” he said, feigning disinterest.

  “You suppose,” Loriot muttered. Savarin bit back laughter that he wouldn’t give in to in the middle of a corridor in the palace. He was here to report to the prince, and Loriot was captain of the guard. He was not willing to put their relationship on display here. Loriot said nothing further so Savarin assumed he felt the same.