The Sorcerer’s Guardian

by Antonia Aquilante

  Loriot couldn’t see Savarin’s face from his position, but he’d seen Savarin use his Talent often enough by now that he could imagine him closing his eyes, taking in a deep breath, forcing himself to relax and focus on the magic. The cats all watched Savarin attentively. So did Loriot, Jadis, and Lord Flavian, even though they could only see his back. Loriot doubted there would be much to see anyway; the other times he’d watched Savarin use his Talent, there hadn’t been anything to see. Just Savarin, standing or sitting somewhere. And Loriot quite bored watching. He wouldn’t be bored now, if only because of how risky this spell could be—to Savarin, to a large part of the royal family gathered with him. He was far too anxious to be bored.

  Savarin said nothing, no chanted spell or whispered words, something else that was different from the stories. Magic was will, Savarin had told him, and worked differently for different people. Words could be a way of focusing, but according to Savarin, he didn’t need them.

  Moments passed with no outward sign that anything was happening. Then Savarin raised his hands, and the cats seated in front of him let out what likely would have been gasps if they came from human throats but was something… else when from cats. At Loriot’s side, Lord Flavian jerked and took a step forward. Without thought, Loriot grabbed Lord Flavian’s arm. He couldn’t let Lord Flavian disturb the spell, especially when there were no real indications that anything was truly wrong.

  When nothing else happened, he tore his gaze from Savarin and looked down at Lord Flavian who glared at him, fire snapping in his eyes. Loriot was trying to figure out what he could do to calm Lord Flavian without disturbing Savarin when Lord Flavian jerked his head around to look at Jadis on his other side, who, Loriot now saw, had hold of Lord Flavian’s other arm. Presumably Jadis was receiving a vicious glare of his own, but he remained placid in the face of whatever Lord Flavian’s look conveyed, his healer’s demeanor unruffled. Jadis shook his head at Lord Flavian, a wealth of reminders in his eyes. Reminders to be silent and still, to not break Savarin’s concentration as he performed such delicate, complex magic.

  Loriot waited, hoping Lord Flavian would heed Jadis’s gentle, unspoken warning. Grabbing a royal duke’s husband and dragging him from the woods wasn’t his preference, but he would if he had to. He would do what needed to be done to preserve the work being done in the clearing, and to keep everyone safe.

  Something flickered at the edge of his vision. He turned to look and froze, his fingers tightening convulsively around Lord Flavian’s arm. He felt Lord Flavian move, probably to rebuke him in some way, but just as quickly, Lord Flavian went rigid under his hand.

  A fine gold mist rose in the clearing in front of them. It shimmered, billowing like fog, obscuring the circle of cats and Savarin. Loriot had no idea where it was coming from—Savarin? the royals?—or why they could see it. Loriot had no Talent. He didn’t know if Lord Flavian did, and though Jadis was a healer, he didn’t have a Talent for sorcery. From what Savarin had told Loriot, few people could see magic unless the sorcerer meant for it to be seen. They shouldn’t have been able to see this, or maybe he was just far too nervous about seeing it. He was here, he’d taken Savarin as a lover, and had somehow fallen in love with him, but he didn’t think he would ever be truly comfortable with displays of powerful magic.

  The mist rose, swirling and twisting around those in the circle. Gold mostly, but sometimes with a flash of silver and copper and brilliant white almost like lightning or shooting stars. Those in the circle didn’t seemed concerned, didn’t even seem to notice. Savarin’s hands remained raised, and he stood motionless as the mist, or whatever it was, rose up to surround him.

  He tensed as Savarin disappeared from view. Tensed more as Lord Flavian raised a hand and took a half step forward, but Jadis put a hand on his shoulder, and Lord Flavian stopped, subsiding back into his anxious waiting. Loriot thought he knew how Lord Flavian felt. He didn’t like this, didn’t like it one bit, and he had to force himself to stay still, to not jump forward and push through the fog in front of him, to get to Savarin’s side. To make certain he was all right. He reminded himself that Savarin didn’t need him now. Savarin knew what he was doing. All Loriot could do was keep Savarin from being interrupted, keep the spell from being disturbed.

  And trust Savarin to do what needed to be done, for Tournai and everyone in the clearing and for Savarin himself.

  Chapter 23

  AMORY STOPPED in the middle of the garden path.

  “Amory?” Tristan asked from behind him.

  “I’m not going farther than this.”

  Tristan walked around to face him. “They told us to go back inside. That’s what we should do.”

  He shook his head and cuddled Julien a little closer, admittedly for his own comfort not his son’s. “We’ve gone far enough. Savarin said the magic would be contained to the woods. We’re fine waiting here.”

  Tristan glanced around them, and Amory knew he was weighing whether what Amory said was enough to go against what they’d been instructed to do, and doing it with only his own limited knowledge of magic—Tristan’s Talent for fire and light was nothing like Savarin’s Talent.

  They were still inside the garden, but they were much closer to the palace than the woods. The area Amory had chosen was on the main path but made more private by the tall hedges surrounding the small space. On a normal day, he liked it for its peaceful seclusion, for the fanciful little fountain in the middle and the benches he often snuggled up to Philip on, sometimes while they watched Julien play at their feet. He wanted the connection now, while he waited to see if Philip would come through this spell all right.

  “I’m staying here, Tristan.” He gave in to Julien’s squirming and set him down despite his own desire to keep hold of his warm, little body. He wanted the reassurance of his son’s presence, the child they’d made together with love and magic, in his arms when Philip was in danger and there was nothing Amory could do about it. He couldn’t even ask Philip not to do this, not when he knew how important it was to Tournai and all their people.

  Julien scampered away to run a circle around the fountain, his laugh making Amory smile a little, and Amory looked up at Tristan who still stood on the path, every line of his body screaming his indecisiveness. “Tristan. I need to be here. Just on the chance something happens. I need to be close.”

  “I’m sure everything will go well and everyone will be fine, and they’ll let us know when it’s over,” Tristan said. “We should go in and wait.”

  “But what if something does happen? And what if the guards won’t let us back in to get to Philip and Etan?”

  “If something happened, they would.”

  “Would they? The guards were instructed to keep everyone out.”

  “And you think Philip and Etan and Savarin meant that to include us,” Tristan finished for him, something they’d been able to do since childhood.

  “Maybe. To keep us away and safe.”

  “We need to keep you and Julien safe.”

  Yes, Julien did need to be safe, for so many reasons and not only that he would be crown prince if something happened to Philip, but Amory couldn’t bring himself to leave. From everything Savarin told them, Amory didn’t think they were in danger on the edge of the gardens. “We’ll be fine here. But you can take Julien in to the nursery if you’re worried. I can’t leave.”

  It would pain him not to have Julien and Tristan with him, but he had to stay. He stared at Tristan, willing him to see. “Please understand, Tristan. I have to stay.”

  Tristan remained poised on the edge of indecision for another moment. Amory could see the two sides warring within him. He wondered briefly if Tristan would snatch Julien up and try to drag Amory out of the garden. But after a few moments, Tristan sighed and nodded. “All right. We’ll stay here for now. But if something happens—”

  “We’ll go, of course. I wouldn’t put Julien or you in danger.”

  Tristan’s smile was a bit crooked.
“You should add yourself in there somewhere or Philip won’t be pleased.”

  Despite everything Amory felt a flicker of amusement. “You still trip over Philip’s name.”

  “I’m not accustomed to calling the crown prince by his given name.” Tristan flopped onto a bench.

  He smiled and sat next to Tristan. “You should be. He knows how close our friendship is.”

  “I’m well aware of that.”

  Amory smacked his arm lightly. “I didn’t mean that aspect of our relationship.” He and Tristan had been each other’s first kiss—they’d done an awful lot of kissing before Amory had met Philip. “You’re family to me, Tristan. So you’re family to him. Even before you and Etan.”

  Tristan shrugged. “He’s the crown prince, not only your husband. And you can’t tell me he was pleased about that aspect of our relationship.”

  “Not at first, but he never asked me to give our friendship up, and he doesn’t think about it anymore. He’s accepted you into his family.” Tristan and Etan belonged together, belonged to each other, something so easy to see.

  Tristan shrugged again.

  Amory stifled a laugh. “You’re ridiculous sometimes.”

  “Not this time, but you love me for it anyway.” Tristan said it in a light, teasing tone, and Amory could take it that way without any doubt, because Tristan loved Etan, his infatuation with Amory long over.

  “I’m not certain that’s why I love you, but think what you like.” He glanced around for Julien, who had gone suspiciously quiet. “Julien! Don’t do that, sweetheart.”

  Julien snatched his hand back from where he’d been reaching toward the fountain water and looked at Amory with wide eyes. Julien rarely cried when thwarted. They’d been spoiled with such a good, happy child. Just in case, though, he pulled a toy—a little cat Etan had gotten Julien—out of his pocket and gave it to him. He smiled as Julien took the toy and began another toddling run around the fountain.

  Would the rush of feelings he got whenever he looked at Julien ever soften? The sense of wonder, of joy, the pride at every new accomplishment, no matter how small, was so intense. He never could have imagined them before he became a father. Tristan would understand, with his own infant daughter.

  “All his favorite toys are cats,” Tristan said.

  “Your intended has an odd sense of humor. Etan keeps giving them to him, and Julien plays with them all the time. I always tease Philip about it.” He fell silent, his momentary distraction disappearing and leaving him thinking of what was happening elsewhere in the garden.

  Tristan squeezed his arm. “Master Savarin is the most powerful, learned sorcerer in Tournai. Maybe in more of the world than that. They’ll all come out of this fine, and the spell will work. Tournai will be protected.”

  “I know you’re likely right, but… it’s so difficult.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the curls and absently noting that he probably should have it trimmed. But Philip liked it as it was. “Since Philip and I met, we’ve stood by each other, stood with each other, through everything. We’ve faced every challenge, every danger, together. Taken care of each other, saved each other when we needed to. And I can’t do that now. I can’t help him. I can’t even be there with him. It’s killing me.”

  Tristan wound an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a hug. “No, you can’t do this for him, but you are helping him, just by being here with Julien so he knows both of you are safe. That’s what you’re doing for him.”

  “It isn’t the same.” It wasn’t enough.

  “I know, but it’s what there is right now.”

  Amory sighed. “I suppose it is.”

  “Papa?” Julien clambered up into Amory’s lap before Amory could do anything. He settled himself on Amory’s lap and reached up to put his little hands on either side of Amory’s face, giving him a big grin. Amory smiled back, unable to do anything else in the face of that smile, and bent to give Julien a kiss. Julien giggled and hugged Amory before turning to Tristan, who had retrieved Julien’s toy from the ground.

  Amory watched as Tristan played with Julien. Tristan was good with him, and Julien loved him very much, as much as he did his other honorary uncles—Etan, Cathal, and Vrai. Amory’s own brothers were either horrible or at the age when they were indifferent to young children.

  He let the presence of his son cuddled close to him and the steadfast support of his friend soothe him, and he tried not to think about what was happening on the other side of the garden. He wasn’t entirely successful, but he did try to let himself be distracted.

  Julien suddenly gasped and froze, his eyes going wide. Fear turned Amory’s blood to ice. “Julien. Julien?”

  “Julien?” Tristan’s voice was filled with worry, but Amory couldn’t look away from Julien. He remained still and blinking.

  “Julien?” He picked Julien up and pulled him against his chest. As he did, Julien moved, and a wave of relief swamped Amory. But Julien only whimpered and burrowed into Amory. “It’s all right, sweetheart. It’s all right.”

  He rocked Julien, trying to soothe him. “What happened? Did you see anything?” he asked Tristan, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t startle Julien.

  “No. You didn’t either?”

  Amory shook his head. He kissed Julien’s silky hair. “Did something hurt you, Julien? Can you tell me?”

  But Julien only clung tighter. Amory couldn’t expect much from a child not yet two, even a child as precocious as Julien. At least he wasn’t crying. Amory checked him over as best he could with Julien unwilling to let go and Amory unwilling to make him, but he didn’t find any injuries. He couldn’t imagine how Julien would have been injured. Maybe a bee sting, but he hadn’t seen any bees, and he didn’t find one in his examination. Finally he gave up and held Julien close.

  “Amory, you don’t think it has anything to do with Savarin’s spell, do you?”

  Tristan’s question, spoken so hesitantly, made Amory ill. Had the spell affected Julien? And would it still have done so if he’d gone inside the palace as he’d been instructed? Stricken, he could only stare at Tristan.

  “Stop it, Amory. I know what you’re thinking. I shouldn’t have said anything. We don’t know that’s what happened, and we don’t know that staying in the garden caused it to affect Julien if it was the spell. So stop blaming yourself.”

  That Tristan knew what he was thinking didn’t surprise him at all. “But if it was—”

  “We don’t know that the spell had anything to do with it. And if it was the spell, then it was. Julien was shaken, but he’s fine.” Tristan craned his neck to see Julien’s face. “I think he’s falling asleep.”

  Amory looked down and sure enough Julien’s eyelids were drooping, his breathing evening out. Amory released a long breath. Julien looked fine, and if he were in pain, he wouldn’t be sleeping so peacefully. Amory held him close anyway. He wasn’t about to put Julien down. Maybe not ever. He would keep Julien safe even if he couldn’t help Philip today.

  “I wish I knew what’s happening,” Tristan said after a while, his voice low.

  “Me too.”

  SAVARIN HAD never performed magic quite like this before, something he hadn’t wanted to state explicitly when he’d brought his proposal to Their Highnesses and Lord Etan. He hated to admit weakness, and there was little choice in the matter regardless. They needed to strengthen Tournai’s protections or risk them collapsing altogether, and no one else could perform the magic, no one else in Tournai anyway. And they couldn’t trust someone from outside, even if someone could be found. They couldn’t trust anyone else in Tournai, not with the object of the spell and especially not with the royal family’s secret.

  The royal family gathered around him, positioned in a circle as he’d asked. He needed their presence, their Talents, to make the connection with the protection spells. But he was far more anxious than he wanted to admit at having so much of the royal succession sitting at his feet. If something went
wrong—but it wouldn’t go wrong.

  He could do this. He had to do this.

  Centering himself with a few slow breaths, he let himself sink into his Talent, feeling his power around him, reassuring. A constant in his life when so little had been. Loriot’s face floated into his mind, ruining his concentration. Would Loriot become another constant? Savarin thrust the image and the thought aside. He couldn’t consider it, not now when so much hung on his actions.

  Another breath and he opened his eyes and his awareness to the protection spells centered in this small wood. The web of the spells shone bright gold and strong in his sight, nearly blinding and so beautiful. He was struck again by the exquisite, intricate work. The sorcerers who had put these spells in place had been masters of their craft. And powerful. Savarin felt small and insignificant in the face of such mastery. It wasn’t a feeling he was comfortable with.

  And then he pushed it ruthlessly aside as well. No room for doubt.

  No room for anything except the magic.

  Part of him, the excited, impetuous, wondering part that he’d mostly trained out of himself with rigorous practice, wanted to throw himself into the spells, but doing that wouldn’t help them, and would most likely hinder his purpose. Instead he forced himself to have patience. Delicately—so carefully—he reached for the strands of the spells that glowed in front of him. Ribbons and threads, knotted and tangled and braided together, swirling and swooping around the small clearing, the pattern complicated but plainly deliberate. And though they moved out of his sight into the shadows of the trees, he knew they flew outward to form the barrier around Tournai.

  He needed to insert himself into the web, into the very heart of it. Only from there would he be able to strengthen the whole of it and to make the changes they hoped to make. If it was possible to make the changes.

  He let the quirk of his Talent that allowed him see spells guide him as he followed the twists and turns of the complex spells. He had to be careful, so careful, not to let them unravel, not to disturb the spells and leave Tournai unprotected. It was more common, and frankly easier, to get himself into a spell when he was trying to take it apart. Not so this time.