The Sorcerer’s Guardian

by Antonia Aquilante

  Every move had to be deliberate, every choice thoughtful. And still, touching such a powerful, well-crafted spell exhilarated him. He wanted to fly into it on those feelings, drown in the huge well of power feeding it. Temptation pulled at him, almost irresistible.

  But no. He couldn’t lose himself in the power and the intrigue of such a spell, not if he wanted to accomplish his purpose. He reined himself in and kept pushing into the tangled web. Tangled but deliberately so—each strand twined together in intricate knots and patterns. He examined each as he went, trying to determine what its purpose was and how it fit into the whole. He’d done his best to understand the construction of the spells before today, but he hadn’t been able to get as far or see as clearly, and he hadn’t wanted to push too hard and weaken the whole before he was ready to do the spellcasting. Today the spells were more visible to him, due, he thought, to the presence of the royal family, especially the strength of three of their Talents. They, their magic, their blood, were inextricably linked to the spells that kept their country safe.

  The long-ago members of the royal family who agreed to these spells must have wanted to protect Tournai very much, enough to take a huge risk on something Savarin doubted had been done before—he’d certainly never done or heard of anything like it. They had taken as much of a risk as the current royals were taking by allowing him to reinforce the spells with their magic.

  Magic he was certain was easing his way, because before he knew it, he slipped into the heart of the spells. It pulsed and glowed around him, a bright, healthy gold, and he could almost feel the far-off echoes of those sorcerers and royals who began it lingering in its tightly woven center.

  Here was where the most difficult work began. He had to reinforce the whole of the protection spells, strengthening the weak spots, making the magic a seamless barrier between Tournai and threats from outside. Once he did that, he could try to see if changing the spells to add the protections they wanted was possible.

  And for this task, he needed the magic and Talent of the royal family. While he held on to the spells, not letting himself slip away from them, he reached for the shimmering fire of the Talent belonging to Prince Philip and his sister and cousins. It touched him like a warm, tingling glow, tempting him to bask in this interesting and unusual magic—but he couldn’t, not today or ever. As interesting as the royal family’s Talent was, he couldn’t indulge his curiosity with them, not only for the potential slight but for the risk of whatever he discovered getting out and into the wrong hands.

  No, he could only do what he came for. With that resolution reiterated, he began the delicate process of reinforcing Tournai’s protections. Layering more power into the spells, anchoring them more firmly. And when he felt the magic around him, felt it beating in his heart, pulsing through his blood, he could sense the strength of the spells, knew that what he’d done had worked.

  But he didn’t allow himself relief yet. He turned to the other part of his task, the part he was less certain he could accomplish. They’d discussed changing the protections, or adding to them, to make them protect Tournai from more than they were originally intended to do, but he didn’t know if he could do it, today or at all.

  Or maybe not. There was some of what he and the princes had been thinking to add already in the weave of the spells, bits of it anyway. But it had either stopped working over the years, or it had never been completed to start with. He didn’t know why it wouldn’t have been if they’d begun, unless they couldn’t figure out how to do it, but why begin if they didn’t know how?

  Of course he didn’t know how, not entirely, not exactly, and he was still going to try. He could feel the spells now, feel them in his bones as he immersed himself in them. Feel the connection between the vast power of the protection spells and the magic of the royal family’s Talents and himself as the conduit between them. He could use the connection, use the ability it gave him to bend the spells, nearly their own entity after so long, to his will.

  But it was more difficult than just that. He had to form the pathways, form new threads and braid them into the whole, but that sounded simpler than it was too. Because it was almost as if the spells were their own living being, something Savarin had never encountered before, had only heard theories of, theories he wasn’t sure he believed possible before today. He had to persuade the spells to let him in, to let him add to them, change them. That the Talents of the prince and the other royals were there, surrounding him, lending weight to all that he did, seemed to help, not only to give him the ability to anchor the spells properly, but to add to them at all.

  Maybe that was why the prior sorcerer who’d tried to change the spells hadn’t finished. Maybe he hadn’t had access to what Savarin did. Because he surely would have failed without it. With the warm, steady glow of the royals’ Talent, his meticulous work seemed to take hold, but as it was, he knew he wouldn’t be able to do everything they might have hoped today.

  Hours probably passed; days could have. He had no concept of the passage of time while he worked—and with a working this complex and large, his obliviousness was even more profound. The sun could have set and risen again, the skies opened up to pour rain on him. He had no awareness of the outside world, and little even of his internal one. Thoughts of anything except the magic were dim, flitting into his consciousness then away before they could take hold, filed away for him to consider later, if he could remember them. The state of his own physical body didn’t merit consideration. All that mattered was the magic coursing through him.

  Chapter 24

  HOURS PASSED. Only a few but it felt like days to Loriot. The cats that were the royal family hadn’t uttered another sound after the odd almost-gasps that could have been in response to shock or pain or something else entirely. They hadn’t moved either. Savarin hadn’t spoken or made any noise, but he did move from time to time, hand gestures of the kind that Loriot had seen him making when he used his Talent to study the protection spells. He’d anticipated them, but Lord Flavian hadn’t, and with every motion Savarin made, Lord Flavian jumped. Loriot didn’t know what he expected to happen, but he couldn’t blame Lord Flavian for his reaction. The duke’s husband was wound tight, but he hadn’t tried to go to his husband since they’d gone quiet again.

  Loriot wasn’t fooled into thinking Lord Flavian wouldn’t try again at the slightest provocation. It was obvious that Duke Cathal was far more important to Lord Flavian than any spell or country, and Loriot couldn’t blame Lord Flavian for that either. Loriot was beginning to think he shared Lord Flavian’s priorities in regard to Savarin.

  But more was at stake than Loriot’s wishes, and he couldn’t always have what he wanted. Sometimes Tournai had to come first. But even that knowledge didn’t stop Loriot from worrying about Savarin, hoping that he would come out of this well. Hoping that the magic would work as well, for the country, yes, but for Savarin too. Savarin would be so upset otherwise. And he’d only try again, which Loriot wasn’t sure he could take.

  He’d have to, of course. He would have to stand and watch Savarin make another attempt, watch him risk himself and the royal family for the sake of Tournai, because it was Loriot’s duty to guard them while they tried. But he just wasn’t sure he was strong enough to watch again, to worry again like this.

  So the spell had to work this time.

  Loriot blinked, wondering if he was imagining it, but no, the shimmering mists that had ebbed and flowed through the clearing while Savarin worked his magic were receding. Dissipating.

  If anything Lord Flavian’s frame went even more rigid, something Loriot hadn’t thought possible. And if something didn’t happen, soon all that tension would probably break him into a million pieces. Loriot wouldn’t want to explain that event to Duke Cathal.

  But something was happening. The mist continued to settle until no hint of the golden shimmer remained, gone as if it had never been.

  Lord Flavian bounced onto his toes, as if poised to run into the clearin
g. Loriot shifted his weight, readying himself once more to hold Lord Flavian back if he had to. But Lord Flavian didn’t make any further moves, just stared at the people in the clearing, at Duke Cathal. Loriot transferred most of his attention back to the clearing as well. Savarin and the royals were still as statues.

  Until they weren’t.

  Suddenly the seven in the clearing sagged. A shimmer of gold returned, surrounding the royals, and Loriot almost cursed because he’d thought the spell over, but the gold light disappeared almost immediately. And the royals were back to being people instead of cats. Loriot’s gaze went immediately to the prince, who was, of all of them, the one he most had to protect. Prince Philip’s eyes were unfocused, and he made no move to get up off the ground—none of them did—but he didn’t seem too badly off. On either side of him, Duke Cathal and Lord Etan looked equally dazed, and all three men winced. Prince Philip put a hand to his head as Lord Etan groaned.

  Lord Vrai’s head was cradled in his hands in the careful way of a man who’d had too much to drink and was trying to keep his head from falling off. Lady Meriall slumped forward, bracing herself on her hands to keep herself upright, it looked like, and Princess Elodie… the princess quietly passed out as he watched.

  Loriot jumped to go to her but pulled himself up short and looked to Jadis. Surely Jadis would know if they could go into the clearing. But Jadis was already moving, hurrying to Princess Elodie with his bag in hand. That seemed to be all Lord Flavian needed. He was across the clearing and dropping to his knees at Duke Cathal’s side before Loriot could blink. Lord Flavian leaned close and murmured something to his husband; the duke answered in a voice too low for Loriot to hear. Whatever he said made Lord Flavian lean closer and rub Duke Cathal’s temples.

  Though he wanted to run to Savarin as Lord Flavian had run to his husband, Loriot couldn’t. He didn’t even know if Savarin would welcome such attention. And he wouldn’t find out because he had duties to attend to. He pulled the spelled mirror from his pocket and contacted his second. “The spell is complete. Keep the gardens clear, but inform His Highness that it’s done.”

  He slipped the mirror back into his pocket and made his way over to Prince Philip, who hadn’t moved. Loriot knelt. “Your Highness? Your Highness, are you all right?”

  Prince Philip raised his head just enough to see Loriot. “I believe so. My head is pounding, though. What about everyone else? And did the spell work?”

  “The princess seems to have fainted, but Jadis is tending to her,” he said as Prince Philip moved too quickly and went stark white. “He’ll take good care of Her Highness. Your cousins seem to be in much the same condition as you are, Your Highness.”

  “Then I pity them.” Prince Philip huffed out a laugh and winced. “I’m just going to sit very still for a little while.”

  Loriot opened his mouth to offer to fetch another healer to help the prince when the sound of running footsteps claimed his attention. Prince Amory and Master Tristan burst into the clearing together and skidded to a stop. Prince Amory’s expressive face was flooded with concern, and he practically leaped to Prince Philip’s side.

  “Pip? Philip? Are you all right?”

  “Fine. Where’s Julien?”

  “He’s with his nursemaid, probably having an afternoon snack about now. You don’t look fine.”

  “Just tired. And a terrible headache. I’ll be fine,” Prince Philip repeated.

  “Let me see if I can help.” Prince Amory placed his hands lightly on either side of Prince Philip’s head, and Loriot remembered he had a minor healing Talent. Loriot left him to help Prince Philip and stood, looking around. Jadis and Lord Vrai hovered over Princess Elodie, who was still unconscious, and Master Tristan sat beside Lord Etan, an arm around his shoulders and his other hand on Lady Meriall’s arm. Other than the princess, the royal family seemed to have come through the spell relatively unscathed.

  The spell.

  Savarin was still standing where he had been through the whole spell casting, Loriot found when he turned. “Savarin, did it work?”

  Savarin opened his mouth, presumably to answer, but his eyes rolled up and he crumpled to the ground before he could say a word. Loriot leaped to catch him, but he wasn’t fast enough, and Savarin hit the ground. Loriot fell to his knees beside Savarin, but he had no idea what to do for him, didn’t even know what was wrong. “Jadis!”

  Jadis appeared so quickly he must have been moving toward Savarin before Loriot’s call. He knelt on Savarin’s other side and laid a hand on his forehead. Loriot waited for Jadis to speak, barely managing to keep himself from demanding to know what was wrong. Barely managing to keep himself from reaching out and shaking Jadis to make him speak. Finally Jadis sat back, some of the tension in his expression relaxing. Something inside Loriot loosened a fraction.

  “Jadis?” he prompted when the healer didn’t say anything after a moment.

  Jadis looked up at Loriot, his gaze taking on a compassionate softness. Did Jadis know about him and Savarin? “He’s exhausted himself, used too much of his power all at once, which for someone as powerful as he is takes some doing.”

  “Will he be all right?”

  “I should think so. I’ll keep an eye on him, but he needs rest. His body knew it, that’s why he collapsed. He’ll likely sleep for days with how depleted he is.”

  Relief that Savarin would recover warred with horror at the idea of him needing to sleep for days. “We should get him up to the palace.”

  “Yes. We should get everyone up to the palace. They’ve all been weakened by the spell. They’ll need rest to get their strength back.”

  “Only rest?”

  Jadis nodded. “They haven’t been injured. They’ve just used their Talents too much all at once, Savarin most of all. It depletes the strength. Uninterrupted rest will see them well again.”

  Loriot allowed himself to be reassured despite his unease at how pale and still Savarin was. “I’ll have some guards carry Savarin and the princess up. Will everyone else be able to walk there?”

  “They’ll want to, and they should be able to manage it, with some help perhaps.” Jadis looked past Loriot to the others in the clearing. “But we have that.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. Prince Amory, Lord Flavian, and Master Tristan still hovered over their husbands, their postures protective. He doubted he could stop them from helping if he tried.

  Four of his most discreet and trustworthy guards arrived with stretchers for Savarin and Princess Elodie moments after Loriot contacted his second again. Loriot didn’t want to leave Savarin’s side, but he couldn’t hover over him as if Savarin was his only concern. However much he wanted to.

  He left the guards lifting Savarin onto the stretcher under Jadis’s watchful eye, knowing Jadis would see that Savarin was well taken care of. Prince Philip was on his feet, Prince Amory steadying him with hands on his arms. Lord Etan was also standing; Master Tristan held his elbow in a firm grasp. Lord Flavian helped the duke to his feet, and Loriot watched, ready to step in and help. Lord Flavian was so much shorter and slighter than Duke Cathal, but the duke made it to his feet with only Lord Flavian’s supporting hands, and Lord Flavian slipped an arm around his waist to help him balance, or perhaps just to be close to him.

  Loriot turned away from them to check on Princess Elodie. She seemed to be coming around a bit as the guards moved her onto the stretcher, but she didn’t protest being lifted. Perhaps she was too groggy still to do so. Lord Vrai sat beside the stretcher and murmured to her until the guards were ready to carry the stretcher up to the palace. He leaned away to allow them room to work, and when they’d moved, slowly climbed to his feet. He swayed but stayed standing.

  Lady Meriall clambered to her feet last. She lost her balance almost immediately. Loriot leaped toward her but was too late to catch her, which seemed to be a trend for him today. She ended up on her backside in the grass, the skirts of her red gown twisted around her legs, but didn’t seem inju
red or even particularly upset. Lord Etan and Master Tristan seemed far more dismayed, especially since they weren’t able to come to her aid.

  “Let me help you, my lady,” Loriot said.

  She smiled ruefully. “Thank you, Captain. I seem to be a bit shaky.”

  “Jadis said you’ll all be tired after the spell, my lady, so I think that’s normal,” he said and offered Lady Meriall a hand to help her to her feet. He kept hold of her hand, not wanting her to end up back on the ground, possibly hurting herself in the process. “Will you let me carry you back to the palace, my lady?” He pressed when she looked torn. “It’s a long way back, and you’re exhausted, my lady, if you’ll excuse my saying so.”

  “I suppose I am,” she said, letting out a half laugh. “Thank you, Captain.”

  With her permission granted, he picked her up, easily cradling her slight weight. Duke Cathal nodded at him.

  They made a pathetic little procession through the gardens and back up to the palace. Loriot was doubly glad that they’d cleared not only the gardens but any rooms in the palace overlooking them. They didn’t need anyone seeing the royal family in this state—the princess on a stretcher, the prince and his cousins leaning heavily on others to walk. Who knew what people would think if they heard rumors of this sight. They’d come up with wild stories about the condition of the prince and his family. Best for the entire royal family, and for Tournai, that no one ever did.

  Chapter 25

  CONSCIOUSNESS RETURNED slowly and with difficulty. Savarin reached for it several times but couldn’t quite make it, wasn’t quite certain he wanted to, though he didn’t know why. And he was always dragged from awareness before he could think about it. It didn’t matter. The darkness was comfortable. No reason to leave it.