Trial of Magic

by K. M. Shea

  People screamed, the air smelled simultaneously burnt and thick with the metallic reek of blood.

  She couldn’t tell who was on what side anymore; there were too many Chosen. It was pure chaos.

  “Angelique.” Sybilla grabbed her by her wrists. “You need to drive them out!”

  “The Chosen? How?” Angelique helplessly watched the chaos unfold—feeling lost.

  We thought there were maybe a few Chosen here, but I see dozens…just how many are there?

  “I don’t know,” Sybilla said. “Primrose and the others left after you frightened them. Perhaps the same tactic will work on the others?”

  “By myself? Why would they fear one mage?” Angelique asked.

  Another blast rocked the city. Angelique had to brace herself to stay on her feet as the flames by the school grew taller.

  “Please, Angelique!” Tears traced paths down Lovelana’s face as she stumbled into Angelique, a sob catching in her throat. “Mages are dying!”

  Angelique winced.

  Nearby, a mage with a bloodied face screamed as she leaned against a small tree, using her magic to bend its branches to fight a mage that was wielding bursts of light and was protected by one of Nefari’s green shields.

  The statue in the now-boiling water fountain exploded, flinging sharp fragments of rock into the air.

  Angelique’s magic curiously stirred, poking at the sharpest of the fragments.

  Lovelana tried to widen her shield to protect more people, and Sybilla built a few ice walls to reinforce buildings that were sagging as support beams and walls were taken out.

  A Chosen mage blew one of the ice walls to bits, creating a shower of pointed pieces—once again stirring her magic.

  That’s it! That’s how I’ll stop them!

  A blast went off, and a pointed spire that topped one of the smaller towers of the main Conclave building exploded.

  Angelique released her magic and used it to grab any pieces of the air-born debris that had even the smallest bit of edge.

  The blasted pieces were hot, rough, and carrying enough momentum to make Angelique’s head spin, but when her magic encased the bits, they hung in the air like weapons, creating a dangerous overhang.

  The fire raging through Luxi-Domus broke some windows. Angelique couldn’t see it, but she could feel it in her magic when the jagged shards were airborne.

  She caught those, too, scooping up every piece of debris that had enough of an edge that her magic could claim it—which was most of it.

  Angelique’s mind was already cluttered with the hundreds of weapons her magic held. Adding in the countless fragments of glass, ice, and brick made it stretch to a new level.

  Not that her magic couldn’t handle it. No, her blasted powers were curiously pooling around the walls of the Conclave fortress. The only reason it wasn’t shooting out into the land surrounding the fortress was the hold Angelique had on it.

  No, the limiting factor is me.

  Her stomach wobbled, and a part of her wanted to throw up from the sheer number of sensations she felt.

  But I need to hold it together long enough to scare them.

  Another ice wall exploded—producing sharpened chunks Angelique caught and suspended in the air.

  This time, the mage responsible frowned when the ice didn’t bludgeon the terrified Conclave mages, and looked around.

  She caught sight of the ice hanging over her head, and her eyes flicked to Angelique. Instantly, she paled.

  Angelique smiled.

  Yes…that’s right. Every time you lot try to inflict damage, you’re giving me more to work with, and you’re revealing your location. Keep going, and I’ll find you all.

  A flick of her finger, and the weapons, shrapnel, and debris spun in the air, moving into precise patterns that clustered above the Chosen mages Angelique could see—which was fairly easy thanks to their green shields compliments of Nefari. Angelique was even able to target a couple of Chosen standing on rooftops due to their shields.

  As her ammunition lined up, panic broke out among the Chosen.

  “It’s Angelique!”

  “We need to escape!”

  “But the protocol—”

  “She’s going to kill us!”

  “What about Crest, Primrose, Lazare and—”

  “They already fled!”

  Angelique took a breath and reached for the smallest shards and daggers among her arsenal. She lined up her shots, then released them, pummeling the shields so they shattered like kindling.

  Yells intermingled with the screaming, and dozens upon dozens of gates created by charms—again using Evariste’s magic—snapped open.

  Mages left in droves, leaving the smoking city behind.

  Angelique gritted her teeth as she forced herself to hold on despite the toll it was taking on her mind.

  “They’re fleeing,” Lovelana reported. “The fighting is slowing down.”

  “How do you know?” Sybilla asked.

  Lovelana—lit but by a fire that was consuming the roof of a neighboring building—grimly set her mouth. “Because my core magic is healing, and the amount of new blood being spilled is slowing.”

  Angelique set her legs wide and braced herself as she slowly lowered some of her arsenal—the shrapnel and debris, specifically. She intended to hold onto the weapons until it was safe. “We need to find Evariste, Tristisim, and Felicienne and make sure they’re safe,” she croaked.

  “Angelique!” Clovicus shouted. He sprinted down the street, running faster when he saw Lovelana and Sybilla. “You’re all safe—good. The war mages have claimed a section of streets. We’re forming our stronghold there, and from there, we’ll begin to try to stabilize the city and help whoever is hurt.”

  “I think my ring is just about tapped out, so I don’t know that I can help you much,” Sybilla looked doubtfully at her ring.

  “I can. Just tell me where to go.” Pink magic pooled around Lovelana. A tendril of it brushed Angelique, and it was soft and soothing.

  Clovicus gestured back in the direction he’d come. “Look for the war mages—though approach slowly. They’re on edge.”

  Angelique pushed her sweaty, dust-coated hair out of her face. “Evariste?”

  “With the war mages—as are Tristisim and Felicienne,” Clovicus said. “They’re the safest ones in the Conclave right now.”

  Angelique nodded in relief and wiped her forehead off on the sleeve of her tunic.

  “We need to get you some rest.” Clovicus hooked an arm around her shoulders so he was half supporting her. “You look awful.”

  Angelique flicked her eyes to her weapons. “Can we risk that?”

  “I think so,” Sybilla said. “You scared them something fierce; there have been no more explosions. You need the rest, so take it.”

  “We’ll need you ready for tomorrow,” Clovicus added grimly. “In case they decide to come back and finish what they started.”

  Angelique slowly lowered the weapons to the ground—though she didn’t leave them out for anyone to find; rather, she secreted them in areas that people would have a hard time reaching: burnt husks of buildings, on the sloped roofs of the Conclave, and other similar locations, though she was careful to leave plenty for her fellow war mages.

  “Are we certain?” Angelique asked.

  “Yes,” Sybilla said.

  Once she could stand easier, Clovicus let Angelique go and stepped in front of her. “You’ve saved the continent in uncovering this, Angelique, and run off a great number of the Chosen. It’s time for you to take a moment. We can handle this next part.”

  I do need to rest—or I might be out of it for even longer than I was after the fight with the mirror. I can’t risk that—not since the Chosen so deeply infiltrated the Conclave!

  Angelique let her shoulders slump. “Very well. Thank you.”

  “Of course, dearie.” Sybilla hip-bumped Clovicus to the side so she could pat Angelique’s hands.

&nb
sp; Angelique rolled her shoulders back and mentally braced herself, then cut off her magic.

  Instantly, the nausea returned, slamming through her with such force that she collapsed.

  She was vaguely aware of a pink glow of magic and someone holding her, but soon all sensations except for the churning of her stomach drifted away, masked by the way the world seemed to spin out of control around her.

  “This, this is worse than my fight with the mirror,” Angelique mumbled as sweat broke out on her skin.

  Her body shook as she retched, but she’d already been sick so many times that there was nothing left except for painful heaves.

  But she’d defended Evariste. No matter what happened next, the Chosen hadn’t gotten him back. Surely someone would be able to break the curse on him, and then maybe he’d stop looking so exhausted…

  Chapter 36

  Angelique cracked an eyelid and groaned when golden light assaulted her.

  She could feel the dirt and grit that crusted her clothes and skin. A rancid taste soured her mouth, and her eyes and head ached.

  She shifted and realized she’d been placed on something soft. A moment passed before she tried to pry her eyes open again. She attempted to move her arms, but it was nearly impossible because she’d been wrapped in a cocoon of cloaks. Some had even been shoved behind her, cushioning her head so she didn’t feel the stones she was draped over.

  “What?” she mumbled in a hoarse, dry voice that sounded like death.

  “Good morning, Lady Enchantress Angelique!”

  Feeling rusty and dried out, Angelique peered up at the mage who greeted her. “Huh?”

  “Lord Enchanter Evariste will be most relieved to hear you are awake,” the mage said. She wore light leather armor, boots, and carried a glaive—a war mage for certain. Her smile was nearly as brilliant as the sun—which was a pale gold peeking above the horizon, casting long shadows and bathing everything in weak but warm light.

  It took Angelique a few seconds to peer through the shadows and sunlight and realize about a dozen war mages were fanned out around her, posted in a protective pattern.

  “I was out of it for the whole night?” Angelique finally managed to pry her arms from her cocoon of cloaks and rub her eyes.

  “Lady Enchantress Lovelana was most upset that she wasn’t able to directly lessen your symptoms.”

  Angelique snorted. “It’s my price for my powers—wouldn’t be much of a price if a little healing magic could make it go away, would it?”

  The war mage chose to ignore the grunted comment and continued. “However, she was able to put you in a charmed, healing sleep, which I believe lessened your misery.”

  Angelique considered her stomach. Her mouth burned, but her stomach was no longer churning or protesting. Food didn’t sound appetizing, but she could look around without falling over.

  The implications of seeing the cloudless sky and sitting among rocky ruins finally hit Angelique. “I slept out here the whole night?”

  The war mage pressed her lips together in clear pique. “I suggested you be moved to more comfortable quarters, but Lord Enchanter Evariste refused. He, Fairy Godmother Sybilla, Lord Enchanter Clovicus, Lord Enchanter Tristisim, and Lady Enchantress Felicienne have opted to create a temporary abode just past the rubble rather than stay directly in the fortress, in case the Chosen have entrances we are unaware of.”

  The war mage gestured down the broken street, where Angelique could see a large tent made of gauzy purple fabric. Its innards glowed, lit by magic or fires—apparently no one had rested yet since the events of the previous night.

  “I see. Thank you for guarding me?” Angelique squinted up at the war mage, hoping she was right.

  She hoped she was being protected, and not that the guards had been posted to restrain her when she woke.

  The war mage bowed her head. “The black mages very obviously fear you. Guarding you so you could sleep in peace was our honor.”

  Angelique scratched the back of her head. “I see. Thank you.” The response felt lackluster, but she didn’t know what else to say. Everything was just…odd.

  She pushed herself to her feet, her legs shaking like a newborn foal. When she could stand without tottering, she planted her hands on her lower back and stretched, moving her stiff muscles.

  Daylight revealed the wreckage of the previous night. Several buildings bore damaged walls and roofs; a few were even collapsed. Rubble—broken crates and barrels, ruined bricks and cracked stone—spilled into the street. Smoke and dust drifted from the remains, and the fortress was disturbingly quiet considering much of the city usually stirred before dawn.

  Angelique stared at the visual symbol of the Veneno Conclave’s complacency—or rather its failure—that had allowed the Chosen to worm their way in.

  Even now, she still had a hard time understanding what had happened.

  How had four Chosen mages gotten to be Council Members? How had the Veneno Conclave missed this quiet invasion?

  “Do we know how many Chosen infiltrated the Conclave?” Angelique abruptly asked.

  “…No.” The war mage lost her smile and joined Angelique in watching a curl of smoke rise from the shell of a collapsed building. “But we know that throughout the night, mages slipped out, escaping, even as we tried to rally our forces.”

  “But it was a lot?”

  “It’s not official, but I would estimate nearly a fourth of the mages present in the Conclave were Chosen members.”

  A fourth? The number made Angelique stagger.

  That’s so many. No wonder the Conclave wouldn’t move against the black mages. But how could this happen? We mages are supposed to protect and serve! How could the Chosen have possibly blended in so well with us?

  She briefly closed her eyes—an attempt to rein in on all her wild thoughts and doubts—and settled herself. One thing at a time.

  “I see,” she murmured.

  Her resolve found, Angelique had to practically climb out of the nest of cloaks and robes that she was swaddled in. She peered curiously at them once she was freed.

  “Many were concerned you’d be uncomfortable,” the war mage explained.

  “Ah. That’s very kind.” Angelique awkwardly cleared her throat. “Thank you. Evariste, Clovicus, and Sybilla are still in the tent?”

  “Yes, Lady Enchantress.”

  “Great.” Still feeling awkward, Angelique picked her way around shattered ceramic pots (ignoring the way her magic curiously poked at the shards) and headed for the tent. She twisted back when she heard footsteps following her and found the war mage and her companions trailing her.

  When they caught her gaze, they smartly saluted.

  …I don’t know what this means.

  In a bid to avoid thinking too deeply about it, Angelique nodded at them, then doubled her pace to the tent.

  When she was about halfway there, the sound of muffled sobs reached her. She stopped abruptly—her well-armed shadows stopping with her—and listened.

  The noise wasn’t coming from the tent but down a side street, which—if Angelique remembered correctly—was one of the housing areas for mages who worked in the Conclave.

  Angelique fidgeted, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, then made the turn-off, following the hushed noise.

  The side street widened, opening up into a courtyard encircled by skinny brick buildings. At the center of the courtyard was a rather sorry-looking bush, two stone benches, and a fountain that had been mangled in the night’s fight (if the broken, tipped-over statue on the ground next to it was anything to go by).

  Sitting on one of the stone benches was a mage with russet-colored hair. She was curled over herself, her hands pressed to her eyes as tiny sobs escaped her.

  She didn’t seem to know that Angelique was there, so Angelique kicked a rock that skittered across the path.

  The woman cut herself off into a choked gasp and wiped at her cheeks. She folded her hands in her lap and raised p
uffy eyes to peer up at Angelique, an unhealthy pallor settled into her skin.

  It took Angelique a few moments to place the subdued mage as Sinèad of the Assignments and Appointments Department. For a moment, she was certain she must be wrong. Sinèad was vibrant and expressive. This mage lacked the glow in her eyes, and defeat lined her face. And where was Alfonso, her husband?

  “Sinèad?” Angelique asked.

  The mage tried for a watery smile, but her lower lip trembled too much to make it stick. “Hello, Apprentice Angelique.”

  Angelique glanced at the buildings behind Sinèad, but besides the broken fountain, the area seemed untouched.

  It seems stupid to ask if she’s all right when she’s obviously been crying…

  Her fingers twitched as she started to extend her hand and then thought better of it. “Can I help you?”

  Sinèad stared down at her hands and a few tears ran down her cheeks. “No…he’s gone.”

  Angelique tilted her head. “Who is gone?”

  “Alfonso,” Sinèad whispered.

  Angelique straightened. “Do you think he was hurt when the others left? Do we need to look for him—”

  “No,” Sinèad whispered. “I saw him leave—with the others. He blasted a hole in the fortress wall and led some of the Chosen mages outside… I screamed for him, but he didn’t even look back.”

  Angelique stared at the mage, refusal ringing through her mind. No, now that’s impossible. They were a disgustingly happy couple. Sinèad flirted shamelessly with Alfonso, and while he acted embarrassed, it was obvious he thought the world of her. He can’t be one of the Chosen. He loved her too much!

  Angelique opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her.

  “It was all a lie.” Sinèad mashed her hands into her eyes. “He married me, and we spent every day together. But he never loved me.”

  The pain in her voice stabbed Angelique. She hesitated—no mage had ever really welcomed touch from her—but Sinèad’s slumped head spoke of a deep brokenness.

  She knelt down in front of Sinèad and slowly hugged her. She twitched in surprise when Sinèad threw her arms around her and leaned into Angelique, trembling as she cried.