Mage Resolution (Book 2)

by Virginia G. McMorrow

  Sernyn silenced the boy with an upraised hand. “You have enough to concern yourself with without unwanted companions.” Smoothing back a loose strand of graying hair, he regarded me, and shrugged in apology. “Lady Barlow told me there was a problem.” He slanted a glance at Gwynn, who looked confused. The boy didn’t need to know anyone’s dirty little secrets.

  I sighed and turned away, eyes unfocused on the gardens, blooming with autumn colors. No one spoke for a long moment. When I faced Sernyn again, I was surprised at the intent expression in his eyes. “I don’t want Gwynn in danger.”

  “And I would feel better if he were with you.” Gentle insistence, but not gentle enough.

  “I can take care of myself,” I said irritably, and started to walk away. “I did it for twenty-five years.”

  Sernyn snatched my tunic sleeve and held me back. I raised a brow, looked pointedly at his hand on my sleeve, and then at him.

  “Getting brave.”

  “When your safety is an issue, yes.”

  “And wasn’t it all those years?” Fresh pain and old grief appeared in his eyes as I taunted him again, confusing me with conflicting emotions. “Why did you come the day I showed up in Glynnswood that first time?”

  At my abrupt question, he shrugged in bewilderment. “I wanted to see you. I wanted to see how you’d grown.” When I started to utter something nasty, he raised a hand to stop me. “I did not hesitate, Alex. When the scout reported you were searching for your kin, I immediately put down the leather strap I was repairing and left the house to saddle my horse. Alex, understand,” he whispered, “if you were safe and distant in Port Alain, I could almost pretend I had no guilt to bear. But when you arrived upon my doorstep, I could no longer avoid you.”

  “Avoid?” I spat out the word, satisfied at his flush of embarrassment. “And are you sorry you didn’t lie and send word I had no more kin in Glynnswood?”

  “How can you ask me that?” As I started to respond, he placed his hands on my shoulders and held me still. “Forgive me. You have every right to ask, but I have never regretted coming to you. My only regret was that I reopened a painful wound and caused you intolerable grief.” He gently squeezed my shoulders. “The question is better asked of you. Are you sorry that I came to see you?”

  I broke free of his grasp and walked away, turning my back on him, aware of Gwynn’s silent worry. Lords of the sea, I wanted to strangle Sernyn Keltie. I shook my head, pausing a few steps away. “I don’t know.” At that honest admission, I hugged myself hard, trying to ignore his disappointment. “Regardless of how I feel, I still don’t want Gwynn in danger.”

  “Then I will simply send him after you in the dark.”

  * * * *

  “Lords of the sea! You’re not coming, too?”

  Rosanna stood in the doorway of the cottage, framed by the late afternoon sun, struggling to keep her expression bland. “Don’t you think I can be of help?”

  “You’d be as much help to me on this journey as I’d be in your gardens.”

  “Nothing like an insult to welcome a person.” She came into my sitting room and draped her cloak over one of the armchairs. “Shall I make some tea?”

  I put my hands on my hips and stared at her. “What do you think?”

  “I see.” Her eyes darted round the room until she found what she was searching for. “Perhaps some of this might lighten your mood?”

  “Perhaps.” I gratefully accepted a glass of Marain wine from her outstretched hand. “You asked yesterday what was happening to us.” I twirled the glass in my hands. “Good question. I wish I knew the answer.”

  Rosanna fluffed up some pillows, tossed them onto the armchair opposite me, and made herself comfortable. “What’s troubling you?”

  I searched for sarcasm in her eyes, and came up empty. “A lot of everything, I guess.” I paused for another sip, savoring the fruity taste. “I’m worried about Khrista and the boys. I’m afraid of what we’ll find. I’m afraid—” I stopped and looked away.

  “For one moment, forget I’m Khrista’s mother and the boys’ grandmother,” she said softly. “Tell me the truth. I have a right to know.”

  I laughed with bitterness at her choice of words. But she was just as right as Lauryn, even Jules. “Kerrie couldn’t tell us much. I’m afraid they’re hurt or worse. Rosanna…” I forced myself to face her without flinching. “I’m terrified that they’re dead. If the renegade mage is uncontrolled or mad, I don’t know what we’ll find. Or even if we’ll find them.” I drained my glass and slammed it on the table. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that and—”

  “What? Echoed my own fears?”

  “What if I can’t help them?” I wrapped my fingers around the glass again.

  Rosanna appraised me for a long tense moment. “Will you try?”

  I blinked in confusion. “Of course.”

  “Then that’s all we can expect of you, Alex. You don’t have to go, but you will.”

  “Of course, I have to go.”

  She held up a pudgy hand. “No, you don’t. But you will. And we’re all grateful. Don’t you think we’d rather you didn’t? Beyond worry for my daughter and the twins, we’re worried for you and Anders. And so” —she gave me an impish smile— “is your father.”

  “Oh, him.” I waved the glass in annoyance and reached for the bottle.

  “Yes, him.”

  “Well, that’s another thing.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” When I didn’t go on, she said, “The mere fact you’re talking to him is miraculous.”

  “Talking?”

  “I was being diplomatic.”

  “Don’t bother. And don’t pursue it. I don’t want to discuss Sernyn Keltie.” Grumpy, I sipped the wine without really tasting it and sank into the chair opposite her.

  “What else do you want to discuss?”

  “Jules.” When she nodded for me to explain, I said, “He has a right to come with us, but I’m still so furious with him.” I huddled in the chair, cold despite the blazing fire.

  “Would it help to know Lauryn would prefer Jules be anywhere but here?”

  “I don’t blame her. Anders lectured me that it’s not my concern, and it isn’t, but that doesn’t mean I have to take Jules with me.”

  “No, and you don’t have to, but I’d feel better if you had more protection.”

  “I can take Port Alain troops.”

  “Alex.” Something in her voice caught my attention. “Jules needs to get his wits together, and he can’t do it here.”

  “You want me to coddle him?”

  “I want you to smack some sense into the fool’s head.”

  My turn to restrain amusement. “All right.” I slouched in the chair and crossed my legs, dangling one foot loosely over my knee.

  “What else?”

  “Elena.”

  “That will take a little time.”

  “What if she never forgives me?”

  “She will. She’s grieving right now, but she’s not a fool. After all, you didn’t make Erich a traitor. He did that all by himself.” Rosanna scrutinized my still unhappy expression. “There’s something else.”

  “You’re annoyingly perceptive.”

  “I try to be.”

  I slouched even further. “This renegade—” Rosanna was watching me like a hawk, seeing right through my careless manner. “She, at least we think she’s a she, may very well have my talent.”

  “Sernyn told me that.”

  “She has probably had it, or used it,” I amended, after catching the brief glint of an unspoken remark in the old lady’s eye, “longer than I have. And don’t say I could have had it longer either.” Her expression turned bland, as I added, “Even though you’d be right.”

  “I wasn’t thinking any such thoughts.”

  “Liar.” I glanced down at my fingers, surprised to find them tangled.

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “If she’s truly mad o
r stronger or—”

  “You won’t be alone. There’s Anders and Gwynn.”

  “The boy hasn’t a clue what to do with his talent.”

  “He did manage to save Elena’s life.”

  “It was an accident,” I grumbled, unable to coax my hands free of each other.

  “You can teach him on the way.” She paused, watching me try to untangle my hands. “What are you really afraid of?”

  “Failing. Having Anders or Gwynn or even your foolish son get hurt, or worse.” I forced my hands apart and clenched them into fists. “The renegade mage, she’s the part of my talent that frightens me. Not controlling it, abusing it, enjoying the power.”

  “You’ve managed to remain a civilized subject of Tuldamoran so far,” Rosanna said dryly, though her eyes were somber.

  “You don’t understand. You can’t know what it’s like. Fighting Charlton Ravess in the mage duel was one thing, until my anger nearly overwhelmed me. I’m sure you heard in sordid detail what I did to him, how I used my magic to maim the firemage and nearly kill him. That incident revealed a part of me that shames me. And don’t forget,” I added before she could voice a protest, “how I used my magic to get back at Anders for spite when he kept pushing me to go faster and further. That was unforgivable. Anders was my friend.” My hands clenched together again, the knuckles bone white. “Don’t you see? I enjoyed the power, Rosanna. I used it to hurt Anders and nearly obliterated Charlton Ravess. I’ve never admitted that out loud.”

  “Alex.” Her tone was chiding. “You used it to defeat a traitor and save a crown. As for Anders, you used it to prove something and to spite him. I don’t believe, despite your own self-doubt, that you’d have pushed matters so far with Anders if you knew he’d be hurt.”

  “You don’t know that for certain.”

  “Be reasonable.”

  I shook my head. “I like to think I wouldn’t have.”

  “Then maybe it’ll do you some good to see this renegade mage abuse her talent.” Rosanna’s tone had subtly changed to affectionate mockery. She drained her wine glass and grabbed her cloak, flinging it around her shoulders. “Think of it as looking in a mirror. That should keep you honest.” Instead of replying, I bowed my head, studying my hands, skin stretched taut over my knuckles. Rosanna stopped by my chair, her fingers gently stroking my hair as she often did when I was a child. “There’s stubbornness, pride, spite, and anger in you, Alex, but not a shred of malice. Emila and Sernyn, yes, Sernyn, too, could never have created a monster, and I would never tolerate one.” She tugged at a strand of hair. “And you could never become one, even though there are times we all swear you breathe fire and smoke.” She kissed the top of my head. “I still want my schoolmistress back in one piece. Not to mention Master Perrin, my gardener. So you be careful.”

  * * * *

  I woke in the middle of the night, cold sweat clammy on my body, a scream echoing in the stillness. Anders held me close, stroking my head, until I stopped shaking.

  “Your fingers are getting tangled in my hair.”

  “Sorry. Just trying to help.” He freed his fingers from one intricate knot and sat up, leaning against the headboard. “Want to talk about it?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut as he fumbled for a lamp, and struggled to sit up, facing him. “I can’t remember, but it was horrid.”

  “You’re worried about what we’re facing.”

  “I’m not worried. I’m terrified. There’s a profound difference.”

  Anders kept his gaze calm as ever, a trait I could never imitate. “You won’t be alone. And,” he added smugly, “I’m a Crownmage. That should count for something.”

  “You’re Lady Barlow’s assistant gardener.”

  “And your lover. Which reminds me—” He arched his eyebrows in an open leer. “We should take advantage of your brother not watching.”

  I leaned across the bed to kiss him. “I told you we shouldn’t let that nuisance come with us. Not that we’ll be alone anyway, with Jules and his guards. Flameblast it, Anders.” I snuggled closer to feel warm and safe. “I left Glynnswood to come home, where I can be safe. I want my dull, unexciting life back. I want to yell at the little monsters in class and snarl at Rosanna and throw sarcasm at Jules.”

  “I know.”

  His serious tone caught me off guard, when I’d been expecting a light-hearted reply. And so I didn’t tease him when his fingers played with my neck, nor fight him when they caressed my shoulders with tenderness. I needed Anders. I needed his comforting reminder of who I was and how he felt about me. Grateful, I gave as much as I took. And even managed to fall deep asleep afterward.

  Chapter Twenty

  We’d taken the coast road toward Bitterhill, huddling beneath wool cloaks against the sharp wind that blew with seasonal fury, tugging us closer to the seawall. After a long, tiring ride, we set up camp, with Jules’s small band of troops keeping watch during the night. To pass the time, Anders took on another hopeless apprentice mage.

  “You’re not concentrating, lad.” Anders scowled at me when I laughed. “What are you grinning about, Mage Champion?”

  Enjoying the entertainment, I leaned back against a convenient log, my feet to the campfire. “It’s gratifying to hear you scold someone else for a change.”

  “I’m not scolding Gwynn. Not really,” he added when my brother flushed scarlet. “But he evidently shares some of your stubborn tendency to do the opposite of what I tell him.”

  “But Anders,” Gwynn protested, recalling my own words a year ago, “I am trying to do what you tell me. It simply will not work.”

  “Your sister said the same thing.”

  “It’s all right, Gwynn.” I leaned over to pat his head as though he were an overgrown puppy. “Anders hasn’t a trace of patience when he’s playing supreme master Crownmage and training a brand new apprentice. He’s so old he’s forgotten how it is to fumble through unfamiliar talent.”

  Anders scowled again. “Why don’t you teach him?”

  “I will. After all, I’m a schoolmistress.”

  “Among other unflattering things, best not said in a young man’s presence,” Anders muttered, as he stood to stretch the kinks from his back.

  “Did you hear those bones creak?” I whispered to my brother. “Or was that an earthquake?” Gwynn’s brown eyes were wide, darting back and forth between us, uncertain whose side to take. I took pity. “Go away.” I waved Anders in the opposite direction. “Go bother Jules. Make sure he’s not getting into any trouble.” Anders shot me a nasty look, but left us alone. “Ignore him,” I reassured Gwynn, stifling a yawn. “He was a cranky old beast when he was teaching me to handle my magic.”

  “Anders told me what happened.” Gwynn met my gaze without flinching, though I could tell he was uncertain of my reaction, “You know, Alex, when the wind flung him against the tree.”

  “You mean when I caused the wind to fling him against the tree.” My mood turned somber at that troubling memory, so recently discussed with Rosanna. “I could have done him serious harm. It’s a good lesson to remember, especially for me. And I’m sure it’s an incident Anders will never forget, either.”

  “You were afraid of your talent.”

  “Because I didn’t understand it, yes, I was terrified, but more important, because I almost hurt Jules when I was a child, and then Anders when I was grown. I had no one to train me, Gwynn,” I said, “though it was no one’s fault.” I didn’t need to say that, could have blamed Sernyn Keltie for abandoning me, but couldn’t, not in all fairness, not now.

  Gwynn lowered his head, scraping some dried mud from his boots. “Father told me how frightened he was, too, Alex, of his own talent.” When I didn’t answer, the boy looked up shyly. “I am sorry. I have offended you. I did not mean to pry.”

  When I grinned, I shook my head at his obvious relief. “Yes, you did mean to pry, you little nuisance.” I pulled at the rebellious lock of his brown hair. “Did he tell you why I’m so
angry with him?”

  “Yes, though I had guessed some of the story.” Open affection and loyalty flared in his eyes. “I would have been angry, too, Alex. I told him so. I wish I had known about you when I was little. It is not fair.”

  “What?” Odd how an admission like that still unnerved me. “That you couldn’t pester me and drive me mad all those years?”

  “That, too.” He grinned, the smile transforming to a young man’s awkwardness. “I did not know what I was missing until I met you, Alex. I always thought I was alone, but now I have a sister. I told father that, and told him, too, I wish he had not abandoned you to Lady Barlow when you were so small,” Gwynn blurted in embarrassment, turning bright crimson.

  “Made him feel more guilty, did you?” I shoved him playfully.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. He deserves every bit of it. But, here’s something I don’t think I ever admitted to you, little man. I’m angry, too, that he kept you away from me.” His pleased expression warmed my heart, though what I said was true. Rosanna and the old duke raised me as one of their own children from infancy, and I’d never lacked for love or affection. But I had always, in my heart, felt I didn’t quite belong, that I had no family of my own. And now I had Gwynn. “Back to your lesson. Don’t think you can distract me. Close your eyes and concentrate.” When I felt sure that he was trying, I closed my own eyes. “Feel the heat of the flame and the sharp cold of the ice,” I said, keeping my voice soft. “Painful at first, always. Separate them in your mind, make them distinct as two coils of rope, then blend them together, weaving them until you feel a cool warmth, a comfortable cool warmth throughout every inch of your body.” I opened my eyes to watch his face. “Can you feel it?”

  He nodded, eyes shut tight.

  “Open your eyes slowly, still feeling the comfortable cool warmth.” As he did, I pointed to the pile of dirt between us. “See this dirt in your mind as a small flame. See it in your mind first.See precisely what you want to create. And then see it in front of you.”

  He was concentrating so hard I was afraid he’d faint. A small flame perched on the mound of dirt between us.