The Source of Magic: A Fantasy Romance

by Rowan, Cate

  She flipped onto her back. Her gaze wandered the snowy bed canopy as thoughts careened through her. What would Mom say if she knew him now? Would she tell me to have patience when he’s being a fool, or to toss him back into that big ocean of fish? God, I wish I could go home.

  She held still. Did she really want that?

  There were fresh bruises on her heart, but a larger piece of it faltered at the thought of leaving Teganne for good. She wanted to learn whether her mother was healing…and yes, to escape Alvarr’s contempt…

  But even so, she’d found a fascinating new home here.

  More like a rediscovered home, since her mother had been born on this world. Half of me came from here. They’re my people, too.

  Determination flared up. I want to help them—with or without Alvarr.

  She also wanted to hog-tie that infuriating prince, to MAKE him see, to wipe his stupid conclusions from his pea-sized male brain. But, as Rokad had said, Alvarr didn’t yet feel like listening.

  And, she grudgingly admitted, from his point of view the situation might look pretty grim.

  Could she ask Rokad to talk some sense into Alvarr?

  No, that wouldn’t be right. She didn’t want to toss Rokad into her problems. Besides, he’d already said it wasn’t time yet. From the sound of things, Rokad was experienced in dealing with this obstinate prince.

  So how else could she get Alvarr to listen? What if…she left Ysanne?

  She imagined Alvarr realizing how much he missed her, and needed her. Maybe he’d come after her, begging for forgiveness…

  No, the idea was too manipulative. Besides, what if he didn’t come for her? Ouch. And where would she go in an unfamiliar world without any money or any way to travel?

  If she wanted to help save Teganne, she couldn’t do it by herself. But neither could he. As he’d said himself: together we can do many things that neither can do alone.

  Her fists twisted the silk of the comforter. There was nothing to do but tell him. Tell him everything, and hope it got past his thick skull.

  Just not yet. Jilian rolled onto her stomach and buried her head under a pillow. He wasn’t an easy man to face.

  In the meantime, maybe she could at least learn about her powers and about being a Source.

  Yes! She’d ask Rokad if she could look through his lore books and learn about Sources. Maybe there was something forgotten; some other way her newfound skills could help.

  Her mind made up, she climbed off the bed and marched out to find Rokad.

  After seeing Jilian in her window, Alvarr saddled Blerra and headed out through the fields for a long gallop. The wind did little to cool his burning mind.

  He couldn’t forget the look Jilian had given him. So damned defiant. It wasn’t enough that she was a traitor, she had to be proud of it, too?

  He rolled his gaze to the cloudless morning sky. By Fate, why, why could he think of nothing but her?

  Blerra was in high spirits and bounded swiftly past the rows of spiky fennip plants and juicy red ploons. Her mood seeped into him little by little, as if his tension was draining out through her flying hooves.

  At last he reined her in and turned to face his city.

  Countless unbroken generations of his ancestors, the ruling princes and princesses of Teganne, had reigned over his realm. And somehow, they’d all managed to find love, keep it, and have their love blessed with children.

  It seemed a preposterous concept at the moment. “Blerra, my dear,” he said, patting her neck, “why are women so unfathomable?”

  Blerra merely tugged the reins through his hands to nip at a patch of grass.

  Alvarr turned to face the Nerils, where he and Jilian had fallen in love. And beyond them lay Fallorm, from which Bhruic threatened all.

  All I love. And that includes Jilian.

  But now… He reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter from Resara. She must have paid a messenger several weeks’ income from their holding for it to reach him so quickly.

  My lord Prince, I’m sorry for disturbing you. You should know that Mellec and I heard of strangers asking questions. They’ve inquired in particular about a man and a woman traveling alone through the Nerils on fydds in the last few weeks, and you and Lady Jilian resemble their descriptions. Bhruic may be preparing something. Please be careful, my lord. And give our regards to your lady.

  My lady. His jaws clenched with pain.

  What was Bhruic up to—and what did it have to do with Jilian? Questions thronged his mind, but as of yet he had no answers.

  “Have you had enough grass, Blerra? Let’s go home.” He touched his calves to her. “There’s something I need to do.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Down in the stables, Alvarr waved the grooms away and curried his fydd himself, then rubbed down her legs and made sure she was comfortable in her deep-bedded stall. The routine soothed him, and he returned Blerra’s affectionate snuffles with scratches on the itchy places between her horns. But he knew his tranquil mood couldn’t last; he was simply calming himself before the storm.

  In his chambers, he stripped and took a bath. Only with a great deal of self-discipline did he keep from remembering every second of the bath he and Jilian had shared there. His body was even more reluctant to forget it than his mind.

  Finally dressed in a clean tunic and trousers, he checked his reflection in the looking-glass—and was appalled by that act. He’d never inspected himself in the glass before seeing a woman, except when he’d been five and needed to wipe the dirt from his face before dinner with his parents. Unbelievable what Jilian had managed to do to him in a few short weeks.

  He fumed hotter when he knocked on her door and got no answer. “Jilian, let me in,” he said in a voice that brooked no nonsense.

  Silence.

  With a quick twist of the knob the door swung open. The curtains fluttered in the breeze, but the wide room was empty. He glowered.

  Where was she?

  Varene glanced up from the herbs she was grinding. “I haven’t seen Jilian since I gave her the starlace. And what happened with it? Did Sara recover?”

  Alvarr clenched his teeth. Sara. How much of that story was even real? “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her daughter.” He turned to leave.

  “Alvarr! Didn’t you do that yourself?”

  “No.” He strode out before she could question him further.

  Turning a corner, he found himself just feet from Nenth.

  “If you seek Jilian, she’s with Rokad.” Nenth’s voice was quiet, and he felt an oddness to her gaze. As she stepped past, he looked at her, puzzled.

  Rokad—why would Jilian be with him? Would she try to sway him with her lies? And what had Nenth meant by that look?

  In the mages’ courtyard he knocked on Rokad’s door.

  Rokad answered in his dark nightclothes, looking surprised. Surprised, and…was that guilt on his face?

  A pit of acid scalded Alvarr’s heart. “Where’s Jilian?”

  Her voice echoed from inside Rokad’s chamber. “Rokad, where are the mugs for the lirrah?”

  Alvarr gripped his friend’s shoulders, thumbs reaching toward Rokad’s throat.

  Rokad looked at him calmly and straightened to his full height, nearly Alvarr’s own. “I see you’re still angry and fatigued.”

  Before Alvarr could growl a retort, Jilian walked into view, fully and decently dressed in her blue gown, carrying a tray and two mugs. Her expression grew bland when she saw him. “I guess we’ll need another mug.”

  Rokad shook his head. “Thank you, Jilian, but I think I’ll leave you two alone.” He pulled his robe tighter, stepped past Alvarr into the courtyard, and shut them both together in his foyer.

  Jilian shot Alvarr a cool glance, then placed the tray on the table near the couch, careful not to knock over a rambling stack of books. “Yes, Alvarr?”

  “What are you doing?” He stood where Rokad had left him, fists knotted, ire billowing through
his blood.

  She sat down. “I was going to have a nice mug of lirrah with Rokad before returning to my reading. Is that a problem for you?”

  “Reading? These?” His gaze snapped to the books on the table, then to the pile stacked on the couch next to her. “Why are you interested in Rokad’s lore books?”

  “I’m looking for something.”

  “Like what?”

  “Something of use,” she said, her voice short. “When you leave here, do you intend to let Rokad live?”

  Now she’d grown brash enough to push him out of his own Councilor’s quarters? Scowling, he stomped closer. “Rokad’s not the issue.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what it sounded like.”

  “You are the issue, Jilian. What are you looking for?”

  “I told you, something to help you,” she said, glaring.

  “Help me how?” His voice burned with suspicion.

  She jerked her head at the stack. “I’d hoped to find ideas.” She drew a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. “You wouldn’t talk to me. And instead of fixing the wardholes together, you just took my power and did it yourself. So I was looking for something you’d accept—even if it wasn’t me.”

  Don’t let her get to you again. “Fascinating that you’d try. You make the most of any situation, don’t you? Such a mercenary.” Resara’s letter in his pocket burned his thigh. “Who else knew of our journey to Fallorm, Jilian? Are you in Bhruic’s employ?”

  The color drained from her face. For a moment he reveled in her reaction, but then a sick feeling slithered through his stomach.

  Quietly, she said, “Someday you’ll realize I had no intention of causing you pain, and no way to avoid it. That I never betrayed you, and couldn’t, because I love you. Someday, if it’s not too late, if you just listen to what you already know inside.”

  She scooped up the nearest books and strode past him.

  He wanted to stop her, take her arm—but didn’t.

  As the door slammed shut behind her, Alvarr stared at it, wishing he could see through it to her heart. And wondering whether his own did know the truth.

  Nearing the bitter end of her body’s resources, Jilian spent most of the day in a fitful, thrashing sleep. As a result, late that night when logic told her to go to back to bed, she couldn’t.

  She kept thinking about the confrontation with Alvarr, wishing she’d been calmer and able to tell him her side. But her teeth had been set on edge as soon as she’d heard his tone. The nerve of him—as if she were a whore out to seduce his best friend!

  Be patient, Rokad had said. Mmm, yes, patience. She’d like to hit Alvarr between the eyes with a two-by-four of patience.

  Her gaze came to rest on one of Rokad’s lore books, pages open for her perusal. Fine, then. If she couldn’t sleep, at least she could search.

  The first book, bound in gorgeous leather the color of a smoky sapphire, was Amity and Enmity. It contained spells to safeguard and strengthen friendships along with ways to foster divisions and strife among enemies.

  Strife among enemies—could that be useful? Maybe, but it didn’t seem the likeliest of help. She hadn’t heard of anyone collaborating with Bhruic, for example. He was their primary enemy, and was probably well-protected, magically speaking, unless she and Alvarr together could puncture his defenses. They might be able to use spells on his soldiers to create divisions, or perhaps diversions, but that seemed more of a side strategy.

  The next book comprised spells to raise the dead. A shiver crept down her back.

  The dead. How many of those in Fallorm that Bhruic had killed over the years would welcome, even relish, revenge against him? And what if Alvarr could revive the murdered Sources?

  She shuddered and pushed the book away with a stiff finger. What other problems would that bring? Ghouls, demons, maybe even hellfire and damnation. Bringing back the dead never seemed to be the answer in any horror movie she’d ever seen. A possibility, she supposed, but not one she’d care to mess with.

  The third book encompassed spells for protecting houses and families and increasing crop and herd production. Hardly anything to defeat Bhruic with. Unless they overran his castle with goat kids or something.

  For a moment she chuckled, imagining the scene—Bhruic’s castle swarming with a carpet of bleating, ravenous goats eating everything in sight. But the fantasy sputtered out when she tried to picture Bhruic himself wading into the sea of goats. All she could imagine for his face was a black blur. Evil sorcerers always looked evil—at least in the Disney versions.

  This was not Disney.

  She drummed her fingers and considered opening the next book on the stack, but sat up instead, restless.

  What to do? Everyone was asleep. Maybe she’d walk a bit. The corridors in the castle were numerous, long, and lit with torches. The rhythm of a walk might help her thoughts untangle.

  She wriggled into her cobalt linen gown, snugged the sidelaces, and slipped into her shoes and cloak. On a whim, she picked up the next book, which was palm-sized and slid easily into the hip pocket of her gown. After dousing the candle by the bed, she left her room and locked the door.

  Her plan had been to wander the halls, but somehow she found her feet drawn straight to Alvarr’s chamber.

  The fragrant smoke of a nearby torch tickled her nose. The chamber door was made of beautiful, carved wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Her fingers traced the iridescent shine. No matter how rich the door, it couldn’t begin to show Alvarr’s true worth. Despite the fact that he was a stubborn, pig-headed, heroic bastard. Damn it, Alvarr…

  He was probably just steps away in his bed. Was he dreaming of her? Maybe he was awake, unable to sleep, just as she was.

  What would he do if she walked in? Maybe he’d look into her eyes, admit he’d been a complete fool, pull her close and tell her he loved her, then glide his fingers along her skin…

  She raised her hand to knock.

  But maybe he wouldn’t do any of that. Perhaps he’d be even more furious and insult her further.

  She spun away. Her fingers fell to the pendant of her oath and clutched it as she retreated.

  Four strides down the hallway, with the pendant and its symbol of two worlds warming in her hand, she turned and looked once more at the door…

  Jilian, let it go! Middle-of-the-night seductions are fantasies. This is real, and you’d probably just make things worse.

  This night walk of hers no longer felt like a good idea.

  As she moved away, her loneliness grew. She was in love and should be blissful. Instead, she was wandering around sleepless at nearly dawn.

  Prince Alvarr of Teganne, why must you be such an ass?

  Back at her own door, she slumped and lifted her key to the lock. All the walk had done was depress her further.

  She swung the door open and shut it moodily with her shoulder. The room was dark, but the bed was near enough for her to fall upon it with a belly flop and a sigh.

  A hand clamped down on the back of her neck and pushed her face into the bedding. Jilian’s scream smothered in the bedcovers. She stiffened and twisted, gasping for breath. The hand slid roughly to her mouth and shoved a foul-smelling rag beneath her nose. She tried to pull away, but the vapors swarmed into her lungs and her muscles went lax. At last she was rolled onto her back.

  She found herself staring into a face with cruel eyes, the rest covered with a dark mask. “Aye there, missy. Don’t fight me now, or I might decide to take what you offer.”

  A heavy weight bore down on her legs. She realized the weight was another man when he spoke. “Now don’t think ‘a that, you know the Master’ll be right furious. We’ll keep her nice for him. And then he’ll reward us. Mebbe even with ‘er—when he’s done with ‘er himself.” The second man nodded and chuckled.

  “Aye, mebbe. That thought’ll warm me at night.” He slid a filthy hand down the bodice of her gown. Jilian wanted to scream, but the drug had slowed h
er brain. Her eyelids drooped.

  “No, best not. It’ll only make the wait harder. But then, when’s done…”

  She blacked out.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Jilian woke by degrees, her head pounding and stomach awash with nausea. Her tongue felt like a rotted sponge. She could barely breathe in the humid air and her entire limp body was being regularly jolted. Groggy, she tried to figure out what was happening.

  She lay stomach-down across something round that moved in a consistent tempo, shoving against her face, chest, stomach, and thighs. Her arms hung below her head, tied at the wrists; her feet, likewise, were bound together at the ankles. A rhythm thudded somewhere beyond her hands. She opened her eyes but saw nothing, just a diffuse brown light. Maybe she wasn’t focusing yet. She shut her eyelids and tried to orient herself with her other senses.

  A broad, hard object lurched rhythmically into her right side—or perhaps she was rolling back and forth against it. Every time she swayed away, something tightened around her left side—a rope or strap? And one hip rocked painfully on a solid object, square or maybe rectangular… Oh! The small book she’d slipped into her skirt pocket.

  A fydd’s snort sounded beyond the hard thing at her side.

  My God! She was slung over a fydd, just behind the saddle.

  The pace of the rolling slowed, and Jilian opened her eyes again. There was a pattern to the brown light—it filtered through something. She turned her head and fiber tickled her nose. A cloth sack! That explained why she couldn’t breathe well.

  As she concentrated, muffled voices became clearer.

  “‘Ere’s good enough,” said a deep voice. “No one’s coming in either direction, and we’ll see ‘em afore they see us.”

  “Right.” The answering voice was lighter, nasal, and subordinate.

  The bumps and jolts eased to a stop. Jilian suppressed a grateful groan. Stay limp and quiet, Jil, as if you’re still knocked out. Surprise may be the only advantage. She’d need to form a plan in spite of the fog swirling through her throbbing head.