The Scofflaw Magician (The Artifactor Book 3)

by Honor Raconteur

  “I will tell him,” Aran promised. With a nod to them both, he slipped out of the workroom and was gone.

  Out of sheer habit, Sevana got up and checked on the two mixtures, making sure that all was well and they were blending as they were supposed to. “Master, I don’t think we should just have the story to bandy about,” she said as she replaced the lid on the water/blood mixture. “Maybe we should make some sort of mockup as well, to show people if they ask, so there’s more substance to it?”

  “A good thought.” Chortling, Master reached for a blank sheet and a pencil. “What do you think it should look like?”

  Most of the time, when Sevana created something, she was limited in the design by the functionality. It had to be a certain size, a certain shape, to do what she wanted it to. It was a new feeling, to be able to design whatever she wanted to with little limitations. Feeling the same sort of enthusiasm spark in her, she swung a leg over the bench to straddle it. “It shouldn’t be big, to begin with. Something as long as my forearm?”

  “Good, good. Maybe an earthy color?”

  “The Fae like brighter colors too, actually,” she corrected. Bending at the waist, she leaned more over the table. “How about something blue?”

  Happily planning, they went far into the night, playing with the design like two small children who had just discovered magic.

  In their desire to craft something that the Fae would make, Sevana and Master had to lay aside their more absurd ideas and focus on something that stuck closer to nature. Sevana had snitched a few things while up north, and they played with those until narrowing the selection down to two objects: a blue crystal shot with gold inlays and a branch of mahogany from a two thousand year old tree. It seemed a shame to use such high end materials for what amounted to a cheap prop, so she decided to actually make something useful out of them. If there was live magic in them, it would be more convincing anyway.

  So she carved a niche into the branch, sanded it down, and polished it to a high shine. Then she set the crystal into a knot of the wood, making it look like a highly unorthodox wand, as the crystal was toward the tip instead of the hilt. From what she had seen of Fae designs, this was a credible copy.

  Aran came back near midday and entered Big as comfortably as he would his own home. She was putting the final touches on the wand, making sure that the crystal was secure, when he stepped into her workroom. “Sevana.”

  “Aran,” she greeted, setting the wand down and twisting about to greet him. “You’ve come to see if our idea will work?”

  “That and to convey news to you.” Aran came closer and took a good look at what was in her hands. “That looks almost…Fae?”

  “Precisely so.” She beamed at him. After six hours of hard work, if he had said anything else, she would have promptly kicked him in the shin. “This is our fake specialty tool. I thought it would be more convincing of a story if I have something to show people.”

  “For something that is fake, there is much magic in it.”

  “I also decided it was a waste of good materials to have it be nothing but a prop. So I made it into an extremely high level anti-glamour wand.” Sevana held it up and admired her own handiwork. “If anyone tried to camouflage what they are doing, this wand will promptly cut through their spell.”

  “You look very gleeful saying that,” Aran observed dryly.

  “I hate it when people try to hide things from me. It always causes me trouble in the end.” Putting the wand carefully down, she asked, “What news?”

  “Aranhil wishes me to tell you, Sellion, that he will send others here to help you when you expect that man to come. He does not wish you to be in danger.”

  Sevana would have dearly loved to say something like ‘I can take care of myself’ but in truth, this man was highly dangerous. She might or might not be able to defeat him and either way she was bound to be injured in the process. She’d avoid the pain of a major battle if at all possible. “This might take two or three weeks to play out. You all realize that, right? It’s going to take time for news to get to him, and more time for him to come here and try to steal it from me.”

  “We are patient. We will wait.”

  Truly, the Fae were probably the most patient race on the face of the planet. Why shouldn’t they be? With some of the longest lifespans, they could afford to wait.

  Aran looked around the room, seeing that all of the portraits were still lined up on their easels. “You have not tried your wash yet?”

  “I just mingled the two together an hour ago. It’s almost ready to use, but not yet.” Sevana levered herself off the bench and went to fetch the bucket. “But see how dark it is? I think it’s still too thick.”

  Bending at the waist, he peered inside. “I believe you are right. But that could be because it’s enclosed like that.”

  “I’m hoping so, that when I spread it over parchment, it’s actually thinner.” Ink washes could be deceptive that way. Checking her clock, she noted, “We’ve only a few minutes before I can use it. Let’s create a test paper, shall we?”

  “Test paper?” Aran repeated in confusion.

  “I don’t actually care if the wash is dark enough to destroy the original painting,” she explained, pulling a bottle of Fae ink off the shelf behind her and reaching for a quill nearby. “But of course, it can’t be dark enough to smudge the lines. So I need to create a drawing of my own in the ink to make sure that the wash is light enough and reacts the way I expect it to.”

  “I thought you had a room full of things you could use?” He pointed to one of the portraits nearby. “Not everything on the painting is of them. Sometimes there are chairs, or ground, included.”

  “I don’t dare touch any part of it. The spell on these things is intricately tied to every trace of ink on the parchment. I can’t predict what it will do.” Pausing, she looked to the one on the worktable in growing concern. “The oldest ones, those I worry about the most.”

  Aran didn’t ask a stupid question but instead looked the same direction she did, seeing it for himself. “The magic is fading? It’s not as strong as the others.”

  “You’ve got good eyes. That’s exactly what’s happening. It’s not the ink that’s the problem.” She went back to what she had been doing, unstopping the ink bottle and dipping a quill carefully into it.

  “Then what is? The spell?”

  “Yes. The spell itself is so demanding that it’s leaching all of the power imbued in the ink. The spell is literally eating itself, trying to sustain itself. Cannibalistic magic is the worst sort. It often destroys itself from the inside out within a matter of months. I’d call it sloppy, but in this case, I’m not sure if the magician was being lazy. It might be he intended for this to happen.”

  Aran’s tone became quiet and hard. “He wanted all of these people dead. That’s what you’re saying.”

  “He wanted to kill the Belen king. The others were test subjects to see if the way he had crafted the spell would work as intended.” Sevana darted a look up at his face and found him staring at the portrait on the table in silent fury. He was almost grey with it. “They were acceptable losses. Everything he’s done tells me that.”

  “A silent assassination through a painting. It’s fiendishly clever.” The way he said this was clear he didn’t mean it as a compliment.

  “And evil, yes. You understand why I curse him so routinely now, don’t you? I did the same when I came across Bel. And Aren. And when he took off with my hard-won artifact. I’d admire his cleverness if he wasn’t doing such hideous things with it.” Since this wasn’t something that needed to be pretty, Sevana just drew random circles and boxes on the page, enough so that she could test the wash several times. “Alright, test ready. Hand me that huge bristle brush.”

  Plucking it from the glass jar it was sitting in, Aran passed it over. She dipped it liberally in the bucket before painting a swash of it across her parchment. Almost immediately she realized that this was not going to
work. “It’s too dark,” she growled in vexation.

  “I agree.” Aran pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Perhaps half again as much water?”

  “You think?” she peered at it judiciously, numbers scrolling and rearranging themselves in her head as she did the calculations. “Yes, perhaps you’re right. Hand me the large jar of water, then. No, the other one next to it. That’s the right spring water.”

  Aran handed it over, and then reached for the measuring cup without being asked, passing it to her as well. She took both and measured out the water, stirring it into the ink with gentle strokes, trying very hard not to jostle any of the ink over the sides and onto the floor. Big would definitely feel that and she’d never get the ink back off. It would cause complications that she did not need.

  Satisfied she had put enough in, she stepped back and re-stoppered the vial.

  “Now we wait?” Aran guessed.

  “For a half a day. So after dinner, we’ll try this again.” Sevana stared at the portrait on the table, the one of the woman in her early fifties, who seemed intent on shelling peas into a large wooden bowl. Was it her imagination, or was the portrait fading in front of her eyes? “I hope she can last until then. Whether or not the wash is perfect in six hours, we’ll have to try to get her out regardless. She won’t make it until morning.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Aran, lovely man, cooked her dinner. It wasn’t a simple dish of just meat, either. He did fresh bread, stew that was rich with spices, and a chilled glass of lemon water to wash it all down with. Then, in an impressive display, he helped her clean up the kitchen afterwards. It was enough to make a woman swoon.

  Master of course ambled in when dinner was done and ambled out again before the troubling cleanup process started. He was not one to clean up a kitchen, nor did Sevana want him to. His idea of ‘clean’ and hers were worlds apart. Sevana was elbow deep in suds and water when Master bolted back into the kitchen. “Sevana!”

  She dropped the bowl and it clattered onto the counter. Whirling about, she demanded, “What?!”

  “We have to do the wash now.” There was a light of panic in his eyes that she had rarely seen. It usually meant someone was in danger of losing either life or limb.

  Swearing, she didn’t even pause to wipe off her hands, just sprinted for the hallway. Even though she was normally faster, Master had a head start on her and beat her into the workroom. But he didn’t beat Aran, who was leagues faster than either of them.

  Aran was hovering around the table as she skidded to a stop, saying in worry, “The magic shouldn’t be disappearing this quickly. Is it still strong enough for us to get her out?”

  Sevana took in the situation in a glance. The spell in the portrait was literally fading in front of her eyes, going from a strong, vibrant glow to something so muted that she could barely tell it was supposed to be magical at all. She had miscalculated. Her earlier estimation had been that the woman’s portrait would still have enough magic in it until roughly midnight, and then things would become hairy. But this...this was past dangerous. It was critical.

  “Whether the wash is ready or not, we have to try it,” Master said what everyone was thinking aloud.

  “I’ll do the wash, you get the portation spell ready,” Sevana ordered, her hands already moving for the brush in her jar.

  Aran darted to the far side of the table, out of way so that they could work, but still close enough so he could see what was going on. “If you can’t get her out of the mirror before the spell completely fades, what happens?”

  “She’s forever stuck inside that mirror.” Sevana didn’t have to look up at his face to know how he felt about that. She felt the same. Ink ready, brush ready, she hovered over the portrait. “Master?”

  Master had his hands on the mirror, turning it to face the portrait, his wand clenched between his teeth. He nodded and mumbled, “Weady.”

  With quick strokes, she deftly covered the portrait from top to bottom with the wash. It was still a touch too dark, but Sevana prayed it was light enough and kept working. It didn’t matter if it still wasn’t right, they had no choice but to use it. The instant she was done, Sevana grabbed the portrait off its easel and slammed it into the mirror’s surface.

  The magic sparked as it encountered another magical surface, then a brief glow—too dim, by her reckoning—surrounded the edges of the portrait.

  “Release!” Master commanded sharply.

  Sevana jerked the portrait free of the glass, giving it an anxious look as soon as it was free. The woman in the portrait was all but gone, only the edges of her outline still visible. That…was not good.

  Master was saying the portation spell quickly, the words almost tumbling over themselves in his haste to get them out. “AESE NE FOLE!”

  Nothing happened.

  The vestiges of the magic died. Not a trace of power was to be seen. All that was left was an ink smeared portrait, one that was poorly done, of a middle-aged woman shelling peas.

  Sevana’s knees gave out, sending her straight to the floor. The bitter taste of failure filled her mouth and she nearly choked on it. Tears pricked her eyes, not just from sorrow of a life lost, a life that she had been supposed to save, but of anger. She shouldn’t have other people’s lives depending on her like this.

  Master let out an animalistic cry of rage and ragged disappointment. His wand dropped to the table in a clatter, his shoulders slumping, eyes closing in grief.

  Aran reached out for her tentatively, putting a hand on her shoulder. He didn’t say a word, just gripped her in support, silently offering comfort. She didn’t return the gesture, but some part of her appreciated it, even though anger coursed through her like a living pulse. Sevana hated the words ‘I don’t know’ but even more than that, she hated any form of failure. Having someone die on her was the worst sort of failure to be had.

  “Um, hello?”

  The unknown voice in the dead silence of the room was so shocking that all of them flinched from it. Sevana bolted up to her feet, her ears automatically tracing the source of the sound to the mirror.

  There, looking like a floating ghost, was the woman from the portrait. Her skin looked slightly bluish, hair in a messier bun than the portrait had her in, lips kicked up in a hopeful, if bemused, smile. “Are you still out there?”

  Sevana swallowed, hard, and tried to find her voice. “We’re here. Can you see us?”

  “Oh yes, of course. At least two of you. Um, I’m Milly, Milly Andrews, and you are?”

  That was not at all a Sa Kaon name. She must have been from Windamere originally, although how she’d ended up in a different country was beyond Sevana’s ken at the moment. “Sevana Warran. The man behind me is Arandur.”

  Master stepped into the mirror’s view and introduced in a shaky voice, “I’m Tashjian Joles. Sevana and I are Artifactors.”

  “Yes, Master Joles, the princess has told us about the two of you,” Milly informed him, as she did a curtsey to all of them. “Um, why am I still in the mirror?”

  Sevana choked on the explanation. She simply couldn’t force the words to go out of her mouth. Master, more experienced with this situation than she was, found a way to explain. “Our solution took several weeks to prepare, I’m afraid. And even then, the main ingredient we used isn’t quite perfected yet. But the magic on your portrait was failing, so we acted anyway, hoping to save you in spite of everything. We just weren’t able to do so fast enough. I’m afraid, Mistress Milly, that your physical body is no more. You are forever trapped in that plane.”

  Milly’s expression didn’t change for several seconds. It was as if she simply couldn’t comprehend what was being said to her. Then her eyes filled with tears that slowly traced their way down her cheeks. “I can’t return home at all?”

  “If there is a way, I’ll find it,” Sevana vowed ferociously. “I will not let that man win like this. You are in the mirror for now. That is all.” She met Milly’s eyes squarely, feeling her own burn w
ith unshed tears. “I am a prodigy, a genius in this field. If I can’t find a solution to this problem, then there isn’t one to be found.”

  Milly wiped away tears and gave her a brave smile. “Then I’m counting on you, Miss Artifactor.”

  Sevana had an absolutely terrible night, tossing back and forth like a tormented soul. There wasn’t a thing that she could think of to make the situation even more bearable, and no solutions came to mind. Aside from turning back time. When she’d started working on this problem, she’d had a feeling that time might be a factor, but this was far too short a time frame. Spells shouldn’t end within months like this, not spells this inherently powerful. She’d assumed she would have a year at least to find a good answer. She’d worked hard on it and certainly hadn’t been taking long breaks, so in all honesty it wasn’t like she could have found a solution to this faster. Still, that feeling of guilt lingered and burned in her chest.

  Because of that, she awoke in a foul mood, like a swamp witch crawling out of her den. She was bleary eyed, grouchy, and her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Baby was back in his usual spot on the mattress, Grydon sprawled out on the rug next to her side of the bed. She had to yank her feet out from underneath the cat and maneuver around Grydon, nearly tripping over him twice just getting her feet on the floor. Really, why did they sleep like this? It was like running an obstacle course every morning.

  Pulling on clothes at random, she put her hair up in a messy bun before staggering towards the kitchen. Both creatures followed her out, then raced ahead, bounding with endless energy. If only she could find a way to bottle that energy, she’d make millions…wait. Nose twitching, she took in a deep breath. What was that delectable aroma? Ten feet from the door, she stopped dead. Was that bacon she smelled? And biscuits? There was something sweet in the air too, smelling hot and tempting. Chamomile?

  Entering the kitchen, she took in the scene with her taste buds watering. Aran had cooked breakfast. On the table was bacon, fresh biscuits, what looked like blueberry jam—and where in the world had he found that, because it wasn’t in her cupboards—chamomile tea and sliced apples. The beasts were already licking their plates clean, because of course Aran had cooked for them as well, and they were looking entirely too pampered and satisfied.