She frowned sadly. The poor Head Mage trapped in his own body. Glittering’s effects had been her idea. Remove a man’s ability to speak, move, or eat, and he would break in a matter of days if not hours. As soon as they realized they would never be free, the spirit broke. She wondered if Gabriel had reached it yet.
“My lady,” a voice called from below, and she pushed the window open. Dorian and Ryker slowly walked towards her. “Are you ready for t’ wardrobe?”
“Why else would I be in your rooms?”
“A few t’in’s I can t’ink of,” Dorian smirked, vanishing into the house.
He arrived minutes later and stripped from the flexible clothes he used to spar in while Maxine pulled out pieces of clothing with the colors she needed. He was a man who preferred his pastels and pale tinted colors, but if he was going to pull off the look of a weary traveler, he would need darker, common clothes.
“Ready?” he asked and put his hands on his bare hips.
“Dorian,” she said reproachfully. “So indecent.” With a grin she laid the cloth-pattern and pulled fibers from a pair of cotton breeches. Several pairs of dark stockings melded into a brown-gray color. She wove them around his legs to make long trousers. She added seams, so no one would be suspicious and split the front, making laces.
“No pockets?”
She added them with a grin. Dorian was notorious for loving his clothes. He had the finest collection of silks, satins, and the most intricate brocades.
He brushed his wide hand across the trousers. “So plain,” he muttered.
“Take those off, and I will fashion you another pair.”
“With embroidery perhaps?”
“No, my lord,” she smirked and formed a dark tan pair with fibers pulled from a cloak. She had to omit the stylish cuts and lines a fine pair of trousers would have, so she created blocky legs and a basic waistline. His displeasure was palpable.
“Put this on,” she instructed as she threw him a white shirt. It had beautiful lines and puffy sleeves which she razed to make a basic farmer’s shirt cut of four pieces. “This one as well.”
“Not t’at one.”
“You need more shirts.”
“Do not butcher t’at one. It was given to me by Princess Jezi of Cinibar.” He grinned and looked away remembering something.
“Was this a gift from the Duchess of Harksborough?” she smirked and held up another.
“You gave me t’at.”
She threw it at him, and he slipped it on with a dashing smirk. It was refashioned in moments with its gilt and finery removed.
“You look anything but a weary traveler.” Dorian was proud, his broad shoulders held straight to make him all the more massive. She warranted he stood taller than the Head Mage himself. “You will have to slouch, maybe shuffle.”
He struck a hand down his face over the faint stubble growing in. “I t’ought t’is would suffice.”
“Do you even know how to slouch?”
He grinned and pulled a cloak from his wardrobe, flourishing it around his shoulders. As it fell over him he wilted toward the ground, losing at least a foot of height. His cunning face faded to a listless expression, and he took several slow, shuffling steps forward before bracing himself on the back of chair, breathing heavily. He extended a hand to her with a helpless expression. She reached a hand to him reflexively, and he stood up with a triumphant smile.
“I have taken the liberty of packing you a bag.”
He fell into a chair to look at the satchel. It held a blanket, flint and tinder, mostly-empty water jugs, and dried foods. “T’is will not last me a day.”
“That’s the idea. You’re at the last of your rations, weak, sick, and in desperate need of a soft bed.”
“Why a flint?” he asked curiously and snapped his fingers to form a flame over his thumb.
“No one is capable of using that pattern in this Age but the Head Mage. You will give yourself away with a snap.”
“Are t’ey really so weak in t’is Age?” He shook his head with stoic disbelief. “If I am captured, I am on my own, yes?”
She nodded. “Come back victoriously. Cinibar will not fall by itself.”
He took up her hand to kiss it, working his way up her bare arm. “Must I leave right away?”
“No, not yet. I must rough that face up first.”
He stood swiftly. “If my lady insists.”
“No, you great lout. You’ve been in a tunnel for weeks and should be filthy.”
“If my lady commands.”
Chapter 16
Lael sat at his desk with his head hung over his tea. His forehead pillowed in his hand as he stared at the curling steam that licked over his jaw. ‘Stars, what do I do?’
This was unlike losing Casimir Brynmor. Casimir named a successor, and the Council had time to prepare, but now they could only wait for Gabriel to die like a morbid crowd of heirs waiting for their inheritance. ‘Perhaps it would be more humane to smother the Head Mage with a pillow than let him starve to death.’
Lael pinched his eyes. He expected to serve Gabriel his entire career, but part of him knew the boy would die in this Seat far too early. Though, he thought it would be against the Arch Mages not another bloody Castrofax.
He lifted his head as he heard footsteps in the hall and tried to make himself look busy, but it was not a Council Member looking for an update. The strawberry-blonde woman Trena stepped in with a tentative smile, dressed in a long gown of lilac that hid her curvy figure. He smiled. She had been his one solace in this storm though she never knew. He could tell her nothing of the Head Mage or the Secondhand position, but Trena never asked. She simply existed to smile for him.
“Difficult afternoon?” she whispered as she slipped in, carrying a small basket. “I made you cookies.”
He smiled gently as she set the wicker basket on his desk. She had diverted her attentions to baking upon her release from a Lord’s kitchen, and as an Earth Mage, she could manipulate the flour to rise like he never experienced. He turned the napkin over to see white stars in the shape of the Spirit Element sprinkled with cinnamon. It smelled like she just pulled them from the oven.
“You spoil me.”
“I hope so,” she smiled, twining her delicate fingers before her. “I will not keep you, Secondhand.”
‘I hope you will someday.’ He bowed his head. “I am forever indebted to you, fair lady.”
She blushed pink and ducked a curtsey before slipping out with nimble steps. ‘Oh how I wish I could give you the time you deserved.’
He hardly got a bite of the flaky cookie before a whip-slender man walked in. He bore the large silver sigil of the gate guard on his chest.
“Mage Lucien.”
“Secondhand,” the man said with a Parion accent. “There be a man at the gate claiming refuge. He did appear from the side of the mountain.”
“He climbed over it you mean?”
“No, Secondhand, there be a hole straight in the center of the mountain outside the gate. He appeared from a tunnel.”
Lael stood with inquisition. “A tunnel he built?”
“No, Secondhand, there be a tunnel built straight through the mountains.”
Lael frowned in surprise. “Who is he?”
“A Gaelsin claiming refuge.”
“I will be right there. Hold him at the gate.”
Lucien bowed and slipped out as Lael went to the Head Mage’s bedchamber. Gabriel laid where he always was but this time on his side as Afton ran her hands down his back. His eyes blatantly said ‘stop and go away.’
“Head Mage…are you aware of tunnels outside the castle?”
Gabriel’s brows remained level showing no surprise, and he blinked once.
“Going through the mountains?”
Yes.
“Do they go to Tintagaelsing? They do?”
Gabriel raised his brows in question.
“A man came through them.”
He seemed impres
sed.
Lael nodded. “Very well, I will go see him myself.”
He sped his way through the Lodge to the main gates. They were cracked to permit several of the guards outside. A man sat on his knees, pale and dirty beside several guards who were going through his pack.
“Get this man some water,” Lael commanded. “Traveler, where did you come from?”
The handsome man looked up wearily. “T’ tunnels, m’lord. I tried to make it here wit’ t’ Head Mage, but I missed him, so I walked...for weeks.”
“Are you a Mage, friend?”
“He blasted the rock in front of the tunnel, Secondhand.” A guard said.
“Aye, m’lord, I am an Earth Mage,” the traveler said and waved his hand over a crack. A slender zodie flower rose to spiral and bloom open.
“And what is your name, friend?”
“Wynslo, but me mates call me Wyn, m’lord.”
“You came alone, Wyn?”
“Aye, m’lord.” The man waved on his knees, his eyes fluttering. Someone stepped through the gates with a canteen. The man gulped the water greedily. “Bless you.”
“Do you call yourself by any other name?” Lael asked slowly. No one truly knew what Arch Mage Dorian Lark looked like. There was a sketch of him in storage, but history was lost to artists who sought to improve it. This man did not resemble the portrait quite right. By asking, Lael looked for nervousness. All men lied, but most men did it poorly.
“M’lord?” the man asked.
“Do you know the name Dorian Lark, friend?”
The man looked away for a moment in thought. “T’ Arch Mage, m’lord?”
“Aye, Wyn.” Lael waited, but the man continued to stare at him expectantly. “Get him up,” Lael finally nodded. “Come Wyn, we will find you rooms and get you cleaned and rested.”
“Bless you, stars bless all you Jaden Mages,” the man said as he was hauled to his feet. Even braced over two men, he was still taller than Lael. He staggered in on worn boots, breathing heavily with stringy hair falling over his forehead.
“Do you know if you have family here?” Lael asked.
“No, m’lord, I have no family.”
“Lina, put our new guest up in the North Hall and see he has all his needs. Renlin, run ahead and find a room.” The Mages bowed rushing northward.
“Oh, bless you,” Wyn breathed, taking weak steps.
“How fared Tintagaelsing when you left?”
“In chaos, m’lord. When t’ palace fell, t’ nobles scattered to t’eir other estates. T’ economy collapsed in hours. I escaped wit’ what I could carry and never looked back.”
“How did you know about the tunnel?”
“My family built t’em, m’lord, Ages ago before t’ Mage Wars. It is my heritage to know.”
“Very well,” Lael nodded. “Rest up, and I will visit in the morning. There is much about Castle Jaden you need to know.”
“Bless you, m’lord.”
It was difficult for Gabriel to wake the next morning. It had been a week since he was captured, and the lack of food was waning on him. He never carried much fat, so his body surely began to consume the subcutaneous fat around his organs. Though he lay there listlessly, he still exerted himself, for every time Afton healed him, she took some of his energy. Healing consisted of three kinds of energy: kinetic from an outside source to lay the pattern, energy from the healer, and energy from healed.
Nothing interesting happened in the castle, which Gabriel was thankful for. A Gaelsin came to the gates two days ago, there were three births, and an elderly man died, but other than the increased use of resources, there was nothing of note that Gabriel cared to listen to. Lael still came to him each morning to read reports and keep him informed.
With the influx of new Mages, the castle was able to build sidestepping teams that could transport goods in seconds. The merchants from Tintagaelsing were already seeing an increase in profit as their wares traveled the land. With the right equipment and patterns, they were able to craft beautiful metalwork, weapons, candles, carvings, and a new type of fabric that stretched dramatically. Lael brought Gabriel a square that morning and stretched a swatch twice its size.
“They are calling it flex,” he explained with interest. “I am not quite sure what it is made out of, but there is some chemical process involved. The Gaelsin history keepers have been doing amazing work teaching their people from their books, and there was a whole lab set up in their workhouse.”
Gabriel made no reaction.
Lael sighed quietly and turned his head towards Afton. She worked on his shoulder. “We need to get food in him soon.”
She shook her head. “He will not have it, Secondhand.”
“Do we not have something to bypass his throat, so he cannot constrict?”
“My lord, if we did, I would not use it. T’is fate is his choice.”
“Then why are you working on him?”
She thinned her lips seriously. “I still have hope, Secondhand.”
“Is…is he breaking?”
Gabriel frowned, staring at the canopy.
“No,” Afton smiled faintly. “I t’ink he will not.”
“But he is dying.”
She nodded and bowed her head.
“How long?”
She shook her head. “A week, possibly more. T’ere is no way to tell. T’ere is a chance his body could give out from despair before he starves to death.”
“That can happen?”
“Oh, aye, Secondhand.”
Lael stepped closer, so Gabriel met his eyes. “I…plan to have a Council Meeting today to discuss a new Head Mage, and…if we should put you out of your misery. Do you have a successor in mind?”
He began to rattle through the alphabet, but Gabriel bored his eyes into Lael’s until the man stopped. “Me?” Lael asked. Gabriel blinked. “I cannot.” Gabriel rolled his eyes angrily. “I cannot hold that responsibility. I manage the castle and its people, but the Head Mage Seat is entirely different.”
‘It’s really, really not,’ Gabriel thought, ‘and you’re doing it right now.’
“Is there anyone else?” He began to recite the alphabet. “M…i…k…”
“Mikelle,” Afton interjected.
Lael’s brows rose. “You would see her on the Seat? Truly? I knew you two were close, but….”
Gabriel wished he could explain in sentences rather than adjectives, but Lael slowly spelled out loyal, truthful, and compassionate with Afton’s help.
“Very well, I will convey your wishes.” Lael bowed and left, leaving Afton to work on him quietly.
Virgil watched Robyn from a crack in the door. She spoke with her Advisor Aisling, listening to their every word with his breath held.
“I do not understand,” Aisling said, her voice muffled through the wood. “You had me arrange a marriage? I thought we were celebrating the new year.”
Robyn waved a dismissive hand. “Oh no, Aisling. I must be married as quickly as possible.”
“You?” Aisling gasped, then looked away as she composed her face. “You know Gabriel is unwell?”
“Oh, it is not to him. I am to wed Prince Virgil.”
“I beg your star-blasted pardon? Your Grace, do not do this to me again. My nerves cannot handle it.”
“I am marrying Virgil to strengthen our kingdoms.”
“Anatoly does not need to be strengthened. Arconia does.”
“Do you think my betrothed is weak? His kingdom is rich and fertile.”
“Lael and Gabriel have been concerned for you lately, and I see why now. They seem to think something is very wrong, but I have been so distracted with Gabriel, I did not see it myself.”
“Why? Whatever is the matter with Gabriel now?”
Virgil began to sweat. Robyn was under strict orders not to speak of the Castrofax or her knowledge of it.
“He is bound in a Castrofax!” Aisling blurted out.
Robyn paid no mind and waved a hand. �
�Then my marriage to Virgil is overdue.”
Aisling looked at her in shock, silently staring for some time as Robyn smiled. “I will get to the bottom of this. Something terrible has happened to you.”
She stood swiftly, and Virgil bolted down the hall, sequestering himself back into the anteroom. Aisling swept out angrily and went through the hinge without another word.
Chapter 17
Lael sat in his spot beside the vacant Head Mage chair in the brightly lit Council Hall. Everyone looked drawn. Despite the respite from the endless Classings, the fate of the Head Mage weighed heavily on them. No one voiced it, but they knew why they gathered. The doors closed, and Lael stood to swear them in to secrecy while Mikelle took notes.
“The Head Mage is dying,” Lael said quietly. Cordis and Aisling already looked on the verge of tears, but the declaration pushed Aisling over the edge. “He refuses food and water and has made it clear he would rather die than be kept alive in this state. At this point he is slowly starving to death, so I bring it to you. Should we put him out of his misery and take natures’ course into our own hands?”
The Council was quiet for a while. No one wanted to be the first to speak.
“There is a chance,” Mikelle said quietly. “A chance he could break out.”
“We have given him every opportunity to try,” Markus replied. “I hope as much as you do.”
They fell silent again.
“Yes,” Adelaide finally whispered. Everyone looked at her, some in thanks and others in anger. “Starving to bring on death is no way for a man as noble as he to go.”
“How would you do it then?” Challis asked accusingly.
“Quickly. Break his neck.”
Felling Kingdoms (Book 5) Page 12
