“On purpose. You’re not that forgetful.”
“What should we do?”
“Hmm.” Anders’s fingers wandered over to mine. “Let’s see if we can come up with anything we both might enjoy. Emmy’s with Maylen all afternoon, and if you drink up and finish your ale like a good little wife—”
The front door of the Seaman’s Berth opened, letting a stream of sunlight shine through, along with my brother, Gwynn, who peered around the crowded room. I waved him inside, laughing at Anders’s disappointed frown.
“You should be used to interruptions,” I murmured in Anders’s ear.
“In the middle of the night.” He slanted me a dark look. “But since Emmy was born, Jules and Elena have been quite decent. Though I must say, I miss those late visits from time to time.” Confronting my poor brother, Anders demanded, “Is there a reason you followed us down here? Or are you just being spiteful and interfering in my free time with my wife since Maylen isn’t available for your enjoyment and— Ooph,” Anders caught his breath as I elbowed his gut. “That wasn’t necessary.”
When I snarled at my husband, guessing from my brother’s face that trouble was afoot, Gwynn shot me a lopsided grin that swiftly faded. “Forgive me. I know you wanted to have the afternoon to yourselves.” Gwynn tugged at the rebellious lock of brown hair. “But Father is here, with my mother. Alex…” He hesitated, brown eyes wide, “I think there is something wrong, but he will not tell me.” Shaking his head in frustration, Gwynn complained, “I am old enough now, and still people do not tell me everything.”
“Then he’d better tell me.” I downed the ale and tossed coins on the table, pushing back my chair.
Anders grabbed my arm. “Sernyn could be here for just a visit.”
“Anders.” I sighed heavily, trying not to scream, “I’ve already had bad news from Elena, and it’s only the middle of the afternoon. I don’t expect the day to end without more bad news.”
“You’re developing a pessimistic outlook.”
I flung my cloak around my shoulders. “If my father’s here in Port Alain for a simple, unplanned, neighborly visit, it will be a very pleasant surprise. Then you can say ‘I told you so.’ But don’t count on it.”
* * * *
Trouble had come to Port Alain.
I knew the moment I saw the guarded expression in my father’s eyes that serious trouble was indeed afoot, and tried to ignore it as we greeted Sernyn, Anessa, and Rosanna in the sun parlor on the Hill. Having given my daughter into Lauryn’s willing care, Maylen leaned against the window ledge, her very casualness and appearance sending my instinct screeching as she made room for Gwynn to squeeze in beside her.
“I am sorry, Alex, to visit without sending word. Lady Barlow has been, as always, gracious.” With that introduction, my father gave me a brief hug, the one quick squeeze confirming what I already suspected. Anessa did the same, before sinking onto the pillow-strewn couch beside my father, a mirror image of Gwynn and the ever-present Maylen.
Desperate for a hint of normalcy, I dropped to a pile of overstuffed pillows next to Anders before the blazing fireplace and said dryly, “I didn’t think we were so formal that you had to send an announcement.” Craning my neck in Rosanna’s direction, where she busied herself over tea and blueberry scones, making me suspect that she was worried, too, I asked, “Have you changed the house rules?”
When my father smiled as Rosanna started to scold me, I could see how troubled that smile appeared. “If you pester Lady Barlow, I will have to listen for an hour or more as she recalls, with great detail, every insult and indiscretion you have made since our last visit.”
“I’d rather that didn’t happen. So, tell me then,” I drawled, “why you’re here without sending word.” Resting my chin in one hand, I mimicked Maylen’s too-casual demeanor, fooling no one.
“Oh, what am I thinking?” Flustered, Rosanna interrupted my father’s reluctant answer as she remembered her own manners. “I’ll leave—”
“No, please.” My father gave her a warm smile, which did nothing to disguise the underlying tension. “It is a family matter, and you are family.” He stole a quick glance at Anessa, who squeezed his arm with reassurance. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Some days ago, we received another shipment of Marain Valley wine from the queen.”
“Another?” Fearing the knot growing in my gut, I feigned annoyance and narrowed my eyes to slits. “How often does she share my wine?”
“Your wine? Ah, I’ve forgotten the vintners boast of the Royal Mage Protector’s preference for their fine product.” Anders tugged at a strand of my curls. “There’s more than enough in Tuldamoran to keep you sated. Don’t be greedy. Just be thankful Elena’s generous enough to spread the wealth without touching your supply. Go on, Sernyn.”
My father’s expression was peculiar, and I didn’t like not being able to read him. “I sampled the wine.” He looked down at the worn leather of his traveling boots, a little trait we had in common, enjoying the comfort of old boots.
“And?” I pressed. Though he fumbled for words, they weren’t necessary. I read the truth in his eyes. “Damn them.”
“What is wrong?” Gwynn knelt at my side in confusion and concern, missing the point. “Tell me.”
My eyes still locked on my father’s, I shook my head in despair. “There was feyweed in the wine. Anessa?” I searched my stepmother’s eyes with an unvoiced question.
She shook her head. “I did not have any, Alex.”
“Thank the lords of the sea. But you— I’m sorry,” I told my father.
His even voice and gentle eyes held ancient pain. “I never used the talent, Alex, not for years, not even to help Khrista give birth to Linsey.”
Linsey was the child of Jules’s sister, Krista, a late-blooming seamage, and one of the renegade Spreebridge mages now imprisoned in Derbarry. We believed the child had talent just like mine. Though Khrista had been raped by that mage, her husband Kerrie loved the child as his own. Linsey was much like Emmy in that neither of them had yet to show actual mage talent beyond the glimpses of something we’d had at childbirth. When I was in labor, I was able to control Emmy’s raw magic with Anders’s help, but it’d taken several of us to get Khrista out of danger.
No one had helped my mother give birth to me, couldn’t, because they didn’t understand what was happening, which resulted in her painful death. But I didn’t throw the hurtful words at my father because I didn’t need to say them aloud. Because, finally, after what seemed like a lifetime to both of us, I’d forgiven him.
“That’s not true. You and Anessa helped teach Khrista what to expect. Without your help, things would have been more difficult for her, and a whole lot scarier.”
“It does not matter.” Gwynn’s anger cut through my troubled words. “If we do not stop these attacks—”
My father placed a restraining hand on my brother’s arm as Gwynn jumped off the window ledge and started to pace, reminding me of Elena in one of her restless moods. “We do not know who else is targeted.”
“That’s what really troubles me. Before you scold me,” I warned Sernyn, “the fact that you, as my father, received a crate of tainted wine, makes me think the attack is somehow connected to me. Gwynn’s right. This situation can’t go on without resolution.” Remembering my own taste of the wine, I had a sudden crazy thought. “But the odor—”
My father sighed with fatigue and shook his head. “They masked it better than when you drank it. By the time I sensed something wrong, it was too late. And Alex,” —he gave me a sharp look in warning that I wouldn’t like his next words— “this attack on me does not, does not,” he repeated for emphasis, “necessarily mean that it was connected to you. It might very well be,” he hedged when I started to protest, “but we cannot be sure yet.”
Rosanna plucked fingers at my tunic sleeve. “Elena would never send—” She didn’t finish her thought, didn’t need to.
“Of course not, but Jackso
n would.” Gwynn’s usually warm brown eyes defied me to contradict him.
Instead, I stared at my brother for a long tense moment, thinking hard, before breaking free of his intense gaze, unsettled. “Did any note come with the shipment?”
“Yes” My father fumbled in a hidden pocket of his tunic and drew out a neat folded paper, complete with Elena Dunneal’s royal seal, the gold crown surrounded by sapphires.
I took the letter from his outstretched hand and read the affectionate, harmless message that ended with Elena’s signature, not a single word in her handwriting. Silent, I stood up to stare out the window overlooking Rosanna’s gardens, the trees and bushes poised on the verge of blossoming any day as the winter’s chill receded. After a moment, Anders stood beside me and took the letter from my tight grasp. When he finished reading, I pulled from my own pocket the note from Elena I’d read earlier in the Seaman’s Berth, and handed it to him.
Anders compared them in silence, seagray eyes calm as he scanned the contents and the handwriting. “This note at the bottom from Jackson—”
Disheartened, I shut my eyes tight. “I can’t do this to Elena again. I can’t—”
Tell her that her lover, again, might be a traitor.
Gwynn joined us, pulling me around to face him. “If it is Jackson’s handwriting, perhaps someone made it appear to be his handwriting.”
I laughed at Gwynn’s suggestion, but the sound was hollow. “Giving him a fair chance, little brother, after slandering his good name in earnest?”
Gwynn didn’t blink, though he tugged at the misbehaved lock of hair that hung in his eyes. “It is possible.”
“It is possible, Alex. Think for a moment.” My father drummed restless fingers against his thigh. “What do we know? Or what do we think we know?”
“What do we know?” With a resigned sigh, I fell back into my seat of cushions by the crackling fireplace, Anders trailing behind. “One: Someone tried to trick me, and you, too, by blocking our magic. Two: They tried to do the same to Anders and Jackson and Anessa. Maybe. Or made it look like that was true. Three: Jackson introduced feyweed to us.” I gave my father an apologetic glance as I waved Elena’s recent note to me in his direction. “Four: Jackson claims there’s no way to reverse the effects of feyweed.” With a not very subtle nudge from Anders, I added, “Yet. Yet. All right. Yet. Who knows? Five: If the renegade mages in prison up north are involved, they must have outside help. Since knowledge of feyweed is restricted to the elders, according to Jackson, then an accomplice may be an elder or someone privy to an elder’s secrets.” Pausing for breath, I leaned back against Anders. “Oh.” I sat forward again as another thought entered my head. “Six: Someone knows my father enjoys Marain Valley wine almost as much as I do.”
Rosanna studied me for a moment, tapping her fingers against the wooden arm of her chair, oblivious to my father’s similar activity. “Well,” she hesitated, her tea forgotten on the low table, when I encouraged her to speak, “there are a few possibilities, given all these things we know or think we know. The intended victims could be those with Crownmage or Mage Protector talent which would account for you and Anders and Jackson at that dinner. Or you and your family, which covers you and your father and Anessa, if only for vengeance or because Glynnswood magic helped create a mage like you, Alex.” Rosanna continued to tap her fingers. “The imprisoned renegades could be responsible with an elder’s help, possibly Jackson’s mentor, Westin Harlowe. Possibly Jackson is involved, possibly not. Possibly Elder Frontish started matters rolling when he was in the capital.” She sent Gwynn a guarded look. “Possibly Jackson alone is responsible.”
“There’s another possibility,” Anders murmured, breaking off a piece of blueberry scone and handing me the rest. “The Ardenna Crown Council of Mages, newly appointed by Elena after you defeated Firemage Ravess, has been very well behaved. Though they offer counsel to Elena from time to time, she depends on you, Alex,” he said, reminding me of my recent words to the queen in Rosanna’s garden. “Might be” —he shrugged— “they’re jealous of your position and behind this little melodrama.”
“What about the others? What are their motives?” I demanded, as Anders rubbed my neck with familiar ease to rid it of tension.
Rosanna blinked and stopped tapping. “If the renegades are involved, vengeance, pure and simple. You told me, Alex, the feeling of loss is so terrible that had you known, you might have prevented Jackson from giving them feyweed.” Her expression held compassion. “And if Jackson is the culprit, it may be jealousy of your talent and the position you hold in Elena’s court, much like the Crown Council of Mages might feel.”
“So what you’re saying is that we don’t know anything.”
“Not very much that’s certain. Not yet, anyway. Of course,” Rosanna added in an exquisite bland tone, studying the wood grain of her chair, “you could always go north to Spreebridge.” Watching the wily old woman, I hugged my knees to my chest as she said, “Besides the reasons I gave you days ago, a trip north would give you a closer look at Jackson’s mentor and Elder Frontish without their knowledge. And you might be able to determine whether there’s any communication between Spreebridge and Ardenna that should concern you.” She smiled with mock innocence. “I’m sure you can devise any number of legitimate reasons to suit your needs.”
“You mean, we should spy.”
“Well, yes.” A guarded look crept back into her eyes.
“What else?”
“Well…” She started to tap her fingers again. “You might see whether Jackson’s telling the truth about not being able to reverse the feyweed’s effects.”
“Since you seem to have it all mapped out, where do you think we should start? I don’t know a soul in Spreebridge, with the exception of Derek Frontish. And I can’t very well ask him or Jackson for any introductions.” Surprised, though I shouldn’t have been, I caught the stealthy look exchanged between Anessa and my father, and wondered what other little secrets Sernyn had decided not to share with me over the years.
“Alex—” My father’s cheeks flushed scarlet in embarrassment, refusing to look at me. “I traveled for a time to Spreebridge after Emila—” His eyes were locked to the spot on the lush carpet between his worn boots. “After you were born. An elder mage in Derbarry kept me from ending my life,” his voice grew unsteady, “though I tried several times. She—”
“She?” I bit my lip as his flush deepened.
“Yes.” His dark head was still bowed. “I stayed with Kimmer Frehan for a year before returning home to Hartswood. I had responsibilities—”
“In Glynnswood.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my voice. “Not Port Alain.”
He dragged guilty eyes upward to meet mine. “Yes.”
Though I had forgiven my father for abandoning me as an infant, still the pain crept in with stunning force to shake me. I threw off Anders’s restraining hand and jumped up, slamming the oak door behind me.
* * * *
“Would it help if I beat Father senseless? Or if Maylen and I held him down while you beat him senseless?”
I laughed with genuine affection at my furious brother, who had dogged my steps, as expected. “I don’t think so.”
Gwynn sat beside me on a stone bench in Rosanna’s garden. “I would like to, Alex. It would make me feel better.”
I patted my brother’s knee to calm him down. “It happened almost thirty years ago. I don’t think it’s fair to beat him senseless now.”
Gwynn didn’t blink. “Well, I do. Alex, look at you.” He pulled out a rough handkerchief and wiped tears from my wet cheeks. “It is all his fault. He continues to break your heart when you least expect it.”
Not surprised at my brother’s fierce loyalty to me, I waved the handkerchief away and gripped his shoulders, forcing him to listen to reason. “It’s in the past, Gwynn. I accepted that five years ago. And it’s not fair to Father if you’re angry over something that happened to me before you were ev
en born.”
“When I was born, he still refused to acknowledge you,” Gwynn said stubbornly, chin thrust forward, daring me to contradict him.
“I know,” I admitted, struggling between tears and laughter, at the protectiveness Gwynn had shown from the first day we’d met, “but I accepted all that. It’s what forgiveness means. Everything is different now.”
“Oh, certainly, I can see that.” One dark brown eyebrow rose ever so slightly in mockery at the damp handkerchief he waved at my face. “But it still causes you pain.” He crossed his arms, locking gazes with me, until I looked down at my worn boots, no different than my father, and sighed. “Then let me beat him senseless. It may not make you feel better, but it will make me feel better.”
Envisioning that image in my head, I started to laugh and pulled Gwynn upright with me. “Thanks, but no. Maybe some other time.” With a fierce affectionate hug, I dragged him back to Rosanna’s sun parlor in her tower, overlooking these very same gardens. When we reached her quarters, I didn’t look at anyone but Anders, sitting at ease by the crackling fire. He shifted to make room for me and settled his arms around my shoulders as I leaned against him. I took a deep breath and only then looked at my father, at soulful eyes that, for me, always held a fleeting glimpse of sorrow and regret from the moment I’d met him so unexpectedly in the forest. “I’m sorry.” When he started to protest, I held up a hand. “I don’t know why, but it still hurts. Doesn’t matter. It was a lifetime ago. You were a fool then.”
Sernyn nodded gravely. “I was indeed a fool then.” He stole a furtive look at Rosanna. “And for many years after.”
“You were. I won’t deny it, but things are different now, Elder Keltie. However,” —I glared, running both hands through my hair— “if you continue to place me in a precarious situation where Rosanna actually suspects I have a heart, I may have to disown you.”
At Father’s bright smile of relief, Rosanna leaned over to smack my arm. “I know you’re not human, so don’t try to pretend. It won’t work.”
Gracing the senior Lady Barlow with a crooked grin, I turned back to my father, who was staring, wide-eyed, at Gwynn. “Come, sit.” I patted the floor beside me when Gwynn didn’t budge. “Gwynn, it’s all right.” He exchanged an odd look with my father that held, I suspected, a serious warning. “Flameblast you.” I stretched to grab his deep green wool tunic and nearly toppled him to the floor beside me. “I told you I’ll let you know when you can beat him senseless,” I whispered, loud enough for my father and Anessa to hear, “but not now.” Gwynn didn’t respond to my teasing, didn’t even look at me. Impatient, and more than a little worried, I turned to Maylen, who hadn’t budged from her spot on the window ledge overlooking the garden. “I’m holding you responsible for this fool.”
Mage Evolution (Book 3) Page 4
