Mage Evolution (Book 3)

by Virginia G. McMorrow

  “Actually, we do.” I sent Anders a covert look as she put the bottle aside. “And I think you’ll understand why.” Curiosity flashed in her eyes as she straightened. Despite my father’s letters over the years, I wasn’t quite sure she knew what to make of me. Instinctively trusting the Spreebridge woman, though I didn’t agree with her decision about Corey, I made myself comfortable, tucking another cushion behind my back. “It’s rather a long story, if you have some time.”

  “Corey is gone until late afternoon. And Sloane…” She sighed in maternal resignation. “Well, he does not live here any longer.”

  “All right, then let me tell you why we’ve come to Spreebridge.”

  * * * *

  “I do not think Jackson is lying.” Kimmer ran a slender hand through her unbound silver-blonde hair. “However, I do not know him as well as I do Westin. But what purpose would it serve Jackson to claim he has lost his mage talent if he has not?”

  I stretched to ease the muscles in my neck and shoulders, barely catching myself from purring as Anders massaged my neck. “Hopefully none. I don’t want him to be lying.”

  “After hearing your tale, I think that Elder Frontish connects your trouble with mine, though I cannot explain why.”

  “Instinct?” Anders moved his hands skillfully to my shoulders, pushing my head down so he could loosen the tight muscles.

  “More than anything else, but what could Derek Frontish hope to gain by hurting you?” Kimmer asked me. “How could it help his positioning for power in Spreebridge? He has already claimed the seat of senior representative. And before he left Derbarry to visit your queen, Derek seemed more than content with the new trade agreement.” Puzzled, Kimmer scratched her head and looked to me for answers. “Unless I have missed something vital, I am at a loss.”

  “Maybe destroying Alex’s mage talent is just an extra perverse enjoyment on his part. Maybe Derek Frontish is connected to the imprisoned renegades somehow.” Maylen broke her lengthy silence, looking at each of us in turn. “Perhaps there is a link—”

  “I cannot think why there would be.” Kimmer shook her head and poured us all another glass of Marain wine. Somewhere in the middle of our story, she had brought out cheese and spiced beef rolls, along with another bottle. “I remember when Jackson sent the renegades back to Spreebridge. Derek was furious at what they had done in Tuldamoran and supported their punishment.”

  “Perhaps it was an act.” Anders stopped massaging my shoulders and sat back against overstuffed cushions.

  “Have you seen the renegades?” I asked, wondering if we should investigate further. “Are they still safely locked away?”

  “As of last week when I visited them, yes.” The older woman smiled at my surprise. “Part of my duty as an elder is the security of political prisoners. I can tell you for certain that the two women are mad, and the man furious. But still, he is without magic. Looking back on Derek’s reaction to their capture,” Kimmer added, sipping at her wine glass, “he was not happy that such odd talent even existed. Add to that, Alex, the fact the mages wielding such odd talent were not under his control seemed to be of particular irritation. So, no, Anders, I do not think Derek’s anger was an act. I believe he wished those mages stripped of their magic power and kept out of sight, which makes me wonder about his intentions concerning Jackson.” Kimmer looked pensive as we digested that insight, and then frowned. “But one thing is very clear. If Elder Frontish is involved, then so is my son.”

  “You don’t know that Sloane is involved,” I protested, not wanting it to be true, for Kimmer’s sake.

  The woman’s eyes were tinged with sadness, so like my father. “Ah, but I do know that, Alex, to my sorrow. From the moment Sloane was old enough to understand the intricacies of power and politics and magic, he latched onto the edge of Elder Frontish’s cloak. Derek gave Sloane what we could not, and would not even if we could. To be honest, I despise what Derek represents.” Kimmer stood up and walked toward the window, where late afternoon shadows had grown prominent. “Corey should be back soon. You may want his opinion on this matter. There are times, though not recently, when Corey can make Sloane listen to reason.”

  “I’m sorry to add to your troubles.”

  Kimmer turned from the window to face me. “You have only added to what I have tried to avoid. And if Sloane is involved, it is my responsibility to give you whatever possible help I can, if only for the damage he has caused. I cannot continue to turn away from what I suspect to be true.” The woman stood tall, authority covering her like a cloak. “I, too, am an elder of Spreebridge, and must do something before others are hurt.”

  “Who has been hurt?”

  We all turned at the unexpected voice from the doorway. Well, there was proof of Glynnswood blood. Sneaky, every one of them.

  “Mother? Who has been hurt?” Corey demanded, sitting down when I waved him to join us before Kimmer could answer.

  “It’s a long story, Master Frehan. If you have some time, let me tell you why we’ve come to Spreebridge.”

  * * * *

  Lords of the sea, but my newest half-brother had Gwynn’s passion for outrage. I liked Corey immediately. “We don’t know for certain that Sloane is involved,” I reminded him when fire flashed in his eyes. It had been difficult to tell the story again without speaking of his father or his half-brother or me, his half-sister. But I held my tongue, almost slipping once or twice and saved by the grace of Anders’s delicate and timely interventions.

  “He is involved. I know it. I do know it— And so does Mother.” The accusation was muttered with pained conviction as he turned dark, brooding eyes in my direction.

  “Do you have proof?”

  “Yes. In here.” Corey touched his heart, avoiding his mother’s eyes. “And,” —he sipped the Marain Valley wine his mother had poured after his outburst— “Sloane spoke to me recently of feyweed.” Though Kimmer’s eyes widened in surprise, she stayed silent, until Corey slid her a sideways glance, a very guilty sideways glance, from the corner of his dark Keltie eyes. “I did not tell you because I knew you would be upset.” When Kimmer nodded her understanding, Corey continued speaking to me, failing to notice the force with which his mother bit her lower lip. “Alex, Sloane told me Elder Frontish had gathered large quantities of feyweed in secret. Sloane was trying to find out what the elder intended to do with it. I am not certain, but I think Sloane really didn’t know what Derek planned. Or if he did know, it is obvious Sloane does not trust me all that much, after all.” Corey’s shoulders slumped with his admission, unable to disguise the bitterness and old pain that crept into his voice.

  “How long ago was this?” Anders nibbled at a chunk of cinnamon bread that Kimmer set down on the low table.

  “Shortly before Elder Frontish visited Ardenna.”

  Anders sipped the wine to wash down the bread, before he asked quietly, “Do you know—” He shot a glance my way, and then back to Corey. “Did Sloane say anything about a way to reverse feyweed?”

  “My brother said Elder Frontish claims there is no way to reverse the damage, but Sloane did not believe him.” Corey shrugged in apology. “I do not know who or what to believe. It may be possible that there is a draught to unblock the mage talent. For those innocent victims afflicted with the potion, I would hope so.”

  Uneasy, I caught Corey’s attention. “If you’ll forgive me, I need to ask you something. Not to be intrusive, but because it’s important.” When Corey nodded after a reassuring glance from his mother, I went on, “Your mother told us you and Sloane aren’t on the best of terms. Why would Sloane speak openly to you? “

  Corey smiled that sorrowful, resigned Keltie smile. “Sometimes my brother remembers that I am not his enemy.”

  Anders touched my arm to get my attention. “Perhaps we should reserve judgment until we’re certain what’s what.”

  “Anders is right. Though I believe Sloane is involved just as you do,” she informed Corey, who was about to pro
test his mother’s assessment, “I also believe Anders is right. And maybe, if we are lucky, Sloane is getting tired of Derek’s manipulations.”

  Corey agreed with open reluctance before turning back to me. “Did you know Elder Frontish is returning to Tuldamoran in three weeks? To Ardenna?”

  “No, I didn’t.” I raised the glass to my lips and drained it, enjoying the fruity aftertaste on my tongue. “I know he’s planning to travel to Port Alain with the first shipment of gems, but that’s not for some time. He didn’t say anything to Elena when we had dinner together. And she hasn’t mentioned it to me, though we have been traveling the last few days. Do you know why he’s heading south again?”

  “No, sorry, but Elder Frontish has kept this planned journey secret from all but those close to him. Sloane told me when we spoke of the feyweed. Although Frontish claims to be in favor of this new trade agreement,” Corey said thoughtfully, echoing the idea that had drifted through my mind, “I fear he may be, in reality, against it. Some of the elders want Spreebridge to remain apart from affairs to the south, fearing corruption and dilution of our, what they call, traditional culture. There are many in the council who fear exposure to the uncivilized ways, your pardon, Alex,” —his grin was reminiscent of Gwynn as he apologized— “of Tuldamoran. They worry too much interaction may hurt our people in the long run. Mother and I disagree.”

  “But why do you think Derek is one of these naysayers?” Kimmer asked her son, studying his handsome features as he broke off a wedge of hard cheese and popped it in his mouth. “If he is against the trade, everything he’s been saying is a lie.”

  “It very likely is, Mother. I place little trust in anything Elder Frontish says, and I respect him even less. So, Alex, if it is all right with you,” —Corey nodded to me as I tilted the glass back to catch the very last drop of Marain Valley wine Kimmer had snuck into the goblet— “I will meet you in Ardenna to tell you what I have discovered about his clandestine journey.”

  I choked. Shoving the glass into Anders’s hand to keep him from slapping my back, I tried to catch my breath, slanting Kimmer a wary glance.

  “Ardenna should be all right, I think,” the Spreebridge woman murmured, toying with a wedge of half-eaten cheese that had lost its appeal. “After all, what can happen where the queen’s reign is favorable and the queen’s Mage Protector is on hand?”

  Struggling not to laugh, or cry, I managed to keep my voice even. “Ardenna would be perfect. No need to wander around the countryside. Never can be too safe about brigands on the road and in the forests, even though Elena keeps the roads relatively free of trouble. And there’s an excellent inn not very far from the east gate—”

  * * * *

  “If my son knew who you really are, I think he would be pleased.”

  I blinked at our hostess, still groggy from too much wine and a deep, dreamless sleep in a soft bed after a hot bath that was more delightful than I had any right to expect. “Lords of the sea, Kimmer, I’d no idea he’d suggest coming to Tuldamoran.” I rubbed my eyes and gratefully accepted a steaming cup of tea from the older woman.

  “Well, neither did I. But he is committed to your cause.” She poured herself a fresh cup of tea. “Alex—”

  “I won’t tell him who I am.”

  “Thank you.”

  “However, we’ll have to keep my brother away from him.” I gave the Glynnswood scout a warning glance as she busied herself with hot cinnamon rolls and a sliced apple. “Maylen, that’s your job.”

  “I know, Alex. I have already thought of that.” Another set of blue eyes appraised me, and I caught the barest twinkle of mischief. “Gwynn would guess the truth immediately. He is nearly as smart as you.”

  Before I could reply to the backhanded insult, Kimmer intervened. “I am sorry to put you in such a difficult situation, Alex,” she apologized, pouring a fresh tea for Anders when he drained his cup. “But you must understand my dilemma.”

  “Oh, believe me, I do. But it’s not your fault. Anyone who is evenly distantly related to my father puts me in a difficult situation.” I shrugged, smothering a rude yawn. “I’m used to it.”

  The Spreebridge elder started to reply, caught Anders’s eye, and shook her head, laughing. “I can imagine,” she said, trying with little success to keep a straight face, “that you have more than made up for the lost years you did not share with your father.”

  Anders smirked, eying Kimmer through the rising steam of his teacup, ““Next time you write to Sernyn, ask him how gray he’s become in the last five or so years.”

  * * * *

  “Can you set the dock on fire?”

  A few hours later, after we’d made our way back to the wharf in Derbarry, Anders studied me very carefully from head to foot. “Kimmer sent you off with a warm enough farewell, didn’t she? Or are you still cold?”

  Maylen looked first at Anders, and then at me, as though we’d both gone mad.

  “Can you?”

  “Yes, if I use that cook fire beneath the teapot by the group of sailors.”

  I studied the distance between the cook fire and the men conversing lazily along the dock. “All right. Can you make sure the fire heads toward land?”

  Anders narrowed his eyes to slits, trying, I guessed, to imagine what I was planning. “Yes, of course.” He puffed out his broad chest. “I’m the great and esteemed Crownmage who serves the queen of Tuldamoran and lords it over the queen’s Mage Protector and—”

  “Hush. Just do it.”

  “I thought you wanted to hurry home to our daughter.”

  “I do.” Grateful we would soon be heading south, I leaned back against the rough wall of the supply shop we’d just left a little richer. “But there’s one more thing I want to see before we go home.”

  “Jackson—” Maylen’s loud whisper brought Anders’s head swiftly around to follow her intent gaze.

  Anders turned back to me, mischief lighting up his eyes. “And you accuse Rosanna of being a devious old witch.”

  “She taught me everything I know.”

  Anders laughed and planted a kiss on my lips, and then started to wave his arms, but I slapped them down.

  “Do you think you can avoid theatrics? I don’t want to be noticed.” Pouting, he muttered something unintelligible under his breath. “Pardon?”

  “Nothing, dear. Yes, wait—” Anders turned suddenly anxious, and I could read his guilty thoughts as though they were written in bold letters across his forehead. “Shouldn’t you go for a walk or something? Just until I’m finished—”

  “I’ve been walking away enough.” Clamping a tight grip on my shaky insides, I nodded. “Sooner or later, I have to be able to deal with the fact I can’t wield magic, Anders, but thank you.” I kissed his smooth-shaven cheek, surprising him. “Go ahead. I’ll be all right. Maylen,” —I grinned at her concerned expression— “if I turn deathly white or start to fall over, catch me. Anders won’t be able to.” Nodding, she kept her expression serious. “I’m joking. Lords of the sea, you’re both— Never mind. What I’m thinking isn’t grateful. Anders, hurry and get it over with before he decides to leave.”

  “Great mage talent can’t be rushed,” he intoned, and then proceeded to rush. Eyes focused on the cook fire, Anders stayed very still.

  I watched the flames beneath the old tin pot flare and scoot toward dockside, edging nearer to Jackson, nearly lapping at his boots, as he waited to board the smaller vessel that would bring him downstream to the riverboat at the border. When I feared no one would notice the danger in time, the flames flared once more and Jackson turned, shouting for water, yelling in frustration and anger, as he tried without success to use the mage talent that had forsaken him.

  Satisfied, and saddened, I tapped Anders on the shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

  “By bridge?”

  “I did it once, and it didn’t kill me,” I said, disregarding the nausea that threatened to overtake me at the mere thought of the passage I faced.
“After all, it’s better if we cross the border in secret. We stand more of a chance of being discovered on these small boats before we even reach the border if your pitiful stomach starts vomiting again.”

  “Now, Alex—”

  “Home, husband.” I pointed south. “That way.”

  Unfortunately, I was almost sorry we did go home.

  Chapter Eight

  “Emmy’s sound asleep,” my father whispered, slanting a wary expression at Anessa. “Wait, Alex.” He gently but firmly gripped my cloak as I tiptoed toward the small cozy chamber where my daughter slept. “There is something you must know before she wakes.”

  “All right.” I forced my expression to utter casualness, fooling no one, especially my father. Keeping my back to the welcoming blaze of the fireplace, though it was warmer so many miles south of the Keshtang Mountains, I waved a hand at him. “Tell me.”

  “Sit, please.”

  When he tried to lead me toward the armchair closest the fireplace, I resisted, crossed my arms, and met his worried gaze. “I don’t need to hear bad news sitting down. I promise I won’t faint or do anything foolish. Now tell me.”

  My father’s sigh was loud. “Someone slipped feyweed into Emmy’s milk.”

  Ah, no. She was only a child. My child.

  “Alex.” Anders stepped past my father to slip his arms around my waist.