by Jasmine Walt
I grimaced. “One can only hope.” I was not looking forward to having to subjugate myself to some cranky old mage, and I was especially not thrilled about the inevitable confrontation with my relatives. If push came to shove, I’d rather run away again than submit to them as my legal guardians. It was hard enough being their ward when I was fifteen—at twenty-eight, I would not be able to stomach them.
If I’d been given the chance to do an apprenticeship, I might have already completed it by now, rendering this entire issue moot, as mages who completed an apprenticeship were automatically considered to be of age. But if that had happened, I never would have learned how to survive independent of my family, or met Fenris, for that matter.
“It would be best not to mention that I live in the state of Watawis,” I decided, “or that I am a trained veterinarian. That way, if things go wrong, we can still retreat to Abbsville.”
“That would be prudent,” Fenris agreed. “Though it will hopefully not come to that.”
“And what if I should be forced to stay with a new guardian in Innarta? Or if they assign me to a mage for my apprenticeship?” I asked. “What will become of our relationship? Will you return to Abbsville without me?” My stomach dropped—I had not truly considered that outcome, yet it was the most logical one, now that I thought about it.
“I don’t want to lose you,” I murmured, lowering my lashes. My voice was so low that a normal man would not have caught it, but Fenris’s expression softened with understanding. He brushed a kiss across my forehead and took my hand in his.
“I am sure we can get someone to watch my property here, or I can sell it,” he said against my skin. “In the best-case scenario, I would convince the Chief Mage to allow me to be your new guardian, and we could go back to Abbsville together. But no matter what, I won’t leave you, Mina. You won’t have to face this alone.”
9
Mina
We arrived in Haralis the following afternoon, Fenris already in his old-mage guise. Once our feet touched the ground, we were immediately whisked off by steamcar to the Black Horse, the luxurious hotel I had advised Fenris to book. By the time I flung myself onto the four-poster bed in my opulent room, I wanted nothing more than to sink into the fluffy white pillows and sleep the rest of the afternoon away. Preferably not alone.
But we had work to do, and Fenris only allowed me a few minutes’ rest while he called the Guild to request an interview with the Chief Mage. Once that was done, we went back out to shop for a more suitable wardrobe, since we had not had time to do so in Willowdale. Fenris chose some dark-colored robes, and I bought several silk blouses and two suits that looked crisp and business-like—the sort of outfits a young human lawyer or accountant might wear. The clothing made me look older, more sophisticated. Though it wasn’t the same as showing up in mage robes, they should still make a good impression. Hopefully, they would suggest to the Chief Mage that I was a responsible adult rather than a runaway minor.
“What do you think?” Fenris asked in a gruff, slightly warbling voice as he came through the adjoining door of our rooms early the next day. I was still getting used to his new appearance as a tall, lean mage with white hair and bushy brows. He wore a set of blue-gray robes and sported a long nose jutting out from a faintly lined face.
“You look like a dignified elder.” I reached up to straighten his robes. “The perfect person to be my guardian. My grandmother probably would have fancied you, actually,” I added with a grin.
“Excellent.” Fenris grinned back, the look quite uncharacteristic for the type of mage he was impersonating. His eyes—a penetrating blue in this guise—swept over me, and he nodded in satisfaction. “You look perfect.”
I reached a hand up to touch my hair, which I’d pulled back into a bun high atop my head. Turning toward the mirror, I smoothed the lapels of my dark blue suit one last time. The peach blouse looked good with it, and the black shoes peeking out from beneath the hem of my pants were shiny. Pearls gleamed at my ears and throat, and I shook my head a little.
“This does not look like me at all.”
Fenris put a hand on my shoulder. “You’re playing a part,” he said gently. “Today, this is you.”
I nodded and brushed off the feeling of unease. Over recent days, it had occurred to me that while I was legally Tamina Marton, my days of exile had turned me into someone else. If my grandmother had not died when I was fourteen, I would be wearing a full set of mage robes by now, my apprenticeship complete. I probably would have obtained some prestigious position at the Guild—my grandmother had been very influential. I might even be the Haralis version of Clostina.
Instead, I’d spent years studying to become a small-town veterinarian, with none of the manners or characteristics a mage of my status should display. Being Tamina Marton again really did feel like playing a part. Once I claimed my inheritance, I would need to decide whether I wanted to continue to play it, or if I needed to refashion Tamina into someone I would prefer to be.
With those thoughts still spinning about in my head, Fenris and I departed for the Mages Guild. I had never been in the palace myself, but I had driven past it a few times. It looked the same as I remembered—a towering edifice of cream stone and clay tile standing proud against the cloudless blue sky. The gardens around it were in full bloom, bursting with riotous color. When I took in a breath, the fragrant scents of summer flowers filled my nose. A brilliantly blue butterfly fluttered past, then rested for a moment on the rim of a marble fountain. I took a moment to admire it before we continued.
But even butterflies and sweet-smelling gardens could not soothe my nerves completely, and my palms grew clammy as we stepped inside the palace. Vaulted ceilings towered around us as we crossed the amber-colored tile floor, and the furnishings around us whispered of Innarta’s wealth. It was one of the most prosperous states in the Federation, with the largest port on the East Coast.
We checked in with the mage receptionist in the lobby, who directed us to a waiting room nearby, promising we would soon be attended to. As we sat in the stiff upholstered chairs, I noticed that even though Fenris kept a bored expression on his face, he seemed tense. I much preferred his shifter looks, I reflected as I studied him, even if he was taller and more imposing now.
A mage in pale green robes appeared only a few minutes later and led us up broad marble steps covered with red velvet carpeting to an interview room on the second floor that looked rather like a parlor where one might serve tea. Indeed, a tea tray was laid out on the coffee table with a platter of cookies. I was too nervous to touch anything, and neither did Fenris.
After a few more minutes of waiting on the fine, plush couches, the door opened and a handsome blond mage entered. He looked to be in his thirties, but if this was the Chief Mage, he was probably much older. Few mages used their natural, unadorned faces past the blush of youth. He was followed by a beautiful dark-haired woman in stunning pink robes shot through with gold, and the staffer who had led us there earlier.
As Fenris caught sight of the female mage, he stiffened almost imperceptibly. If I had not been so attuned to his reactions by now, I would have missed it. As it was, I had to restrain myself from glancing curiously between the two.
“Miss Tamina Marton and Mr. Yoron ar’Tarnis,” the staffer said with a bow, then withdrew.
“Good afternoon.” The Chief Mage gestured to the chairs across from him, and we sat. “I am Zaran Mallas, Chief Mage of Innarta, and this is my Finance Secretary, Gelisia Dorax.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Miss Dorax purred, assessing me with her dark gaze. I fought the urge to squirm. “I hear you are a long-lost heiress seeking to reclaim your identity and your estate?”
I sat up straighter. “I am the daughter of Soran and Monissa Marton,” I confirmed, addressing the Chief Mage. Something about the Finance Secretary rubbed me the wrong way, and it wasn’t just the fact that she was sizing me up as if I were prey. Did she and Fenris know each other? Had they once be
en lovers?
I pushed aside an absurd flash of jealousy at the idea, forcing myself to block out Miss Dorax. “If you search the papers, you’ll probably find my name easily enough—I left Innarta nearly thirteen years ago.”
“The name does ring a bell.” The Chief Mage frowned. “If you are indeed this missing heiress, then why did you leave your guardians and stay away all these years? Why did you come back now?”
“I was unaware of the thirteen-year statute until very recently,” I said calmly, even as my heart began to beat faster beneath the pressure of his dispassionate gaze. “I ran away when I was fifteen because my cousin Vanley was constantly harassing me, and my aunt and uncle refused to listen to my pleas for help. If I had stayed there much longer, I no doubt would have been raped, perhaps even killed.” Chills raced across my skin at the memory of Vanley’s hands on me, and I swallowed. “After the callous way my relatives treated me, it would be profoundly unjust for them to steal my inheritance as well, so I have come back to claim it.”
“And where have you been all these years?” Miss Dorax challenged, a skeptical look in her eyes. “For a young girl alone in the world, one shudders to think of all that you might have endured. Have you been living with Mr. ar’Tarnis for the past thirteen years?” She made it sound like something scandalous, and I bristled.
“Tamina has only been staying with me for the past two and a half years,” Fenris said mildly, cutting in. Whatever reaction he’d felt when he’d seen Miss Dorax had completely disappeared—there was only a cool aloofness in his eyes. “She spent the previous decade on the Central Continent, and we happened to run into each other at a social event where she was working on the staff. I knew and admired her grandmother long ago, and the resemblance between them was too uncanny to not remark on. Once I heard her dreadful story, I could hardly allow her to continue scraping by with manual labor as she has done for most of her youth. I took her in, as any decent mage would do.”
“That is very admirable of you,” the Chief Mage said dryly. He did not sound completely convinced by Fenris’s dramatic story. “But you really should have sent her back home to Innarta. It does not do to have a minor citizen of the Federation skulking around illegally in another country, presumably under a false name with false papers.” He gave me a stern look.
“Well, I am back now,” I said, “and anyway, I am hardly a child anymore, even if I am technically still a minor. If I had been allowed to complete the apprenticeship my grandmother had arranged, which my aunt and uncle put off continuously under one pretext or another, I would already be a full mage and enjoying my majority.”
“True enough,” the Chief Mage agreed. He sat back on the couch and regarded me with a speculative look. “If you grew up here in Haralis, Miss Marton, do you know what a Murmuzel is?”
I had to smile at the memory. “I certainly do. It is the local name of those cute little rodents that live on the trees near the riverbanks. With red stripes and bushy ears. I used to feed them peanuts.”
“And do you remember why our schools are closed on October sixth?”
“It is the day the first settlers led by Orkon Trulian reached the site of present-day Haralis,” I said. This was something every child in the state would know. I added, “He is one of my remote ancestors, via his daughter Tridaris.” It was actually true, and could be checked by any genealogist.
“You do seem to be a native of Haralis,” the Chief Mage admitted. “Not many people outside of Innarta would know these details.”
“Your aunt and uncle are both prominent members of Haralis society,” Miss Dorax said, still eyeing me with suspicion. “With such a large fortune in question—one of the biggest in the state, I believe—it is important your identity be proven beyond doubt, not just by answering a few questions about the area.”
I lifted my chin at the challenging undercurrent in her voice. “I am willing to describe any room in my former home, or answer any questions about my family and my previous history. But I doubt that will be necessary—Mr. Ransome, my late grandmother’s lawyer, should recognize me easily. I may be older, but I have not changed so much that he will not be able to identify me. I also had a Loranian tutor during the last year of my grandmother’s life who was preparing me for my apprenticeship, and a few of my childhood friends from school should still be around.”
“That all sounds quite reasonable,” the Chief Mage said. Miss Dorax said nothing, her expression unreadable, and I had to wonder what her motivation was. Was she merely suspicious by nature, or did she have an active reason to deny me my inheritance?
“We must look more deeply into the situation,” the Chief Mage announced. “Miss Dorax, as Finance Secretary, this matter is within your purview. I hereby charge you with the task of investigating Miss Marton’s claim. Please interview all concerned parties and report to me with your findings within the week. I will call everyone together at that time, then make a ruling depending on what you have discovered.”
“Very well,” Gelisia said. “It should be no trouble at all to uncover the truth.” Her eyes gleamed as she studied me again. “Where are you staying?”
“The Black Horse,” I said coolly. “You may call on me there whenever you like.”
“I will do so tomorrow.”
Dismissed, Fenris and I took our leave. As we stepped out into the sunshine, a heavy burden seemed to fall from my shoulders. We’d successfully made it over the first hurdle. All that remained was convincing Miss Dorax that my claim was legitimate. I hoped that I was wrong about my initial impression of her, and that she would be less antagonistic during our next interview.
But as we climbed into one of the steamcabs waiting at the curb, my leaden gut and Fenris’s grave face told me otherwise. My intuition was rarely wrong, and I had a feeling the beautiful Finance Secretary was about to bring us trouble.
10
Fenris
Mina was quiet on the way back, and I was grateful for the silence. As the steamcar rumbled along the cobbled streets, I glared out the window, barely registering the scenery that passed by. Haralis was a beautiful coastal city. It was in many ways reminiscent of Solantha, though the architecture had a distinctly different style, but I did not appreciate it right now. All I could see was Gelisia Dorax’s face and the barely concealed greed in her eyes as she’d gazed upon Mina. I could practically hear the gears in her head turning, and knew her wicked mind was concocting some dastardly scheme to turn Mina’s situation to her own advantage.
It had been a miracle I’d managed to keep my composure at all. Gelisia’s malice and ambition had cost me my career, and very nearly my life, when she’d turned traitor on me without any warning. Thankfully, she would not recognize me in this guise, nor would she recognize me even if I appeared in my natural form. She had known me as Polar ar’Tollis, not Fenris the shifter. As far as she knew, I was still at large, or presumed dead.
It would do me no good to be angry at Gelisia now, I decided. The past was the past, and I had to focus on Mina. There was no reason Gelisia would suspect me of anything.
You’ve underestimated her before, I told myself, and that did not end well for you.
That was true enough. I would have to be extra careful now that she was a player in this dangerous game. It was interesting that she’d ended up as Finance Secretary again, the same position she had held under me. I supposed she had somehow managed to leverage her resume—I had not thought to inquire what had become of her after I’d settled in Solantha with Iannis.
“Are you all right?” Mina touched my arm, drawing me away from my troubled thoughts. “You seem quite put out.”
I nodded. “It would be best to discuss any sensitive subjects in silence,” I reminded her—the driver could overhear us.
“You knew that dark-haired woman, didn’t you?” Mina asked pointedly, and I blinked. The tone in her voice…it almost sounded jealous. “She is very beautiful and sophisticated.”
“She is a viper, and you mu
st remain on guard at all times,” I warned. It was impossible for me to see Gelisia as beautiful anymore—every time I thought about her, I remembered the smug look on her face as she played that magical recording of my prison raid to Garrett Toring, who had been the Federal Secretary of Justice at the time. “She is ruled by nothing but cold ambition and will stab you in the back if she thinks it will help her get what she’s after. If she pretends to befriend you, it will be for ulterior motives.”
Mina arched a brow. “I got the impression that she was not a nice woman, but how do you know all this? You sound like you’ve clashed with her before.” Her tone was rife with curiosity.
“Indeed, I’ve come across her before,” I said vaguely, unwilling to delve further into the subject. I did not want to burden Mina with the full knowledge of my past—once she knew who I was and where I came from, she would not be able to deny anything should I be arrested, and might even be in danger of becoming an accessory after the fact.
“It was not a happy experience.” A vast understatement. “We must ensure she does not get a shred of information that she could use to turn the case against you. The less we have to deal with her, the better.”
Mina tried to question me a bit more about Gelisia, but I refused to divulge more information. Eventually, she huffed. “Well, at least you make an impressively wise ancient mage,” she said. “Though I do wish you could escort me in your normal guise. You are much more handsome as Fenris.”
I smiled at that, resisting the urge to kiss her brow. I wondered what she would have thought of Polar. The old mage whose guise I wore did not resemble me when I had been a mage, except in stature, which was just as well given my unexpected encounter with Gelisia.
