Mage Resolution (Book 2) Page 12

  “No.” I stopped packing to stare at him. “They may need you here.”

  “I won’t have you traipsing off in the middle of the night.”

  “I’m the queen’s Mage Champion, remember?” I said dryly, tugging a boot over my trouser leg.

  “And prone to arrow wounds. You’re mortal, remember? If Ravess was behind the kidnapping, his people may still be watching for you. And,” he added, when I started to protest, “you’re exhausted. When was the last time you slept?” He snatched the other boot from my hand. “When?”

  “I’ll sleep when I can. Right now, I can’t.”

  “Then tell me where you’re going.”

  I saw my destination in my mind’s eye. A bit north of Jendlan Falls to a small, cozy lodge Jules owned quietly. I knew about it. So did Elena. No one else did, which was a good thing, as well as bad. And that was how it was going to stay.

  “Don’t ask.” I grabbed the boot from his hand and stuffed my foot into it, tucking trousers into place. “Anders, please,” I argued when I saw he wouldn’t leave the issue alone. “Jules should be here. If he’s where I think he is, I won’t be gone very long.” I ran my fingers through his thick hair and kissed him on the lips. “Keep an eye on Lauryn and the old witch. I’d feel better if I knew you were with them.”

  Anders frowned, and I guessed this episode disturbed his sense of fairness. “This midnight visit might embarrass Jules and anger Elena.”

  “Just this once, Anders, just this once, I hope there’s nothing for him to be embarrassed about,” I said earnestly, hugging Anders close, taking comfort from his warmth, “but if there is, the fool won’t get an ounce of sympathy from me. And if it angers Elena more than she already is, that doesn’t matter either. I’ve been at odds with both of them in the past, and I’ll be at odds with them again in the future. Count on it. But Jules needs to come home.”

  Borrowing a fresh horse from the Barlow stables, I headed for the road leading northwest to Jendlan Falls. It was late, and I was exhausted, more weary than I’d let on to Anders, but I forced myself to stay alert, calling the fire and ice awake to keep me sharp and ready for danger. On horseback, it was no far distance. Along the road that skirted the falls, I slowed my horse to avoid slipping on the spray-slicked roadway.

  Reaching the bridge that crossed the falls, I hesitated, bringing the horse to an abrupt halt. In the bright moonlight, the falls glistened with an eerie beauty, spray catching the light, sparkling briefly like fading stars. But the beauty didn’t disguise the fact I needed to cross the bridge.

  At night.

  Alone.

  Flameblast Jules. He’d pay for this grief.

  I had a decision to make, either a swift dash across the bridge on horseback or a slow, agonizing crawl on my hands and knees, dragging the horse behind me. With a vicious, crude oath, I guided the horse toward the middle of the narrow road and prodded him to a mad desperate gallop.

  Eyes closed tight, I shivered as icy spray hit my face, prayed fervently to the lords of the sea when the horse slipped on wet stones, and cried in relief when we reached the opposite end and I was back on solid ground. If Firemage Ravess could have witnessed the queen’s Mage Champion in fear for her life on a bridge, wouldn’t that have made him laugh?

  Wiping tears from my wet cheeks, I guided the horse north to the hunting lodge nestled in the woods. Tying the reins to the post outside the lodge, I barged past the guard who tried to prevent me from entering the building, my expression forcing him to step aside, no questions asked.

  Elena, at least, had the decency to feel awkward, if not embarrassed, although she tried to hide that reaction behind an icy welcome. “No wine, Alex? That’s rude. I thought all midnight visits demanded a certain amount of civility, though your actions—”

  “Where is he?”

  Elena narrowed her eyes. “What business is it of yours? Or have you come to tell me that Jules is a traitor, too?”

  Maybe Lauryn was right. Maybe I couldn’t expect Elena to think clearly. But I wasn’t as forgiving as Lauryn. I pushed past Elena in the direction of the chamber she’d come from, all rumpled and disheveled from sleep.

  “He’s not in there.” Elena’s soft voice rattled my determination. “He wanted to be, but I wouldn’t let him. Deep inside, I must have suspected you’d play the good schoolmistress and make sure we all behaved like perfect little children.”

  At her sharp, hurtful words, I turned with infinite slowness to face Elena and swallowed uneasily at the unrelieved grief and near-hatred in her dark blue eyes. Grief for her dead lover, and hatred for me. I hardened my heart and gathered my courage. “I don’t give a damn whose bed the two of you fall into. That’s not why I’m here.”

  “Then why are you here?” Jules appeared at the door to another chamber, just as rumpled, not bothering to hide his irritation, which only filled me with resentment.

  “I’m here because you’re needed at home. The twins and your sister and Kerrie are missing.”

  “What are you muttering about, Alex?” Jules shoved a hand through disheveled hair, his expression disdainful. “Of course they are. They were journeying to Bitterhill when I left for Ardenna.”

  “They never arrived in Bitterhill,” I snapped, my voice seething with rage, thinking of Lauryn and the boys and the flameblasted bridge I had to cross again on my way home. “And they never returned.”

  When all color drained from his face, I couldn’t even find the energy to be glad I’d so disarmed Jules.

  “I’ll send troops immediately.” Elena edged toward him, after an anxious glance at his ashen face.

  “Don’t bother,” I said. “Lauryn’s sent Port Alain troops to scour the area.”

  Jules met my gaze without flinching. “Where does Lauryn think I am?”

  “She doesn’t know I came here. Your secret’s safe.” I turned away in disgust and pulled the door open, letting a chill wind flutter through. “As to what your wife thinks about why you’re missing, ask her yourself.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Alex! You are back.”

  A hand tugged at my shoulder with relentless persistence, tempting me to coax my magic awake and turn the pesky intruder into a sniveling little mouse. And then I remembered, with deep regret, that I couldn’t do that.

  “Go away.” I pulled the woolen blankets back over my head, satisfied Gwynn couldn’t possibly find me now. Gwynn? I tossed the blankets from my head and sat up quickly. Too quickly, losing my balance and falling over the side of the bed onto the cold, hard floor. “Flameblast you, Gwynn. What are you doing here?” I slapped his hand away and fumbled back into the inviting warmth of the bed.

  “Anders sent me to see if you had returned.” My brother looked sheepish as he tugged at the brown hair hanging in his eyes. Though he looked sheepish, I knew better. He’d been dallying with Anders far too much in recent weeks.

  I propped myself up with overstuffed pillows, sat back, and crossed my arms, but not before squinting out the window. I couldn’t have had more than a few hours sleep since tumbling into bed in the middle of the night. “I thought you weren’t allowed out of Glynnswood until you were trained to control your magic.”

  Gwynn leaned back against the window ledge, blocking the bright sunlight. “You are right.”

  “If I’m right, why are you here?”

  “Are you unhappy to see me?”

  “Maybe.”

  Gwynn sidestepped that comment, having learned from the first moment we met I didn’t always say what I meant. “Duke Barlow has returned home.” When I nodded without further comment, he added, “So is Master Kerrie.”

  “Kerrie?” That woke me up. “Is he all right?”

  Gwynn looked disturbed. “I do not know, Alex. He is— I do not know. They will not tell me anything.”

  What had happened? “All right, nuisance. Get out of here so I can get dressed.” Gwynn left my bedchamber without a word. Pulling a tunic halfway over my head, I shouted
at the door. “You still haven’t told me, you pest, why you’re here.”

  “Father wanted me to keep him company.”

  I snapped the tunic down so fast I nearly strangled myself, scrambled into trousers, and stormed into the sitting room, fumbling to stuff my feet into boots. “Why,” I demanded, “is Sernyn Keltie here?”

  Gwynn tugged at his hair again and shrugged. “He would not tell me that either,” the boy apologized, though I sensed more of a pout than an apology in his tone.

  “Does anybody tell you anything?” When Gwynn shook his head, the pout more pronounced, I grabbed my cloak and flew through the door. “Let’s go find out.”

  I jumped behind Gwynn as he mounted the horse waiting outside and held on tight as we galloped up the Hill. Uneasy and anxious, I shoved my fears aside and ran into the manor’s main hall the moment my brother brought the horse to a standstill. With Gwynn dogging my heels, I stood at the door to the manor’s smaller audience chamber, catching the motley group very off guard.

  Lauryn, standing coolly at Jules’s side, back stiff with tension, in earnest talk with Anders. Rosanna, in an intense conversation with Sernyn in the corner near the blazing fire. Dangerous couple there.

  “Will someone please have the decency to tell me what’s going on?”

  They all turned to stare at me.

  “Did you get enough sleep?” Anders shuffled toward me, with a glance over my shoulder at the nuisance.

  “Did I get enough sleep?”

  “I need you alert,” Anders cut in smoothly, taking my hand and pulling me along into the huge chamber. “Though I know you can’t guarantee that.” When I didn’t answer, his eyes grew serious. “Kerrie wandered back home. Wandered, Alex. Port Alain guards found him walking along the road dazed, feverish, clothes worn and filthy. The port healer’s with him.”

  I refused to look at Lauryn. Cowardly, yes, but I couldn’t. “No sign of Khrista or the boys?”

  “No.” Anders shook his head. “All we can get out of Kerrie are incoherent ravings about a crazed woman in horrible pain. None of it makes a damn bit of sense. Or it didn’t,” —he paused, holding my gaze, warning of danger to come— “until Sernyn showed up.”

  Here in Port Alain.

  With a shy glance at Rosanna, Sernyn Keltie nodded at me. “I would not have imposed on Lady Barlow—” Catching the involuntary gleam in my eye, warning of unkind thoughts, he chose to ignore it. “A scout arrived in our village soon after you left the forest with rumors of a woman casting peculiar spells north of Bitterhill, near the foothills of the Bitteredge Mountains.” He shrugged in apology. “It seemed important that I bring this box.” He held out a small oak chest, a tiny version of the one that held my mother’s notes, the one I’d hidden away before the cottage burned down.

  I didn’t move.

  “Emila was fascinated by mage talent. She began to study Glynnswood mages when she and I first married, because our talent is so different from mages in the rest of Tuldamoran.” His voice faltered at my cool expression, but I couldn’t take pity. It was his lack of confidence in his own magic that contributed to my mother’s death. “I thought, maybe, Alex, there was some clue in her notes that might prove helpful in discovering what is happening.”

  Without a word, I took the small chest from his hand, the carving as elegant as the one I had. Avoiding Rosanna’s perceptive eyes, I stroked the wood with a tender caress, wondering what more my mother knew.

  “Perhaps the woman is a renegade mage. Perhaps she is a Glynnswood mage. You do not know very much about our brand of magic.”

  “Perhaps some cool Marain wine and a loaf of brushed oats with honey would make your reading easier.” Rosanna’s bland suggestion acknowledged my urge to bite off Sernyn’s head if he made any further insinuation about my refusal to learn about the gift I inherited from his part of the family.

  My tone formal, I headed for the door. “I’ll be in the schoolroom, Lady Barlow, if anyone needs me.”

  “It’s good to have you back, Alex.” Rosanna lifted one brow crookedly as I met her bland gaze.

  “I’ll just bet it is.” I started for the door again and caught sight of Gwynn ready to follow me. “You stay here. And stay out of trouble.” Yawning, I strode toward the schoolroom, still half asleep. Opening the door and a window for fresh air to keep me awake, I tossed my wool cloak over a chair and settled down. I found a place for the oak chest in the middle of my cluttered table, as a knock sounded at the open door. I called out a greeting, not bothering to look up. “Thanks,” I muttered, taking the offered tray with the bottle and glass, along with the loaf of brushed oats, and set it down, shoving aside a pile of well-read books.

  “Alex.”

  I looked up in surprise at Jules’s voice, not expecting him. “Go away.”

  “Please listen.”

  “You’re wasting my time.” I stretched for one of mother’s notebooks, crammed full with her neat handwriting, but his hand closed over mine before I reached the book. “Make it fast, Jules.” I shrugged off his hand.

  “I told Lauryn the truth. About—” He flushed and turned away. “I told her it was me, not Elena. And that nothing happened, but that—” His face burned with shame as his voice dropped to a whisper. “That I wanted something to happen with Elena, but more important, that it was a mistake.”

  “You don’t deserve Lauryn. After everything she’s done for you, and still, you treat her like dirt.” I clenched my fists in frustration. “It’s as though, I don’t know—” I slammed my fist on the table. “As though everything’s all right until Elena shows a weakness or there’s the slightest chance she might accept you, and you pounce on Elena, and Lauryn means nothing.” I turned my back on Jules in disgust. “Even Elena deserves better than you.”

  “Elena’s not thinking clearly now. Listen, Alex, I know you think she blames you for Erich’s betrayal—”

  “Go away, Jules.” After a moment, I heard his sigh of resignation as he shuffled from the schoolroom, closing the door behind him. I couldn’t pity him, not then, maybe not ever. Shoving aside thoughts of Jules and Elena, and Lauryn in their combined misery, I opened the notebook and started to read.

  * * * *

  “Imagine Elder Keltie insinuating that I don’t know anything at all about my Glynnswood heritage.”

  Anders studied me with tolerant amusement. “Frankly, Alex, I was shocked at his audacity. I couldn’t believe his nerve.”

  “Bastard.”

  “That’s no way to talk about your father.”

  “I was talking about you. But the term definitely applies to him, too.”

  “Oh.” Trying without success to stifle a chuckle, Anders uncovered a basket of warm apple cinnamon bread, sweet pears, and another bottle of Marain Valley wine. “Did you find out anything useful?”

  “Did you? How’s Kerrie?”

  Anders peered over the bottle he was uncorking. “Still feverish. I’m worried about him, to be honest.”

  “If he’s in such a state,” I said, as reality intruded, “how safe are the children?”

  Sighing, Anders poured me a glass of cool wine. “I didn’t want to talk about Kerrie because I knew you’d start thinking about Khrista and the boys. Not that you haven’t been,” he added, not sure of my mood.

  “I’ve been concentrating on my mother’s notes so I wouldn’t think about the twins. I know that trick, too.” I smiled without humor, resting my chin in the palm of my hand.

  “So what have you found?”

  “Did you know that Glynnswood folk weren’t originally from Glynnswood?”

  Anders raised black brows in open curiosity. “No. Your mother never told me that. For that matter, neither did your father. Where’d they come from?”

  “Spreebridge. Some obscure land north of Ardsbrook that no one ever talks about and probably never heard about. No wonder my brother’s so peculiar.”

  “Only your brother?”

  “Did my mother ever tel
l you her theory about Crownmages?” I asked, knowing how close they’d been when my mother was alive, treating Anders like a younger sibling in need of a watchful eye.

  Anders eyed me in wary speculation. “Is this a serious question or am I walking straight into a trap?” He tossed me a pear.

  I caught it neatly. “Serious.”

  He shook his head, thinking. “She had a lot of ideas about the Crownmage, but never focused on one.”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “Well, I never saw those notes,” he said crossly, polishing a pear on the sleeve of his rumpled tunic. “And who knows where else her notes will turn up. I had no idea your father had any hidden in his pocket. All you Kelties and your secrets.” When I shot him a nasty look at that last comment, and then proceeded to sit up straight and shuffle the papers until my desk was neater, he grew impatient. “Don’t play schoolmistress. Just tell me her theory.”

  “All right, hush. She thought Crownmages might be so rare, showing up every few centuries or so, because they required a rare blend of all four mage bloodlines. Seamage, firemage, windmage, and earthmage. And,” I drawled, “since mages are notoriously narrow-minded—”

  Anders didn’t blink as he finished the thought. “They keep to themselves, so that seamages produce seamages, firemages produce firemages, and on and on. Am I right, schoolmistress?”

  “You get a gold star. Let’s take it another step, shall we? If that’s true,” —I bit into the crisp pear, catching the sweet juice dribbling down my chin with a cloth— “then your family was rather, ah, social.”

  “You mean promiscuous.”

  “Whatever.”

  “And look what they produced.”

  “I’m trying to forget.”

  “Liar.” When I continued to bite into the pear, unperturbed, he added, “So where did you come from?”

  “Good question. Mother apparently thought nothing odd about marrying Sernyn. She was a seamage, her mother was a seamage, and he, that lying bastard—” Anders crossed his arms and sent me a scathing look. “Don’t be annoying, smug, or officious.” I took a cool sip of wine to wash down a bit of pear that threatened to choke me. “She didn’t know about his magic. Worse, she didn’t even know Glynnswood had mages until after they were married. That’s why— Damn it.”