Mage Resolution (Book 2) Page 18

  “I’m so sorry you had to repeat that.”

  I shrugged, retracing the design, not trusting myself to answer.

  “I’m not a mage, Alex. I’ve never had any tuggings of magic. Not at any time, as a child or now.”

  “Maybe you never recognized it, but there must be something there,” I insisted, needing to resolve this puzzle before it was too late. “Even so, if Kerrie isn’t a mage either—” Khrista’s sudden movement caught my eye. “Tell me.”

  “No.” She blinked back hot tears. “I thought it was a dream, a bad dream. Oh Alex, I was ill, fevered, delirious. Oh no, Alex, no, please, no.” Khrista started to tremble, all color draining from her face. “There was a man in my dream. He had a tiny scar on the left side of his chin. I remember that clearly because his face was close, so close. But it can’t be.” She hugged herself hard and started to cry. “Maybe it wasn’t a dream. Maybe—”

  Understanding what she was trying to deny, I flew from my seat on the window ledge and took Khrista in my arms, stroking her silky hair. “Hush.”

  “Alex.” She sobbed. “Kerrie will never forgive me.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “If it’s not his child—”

  “Hush. It wasn’t your fault. The only important thing right now is to make sure that you and the baby are all right. We’ll deal with Kerrie later.” I rocked her, stroking her back until she calmed. “It’ll be all right. I promise.” Though how I could make such a promise I refused to think and left Khrista stunned with worry while I went in search of the baby’s grandmother, numb with misery and foreboding.

  I watched Rosanna from my spot on the edge of a stone bench along the garden path, a very chill stone bench, whose iciness penetrated my trousers. “Why are you digging in the gardens in the frost?”

  “It keeps me sane.”

  I shuffled over to get more comfortable on the cold bench, stuffing layers of light wool from my cloak beneath me. “Listen. I need to ask you something.”

  At my somber tone, Rosanna kept her face neutral and came to sit beside me. “What’s on your mind?”

  My fingers managed to lock themselves together somehow. I studied them to see just how they had accomplished that feat.

  “Alex.”

  “Did you know” — one finger wiggled free as I continued— “that Khrista hasn’t been feeling well?”

  “Yes, and she won’t admit the truth, as though I’m not intelligent or observant enough to notice, forgetting I bore two of my own children, not to mention watching Lauryn carry the twins.” Rosanna looked on the point of adding something else, and I wondered if she and Anders had ever discussed my fear of bearing a child whose parents merged such turbulent bloodlines. But she said nothing, and I didn’t want to ask a question for which I didn’t want to hear the answer. “Khrista’s paler than she should be, and this grandchild of mine is too active.”

  Another finger wriggled free. “Ah.” And another. “Did Khrista ever, ah, show any mage talent at all? Even a trace?”

  “No.”

  “Never?”

  “No, Alex.” Rosanna put a gentle but firm hand under my chin and forced my eyes to meet hers. “What are you trying so desperately not to tell me?”

  I swallowed and tried to look away but Rosanna held me fast. “Khrista was raped,” I whispered, hating to be the bearer of such news, “when she was held captive.”

  Rosanna’s eyes turned cold. “By whom?”

  “It must have been another renegade mage,” I explained, finding the courage to meet her gaze. “One we never saw. Khrista said she was feverish and ill much of the time, and thought it was a dream.”

  “Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Rosanna demanded, discarding the gentle, unassuming air she often carried. “As her mother, I had a right to know.”

  “No one knew,” I said, trying not to flinch from the hardness in her eyes. “Only now, just some minutes ago, I forced the truth from her. She—” I broke free of Rosanna’s grasp and turned my face away, unnerved and on the verge of tears.

  Rosanna took my tense shoulders in her hands and gently turned me back to face her. “There’s more.”

  I nodded, keeping rigid control over my emotions. “I wouldn’t have suspected had she not complained of a sensation of fire and ice. I— Rosanna, I don’t know what to do.”

  All color drained from Rosanna’s face as realization settled in. “Come.” She stood without warning, straightening her wool cloak. “We need to send word to your father.” When I hesitated, she rested a hand on my head in understanding. “It won’t be easy for any of us, Alex. But in the end, it will be important for all of us.”

  * * * *

  “Sernyn, thank you for coming so swiftly.”

  Elder Keltie waved away Rosanna’s gracious thanks as she studied the woman standing beside him. “My wife, Anessa.” His deep brown eyes darted in my direction as I mumbled a polite greeting. I appraised the small, delicate woman whose light brown hair fell well below her shoulders. Warm, deep brown eyes returned my scrutiny in silent curiosity. Taking refuge in the overstuffed pillows scattered before the fireplace in Rosanna’s parlor, I sat down, pulling Anders with me for comfort after he’d murmured his own courteous words.

  Rosanna offered wine to her guests, along with cheese and a loaf of raisin bread, breaking the ice with small chatter about their journey. I tried to listen, but my fears kept intruding, until Rosanna tapped me on the shoulder. “Your mind is wandering. I’m afraid to ask where.”

  “Escape,” I murmured, glancing beyond her chair to where Sernyn and his wife were seated. I took a deep breath. “You know why Rosanna asked you to come?” When they both nodded, I leaned against Anders, taking comfort in his warmth and solidity. “There’s something I have to ask you. I don’t—” Meeting Sernyn’s steady gaze, I clutched the copper mage pendant hanging alongside Gwynn’s wooden one against my chest. “I don’t ask this lightly. Or,” —I laughed, mocking my own feelings— “believe it or not, to hurt you.”

  Anders’ arm came around my shoulder and squeezed.

  My father stayed calm, though wary. “Then ask.”

  Easier to say than do. “When did my mother start feeling ill when she was carrying me?” Ancient pain and heartache flashed in Sernyn’s deep, brown eyes. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, startled to realize that I was, in fact, genuinely sorry, “but it’s important.”

  “I understand.” His sigh was heartfelt, and he thought for a moment, as Anessa took his hand and squeezed it with as much reassurance as Anders’s gesture had meant to me. “Emila was in her fifth month.”

  And Khrista in her sixth.

  “Did she describe the fire and ice from the beginning?” When Sernyn nodded, not flinching from my gaze, I wondered if he truly believed that I meant him no harm. I closed my eyes and sagged back against Anders.

  “I’ve been thinking.” Eyes fixed on Sernyn, Anders cut into the awkward discussion. “We don’t know if Khrista must be a mage to feel the effects of a mage child. Emila was the only woman I knew in that situation.”

  “Remember my mother’s notes?” I sat up, thinking hard, recalling what she’d written. “She wrote about the women brought to Glynnswood by the Crownmage. His experiments to merge bloodlines didn’t work.”

  “Still.” Anders was thoughtful. “If Khrista’s not a mage, perhaps the pain won’t be so disruptive.”

  “If she’s not a mage, she can’t control the baby’s raw talent,” I said, trying not to sound so negative with Rosanna listening. “We need to find out whether she has any mage ability, anything at all.”

  “Is it possible she wouldn’t have felt anything? Showed any signs as a child?” Rosanna asked Anders and me. “Whether or not you believed it, Alex, you had the ability and knew it, though you denied it. All it took was coaxing to get it back into the open. Can a person have mage talent and not know it?”

  Realizing she wasn’t giving me grief, but simply needed to know, I reas
sured her. “Look at Gwynn. He never showed any sign of a mage gift until Elena’s life was threatened.” I caught Anessa’s quiet gaze, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe for some people, it stays hidden until something brings it to the surface. I don’t know, but I do know Gwynn swore he’d never had any stirrings until that night, despite the fact both his parents are mages.” I glanced at Sernyn’s face, flushed at the reminder of magic he rarely used, and the result of his secrecy ending in my mother’s death. But it wasn’t the time or place for such talk. “And if Khrista is a mage, then maybe—” I faltered, deciding it was better to tug on a loose thread that was unraveling on one of the embroidered pillows.

  My father spoke into the heavy silence. “Then we can teach her to control her talent enough to lessen the baby’s destructive surges.” At my involuntary shiver at his words, he added softly, “I am sorry, Alex. Maybe,” —he turned to Rosanna— “there will be no trouble for your daughter. Khrista will at least have a chance.” Eyes downcast, he sat still as stone.

  For the very first time I listened to him talk about my mother, and I pitied him. I just didn’t have the courage to admit it aloud. “Would it be an imposition for you both to stay for a short while to see if Khrista possesses any talent?”

  Sernyn nodded without hesitation. “Anessa is a healer. We can stay as long as you need us. I realized my error too late for your mother, Alex. But maybe for Khrista, it will not be too late. If I can help her—”

  “It won’t bring my mother back,” I said, unable to stop the rush of bitterness. Lords of the sea, how I despised the old tiresome grief and the way it ripped me apart, making me hateful when I never meant to be.

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered at the grave acceptance in his eyes.

  “I know you are.” His eyes locked with mine as though we were the only two people in the parlor. “Alex, you had twenty-five years to wonder about me, and two years to despise me. If you can find it in your heart to even consider forgiving me, even for a moment, I will not give up hope.”

  “I’ll make it easier on all of us,” I said. “I may not be here for the next few weeks.”

  “May I ask why not?” Anders pulled at my sleeve.

  “I’m going north.”

  “To Edgecliff,” Anders answered his own question. “And you’re taking me along, aren’t you? Sernyn, can you arrange for your scouts to meet us along the way? Even though your son did his best to teach your daughter to move with stealth, she still sounds like a huge beast crawling through the undergrowth.”

  “Of course.” Sernyn didn’t dare smile at Anders.

  Rosanna looked from one of us to the other, trying, or so I thought, to ascertain my mood. “Are you going to find the renegade who assaulted my daughter?”

  “Possibly.” I settled back against the cushions. “There may be others. We need to find out what’s going on. I need to know. The woman we destroyed six months ago spoke a language I wasn’t familiar with. Maybe it’s a Spreebridge dialect. Anyway, accepting Elena’s title of Mage Champion drags me into all this annoying responsibility. We’ll be back before the baby’s due.”

  Sernyn cleared his throat. “Alex—”

  I caught the warning look in his eyes. “No.”

  “I wish you would not be unreasonable.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “What are you arguing about?” Anders scratched his head in bemusement.

  “She will not take Gwynn.”

  “Ah.”

  “There’s no need.”

  “There is every need,” my father cut in. “More so, possibly, than during your last journey to Edgecliff. Besides,” —Sernyn had the audacity to allow a small smile to escape— “you told Gwynn he is sneaky and underhanded. Admirable traits for a scout, don’t you think?”

  * * * *

  “Alex!” Loud pounding on the cottage door jolted me awake. “Alex!”

  “It’s Gwynn,” I mumbled into Anders’s warm back. “It’s my nuisance half-brother, banging on the door in the middle of the night, when he should be in bed.”

  “He sounds frightened.”

  I jumped out of bed and grabbed my discarded clothes, my instinct agreeing with Anders without any conscious thought on my part. Almost tripping twice, I flung open the door and found him on horseback, an extra mount at his side.

  “Lady Khrista’s ill,” he explained as I stuffed my feet into cold boots. “She—” Gwynn shook his head, setting unruly brown hair in motion.

  “She what?” Anders peered at my brother’s face as I stretched for my cloak. “What’s happened?”

  With a fearful glance at Anders, he shook his head again in bewilderment. “She tried to kill herself.”

  Without a word, I fastened my cloak snug around my neck and bolted onto Gwynn’s horse, locking my arms around his skinny waist.

  “Alex, wait—” Anders snatched the other reins from my brother and followed after us, galloping along the darkened winding road to the manor on the Hill.

  Gwynn urged the horse on, Anders’s grumbling growing fainter as he fell behind. I jumped down hitting the ground hard, the moment Gwynn neared the gate, and ran through the main hall to the stairway leading to the top floor.

  Jules, disheveled and wrinkled, leaped up to greet me from his vigil at the top of the stairs. Worry evident in his eyes, he led me toward a smaller room where the family huddled together, waiting. “Mother and Kerrie are with her. And your stepmother,” he added, the word sounding strange to my ears.

  “What did she do?”

  “Poison.” He ran a shaky hand through rumpled brown hair. “It’s lucky Anessa and mother saw the lamp lit in Khrista’s parlor. She’s been keeping odd hours, and they were worried. They managed to avert the worst of the effects, so she’s all right, Alex. But—” Jules sighed. “Khrista’s weak and disheartened and terribly unhappy.”

  “Where was Kerrie?”

  “Sleeping in the adjacent guestroom. Since she’s been so restless, Khrista asked him to sleep elsewhere, for fear of keeping him awake all night.” Jules raked a hand through his hair, messing it further. “Kerrie’s beside himself. He doesn’t know how to comfort her. Nothing he says— It’s as though she doesn’t believe him.”

  Through all his rambling, I’d been keeping tight rein over my emotions. Nodding mutely was the best I could manage.

  The door to Khrista’s room opened as Anessa stepped out. With a nod in my direction, she told Jules, “She is finally sleeping. When she wakes, Alex,” —she turned clear dark eyes on me—”if you would speak with Khrista, it may help.” Anessa’s words died as my father, in silence, dragged me to the far corner of the room, away from the others.

  “I know that look in your eyes. If you think to take the blame for this,” he kept his voice low, “you are wrong.”

  I started to walk away but he grabbed my shoulders and held me fast. “Get your hands off me.”

  “Not until you think with your head instead of your heart. You cannot take the blame for Khrista’s actions. It was her choice.”

  “The knowledge I gave her led to that choice.” I struggled to break free, furious at having this confrontation with others present.

  “She had to know the truth eventually to face the baby’s birth. Without it—”

  “Without it, maybe it wouldn’t matter, anyway. We don’t know, do we? Now, let me go.” I struggled to break free of his possessive grasp, but Sernyn held me tight. “You presume far too much on one conversation,” I snarled at him.

  “And you presume far too much on the influence you have over people’s lives,” he judged, finally releasing his grip on my arms.

  I shoved him aside, past the others, to find comfort in the dark, but only found bitter cold. I felt lost and alone. Huddled in Rosanna’s garden, balanced on the edge of a stone bench, I shivered, not so much from the cold night air but the pain of my father’s stinging words.

  I never meant to be presumptuous or a
rrogant, but things were different these last two years. Everything I touched always seemed to touch others. I’d fought so long and so hard against caring about the people I held dear. And now that I did, and willingly, was I so wrong to think I had a bearing on what happened to them? I couldn’t win, so why try? Lords of the sea, Sernyn had me feeling sorry for myself, when it should have been Khrista I pitied.

  Tired of shivering, and frightened of feeling so lost, I dragged my boot heels back to the main hall and found Gwynn sitting companionably side-by-side at the bottom of the huge carved stairway with an unexpected visitor.

  Elena Dunneal, monarch of Tuldamoran, glanced up at me, dark blue eyes appraising my mood. “I’ve wanted to meet the young man who saved my life. And,” —she paused, eying me with hesitation— “apologize to his sister.” Without waiting for a response, she turned back to Gwynn. “We thought you’d come back inside, sooner or later.”

  “I didn’t want to.”

  My brother had the same look in his eyes as that day in Edgecliff when I slapped Anders beside the bridge.

  “Why is it,” I demanded, “that whenever I get angry in front of you, I feel guilty?” When the boy looked down and studied his fingers, I knelt in front of him to force his attention. “You’re like my conscience.”

  “I hate it when you are angry,” he admitted, clasping his hands together. “I am afraid—” He dropped his eyes again.

  Relieved Elena had returned to her senses and our friendship, I exchanged a look with her, baffled. “Of what?” I asked, running a hand through his thick, disheveled hair.

  “That you will go away.”

  Elena’s bland expression spoke volumes as to why she had waited with my brother, listening to his fears. She’d had Brendan around far longer than I’d had Gwynn.

  “I’m not angry with you.”

  Gwynn shrugged. “It does not matter. If you are angry, you are not, well, it is hard to explain, Alex, but you are not you. You are someone else who frightens me.” He tugged at his rebellious lock. “I do not know what father said to you to make you so furious.”