Felling Kingdoms (Book 5) (12 page)

Dorian’s brows rose. “Could I be a refugee t’rough t’ tunnels?”

“They have been closed par an Age.”

“I can open t’em. And I can be ready in two days. My lady, if you will put me out, you can rip much faster.”

Ryker nodded, and she seized Void laying a sleepers-pattern. He slumped back into the chair as Ryker and Maxine tore into him.

Something was different about Virgil this morning.
‘He seems ashamed.’
Robyn thought,
‘It’s about time!’

“Is something the matter, my love?” she asked, choking internally on the salutation. He had returned from a morning ride on a horse he did not like and returned with a sour expression. He stood by the main door to her study just like he used to when guarding her. He glanced her way looking like he had been caught in something.

He remained silent as she drafted a merchant agreement with Viorica for oil, but she watched him slowly stew as the hours passed. He usually spent his day with her to make sure he need not add new boundaries, and he always sat with a book and a drink. Something was troubling him, and it delighted her.

“You will have to tell me eventually,” she said with a sing-song voice.

He huffed and refolded his arms.

She grinned.
‘I bet I can guess.’
She looked at the black ring on her finger. There were very few people in the world who could devise something like it, and they could
only
be Mages.

“Which Arch Mage gave you this?” she asked and held up her hand.

The color drained from his tan face, and he glanced at her, looking like a child caught sealing sweets.

“I bet Maxine or Ryker,” she taunted, knowing she caught him. “A woman like Maxine, and man like you, I wager it was her.”

His lips parted to speak, but he sealed them and looked away.

“And judging by your remorse this morning, I guarantee she paid you a visit last night.”

He looked at her with pinched eyes, guilt painted over his face.

“You underestimate me, Prince,” she smiled, but inside she was fuming.
‘You straight-up star-blinded fool. You belong to her now. You bedded an Arch Mage. I would take Gabriel sullied to Arconians any day compared to a man who bedded her.’

“It meant nothing,” he said quietly.

“Now, but at the time I am sure it meant a great deal.” She looked back at her page, tears blurring the words. If she could have nothing else, she hoped for a faithful husband. “She owns you now, you know.”

“It was one night.”

Robyn looked up, tears falling down her cheeks, but her restrictions prevented her face from showing her sorrow. “She has been manipulating you from the start, you great idiot! You may have successfully destroyed three kingdoms.”

“I—I would not!”

“Take this off, and I will repair what you have done.” She held out her hand. “There is still time.”

He looked at it as if considering, “You cannot repair the Head Mage.”

“No,
you
can.” He looked up hopefully. “Jaden has the Ring of Rebirth, and you sure as truth will be giving your life to die in Gabriel’s place. Only
then
will you be able to pay retribution for your crimes.”

He smirked ashamedly. “No, I think not.”

She slammed her hand on the table, making the candlesticks bounce. “Take this off now.”

He looked at her for some time in consideration, but pushed off the wall and left the study.

An hour slid by before someone knocked on her door. The guard outside opened it for Secondhand Lael. Her stomach had tightened at the initial sound, but she was relieved to see him, standing swiftly.

“Secondhand,” she smiled, wishing her voice would convey her concern. “You never come here.”

“Greetings, Your Grace,” he bowed.

“Please, have a seat.”
‘Help me, please.’

He kicked out the back of his dark green and blue coat and took a seat across a low table from her. He smiled professionally, the model of calm at all times. “The Head Mage sent me.”

She nodded, eager. “He has been doing a lot of that lately. Mage Mikelle visited me just yesterday.”

“Your Grace, he would come if he could, but….” His voice trailed into her conscious as her heart clenched. He confirmed Gabriel could not come, so Virgil had been truthful. Gabriel was bound. She turned her attention back to him. “…about your marriage to the Prince of Arconia. I wanted to speak with you directly concerning it.”

“What is there to know?”

“It happened rather hurriedly.”

“Did it?” She waved a dismissive hand.
‘Lael, pay attention!’
“I have loved Prince Virgil for some time. It was only a matter of time before he asked for my hand.”

Lael leaned forward with a pensive scowl. “Did something happen between you and Gabriel I am not aware of? Forgive my prodding, but it is essential for me to understand.”

She trembled inside.
‘No, no!’
“Why, did he not tell you he bedded the Arconians? I cannot have a sullied man in my bed.”

Lael flushed red. “It was not my place to know. We absolved him of his crimes while in the Castrofax,” he said accusingly.

She took up his hand, hoping to the stars he would feel her tremble. “We grew apart. That is all there is to it. I love Virgil.”

Lael looked down at her hand curiously. “Robyn,” he said very quietly. He never used her proper name. “Is something wrong?”

“Why, Secondhand, you worry too much,” she smiled, but her hand gripped his tightly for a moment.
‘Please read into everything.’

He squeezed her hand. “You are not yourself.”

“I certainly am.”

“You ordered for Gabriel to be flogged.”

“No, that is not normal of me.” She smiled, but he bored into her eyes.
‘Please, Lael.’
Her hand was clammy in his. If her mind could not betray Virgil, perhaps her body would. “Any word from the Head Mage?”

“No, Your Grace, he says nothing these days.”

Her heart wrenched. “Speechless! How amusing!”

He released her hand and leaned back with a quizzical look. “I should return to Jaden.” He stood. “Always a pleasure.”

“Do come back soon, Secondhand.”

He paid her an expectant look, but when she said nothing else, he bowed respectfully and left.

‘Stars, Lael, please see something is terribly wrong.’

Chapter 15

His thumb tightened around the sheets just to feel them beneath his hand. Gabriel spent hours trying to loosen his whole hand, but in the end was only able to free his thumb, and not even all of it. He could manage to curl the first two bones, but the rest was a mystery.

Ever-vigilant Mikelle read by his side, but he long ago stopped listening. Her eyes flitted over the pages. “Has your surname ever been spelled with two N’s?”

He gave her an uncertain expression.

“There is a Head Mage in here named Johnni Lennis who sat the Seat in the beginning of the Fourth Age.” She held the book out to show him a drawing of a broad-shouldered man with a neatly-trimmed beard and a receding hair line. He stared out fiercely from the page. The man’s heritage was outlined in spidering lines. “I would be interested to know if you had a Head Mage in your bloodline.”

Lael knocked on the door and pushed it open with a distracted expression. “Something is very off about Robyn, you were right.”

Gabriel exhaled in relief.

“I would not be surprised if an Arch Mage got something into her,” Mikelle muttered. “Can they…
hook
a pattern into a person?”

Lael nodded as Gabriel blinked. “He has summons linked from rings into his chest that ping.”

“Can the will be manipulated so dramatically?”

Lael looked to Gabriel for an answer, and Gabriel gave an inquisitive expression. “We forget Ryker knows a great deal more than we do about patterns lost to the Ages.”

“What will you have us do?”

Lael looked to Gabriel. “I will keep someone’s eye on her, but until she does something that merits my halting, I want to leave her alone.” Gabriel blinked in agreement. “She says she will marry Prince Virgil, but I will step in before that happens.” Gabriel agreed. “In the meantime, have you loosened anything else?”

“His thumb,” Mikelle smiled encouragingly.

“Keep trying.”

No.

Lael frowned. “Why not?”

“It exhausts him,” Mikelle explained, but Gabriel blinked rapidly, so she counted off the alphabet. “Let…me…die.
Gabriel
. Stop it!”

Lael gave a sad expression, but both he and Gabriel knew the only thing holding Lael back from finding a new Head Mage was Gabriel’s life. Gabriel would do everyone a favor by perishing quickly. He could already feel his body’s need for food diminishing as it began to consume excess fat. It would be a painful few weeks but worth it in the end.

“Lace returned to Arconia this morning. She wanted to see you, but I felt it would be best if she did not.”

Gabriel looked away, keeping the tears back. At least he was able to hold his child once.

“We have been interrogating Pike in the meanwhile, but he is unyielding.” Gabriel gave him a dark look. “Not interrogating like you are used to, Head Mage. Restriction of basic needs and comforts can break a man, too.” Gabriel now knew that all too well.

“Lael, do you know if there is a Head Mage in Gabriel’s heritage?” Mikelle held out the open book, and Lael stared at it curiously.

‘What does it matter?’

“I will look into our records, though I think there are Head Mages through most people’s lines if you go back far enough.”

Afton knocked on the door and waited for admittance. She entered and stood before Gabriel with a smile. She melded the strengthening with more massages these sessions. He enjoyed them far more than the ripping of his muscles. He could see how her work along with his food depravation were making muscles tone through his skin and could not miss the lingering glances Mikelle paid over the books when she turned the pages.

“Keep trying to loosen yourself,” Lael said. He bade them farewell and left. Gabriel sighed. He would reserve his strength for a later day. Perhaps he could push harder and further if he was better energized, but not now.

Maxine watched from the window as Dorian and Ryker sparred outside in the snow. Dorian had gotten up to his usual strength much faster than they expected. He needed only a solid day of ripping and healing to regain his lost muscle. While Ryker and Maxine rested from the regeneration, Dorian walked or ran through the manor trying to learn his body. Ryker started the spar with ease before realizing Dorian could handle much more. They spun and reeled at each other with patterns that could truly damage.

Dorian was a powerhouse of strength. He was accurate, confident, and had youth to aid his precise attacks. The two men were nearly equally matched but Ryker, as he always did, outmatched every opponent somehow. Maxine smirked as he struck Dorian from behind. It was exceedingly rare that Ryker lost a battle, unless he was overwhelmed in numbers. There was something strange about him. In all her days, she never met a stronger Spirit Mage, though the Head Mage would have been a powerful opponent.

She frowned sadly. The poor Head Mage trapped in his own body. Glittering’s effects had been her idea. Remove a man’s ability to speak, move, or eat, and he would break in a matter of days if not hours. As soon as they realized they would never be free, the spirit broke. She wondered if Gabriel had reached it yet.

“My lady,” a voice called from below, and she pushed the window open. Dorian and Ryker slowly walked towards her. “Are you ready for t’ wardrobe?”

“Why else would I be in your rooms?”

“A few t’in’s I can t’ink of,” Dorian smirked, vanishing into the house.

He arrived minutes later and stripped from the flexible clothes he used to spar in while Maxine pulled out pieces of clothing with the colors she needed. He was a man who preferred his pastels and pale tinted colors, but if he was going to pull off the look of a weary traveler, he would need darker, common clothes.

“Ready?” he asked and put his hands on his bare hips.

“Dorian,” she said reproachfully. “So indecent.” With a grin she laid the cloth-pattern and pulled fibers from a pair of cotton breeches. Several pairs of dark stockings melded into a brown-gray color. She wove them around his legs to make long trousers. She added seams, so no one would be suspicious and split the front, making laces.

“No pockets?”

She added them with a grin. Dorian was notorious for loving his clothes. He had the finest collection of silks, satins, and the most intricate brocades.

He brushed his wide hand across the trousers. “So plain,” he muttered.

“Take those off, and I will fashion you another pair.”

“With embroidery perhaps?”

“No, my lord,” she smirked and formed a dark tan pair with fibers pulled from a cloak. She had to omit the stylish cuts and lines a fine pair of trousers would have, so she created blocky legs and a basic waistline. His displeasure was palpable.

“Put this on,” she instructed as she threw him a white shirt. It had beautiful lines and puffy sleeves which she razed to make a basic farmer’s shirt cut of four pieces. “This one as well.”

“Not t’at one.”

“You need more shirts.”

“Do not butcher t’at one. It was given to me by Princess Jezi of Cinibar.” He grinned and looked away remembering something.

“Was this a gift from the Duchess of Harksborough?” she smirked and held up another.

“You gave me t’at.”

She threw it at him, and he slipped it on with a dashing smirk. It was refashioned in moments with its gilt and finery removed.

“You look anything but a weary traveler.” Dorian was proud, his broad shoulders held straight to make him all the more massive. She warranted he stood taller than the Head Mage himself. “You will have to slouch, maybe shuffle.”

He struck a hand down his face over the faint stubble growing in. “I t’ought t’is would suffice.”

“Do you even know how to slouch?”

He grinned and pulled a cloak from his wardrobe, flourishing it around his shoulders. As it fell over him he wilted toward the ground, losing at least a foot of height. His cunning face faded to a listless expression, and he took several slow, shuffling steps forward before bracing himself on the back of chair, breathing heavily. He extended a hand to her with a helpless expression. She reached a hand to him reflexively, and he stood up with a triumphant smile.

“I have taken the liberty of packing you a bag.”

He fell into a chair to look at the satchel. It held a blanket, flint and tinder, mostly-empty water jugs, and dried foods. “T’is will not last me a day.”

“That’s the idea. You’re at the last of your rations, weak, sick, and in desperate need of a soft bed.”

“Why a flint?” he asked curiously and snapped his fingers to form a flame over his thumb.

“No one is capable of using that pattern in this Age but the Head Mage. You will give yourself away with a snap.”

“Are t’ey really so weak in t’is Age?” He shook his head with stoic disbelief. “If I am captured, I am on my own, yes?”

She nodded. “Come back victoriously. Cinibar will not fall by itself.”

He took up her hand to kiss it, working his way up her bare arm. “Must I leave right away?”

“No, not yet. I must rough that face up first.”

He stood swiftly. “If my lady insists.”

“No, you great lout. You’ve been in a tunnel for weeks and should be filthy.”

“If my lady commands.”