“You knew!” Timo said. “You knew that Rorik had been cursed and you did nothing!”
“I
suspected
,” she corrected him. “I only knew what Rorik had been told by you. Without a way to
prove
he was cursed or who cursed him, there was nothing for me to do.”
“It was Inigo,” Timo said, and his mother nodded. “And . . .” his voice faltered.
“And what?” Arabella demanded. “I must know everything.”
“I think he set a spell to notify him,” Timo paused to take in a deep breath. “I think it might have been triggered because I tampered with the original spell.”
“Worse and worse,” Arabella said. “Of course it was Inigo, but we still have no proof. Who to tell?”
“Not Faron,” Timo blurted out.
His mother turned to stare at him coldly, and he faltered a moment. “He cursed Rorik himself. Kara removed his spell.”
“Faron.” Arabella nodded. “He would be part of this. The man will do anything to gain power.”
And you haven’t?
Timo wanted to shout at his mother.
You left one child behind and bore another in order to tie yourself to a man—all in pursuit of power.
“I am still Secundus,” Arabella continued. “I have the upper hand, no matter that Inigo controls the council. He cannot strip me of my position. It’s mine for life until I become Primus.”
“What about Santos Nimali?” Timo said. “He’s the true Primus.”
“Nimali doesn’t want it,” Arabella said. “I actually think he’s still a bit mad but he might support me. I want the title of Primus—I would be the first woman Primus in generations.” She looked at him. “You must run away.”
She turned and started pacing again, and Timo thought she’d already forgotten that he was her son. Now he was just a game piece to be moved to her advantage.
“Yes.” Arabella turned and flashed him a smile full of danger. “You will run, and so Inigo does not think I know what he did, I will blame you for Rorik’s death.”
“But I . . . ,” Timo started to say that he didn’t kill Rorik, but he
had
killed him. He’d been trying to help, but that didn’t matter. He’d killed the Mage Guild Primus. “Where will I go?” He wished again that Mole had come for him already.
“You’ll find your way to Old Rillidi,” Arabella said. “Once you’re there you can convince them to support me as Primus.” She nodded. “Santos Nimali’s support will still hold weight with some Mages. Inigo will not risk alienating those he does not yet control.”
ARABELLA HAD TOLD
him to make his way to Old Rillidi, but she hadn’t told him
how
. He paced his mother’s workroom. She’d left a few minutes ago, giving Annya instructions to tell anyone that she’d been out when Timo came to advise her of Rorik’s death. Timo was to wait a few more minutes and then leave. But how? He had no idea how to get off of Mage Guild Island—or how to make his way to Old Rillidi.
His mother’s Server hovered close to the door, her face a mask of calm. Timo thought of Mole’s remark that the Server Guild was unhappy. Did that include Annya? He met her eyes. Yes, that included Annya.
“Annya,” Timo said. “I know I have no right to ask.” His heart fell when Annya frowned. “But I need to get away. It doesn’t really matter where I go right now, I just need to get off Mage Guild Island.”
Still frowning, the Server stared at him for a moment. Finally, she nodded.
“You were always kind to me,” she said. “And Donna Arabella? No matter how mean she was to me, she was always worse to you.”
“Why do you stay?” Timo asked. He had no choice, but surely Server Guild would place Annya somewhere else if she asked? He was startled when she grinned.
“You think Mage Guild is the only Guild with politics? This position assures me of a fine retirement within Server Guild.” Her smile faltered. “If I live long enough. Come,” she grabbed Timo’s arm. “Servers have been coming every day to prepare for Founders Day. The man who’s in charge owes me a favour.”
ARABELLA TOOK A
deep breath and entered the council chamber. She’d been to her home—ostensibly to receive the notice of Rorik’s death—and had immediately rushed to Rorik’s house. It was what the others would expect her to do—but she’d also done a few things they wouldn’t expect. Then she’d come directly to the council.
“I have terrible news,” she said. She pushed a stray hair off her face and tried to look shocked.
Inigo and Faron, their heads bent together, looked up at her with blank looks. A few other councillors set aside whatever ledgers they’d been reading.
“Secundus,” Inigo said, rising and coming to stand in front of her. “What is it?”
“Primus Rorik is dead.” She hung her head. “I fear that his Apprentice had a hand in it.”
“Primus Rorik has been progressively ill for some time,” Castio said. “Are you sure the Apprentice is to blame?”
“He may be my son but he has never appreciated the opportunities I have provided him,” Arabella said. “Inigo, he has used your own Apprentice and Journeyman for his own gains. I believe he may have tried to force Rorik to do something similar. When the Primus refused, it’s possible the boy poisoned him.”
“Poison! Are you sure?” Inigo asked. He exchanged a look with Faron, and Arabella knew they were both party to this.
“I can’t be certain,” Arabella said. “But I went to check on Rorik as soon as I heard the awful news. He is dead, and there were some potions near him. A Healer might be able to say what they are, but the Apprentice does not have enough talent to kill any other way.”
“I must see,” Inigo said. “Castio, contact a Healer, one who is a master at potions. Better yet, find the one who has been treating Primus Rorik. He will know if these are medicines he prescribed to help or something someone else has employed to do harm.”
Castio frowned but he left on his errand. That one, Arabella thought. She’d disregarded him as an ally because he never seemed interested in choosing a side—but he had not liked that Inigo had sent him on an errand.
Inigo took her arm and escorted her out into the hallway. She smiled gratefully and leaned on him as he steered them towards Rorik’s house, Faron and a handful of other councillors trailing them.
Inigo’s Journeyman, Hestor, stepped away from a wall and fell in behind them. Arabella glanced at him, and her eyes tightened when a small sneer flitted across his face.
Hestor had interfered with her plans to talk to the Eska girl. Now she knew it was deliberate. Had he done it on Inigo’s orders?
It didn’t matter. Once she had Santos’ support, she would wipe that sneer off Hestor’s face. It would be humiliating to accept Santos’ help—to accept
Kara Fonti’s
help—but she would do it to remain in power. Just a few years—that was all she needed—then Santos would return to being nothing and she would appoint her own Secundus. And during those few years, she would have every council Mage trying to please
her
, trying to secure
her
trust in order to become Secundus.
Sprawled on the floor, his face a mask of pain, Rorik was just as she’d left him. The group huddled by the door to the workroom.
Inigo stepped into the room and walked around Rorik before taking a bottle from the desk and sniffing it. “It seems harmless,” he said. He picked up another bottle, one Arabella had brought from her own workroom and set amongst the remedies. This time he grimaced and quickly stoppered the bottle. He turned to Arabella. “I fear you may be right and the Apprentice is involved.”
She hung her head. “I am deeply saddened that I must agree.”
“Where is your son?” Inigo demanded.
Arabella looked up and met his gaze. “I do not know. He delivered the news of Rorik’s death to my Server while I was out. He was not at my home when I returned. Nor was he here when I came to see to Rorik.”
“You’ve always protected him,” Inigo said. “I don’t believe you have given up on him.”
“He’s betrayed the trust of his Master,” Arabella said. “Why would I want to protect such a boy?”
“And yet he is not here,” Inigo said. “Hestor, contact the guards. The brat has so little magic he can’t have gotten far.”
Hestor raced from the room, and Arabella looked from Inigo to Faron. She knew Inigo didn’t believe her—his curse had killed Rorik—but did Faron know?
“We will need to convene the council,” Arabella said. “And discuss this further. I will stay until the Healer comes.”
“As will I,” Inigo said. He nodded to Faron, who turned and gestured to those peering into the room from the hallway. Faron closed the door and leaned on it.
“Faron will make sure we are not disturbed,” Inigo said. He looked over at Rorik. “It does not look like a pleasant death.”
“Betrayal never is,” Arabella said. She met Inigo’s narrowed eyes and shrugged. “To think he sheltered the boy for so many years. One can only hope he never knew who had betrayed him in the end.”
“But you are certain?” Inigo asked.
“Very,” Arabella replied. “I will not fall to the same betrayer as Rorik.” She’d already covered herself with the most powerful protective spells she knew—Inigo would
not
be able to curse her. “From this day on Timo Valendi is no longer my son.” She glanced at Faron and caught a smug smile on his face. It vanished as soon as she looked at him, but it was enough to convince her that he knew Inigo had cursed Rorik.
“It must trouble you,” Inigo said. “To have only two children and have them both turn on you. It makes me wonder . . .”
“Wonder about what?” Arabella asked. “I did not raise my first child and Timo has been under Rorik’s care longer than he was under mine. You cannot possibly blame me.”
“Not blame,” Inigo said. “But your children had different fathers, so one must think that there is a streak . . . of instability . . . in your bloodline.”
Arabella sucked in a breath, and then let it out slowly. “Children of Mages are often unpredictable. When they find their talent—
if
they find a talent—as well as the strength of magic they can wield—these cannot be predicted. Why else do we test them for years?” Inigo may not have fathered an untalented child, but others on the Council had.
TIMO WHISPERED A
spell, and mauve mage mist settled over his face. He hefted his small pack onto his back. Now he was ready. Annya glanced at him, and her eyes widened in surprise, then she nodded. Despite his fear, Timo felt a surge of satisfaction at her approval. She gestured towards the hallway. A line of Servers shuffled down it, their voices hushed as they chatted about their plans for the evening or the past day’s work.
Timo stepped out into the hallway and immediately bent down and pretended to fuss with the sturdy work boot Annya had provided him. Along with the clothes, and now his own magical disguise, he should pass for a Server. After a moment, he straightened up, and with his heart pounding, he joined the line for the ferry that would take him off the island.
Soon the gates to the ferry dock came into view—along with the Guildsmen who manned them. Always secretive, Mage Guild had strict rules about who was allowed on their island—overnight stays were discouraged for anyone not Mage Guild—and that included day labourers. Every single one of the Servers who had arrived this morning had to be counted when they left. If the numbers didn’t match, a Mage would be called to investigate.
Annya had said he should not worry, that a favour was owed to her, but Timo still had to force himself to stay calm as he slowly shuffled towards the front of the line. Finally, he stood in front of a stern-faced Guildsman. The Server Guild crest was sewn onto his shirt with what looked like real silver thread.
As Annya had instructed, Timo caught the man’s eye and then deliberately looked down at his hands. He made the signal Annya had shown him, and after a brief pause, the Guildsman grunted and waved him through. Timo hurried past him down a short walkway. A fresh breeze cooled the sweat that dampened his neck, and he breathed in salty air.
MOST OF THE
passengers looked ahead, towards their destination, but Timo couldn’t keep from looking behind, staring at the only land he’d ever set foot on as the ferry drew further and further away from Mage Guild Island. Mage mist swirled around the vessel, the magic drawing him to safety.
He’d been to the underside of the island, and of course, he knew that it floated, but he was still awed by the enormous mass that hovered above the water. It was dusk, and here and there lights flickered on as darkness enveloped the buildings. The mage mist was beautiful! Rainbows of illuminated mist swirled around the towers and houses, bathing almost all of Mage Guild Island in soft strands of light.
Then he realized that every single wisp of mist was a spell, and he shuddered. How many of those spells were actually curses? How often did Mages use their magic against one another, like Inigo had used his against Rorik? No wonder the council wanted Kara dead, no wonder his mother had refused to acknowledge his unmagic. He and his sister could tell who was being cursed, and what was worse for the Mages, they could tell
who
had laid the spell. They could reveal the treachery of a ruthless and ambitious man like Inigo with a single glance.