“But it isn’t possible. A Troll could never defeat a Fire Wizard, even with a female Wizard’s help. Nor would a female Wizard mate with a Troll, let alone have a baby by him. And if the impossible occurred, the Grey Council would never allow the child to live. This story suggests the possibility a Troll with Wizard blood survived.”
She slipped her hand in his, knowing his swirling question reflected only a small measure of what must be going on in his mind. “And if the tale was true?”
“It has to be some sort of myth.” He whispered the words as though trying to convince himself. His gaze lingered on the stage. “But if it were true and the child lived, those descended from the babe are more connected to us than we’ve been taught.”
Morgan placed a feather-soft kiss on his cheek, loving the way his heart was opening. “Never underestimate the power of love. This is but one play dedicated to Troll and, yes, Wizard history. On the final day of the festival, there is a play that recounts how the Trolls rebelled against the Wizards and became a free people.”
Strolling minstrels, their ballads of loves lost and won, began to steal through the crowd. Morgan nodded toward the bazaar. Booths decorated in brilliant colors displayed all manner of tempting goods, from clothes, jewelry, and pottery to toys forthe children. Exotic smells from the food booths whispered of faraway lands and childhood memories.
The sensuality created at the celebrations revealed the textures of emotions created at the Wizards’ week-long festival of Bealtaine, with one major difference—the laughter, freedom of expression, and lightness in everyone’s step was genuine. Spells were not needed to assure pleasure and acceptance.
Morgan liked the way her hand fit inside Rowan’s. She stole a glance, wanting to know what he was thinking. She could attempt to read his mind and might succeed. This was not the time. He would share his thoughts when he was ready. She could only guess at the conflicts he faced.
A lull at one of the food booths encouraged her to guide him in its direction. The vendor, his face as round and shiny as a brand-new plate, beckoned her with a chocolate ice cream cone, dipped in multicolored sprinkles. “For you, milady, and…” His jolly smile cracked as his eyes widened to perfect moon-shaped orbs, their focus on Rowan. “The…the…” he stammered, each time his voice rising an octave higher.
She was such a fool. Seduced by the music and the goodwill of Cassandra’s people, she had forgotten, or rather, had chosen to forget, the underlying currents of the Trolls’ distrust of Wizards. Cassandra’s people might distrust all male Wizards, but Fire Wizards, as evidenced in the play, were hated and feared above all.
She turned to leave, an apology on her lips for disturbing the vendor. Rowan slipped his hand out of hers and approached the Troll.
“I don’t blame you for being startled. This experience is a little strange for me too. My name’s Rowan. And yes, I’m a Fire Wizard. For the first time in my life, I feel I should apologize for what and who I am.”
The vendor’s hand trembled as he handed a cone to Morgan and one to Rowan, his eyes never blinking as a cluster of squealing girls descended on the booth.
Rowan reached into the pocket of his jeans. “How much do I owe you?”
The vender’s head shook from side to side in jerky movement. “I read your thoughts. They are genuine and true and kind. No charge, Fire Wizard.” The ice cream vendor turned toward the group of young female Wizardlings.
Morgan placed her hand on his arm and moved Rowan a short distance away as she silently ate her ice cream cone. The exchange between Rowan and the vendor had surprised her, but one good encounter did not ensure another. “When you finish your cone, we should leave.”
The cluster of young female Wizards, their cones clutched in their hands, moved in concert away from the vendor and in the direction of Rowan and Morgan. One of them bumped into Rowan, smearing ice cream on his pant leg.
Morgan recognized the child at once. It was the young Wizardling Anne. In wide-eyed surprise, Anne looked at her empty cone, her mouth trembling over losing her ice cream. But when her gaze locked on Rowan’s, fear was reflected in her eyes.
Rowan’s mouth quirked in a smile. “Don’t worry, little one. I’ll get you another.”
Deidre came rushing over and tugged Anne’s arm, her gaze locking on Rowan. “Anne, you are a silly, clumsy goose,” she said in a forced whisper. “You bumped into a Fire Wizard. Say you’re sorry.”
But Anne didn’t budge. Her gaze was fixed on Rowan’s.
Rowan seemed oblivious as he paid the vendor for an ice cream cone and then handed her the new one. Anne took a lick of her cone. “Thank you. Deidre said you’re… Are you a Fire Wizard?”
“Yes, I am.”
Anne took another lick, wiping the excess on her sleeve. “You don’t seem so scary to me.”
“I’m trying hard to change.” Rowan laughed, the sound so open and genuine it startled Morgan and a gathering crowd.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The golden morning traveled into the late afternoon on the wings of the festival’s merriment, changing color and texture with each hour that passed. Morgan sat on the pier, dangling her feet in the crystal-clear water. A backdrop of laughter wafted toward her from the crowd as her gaze drifted again and again to Rowan. His one act of kindness toward Anne had changed the way the Trolls treated him. All their histories described Fire Wizards as intolerant and unforgiving toward anything or anyone outside their kind. Rowan’s single display of patience toward a small child when she’d accidentally bumped into him, spilling her ice cream cone over his pant leg, shifted their perspective.
He had changed.
Or was this the man he always had been? His enormous capacity for compassion and selflessness must have been kept hidden, buried, caged, waiting for the right moment of release.
The role he was assigned at birth to play was designed and shaped by the Talons and the Grey Council and left no room for self-awareness or compassion. In his case, that role was made worse by the circumstances of his low birth. And now, his brother had turned into a Dragon Wizard and might be lost to him. Rowan hadn’t spoken of Stryker, and Morgan vowed she would wait until he was ready.
Female Wizards, even in their short life, embraced their individuality and their ability to care deeply for all living things. She feared Rowan, in not mentioning his brother, was trying to bury his feelings. The Talons and the Grey Council tried to curb emotions of any sort, and in part succeeded. Was the real reason the Wizards’ leadership first discouraged—and more recently forbade—male and female Wizards to form life partnerships wastheir fear each would help nurture the other’s better selves? If true, then that would answer many unanswered questions.
