“And, to George,” Wynn continued, “You’re the very best sort of friend, the best sort of person. You care for everyone around you, drop anything to help others, and you do what’s right even when it hurts. It hasn’t been easy getting to this point, for any of us, but you deserve this happiness more than any mage I know.”
By the end of Wynnie’s words, George knew she looked a mess, her mouth scrunching and squirming of its own accord as shefought tears. Wynn had given in, and two fat drops rolled down her cheeks.
“To George!” Hildy kicked off the toast, as Wynnie gulped for air.
“To George!” The rest of her friends’ voices—including Isahn’s—rang out.
“Now, eat,” George commanded again. “No more toasts. They’re embarrassing.”
They chatted of the eventual wedding—to occur after they resolved the situation with the king—and took bets on the time they’d hear from Ean.
Just after Ruairi dutifully replaced their second course with drinks forcommissatio, a series of tiny knocks sounded on the door.
Dunstan sat closest and opened it a crack, allowing Ean to buzz in in a burst of gold and excitement.
“Do you have something for us?” George straightened her spine.
“Aye, I do.” He grinned, black curls jiggling. The ancient book appeared in the center of the table with atinkle, and Ean settled on the leather cover, plopping his bottom directly on an opal.
“Get off that. It’s a thousand years old.”
“Sorry, P Georgie.” He zipped into the air, hovering for a second before moving to his favorite carafe.
They learned that the ancient Queen of Domos, to whom the diary belonged, began her life as the eldest daughter of Lord Tarstani, the Baron of Napivol—which the title and town of Midlake were styled at the time. Her family had settled in the south thousands of years before her lifetime, long before the lands had names, during an era when the fae still lived freely amongst mages. Her line carried the unique powers to prove its heritage. Although she was the oldest child, as a woman in thattime, she wasn’t entitled to inherit. The barony was set to pass to her younger brother, and she was destined to become a wife.
Just over a thousand years ago, when tensions between Gramenia and the pixies were rising, Selwas sent a delegation north to meet with the young Domossan king. Amongst their ranks were members of the ancient, southern Tarstani lineage. Two of them, to be precise: the Baron of Napivol, who was invited, and his daughter, the beautiful Lady Tiyar, who’d begged to come along.
“Did she really describe herself as beautiful?” Burke interrupted Ean’s story to ask.
“Ach. I added that bit.”
“Stick to the facts, Ean,” George put in.
He nodded. “Of course. The rest of it’s in there.”
Eanraig went on to explain that the young Selwassan woman was given the journal they now studied by the monarch on her first trip to Domos. The king’s love soon followed, and she was queen within a year. She’d written in the journal semi-regularly from the day she received it up until she erected the veil. Then her king wrote a final lengthy entry before stashing the book safely in Selwas and living out the rest of his days in the north.
“So, it includes the secrets of the veil?” Hildy checked.
“I think so. I’ll be sorting that out soon. I spent more time on the bit at the end.”
“The king’s entry?”
“Aye,” he answered Burke before confirming the scrap of letter they copied from Gasparo’s drawer was at some point several pages longer, likely a full, if botched, copy of the king’s entry. “Whoever copied it did a wretched job of it. Missed all the important bits. That’s why, I think, Gasparo got so hung up on the idea of a tapestry. It was semi-metaphorical and semi-magical, ye ken? The letter King G must’ve read was talking about the veil the whole time.”
“Have you learned what my father’s been up to?”
“Aye.” Ean beamed. “I’m thinking I have. The old text says, ‘All or naught, each sorcerer of the land lent strength to raise the great tapestry, for all may weave but only one must fell the great veil.’ It goes on to say they used a tapestry woven by the queen to bind together their powers and make the veil.”
“To bind together whose powers?” Burke asked.
“Each sorcerer of the land, that’s what Ean said,” Hildy put in.
“Every single one?”
“Don’t be daft, Burke,” Wynnie scoffed. “That wouldn’t be possible.”
“Then all of which mages? The sorcerers are mages, right?”
