Stil—who had fallen over from the force of the fire explosion—stood and flapped his cloak, brushing snow from it. “You are mad,” he said. “Stark. Raving. Mad. I know Evariste wanted you to use more magic more freely, but have you lost all sense of self-preservation?”
Angelique scowled as she squinted and tried to make out the nightmare’s tracks in the moonlight—her eyes readjusting to the night after nearly blinding herself with her fire. “I didn’t killhim.”
“After nearly being turned into a living torch and being impaled on my spear, do youreallythink the nightmare and rider are going to stick around? No.” Stil violently shook his head. “Even evil brutes like they have a better sense of self-preservation than youdo.”
Angelique hefted his spear as she strolled over to him, offering the weapon out. “We could try to track it tonight, but it would be hard to follow the trail. And by the morning, they’ll be longgone.”
“I’d say so, yes.” Still took his spear and wiped the bloodied spearhead off in the snow. “But I don’t know that it matters. You’ve certainly bought me enough time to make it to Chanceux Chateau before they come looking for me again. Even if the hellhound almost nicked you in the process.” He smiled, and his striking blue eyes seemed to glow in the light of the moon and snow. “Thank you, Angelique. I oweyou.”
She rubbed her temple before sliding her hands back in her white fur muff. “Not at all. I’m glad I couldhelp.”
Stil set a hand on her back and they briefly leaned together, resting their shoulders against oneanother.
He patted her back a few times, but then marched away, bursting with impatient enthusiasm. “Seems we can return home, then! Don’t youthink?”
“Yes. You and your seamstress will be safe to travel in daylight tomorrow.” Angelique started to slog after him, then paused and looked back over her shoulder, peering in the direction the nightmare hadfled.
She couldn’t help the nagging sensation that she had messed up.Again.
If I had used my war magic instead of physically thrusting the spear, I could have killed it.But even that thought made heruneasy.
Two years ago—perhaps even a year ago—it never would have occurred to Angelique to even consider using her war magic. Was she slipping, and the lure of her magic was dragging her intodarkness?
But I’ve lost things—important things—because of my refusal to use my magic. Can’t I find a balance? Or is my magic too dark to achieve eventhat?
“Are you coming?” Stil called, interrupting herthoughts.
Angelique ripped her gaze from the shadows and slapped a smile on her face. “Of course. I just thought I’d give you a head start so you could try and woo Gemma with your return, and then face your rejection without the embarrassment of having me as awitness.”
* * *
It didn’t takeAngelique long to say her farewells to Gemma and Stil—who gave her his old, half-ruined cloak in passing. (Angelique appreciated the gesture, for even an item that contained only half of the spells and charms Stil had cast upon it was still quite functional, but she suspected the offer was actually for Gemma’s benefit, to illustrate to the seamstress just how confident Stil was in his newcape.)
As it was, not even an hour after she had stabbed the rider, Angelique and Pegasus galloped along the Loire/Verglas border, heading east to Mullberg—and the VenenoConclave.
As the wind tugged on her clothes and the icy temperatures made her eyes sting, Angelique allowed herself tohope.
Stil was always well liked at Luxi-Domus and the Conclave, due in part to the strength of his magic and the profits he brings in from selling his wares. Between his reputation and Lord Enchanter Clovicus—if he backs me—perhaps I really can convince a few Conclave officials that things really are grim. Hopefully I can avoid speaking to the Council, though. I don’t imagine they would be all that eager to see myface.
Pegasus crested a hill and galloped at a break-neck speed down the other side, but Angelique—finally used to the terror that was her mount—ignored it and instead smirked at her own thoughts.Perhaps it would be even better to have Sybilla explain the situation. She’s more respected—or perhaps liked—thanClovicus.
Sybilla was a cheerful fairy godmother Angelique met shortly after she became Evariste’s apprentice. The older woman was one of the only mages who didn’t treat her with fear, and she had a kind but frank way ofspeaking.
Her thoughts dwelled on the cheerful fairy godmother, so she almost missed the bonfire in the distance that glowed a rather remarkable shade ofpink.
Its fuchsia flames were a bright beacon that sat just in front of a rock overhang that jutted out from the base of a hill. The odd-colored flames could only be a sign of magic, but Angelique didn’t know anyone who would purposely do such athing.
She leaned back in the saddle. Pegasus, noting her interest, slowed to a trot and turned back around so she could peer at the brightfire.
She could make out a few shadowy figures seated around the flames, but between the odd color of the fire and the stars shining in Pegasus’ coat, she couldn’t make out anyfaces.
“Angelique!”
Angelique warily nudged Pegasus closer to the pink flames. “Yes?”
“What has you flying down the border at this hour? And get that suspicious look off your face—I’m not going to require an act of help fromyou.”
Angelique finally recognized the smooth tones of Lord Enchanter Clovicus—Evariste’s old master who had helped her on multipleoccasions.
