Angelique folded the note into a small square. “Pegasus, there’s been a change inplans.”
Pegasus snorted a few times, and she barely grabbed onto the saddle in time before he shook like a dog. She coughed in the newly stirred puffed of dust, getting some of it in hermouth.
Gross.
She brushed the powder off her clothes, then noticed Pegasus was twisted uncomfortably so he could rest his chin on herfoot.
She sneezed again, then settled into the saddle. “We’re going toVerglas!”
* * *
“Master,”Angelique said, annoyance lining her voice. “You cannot buy me an elvenblade.”
“You’re right.” Evariste leaned over a gorgeous sword wrought with pink gold. It was beautiful, but the blade was so big it would be unwieldy for Angelique. “Emerys will give it to me forfree.”
“You’re awfully cocky considering your promise hinges on my generosity.” Emerys scowled and used the sleeve of his shirt to polish a finger smudge on hisbow.
Angelique took a deep breath—as she did whenever she tried to calm herself if she found Evariste’s ideas particularly stupid. That and the adorable cheek twitch she occasionally got were her tells for annoyance. “It’s inappropriate for a mage to carry a weapon,” she said, changingtactics.
Emerys laughed outright. “You hear that, Evariste? She thinks you care about being appropriate.Hah!”
Angelique smiled so hard at the elf king, Evariste wondered if her teeth were cracking. “No, you’re right,” she muttered to herself, barely audible over Emerys’ laughter. “How could I ever think Evariste is appropriate? After all, he’s friends withyou.”
Evariste almost dropped the delicate dagger he had picked up for closer inspection, but doing so would alert his student that he had heard her comment, which would make her clam up in aninstant.
Watery grayness started to invade his peripheral vision, a familiar and unwantedpresence.
He cleared his throat and tried to look past it. “If you don’t want a dagger for yourself, Angel, I suppose that’s your choice. But perhaps you ought to pick one up for Stil? When he leaves his master and becomes a traveling craftmage, he ought to have a weapon with which to defendhimself.”
Angelique’s expression changed from tight to pensive, and she cast an appreciative glance at the swords. “He mentioned he was learning how to use a spear for basic self-defense.” She walked away from the table of shining blades and ambled toward the elven spears leaning in racks against thewall.
Evariste grinned playfully at her back, ignoring the grayness which crept into the room like fog. “Wonderful,” he said. “And as his parents, we really ought to provide forhim.”
Angelique turned around with the stiffness of a puppet. “Master,” she said in a voice full ofexasperation.
Evariste laughed, but the grayness grew thicker until he couldn’t see Angelique or Emerys. Steeling himself, Evariste tried to hold onto the memory, but it slipped through hisfingers.
As the sweet memory drifted away from him like a wisp in the wind, Evariste held perfectlystill.
He didn’t shift, didn’t crack an eye open; he didn’t even groan. He kept his body limp and in the uncomfortable, folded position he had dropped into when the pain of having his magic drained from him had knocked himunconscious.
Over the past few months, he had started recovering faster from the viciousdrainings.
It was a mixed blessing, for the only time the wretched, all-invasive grayness of the mirror couldn’t pry into his sight was when his magic was violently ripped from his soul and his memories cocooned his mind in an effort to protect him. As soon as he awakened, it was to the yawning grayness of the inside of the mirror, which seemed to slowly chip away at hissanity.
But Evariste had come to realize that his captors were unaware he was starting to recover faster. This gave him an advantage—one he hadn’t yet figured out how to use, but if he had anything it was time. He would find some way to implement it into aplan.
Evariste strained his ears, trying to listen. Funrus—the black mage who had just drained him—didn’t seem to be around. (The man plodded everywhere he went, and the stillness of the empty cavern where Evariste and his mirror were tucked meant it was unlikely the mage was stillaround.)
Even so, Evariste didn’t dare move.Just because Funrus is gone doesn’t mean the room is empty. Even if that’s the most likely case, it’s not worth moving and potentially sacrificing my onlyadvantage.
Footsteps that sounded far away slowly drew closer. It was Liliane, the vile leader of the black mages who held him captive. He had learned to recognize her dainty steps and the tell-tale swoosh of her skirts fairly early in hiscapture.
She sat down in a chair of some sort and tugged on what sounded like a woodenstand.
Hereasel.
Liliane had a rather unusual sort of magic Evariste had spent months mulling over. She could paint a living creature on a canvas, and her magic transported it toher.
