Wycke sat on the hard stone floor, reflecting on his latest encounters with Radre. “He doesn’t act like him. Says bizarre things.” Called Wyckebrother.“Also, since when has he been able to wield fire?”
Too dangerous to confess that Wyckealsowielded fire.Radre could have said the same about Wycke, but Radre approaching a powerful sorcerer like Aberfrer seemed doubtful. A powerful sorcerer sworn to protect High King Broen.
Aberfrer leaned forward in his chair. Wycke swore he heard the sounds of ancient bones creaking. The tips of slightly pointed ears peeked out from hair gone white, a testament to an elf ancestor. Interesting. Wycke had never noticed before. Had his increased awareness of magic allowed him to see differently? Was that why he’d never noticed Sir Broderick’s heritage?
“Your brother has never been considered particularly stable,” Aberfrer finally said.
True. “Have you noticed how different the king acts lately whenever Radre is around?”
Aberfrer cleared his throat. “No offense intended, but your brother has a tendency to make many people behave unreasonably.”
Wycke went out on a limb, speaking of things he didn’t honestly know but strongly suspected. “Yes, but Broen makes no secret of not trusting Radre. Why all the private meetings? Why does Broen tolerate a man he claims to distrust?”
Aberfrer narrowed his eyes. “High King Broen to you.”
Wycke huffed out a laugh. “He’s my brother-by-bonding, as much as the good citizens of Dhugach might prefer otherwise.” The men and women who so recently sought Wycke’s favor—and his bed—now likely denied knowing him.
If they learned of his magic, they’d say he ensorcelled them. No, if he needed to lure anyone to his bed, he’d have aimed much higher.
“You say he’s been acting oddly, yet you haven’t been around King Radre lately, have you?” Aberfrer wove his gnarled fingers, stained by potions and other tools of his trade, together in his lap.
Wycke had been around Radre more than Aberfrer knew and much more than preferable. “Then you admit it’s true. For how long? He’d been a little shit growing up but never particularly smart or ambitious. My brother went from no magic to creating portals instantly. He also arrived unannounced and struck Saris. He’s never been violent before.”
Aberfrer’s snow-white eyebrows nearly met in the center of his wrinkled forehead. “He arrived several days ago and has been in many meetings with the high king. Are you saying he’s recently been to the palace before then?”
“Yes. Several times that I’m aware of.”
Aberfrer stared at a spot over Wycke’s shoulder, stroking his beard. “If he’s arriving unannounced and undetected by me or my mages, he’s either grown very powerful indeed or is working with someone who is.”
Wycke voiced his deepest fear. “Or someone is workingthroughhim.”
Several moments passed, Aberfrer opening and closing his mouth without speaking. Finally, he said, “You believe King Radre is possessed?”
A human saying came to Wycke’s mind:He’s definitely not the one in the driver’s seat.“It’s not unheard of, is it?”
“Only a truly powerful sorcerer or sorceress might possess another, magical or otherwise.” Aberfrer rose and paced the cell. His leather slippers scuffed against the stone floor. “My mages and I have tried to determine what is wrong with King Radre and have not reached a sufficient conclusion.”
Aberfrer paused his circuit of the tiny cell, letting out a sigh. “I only know of one other who commanded such power, but she’s been dead for many seasons.”
Interesting. Nyanda. Everything came back to Nyanda. But why would a reborn Nyanda want to kill her son if such a rebirth were even possible? Did she know Piers was her son? If they all lived through this, Wycke would never let Radre hear the end of the matter. “What if she isn’t dead?” he ventured.
“I executed her myself. Took her magic.” Aberfrer stared out the enchanted window toward the sea. The window let in a soft breeze and gave prisoners something to look at and mourn having lost. Rather than a kindness, seeing the freedom they’d never have added to the torment. “She was more powerful than I, yet I took her magic with ease. Not nearly as much as I thought she should possess, even after casting defensive spells over the entire castle.” He spun, wobbled, and caught himself with a hand to the chair back. “What do you remember of that day?”
“My guard woke me up… said to…”
“No, no.” Aberfrer swatted a hand, a crease reforming between his brows. “Later. When you appeared before High King Umbri.”
“I was small then. I don’t remember,” Wycke lied. He never forgot the day his life changed so drastically. Seeing his guard struck dead, not seeing but knowing his father met the sword. His sister, putting on a brave face while her knees trembled under her skirts. Wycke had felt them when she’d pulled him close.
“Your memories could shed some light on the situation.”
Wycke didn’t want to revisit the horror. He really didn’t want to. That day still caused nightmares. “One of King Umbri’s men killed my guard and ordered me to the great hall. Saris came in. Then we were made to leave.”
Aberfrer nodded. “After which High King Umbri passed judgment on Lady Nyanda.”
And Wycke’s father paid the price for treason. “High King Umbri sentenced her to death.”
“Right after I carried out her sentence, King Umbri and Lady Nyanda’s guard fell dead. At the time, I thought maybe she’d bespelled them before kneeling on the floor. Did you notice anything strange when you left the room?”
