Piers’ mother. He’d spoken to his mother. Despite his wishes for her to have been simply misunderstood, she proved as corrupt as he’d heard, caring for none but herself until her dying breath. No wonder people feared him, her son.
And her magic lived inside him. Please let Uncle Lee be correct in it being Piers’ choice to do good or evil. He also shared a father with High King Broen. Piers had always wanted a brother, but would the brother want the son of a murderous sorceress?
Piers remembered snippets of a conversation. A dream? Did magic live and breathe? Have its own thoughts? How Piers needed Uncle Lee’s guidance now.
“What the fuck just happened?” he whispered, carding his fingers through the silken strands of Wycke’s hair. More contact would be nice, but not with guards lurking on the periphery of his vision.
Wycke replied in monotone, “I ended my brother’s life. He took your mother with him.”
A mere month ago, Piers wouldn’t have believed any such thing, wouldn’t have believed in elves and magic and magical snow globe gardens. Even those facts paled in comparison to two people in one body and watching someone end both those lives. “That’s all kinds of fucked up, just so you know.”
Wycke patted Piers’ calf. “Agreed.”
“What now?” Piers’ heart ached. What would become of him and Wycke? Should he go back to his own realm? Would Aberfrer wipe Piers’ mind, so he didn’t remember ever being here? And what of his magic? Would someone try to drain him of his power?
“I don’t know. Given our untrained state, you and I could be considered a threat.” Wycke’s tones were clipped, uncertain. Piers much preferred Wycke the Self-assured. “And I just killed a king and a sorceress. They both had their followers.”
“Is the high king no better? After Nyanda died, shouldn’t he have recovered?”
“That’s what I thought, but he’s much the same.”
“Is there anything we can do to help him?” Piers’ brother might not want him, but Piers desperately wanted any kin possible, and to make Saris happy.
“We’re not exactly trusted at the moment. If not for Aberfrer, who’d believe I didn’t kill my brother for his crown?” Bitterness filled the words Wycke spat.
Wycke had ended his brother’s life rather than allowing Aberfrer or another to do so. Even in so short a time of their acquaintance, Piers recognized the toll the act had taken on Wycke. He’d killed as a mercy for Radre and to help Broen.
Piers’ heart fell further. King Wycke. As next in line to the throne, at Radre’s death, Wycke became a king. And Piers a… what? Bartender? A magical bartender, to be sure, but a bartender nonetheless, the bastard son of a king and a sorceress. He sure as hell didn’t intend to carry on his family’s legacy. “You’re a king now.”
Wycke snorted, jostling Piers’ thigh. “Do you honestly think anyone would allow me on a throne?”
“We could leave.” And do what? Go back to Piers’ apartment? Would an unending stream of hellhounds show up at their door?
“The grounds are warded. We can’t leave.”
“If we can’t leave, can we use this magic everyone says we have to heal the high king?” If only Piers had kept his mother’s grimoire instead of letting Aberfrer lock it away, maybe he’d have found more answers.
“I don’t know. I’ve never heard of anyone casting healing spells without actually touching the person they’re treating.”
“Then what can it hurt? What do I need to do?”
Wycke tilted his head back, peering up at Piers. “Did you get a good look at Broen?”
“Not really.” Piers had caught one glimpse of the king, face haggard, shoulders stooped. Not the vibrant man Saris and Wycke spoke of.
Wycke twisted around, cupping Piers’ face in his warm palms. He lifted until their gazes met. “Then look into my mind. I’ll hold the image.”
How the hell was Piers supposed to… Then a vision appeared: green eyes crinkled at the corners, auburn hair, a smiling mouth. “I see him.”
“Wish him well, like you’ve never wished for anything before.”
Piers concentrated, an image forming in his mind of Broen, unable to recognize Saris, then focused on turning the image into the smiling man from Wycke’s memories.
He vaguely registered Wycke clasping his fingers. Piers wished for the king to be himself again with all his heart because that would make Saris happy. At some point, he stopped wishing for the king’s health and wished for Saris’s happiness.
Images came unbidden: Saris laughing, chasing a little girl with hair the color of burnished copper, holding a boy on her hip, with hair the same brilliant color. Saris? Children? The image vanished from Piers’ mind; smoke blown away by the wind.
His consciousness drifted. He wished for Jess’s happiness, and for him and Wycke, even for Chynne, though nothing seemed to happen when he wished Chynne to be free.It’s not time,he heard in a chorus of voices.
