Osalor gazed out the window, where the white flowers that perfumed the air glowed under the moonrise. He glowed in the moonlight too, standing perfectly still while they all waited for him to decide to act like they were in the same room again. Kellnever liked the patriars of Baldur’s Gate who made a game of keeping people waiting, just to prove who had the power.
He had to stop being angry. Osalor would notice, and he might not decide that Kell’s irritation was amusing. So he played “The Wavewizard’s Reel” in his head, imagining the chord progressions until Osalor finally spoke.
“Trouble upon trouble, Nobble told me. Report.”
“We retrieved the Kiss of Enduring Love.”
Osalor rolled his eyes. “Awful name. Go on.”
“I had to expend my most powerful spells to accomplish this. We delivered the gem to our employer, who promptly sent us to the Feywild through a crossing on the inn property that would only be accessible for a few minutes. We met someone on arrival.”
Timtim gave a pleased thump.
Saeldian didn’t miss a beat. “Lorzok befriended the almiraj, Timtim, immediately. As we were getting acquainted, someone else arrived. A witch, my lord.”
Osalor’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”
Only someone who hadn’t been there would have asked that.
“The feeling of her magic. Even the way it smelled,” Saeldian said.
They were right. Kell remembered it—wet and green and a touch of the grave, but something sweet enough to make you think it was your imagination.
Osalor leaned forward, finally interested. “The way it smelled.”
“It started when I arrived in the Feywild, my lord. I can smell magic. Our magic smells like tempting things,” Saeldian said. “Saer Lorzok’s smells like the rain and the underside of an owl’s wing, a bit of mushroom. She smelled like the odor of three magics at once.”
Kell didn’t notice the tiny magic Osalor used to maintain the floating, dreamy movements of his gossamer robes until it stopped, and every hem bent to gravity instead of him.
“You’re not saying this because she carried a staff and a pointy hat.”
“She did carry a staff and wear a pointy hat,” Saeldian said.“And her hair was white as clean old bones, though she was young. And she looked at me, Saer.”
Saeldian touched their breastbone, but they didn’t need to. Osalor’s expression was carefully attentive, but under those draping robes, his thighs were tense.
“So she scared you out of your wits. And in your terror, your first and only thought was to run straight to my door.”
Saeldian’s eyes went shiny with tears.
Osalor whirled back from the window, moving so fast Kell had to stop his reach for his daggers as Osalor towered over Saeldian, all the layers of his robes floating gracefully back down as he caught their face in long, elegant hands.
“Always run to me when you’re in danger, my protégé. Always turn to me when you don’t know where to turn. That’s why I’m here. That’s why you are my only, my chosen heir.”
The tears slipped free.
“Cry. It’s all right,” Osalor murmured. “You’ve had quite a day.”
Saeldian’s laugh covered for a sob. “I’m sorry. I must look awful.”
His smile looked so much like a proud mentor’s that almost anyone would believe it. He looked the way Saeldian did when they were whoever they were needed to be. He brushed Saeldian’s tears away with his fingers. “No chosen of mine could ever look awful when they cry. There, all finished?”
Saeldian sniffled. “Yes.”
“Tough as old roots,” Osalor said. “And you have to be, my dear, because I cannot shelter you or your friends if you wish to remain safe.”
“But Saeldian’s exhausted,” Jubilee burst out. “They need an hour, at the very least. That witch couldn’t take her eyes off Sheld. Not Sheld. But the—”
Jubilee stopped speaking as Osalor turned his gaze on her. His pale flower-petal robes became colder, like snow and sharp daggers of ice. “Go on.”
