Page 62 of Aubade Rising
Dew soaks my shoes and trouser legs and the long grass tickles as I head for the Koes Dowr.
What was a beautiful, manicured garden when I arrived has now bloomed into a teeming jungle.
I search for my favourite worn stone and set myself up to think.
Eskar left early this morning. No goodbye, no ceremony, just a cool indentation in the bed next to me and an unspoken promise that, when he returns, things will be different.
He will be able to leave Pentargon. To return to Cathair and become a teacher like he’s always wanted.
He asked me to come with him last night, in between kisses that wiped away my brain’s ability to reason.
Even then, something in me resisted. I don’t know that I want to leave Pentargon, to leave my research, my position behind.
I pick at the skin round my nails, picturing Eskar sailing to Porth to begin his trek to Tanwen – alone and with assassination on his mind.
I wish he didn’t have to shoulder that burden alone.
From reluctant torturer to begrudging assassin, he’s more than earned his freedom once this is over and I won’t allow the court to hold him back.
Worried as I am, unable to calm my mind and control my emotions, I settle instead to practising my magic.
Now I understand how the little strand from Eskar works, I’m able to call it forward with ease.
Even though it saved me in Cathair, it’s barely depleted.
The vast depth of magic held in one Mordros strand is staggering.
I need to feel close to him today and reach for it inside my chest.
I visualise a floating sphere of water and pull the magic forward. When it’s clear in front of me, I try to make it spin. It’s sloppy work, flecks of water spin out as it turns. Soon, I’m soaked through as if I have rolled in the dew like a child. But the sphere holds.
It helps to focus on something tangible. I draw out my light as well, causing the water to throw rainbows across the clearing and admiring how well they work together.
“Perhaps the King’s Thief would be a more appropriate title.” Dark humour from a voice that breaks my focus surprises me. My sphere of water absorbs into my lap as I look up at the King, leaning against a tree, arms crossed.
He doesn’t look angry but he definitely doesn’t look pleased either. “Now, are you going to tell me how you managed to steal Mordros magic?”
“Snooping isn’t a very regal trait.” I shrug, buying time.
“No need to snoop when an aurora appears in my garden. You need to be more careful there.”His mouth is a thin line as he scours the tree-line behind us, checking we are alone.
The rainbows – I can’t exactly argue there. I shouldn’t have been so foolish. “I was experimenting.”
“I can see that. More forbidden research?”
“It’s not stealing if I intend to return it. By definition, stealing is permanent deprivation.” I summon little balls of light to dance round him, trying to distract him but they flicker as my magic exhausts itself.
“Did the person give it willingly then?” If his right eyebrow goes any higher, it’ll be lost under his dark fringe.
“Does it matter if I didn’t intend to take it?”A bird call overhead punctuates my response.
Concern flashes through his eyes and he stalks closer to whisper. “Can you control it? I can’t have you wielding magic wherever you turn.”
Fair point. “Yes, I can control it. The circumstances where I obtained it were unique.” I blush. “I’ve been trying to return it but also learning how to make it respond to me.”
“Hmm, well, for now, given everything that’s going on, I’d put that aside. I don’t think you quite realise the danger you put yourself in practising in the open.” His hands ball into fists before he slips them into his pockets.
“Speaking of danger in Chi An Mor, I want to come with you to Tanwen. No one else will be able to identify the serpentine. I’ll be an asset.”
“I don’t doubt that, Sage.” His deep green eyes hold mine intently. “Don’t you trust me to do the right thing?” His voice is barely a whisper.
I don’t. Not even the slightest bit. He might think he’s helping or trying to make things better but his perspective is so limited and our situation so fragile. “I want to help.” Not technically a lie.
His mouth twists, recognising I’ve avoided a direct answer.
He’s hurt. But then the practised courtier is back and he’s a blank canvas again.
“If you insist: be ready to depart in a few days.” Turning, he walks off with no further comment.