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Euzebia

Madame Euzebia had kept watch over the escalating magical crisis at Mnisztwo Castle, which was her family’s hereditary estate, for many years before the inevitable implosion occurred.

For years she’d done her best to prepare her son for a leadership role and for mastery of his magic.

Nothing ever went perfectly, but the influence of solid role models such as King Ryszard and the kindly mage known as Ludwik had worked its own magic.

Although Kazik possessed his fair share of flaws, he had grown into a responsible, honest, and genuinely kind young man.

On the fateful morning of Kazik’s first melee, Euzebia disguised herself and slipped away to hide in the obscure inn she’d purchased with her own money a few months earlier.

It stood at a crossroads just within Lómza’s western border with Trinec—remotely located, yet close enough that she could step back into her son’s life at need.

After years of stress and heartache, she believed the life of a simple innkeeper would suit her disposition nicely.

Two days later, just as she sat down to enjoy her first bowl of homemade soup in the dining room, she sensed powerful magic.

Thankfully, her first official guest, an old peddler, had just gone upstairs for the night.

With a sigh, she tasted a bite of her culinary creation, nearly choked, swallowed, sat back in her chair, then laid down her spoon. “Why are you here, Bogumil?”

The cloaked mage, after making himself visible, dropped into the opposite chair, his head hanging low.

“I, um . . . Nobody’s died yet, but . . .

” He clasped his large hands over his hood and lowered his forehead to the tabletop.

“Most of the WMC is furious with me. Please help! I don’t know what to do. ”

Staring at her quickly cooling supper, Euzebia chose to accept the inevitable with grace. With a quick flick of her wrist, she disguised the lanky mage as an elderly woman.

“That’s harsh,” he complained without sitting up.

“Nonsense. I cannot risk my reputation by being seen alone with a man. Now, begin at the beginning. I know that Mnisztwo Castle expelled its residents, aside from the dangerous prisoners in a few pocket worlds, and it has now gone into hiding. Poor thing. Its gardens and stables are dormant.”

He groaned. “You must know what I did to your husband. I also took pocket-world prisoners, a golden bird and a golden horse, and placed them at vassals’ castles for fortune-hunters to claim. If the questers follow the guide’s instructions, they will win. But if they don’t . . .”

He then related his mistakes regarding Kazimierz, Helena, and the golden-apple tree, all the while assuring Euzebia they were safe.

“So, you’ve organized three tasks that treasure seekers must complete to prove their worth and break the curse. What do you hope to accomplish, and how is it going? Do stop mumbling into the tablecloth.”

Bogumil heaved a noisy sigh but rolled his head aside enough to speak clearly. “It’s a mess. The guide I provided—um, that would be your husband—uh . . .”

“Yes, I am aware of his current situation. Since he considers the pocket-world prisoners to be his lawful property, I can only imagine how many ways he might thwart your plans while following your every order to the letter.”

Bogumil groaned. “Humans are interfering and ungrateful! But once the treasure hunters begin to show up, I expect it’ll all smooth out.”

“Do you? All by itself, ‘it’ will smooth out? Stop fooling yourself. You have acted rashly and must now manage the results. Join the crowd of us imperfectionists.”

One corner of the mage’s mouth curled upward.

“That’s better,” the princess declared. “Own your mistakes but keep striving to make them right. And you must think —trust me, once you start, it can become addictive. Think the matter through rationally—maybe even run your plan past a wise adult—and then go and do the next thing that needs doing.”

With a sigh, Bogumil sat upright and brushed off his ego. “Are you going to eat that?” He pointed at her soup.

“You’re welcome to it.” Watching him inhale the nasty stewed turnips and greens, she resolved to beg Mnisztwo Castle’s prized cook to join her at the inn for the duration.

Not until his bowl was empty did he say, “Oh! I nearly forgot to mention that, thanks to you, I settled on the perfect stumbling block.”

She blinked. “What exactly does that mean?”

“The inn across the way.” He smiled eagerly.

“I call it the ‘Quest Inn.’ Wait, you haven’t noticed?

Guess I concealed that spell rather well after all.

” A smug smile spread across his face. “As you know, it’s important to challenge potential curse-breakers right at the entry gate.

You know, to prevent the quest from being so easy that anyone can take the prizes?

Yep, to weed out the lazy contestants, I set up a stumbling block. ”

“I’m not following your purpose,” she admitted.

Bogumil fell back in his chair. “A stumbling?—”

“What I don’t understand is your reason to ‘weed out’ potential curse-breakers. Don’t you want the spell to be broken?”

“Of course I do! Look. Any serious spell-breaker will come to this boring place of yours for a good night’s sleep and a nutritious meal.

But all the thrill-seekers will head straight for the bright lights, loud music, drink, cake, and dancing.

I made the Quest Inn look like the most shocking thing since lightning eels.

Why, it’s so much fun, I almost trapped myself in it!

Guests are free to leave whenever they like.

But they never do like, if you take my meaning. ” He grinned.

“I see.”

So much for her retirement plan. She should have known this clever magical leech would quantify her magic and latch on. For her, there could be no escape from responsibility.

Late that night, Euzebia looked in her hand mirror, wielded her magic to subtly age her appearance, then studied her lined face and sighed. “No one needs to know that I run this place now.”

From that day on, she was Madame Kaczmarek.

Bogumil’s stumbling block proved to be shockingly efficient at weeding out thrill seekers. The Quest Inn’s lights burned at all hours, glasses clinked, and lively music stole the villagers’ sleep.

After Euzebia’s plump cook arrived, delighted to come out of retirement, the menu improved, and business picked up.

Serious treasure hunters and sensible travelers kept her magically soundproof inn solvent, and she soon settled into this new lifestyle.

Monitoring the results of Bogumil’s Quest wasn’t difficult.

But why the WMC had chosen an inexperienced part-fay mage to lead its first magical-crime investigation in centuries was something of a puzzle.

What were they thinking?

Did they choose him just to spite her after she urged them to renew the WMC but refused to be its Head Mage? If they did, she was in no position to criticize, since she had so far avoided all responsibility associated with her magical gifts.

After marrying Warin Lisiewicz for his looks and charm, recognizing too late that his politically ambitious father had pushed him to marry an heiress, she had withdrawn from life, attempted to extinguish her emotions, and nearly succeeded .

. . until Kazimierz was born. The gift of her son had renewed Euzebia’s faith and restored meaning to her lonely life.

Since then, she had quietly thwarted many of her husband’s nefarious dealings, provided Geoffroi and Solara as much freedom as possible, and done her best to raise her only child to be an honest man.

All those years, she had guarded her secrets so closely that only two other people in the world—King Ryszard and Ludwik—had known that she was quite possibly the most powerful mage alive.

But now, the World Magic Council knew, including Bogumil.

Her secret was out, and Kazik was on his own.

But his sweetheart needed her help.