Lost Magic (The Swift Codex Book 3) (43 page)

Mordon chuckled and beckoned me to join him on his bed. Shirtless, he was much the same as ever, except the bruises dotting his body made his skin inflamed so his scars stood out puffy in their pattern down his back. Talon scars. I'd seen enough now to positively identify them. I touched one stripe with a tentative finger.

“How are you going to explain your face to Enaid? Your mother will have a fit if she thinks you've been out brawling.”

Mordon's shrug transformed into a shiver beneath my light touch. I pulled my hand away. He wriggled his shoulders in a silent request, so I resumed tracing his scars, watching as he visibly relaxed. He'd never indicated that he was hiding the marks from me, but he tended to keep his front towards me whenever he had a bare torso. This invitation felt intimate, private.

As though following my thoughts, he said, “You'll leave marks like that one day.”

My hand stilled. “I hope not. I'm having a hard time seeing your face in stitches.”

“If you don't want to, you don't have to, but,” here his voice altered, slurring a little and losing its sure rhythm, “if you don't, they'll be asking if I don't love you well enough.”

“How so?”

Mordon cleared his throat. “In the throes of...in...hmm. Drake women typically get enthusiastic with their claws. And since you do have a dragon form...”

“Aww, you're embarrassed.” I was, too, and very glad that I could hide the rosy glow on my face. “You can be all 'let's talk about the facts of life' so straightforward in one conversation, then you get flustered talking about the Big O.”

“Hush, you. It's a challenge to admit my own encounters to someone who has been raised to think promiscuity a cardinal sin.”

“Point taken,” I said, blushing fiercely now, and only beginning to realize that all these marks indicated a time he'd been with a woman. I leaned back, supposedly to examine them, but really trying not to feel hurt or betrayed. None of the marks were new, I reasoned, definitely not in the time since we'd known each other. It wasn't like he was a cheater or anything, I mean, I could make this a Big Deal, but what would that accomplish? Making him feel bad, maybe even making him unwilling to confide other things with me.

I felt a curved line, remembering how when I'd first seen the scars, I'd thought it had been from a fight which he hadn't won. Knowing now why he had them explained why he'd been eager to kiss me so soon after I noticed them. Then they'd been a thing to be proud of, a sort of boast. Later, when he learned about my upbringing, they'd become an outward sign of shame. And I'd been perfectly oblivious to all of this, but now that I knew, my opinion would matter to him.

Besides, what was the harm in his having had a past? I had one, and he hadn't made me guilty for that. What mattered now was that I had a choice about how I behaved about this. I raked my nails down his spine, hard enough to trail red lines and make his chest swell. “I guess this means you're talented in the sack?”

He tensed.

“I didn't hurt you, did I? Wasn't thinking of your bruises.”

He pressed against my hand. “Not at all, Love, not in the slightest.”

What lingering apprehension I had disappeared at the relief and warmth in his voice. We didn't speak again as he relaxed beneath my fingers as I traced and re-traced all those lines, not sure if I wanted to envision how they'd gotten there or if I might like the thought. Actually, I did like the thought, I just didn't like liking it. Cultural prejudices interfering with my nature? Ugh, I'd been through too much to bother overthinking this moment. Fine, I liked thinking of him that way, I was a bit jealous, and I felt guilty about liking the images in my head.

It was some time before he drifted to sleep and I left him, going in search of Lilly.

I found Leif instead, and the weariness hanging off his shoulders promised trouble.

He was out in the open, eating a pasta with tilapia and red peppers. Leif pointed to the chair beside him. Barnes came in, made himself coffee, and sat on the edge of the bench.

A lilac with piles of white flowers bobbed over their table. One delicate flower detached from its cluster and dropped into a glass of water. With a sigh, Leif cleaned his knife on a napkin then set about fishing the offending flower out of his drink. Bees from the local apiary buzzed across the restaurant, the new hive I'd heard mention of exploring their territory. Despite the cozy atmosphere, my companions spoke in annoyed tones.

“What happened with you guys?” I asked.

“The sorcerers had their election,” said Leif.

I frowned. “Why didn't I know about this?”

“Because the fair gender is too delicate to be bothered with such stressful issues. A man must be mindful of a lady's time of month, her delicate condition, or the foam-at-the-mouth insanity that clogs a woman's perspective in even the simplest and most domestic disputes,” said Leif with a flat tone, which actually suggested that he was being mocking.

“Old laws,” said Barnes. “They haven't been in force in the lamb world for a hundred years yet, so we won't see them change for a little longer. Oh, we'll set our own laws fast enough, but changing the legal system? We like to watch and see how well that goes for other people first.”

I glanced at him, and from the silence around the room, I knew that I would likely be disqualified for the exact same reason, even if I happened to have been born male. I sighed, “But I didn't even know they were going on. I thought they weren't ready to be concluded.”

“It wasn't scheduled. The late commandant had the misfortune of dying, and after a thorough overnight investigation, they determined he had quite simply died of instantaneous heart failure. No signs of spells, no signatures, nothing to suggest foul play,” said Leif, rubbing his temples.

“Except for a healthy mid-forties man dropping dead in the wine cellar.”

We fell into silence that was only interrupted by Barnes slurping his coffee.

“So, who is taking over? Isn't there a chain of command?”

“Sure,” said Leif, “for the first five people.”

“Who died one after the other of instantaneous heart failure.”

I took a drink of the brew, and even though it wasn't piping hot, it warmed my stomach. Setting down the cup again, I said, “So, who won?”

“Oh, it really isn't important to the fair gender to know who is making laws which pertains to them,” said Leif, slouching into a chair and taking out a flask from his pocket, swigging it down in a gulp.

“Leif!” I scolded, then chided myself a little, because he was well and old enough to drink without breaking any laws. “I hope you haven't taken up the dear Constable's habit.”

“Nah, it's something Lilly made for sour stomach,” he said. “Rich food doesn't settle well with me sometimes. I shouldn't get myself worked up. So, Barnes, say, who did win last night?”

It disoriented me to see Leif like this. He was always the stable one, the one without vices, the one who saw both sides of the argument. He must have been really upset with the turnout, and I was rather afraid to find out why, but I had to know.

“The only blighter brave enough to take a cursed position,” said Barnes, leaning over the table and opening up his hands dramatically, “a man who wined and dined, and took the sorcerers' breaths away with his charm and charisma. Commandant Cole.”

It wasn't a surprise. Cole spoke well and his hair still had natural color in it. Even though he had risen from the dead, he sure didn't look like it—and that was what mattered. A vital, smooth-talking leader was sure to gain a stronger following than a slow-speaking sexagenarian who looked like he was wobbling to his grave. People should care about other things, but they didn't.

“Why was he the only man brave enough to take the position?” I asked, not liking the inflection behind Barnes' tone.

“The Commandant is dead and the five people after him died within two hours. Though it is officially a tragedy, no real person is that stupid. The other candidates backed out of this race before misfortune could strike them—curious, isn't it?”

“Curious.”

“But Commandant Cole is soon to release ground-breaking information which he uncovered: those deaths were not accidents or natural at all, but a continuation of the 'militant purists'.”

“Why doesn't he say so now? Or earlier?”

“Because,” Barnes said, “if he announced it now, it would be clumped together with the other attack. One attack is a battle. Two, or more? It's war.”

Leif nodded. “And with the declaration of war the people will seek more than ever to be protected from it.”

I shook my head, a little lost. “What battle? What militant purists?”

Barnes tucked his shoulders back and puffed out his chest. “Us.”

“Us?”

Leif lifted his water glass in mock cheer, which Barnes tapped with his own flask as Leif said, “Here's to the new Commandant, providing for the public's outcry of safety with vague promises of securing dangerous areas, banning violent spells, and providing a no-questions-asked reward hotline for tipping the administration off to antisocial behavior. To the war against purists.”

“Vague promises? What sort of spells will be banned?” I asked.

“According to the letter in my pocket, given to me as a 'person of importance', the details of the proposal are still to be forthcoming, but the Council has agreed that something must be done. So something will be done.”

“Leif, are you drunk?”

“He isn't,” Barnes said. “He just wishes he was.”

Leif said, “You were busy earlier, so I didn't want to interrupt you. Commandant Cole has given a speech. I got a copy for you.”

I frowned, wondering what the speech could have been about, suspecting that it had been modified to fit Cole's agenda. The speech had been cut out of a newspaper.

ATTACK ON SORCERERS

(AST) – The text of Mister Cole's address Tuesday night, after a purist sect attacks Merlyn's Market:

Good evening.

Today, our fellow sorcerers, our way of life, our very safety came under attack during a deliberate and methodical assault.

People put at risk were going about their daily lives—shopkeepers, business people, public and social workers. Mothers and children. Family and friends. Hundreds of lives were put in the way of danger by a renegade, unstable militant force.

We have all seen the images of their vicious methods, their indiscriminate use of second forms to fill us with terror and invoke stories of a bygone era, imposing upon us the threat that they once used to force humans to cower in fear and submit. Instead, we are saddened by their deceit and quietly, unreservedly angry.

These displays of power were intended to frighten us into subservience and chaos. Instead they have stirred up the innate human prowess of resilience and protection. Our community is powerful. We are a great people with a great purpose and we will defend civilization and the paradise we have created.

Purist militant acts can demolish buildings and disrupt the day, but they cannot rattle the bedrock of sorcerers. These attacks can frighten, but the cannot intimidate the stouthearted sorcerers of this world. Merlyn's Market was targeted for this attack because we were quieting the voice of bigotry and ignorance. We sorcerers are a peaceful, tolerant society, and no one is going to strip away this safe haven which shines like a light in darkness.

Immediately after surviving an assault on myself during this attack, I instigated our emergency response protocol. Thanks to the hard efforts of our teams, victims are restored to health and the landmarks have been returned to their recognizable forms. Our lives and government continues without interruption. Businesses did not feel it necessary to close even during the attack.

Our economy and businesses remain strong and will continue to be so.

A search is underway for those responsible for this disruptive act. They have threatened our way of life and our sense of order and justice, and I will not allow these people to frighten and bully our citizens. We do not differentiate between these militant purists and those who harbor and condone them.