The Awakened Mage (21 page)

“Matt wants to keep his tongue between his teeth.” Appetite stifled, she folded and refolded her napkin. “I’m only trying to help you.”

“You can’t.”

“How do you know if you won’t let me try?”

“Don’t you understand? I’m tryin’ to
protect
you!”

Damn him and his quaint notions of decency. She had to
know
... “I never asked for your protection.”

“You would if—” He turned back to the window, hiding again. “This ain’t a game, Dathne. We’re talkin’ laws and consequences and things best left alone. I’m grateful for your friendship. I enjoyed your rabbit stew. I can’t repay that by puttin’ you in danger.”

He sounded so torn. So tempted to confide and make her part of his secret. Here then was the moment. If she could break him now, he’d truly be hers. She slid out of her chair, joined him at the window and let her palms rest flat against his back. He flinched, tension thrumming through him. The flesh beneath her hands was as hard as marble.

“It’s my choice, Asher,” she whispered. “My decision. If you can risk this danger, whatever it is, then so can I. Let me help you.
Please.
No one should be this alone.”

He sighed, a deep and shuddering breath. Broke away and went back into the kitchen. When he came out again he was drinking from the jug of icewine.

“Don’t know if I can do this sober,” he said, almost apologetic, and held out the jug to her. “Don’t know if you can either.”

She set the jug aside.
“Tell me.”

Eyes stricken, expression agonized, he dithered like a horse on the edge of a ditch too wide to safely jump. “Dathne…”

She smiled, as invitingly as she knew how. “It’s all right. I’m not afraid.”

He leapt. “I been goin’ with Gar to the Weather Working.”

“Oh,” she said, after the silence between them had stretched beyond bearing. Clasped her hands behind her back so they wouldn’t start beating him about his stupid wooden head. “And whose bright idea was that?”

“His—at first.”

“But then you adopted it as your own?” Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the acid sarcasm from her voice.

“Someone’s got to be there,” he said, stung. “You got no idea what it’s like! The bloody magic
guts
him, Dath. He bleeds like a butchered hog, he ain’t able to walk for an hour after. Sometimes longer. He can’t face that alone.”

She wanted to shake him till his teeth fell out. Centuries of waiting dribbled down to these last weeks and days and he was risking everything the Circle lived for, _everything. _”And you can’t face it with him! It’s death to dabble in their—”

“I ain’t dabblin’!”

“But you’re
there,
Asher!” she cried. “Witness to their most secret, sacred magic! To everyone else it’ll mean the same thing. If this comes out—”

“How can it come out? I ain’t tellin’, Gar ain’t tellin’. Are you about to—”

“No, of
course
not!” Hammered with fear, she wrapped her fingers round the end of her plait and tugged until her scalp screamed for mercy. She hadn’t seen this coming. Why had she not seen this coming? All of Prophecy’s plans at risk because of his friendship with Gar! “Asher—”

He flung himself away from the window and began a ragged pacing. “You reckon I
want
to be there, holding the bowl as Gar vomits his guts out night after night? You reckon I enjoy washing all the blood off him, and me? That I like having to sneak about the Tower pray in’ like a Barlsman that bloody Willer don’t stumble across me comin’ when I’m s’posed to be goin’, or goin’ when I should already be gone?”

“But it’s not fair, what the king’s asking. How he’s putting you at risk. I don’t believe there’s not a single Doranen he can’t call upon to aid him until Durm either recovers or is replaced.”

He stopped then, and dropped into her shabby armchair like a deer struck with an arrow. With his elbows braced on his knees he let his head fall heavily into his hands. “Who? Not Nix. That sends the kind of message Jarralt’s just itchin’ to read. Not Holze. He’d see it as his moral duty to say somethin’
for the good of the kingdom.
There’s nobody, Dath. Nobody he can trust to see him like that, except me.”

He sounded so defeated. She sat on the arm of his chair, fighting the urge to thread her fingers through his hair. He wore it longer now than once he had. “I’m sorry I shouted,” she said softly. “I’m glad you told me.”

“It’s the only way I can help him, Dath,” he said, and slumped sideways a little to lean against her. “I don’t know what else to do. All he ever talks about is avoiding another schism. How that’d be a betrayal of his da. He’s convinced that if Conroyd Jarralt ever learns how hard it is for him to control the Weather Magic, the bastard’ll challenge him as unfit. And he would too. Jarralt couldn’t care less about a schism if it means stickin’ the crown on his own head after.”

“But if Gar truly isn’t strong enough—”

He jerked away. “We don’t know that! Look what’s happened to him in the last two months! First he gets his magic, then he’s nearly killed gettin’ thrown from a runaway carriage. And losin’ his family on top of it—there ain’t been a WeatherWorker in history who’s come to the throne like that. It’s a bloody miracle he can do it at all.”

He slumped again, anger spent. Unbidden, her hand drifted to rest on the nape of his neck; he made a pleased little sound deep in his throat and closed his eyes. She let her hand stay where it was, thinking hard.

Another schism. That would surely usher in the Final Days foretold by Prophecy. Indeed, for a time the Circle in Trevoyle’s time had thought
they
were the ones to face the fire. The idea made sense. Fitted all too neatly with her visions of death and destruction. A battle between mages for the crown, for the control of Barl’s Wall, would swiftly see the magical balances of the kingdom upset. And Asher would be in the middle of it, standing at Gar’s right hand as he fought to keep control, to stay king. Yes. It all made horrible sense.

What she couldn’t see was how Asher was supposed to stop it from happening. Not with Olken magic, which was a soft and subtle thing, cajoling and persuasive. Not when he hadn’t even discovered its existence within himself yet.

The not knowing was killing her.
What about a hint, Jervale,
she silently pleaded.
Just a little hint…

No reply, and none truly expected. She’d have to learn the truth of things another way. Since Gar seemed at the heart of the mystery, and Asher was close to Gar, then she’d have to get closer to Asher. In the name of duty. In the service of Prophecy.

Yes, yes,
she answered the critical voice within.
And because I want to.

Beside her, Asher stirred. “I should go,” he muttered.

“Why? Is there a WeatherWorking tonight?”

“No. But he was all set to create his family’s effigies today. He’ll take it hard. I should—”

“Leave him be,” she advised. “Let him grieve without an audience.”

He pressed his fingers to his eyes. “Aye … maybe … but you don’t want me clutterin’ up your livin’ room. I’ll—”

She drifted her hand from his nape to his shoulder, almost caressing. “Did I say that?”

Dark color flushed his weathered skin, and in his face she saw the deepening, the maturing, of all the feelings she’d seen there that night outside the Goose when he’d asked her to leave Dorana with him and go gallivanting off to Restharven. Uncertainly he said, “I thought—”

“You need to ease your mind, Asher. Like it or not you aren’t a fisherman any more. You’re a man of power and responsibility. A solver of problems, even unlikely ones drowning in piss. Gar’s not the only one who needs a friend to look out for him. Stay. Rest. Forget about Gar’s problems, and Justice Hall, and all the other worries weighing you down. Stay. Your company’s no hardship to me.”

She watched hope flare in his eyes. Felt guilt, and a wicked flaring of her own, and smothered them both. Some of the strain eased from his face. He smiled and her heart turned over. “All right,” he said. “I’ll stay. But only for an hour.”

In the end he stayed two hours, and took his leave in a far better mood than when he’d arrived. He hadn’t chased her away. If anything she seemed closer to him now than she’d

ever been before. As though something inside her had surrendered to the feelings she fought so hard to deny.

He didn’t know why, and he didn’t much care.

She’s mine, she’s mine, and soon I’ll hear her say it.

He jogged back to the Tower, invigorated. Made it all the way up to his suite, had his fingers on the door handle, damn it, when a peremptory voice called out: “Asher! A moment if you please!”

Swallowing a groan, he turned. Darran stood on the landing below him, a frown pulling his face into tight lines of concern.

“Darran, it’s late,” he said, looking down through the staircase railings. “Whatever it is, can’t it wait till morning? I’m fair bloody knackered. What are you still doin’ here anyways? Nix’ll have your guts for garters if you keel over again after all his pills and potions. He’ll say you’re makin’ him look bad.”

“I’m not interested in Pother Nix’s reputation,” replied Darran. “And if it’s all the same to you I’d rather not stand here bellowing like a fishmonger in the markets. Kindly come down to my office where we can converse like civilized men.” Forestalling argument, he disappeared.

Swallowing another groan, Asher trudged downstairs. Just to prove a point he didn’t actually enter Darran’s office but leaned against the doorjamb instead. “You must be feelin’ poorly, callin’ me civilized.”

Darran looked up from behind his desk. “I was being polite.”

“No need to bother on my account.”

“Clearly not,” said Darran snippily. “Now do stop being obstreperous, at least for five minutes. Or is that too much to ask?”

Despite his crushing weariness, Asher grinned. “Prob’ly.” Then, to avoid a tongue-lashing, he did as he was asked. Kicked the door shut behind him and dropped into the nearest chair. “Well?”

Darran steepled his fingers against his chin. “I’m worried about His Majesty.”

He could’ve screamed. “Gar’s fine.”

“He is
not
fine,” said Darran. “He needs a Master Magician.”

“He’s got one.”

“The one he’s got is broken. He needs a new one.”

“He doesn’t want a new one!”

“This isn’t about what he wants, Asher! It’s about what’s best for him!”

Asher got up and started pacing, his heels thumping the carpet as though he were killing cockroaches. All the lovely lingering glow of pleasure from Dathne’s company was vanished. Now he felt prickled and badgered and shoved in a corner, hot and bothered and bullied.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, Darran, I ain’t a Doranen. I can’t snap my magic fingers and make everything all right.”

“Perhaps not, but you can talk to him. Use your dubious influence. Make him see he must—”

“Don’t you think I’ve
tried!”

“Then try harder!”

“How? What d’you want me to do, Darran? Lock him in a room alone with Willer till he begs for mercy and promises anything to be let out again?”

Darran slapped his desk. “If that’s what it takes, yes! Asher, are you blind? Have you seen how dreadful he’s looking?”

“Of course I bloody have.”

“Then
do
something. Don’t you understand? You’re the only person he’ll listen to! In short, I fear you are his only hope!”

“I don’t want to be his only bloody hope!”

“And that makes two of us!” Darran shouted back, surging to his feet. “But what we want is irrelevant! Al that matters is our king!”

Asher threw up his hands. “All right! All right! I’ll do it! Anything to shut you up! Barl’s mercy, you bang away like a bloody woodpecker, don’t you?”

Darran’s lips curved in a mocking smile. Slowly, he sat again. “Given you possess all the sensitivity of a tree stump, I thought it the wisest tactic.”

“Oh, ha ha,” he muttered, and threw himself back in the chair. A fresh headache was building behind his eyes thunderous as a storm.

Now Darran’s smile was mordantly amused. “I hear you’re to preside in judgment at Justice Hall. Extraordi nary. I must say Barl has a strange sense of humor.”

“You’re tellin’ me.”

“Such an undertaking will involve a great deal of preparation. You’ll require assistance.”

“I got assistance.”

Darran pulled a disapproving face. “As a legal expert I’m sure Mistress Dathne makes a very fine bookseller.”

He felt his face heat. “I never said it was Dathne.”

“You didn’t have to. And while I’m sure she performs her duties as Assistant Olken Administrator quite ad equately, clearly this is a very different situation. Therefore, in the interests of not disgracing His Majesty, I shall coach you in the duties and protocols expected of you in

the matter of Glospottle and the Dyers’ Guild. No, no,” he added, lifting a hand. “There’s no need to thank me.”

“Trust me,” Asher said grimly. “I weren’t about to.”

“Have you set a date for the hearing?”

“Not yet.”

“Best to make it sooner rather than later. This ridiculous Glospottle business has dragged on for far too long,” said Darran with a severe sniff. “We can begin work tomorrow morning. After you’ve spoken with the king. Yes?”

He glared. Darran smiled. Still glaring, he stumped out of the ole crow’s office and slammed the door as hard as he could behind him.

The loud bang of timber against timber didn’t relieve his feelings, or help his headache, in the slightest.

He tried to speak to Gar first thing the next morning. But Gar wasn’t in his apartment suite, or the solar, or anywhere in the Tower. Mildly disconcerted, he wandered out to the stables, where he found Ballodair eating breakfast. Which meant the king wasn’t out for an early ride. So where was he?

“What’s amiss?” said Matt, behind him.

He rearranged his expression and turned. “Nowt. Just stretching my legs.”

Matt was grinning. Pulling on his gloves, ready for riding. “I hear your little meeting with Glospottle and the Dyers’ Guild nearly came to blows. Make sure you save me a seat in Justice Hall, eh? I wouldn’t want to miss the sight of you in your crimson robes.”