Death of a Darklord (5 page)

“Can I turn around now?” Konrad’s voice was thick with scorn.

Elaine seemed too tired to notice. “Yes,” she said.

Konrad turned around. His darkly handsome face was set in a frown. Because he was looking for it, Blaine saw the wince in Elaine’s eyes. It distressed her that Konrad frowned at her. Darn. That Konrad’s opinion mattered to her that much bothered Blaine. It was silly, but he was jealous. The moment he realized it, Blaine pushed it away from him. He let it go. If the dour Konrad could bring his sister happiness, then who was he to complain? Of course, if Konrad hurt her, that was a different matter. Keeping one’s sister safe was a brother’s job, wasn’t it?

Konrad pulled back the covers. Elaine drew the robe closed over her gown. Without being asked, he picked up her slippers from the floor and slipped them on her stockinged feet. It was a curiously intimate gesture.

He tied the robe’s sash with abrupt hands, as though she were yet a child.

Two bright spots of color burned on Elaine’s cheeks. She was careful not to look directly at Konrad’s face; she couldn’t bear to meet his eyes.

He lifted her in his arms, as if she weighed nothing. Elaine put her arms around his neck, face pressed against his shoulder. She looked pale and ill and lovely in Konrad’s arms. And entirely too much at home for Blaine’s liking.

“Can you make the stairs by yourself, Blaine? If not, I can come back up and help you down.”

Blaine shook his head. “I can make it.” He would make it down the stairs by himself, or with someone else’s help. Blaine would have taken anyone’s help in the house before Konrad Burn’s, right now.

Konrad nudged the door open and walked out with Elaine in his arms. He never glanced back or asked again whether Blaine
needed help. Blaine had said no. It would never occur to Konrad it might not be true.

Blaine levered himself up from the chair, hopping, leaning on the heavy frame. A sharp pain slapped him every time he jarred his injured leg. His arm hurt with a persistent, bone-numbing ache. A crutch with cloth wrapped around the top leaned against the wall. He grabbed it and placed it under his arm. It was his crutch, carved for his height. Monster fighting tended to be hard on a body. As Tereza said, they were all temporarily able-bodied.

Blaine hobbled out the door. Konrad and Elaine were out of sight down the stairs. He balanced a moment in the empty hallway, letting the pain in his leg subside. It hurt to stand with the leg dangling, but it hurt much more to move.

He stood, getting his breath back, preparing himself to hop down the stairs. It had been childish to refuse Konrad’s help. He would pay for it in pain. But it was his pain, his privilege not to accept help from the man who made his sister’s eyes flinch. He doubted Konrad even realized how Elaine felt. Blaine wasn’t sure if that made things worse or better. Probably neither.

He balanced at the head of the stairs, one hand tight on the bannister. A deep breath, and he took the first step. The pain flared up his leg like fire. By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, he would be nauseated, weak, and feeling almost as badly as Elaine. What price, pride?

Blaine hopped another step down, gritting his teeth to keep from crying out. He’d make the same choice again. A slow, unreasonable anger had settled in his heart against one Konrad Burn.

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hair was white as snow, his face dominated by a yellowish beard and a beaklike nose. He smiled at Elaine, gray eyes gentle.

Elaine sat in a chair on the other side of the fire. Mala had put another cup of tea in her hands. The cook was a great believer in the restorative powers of tea.

The man was also sipping tea. A plate of cookies balanced on his knees. It was the treatment any guest would receive, except that most guests would have been seen in the parlor.

Jonathan stood in the middle of the floor, arms crossed, frowning, staring at the stranger. He stood like a guard. Apparently, the kitchen was good enough for this particular guest.

Tereza sat at the table with Konrad and Blaine. They were the audience. Whether they were here to see a real live mage or to witness what Jonathan would do in the presence of one was unclear. It was certainly going to be entertaining either way.

“I am Gersalius, a wizard. I am told you have some magic of your own, Elaine.”

She glanced at Jonathan’s scowling face. “I don’t think of it as magic.”

The mage settled back in the chair, one hand steadying the plate of cookies. “Then what do you call it?”

She shrugged. “Just visions.”

“Tell me about these … visions,” Gersalius said.

Elaine sipped the hot tea, not sure what to say. “Do you want me to describe them?”

“If you like.”

She narrowed her eyes, trying not to frown. Jonathan was doing enough of that for everyone. But the mage was being … frustrating.

“What do you want of me?”

“To help you.”

“How?”

“For someone who has magical abilities, you are very suspicious.”

Elaine looked down. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Enough of these word games,” Jonathan said. “Can you help her or not?” He stood over them like a tall, disapproving cloud.

“Mr. Ambrose, if Elaine had fallen ill and you had called in a doctor, would you be telling him how to do his job?”

“So far, you have done nothing.”

Gersalius sighed. “The girl has magic powers. She sparkles to the eye that can see it.”

“She has visions; that is all.”

Gersalius stood, tea and cookies in hand. “If you insist on arguing with me at every point, I cannot help her.”

“Good, then go,” Jonathan said.

Tereza said, “Jonathan.” That one word held something hard, almost threatening.

Jonathan turned to her. “He has done nothing but speak in riddles since he entered our house.”

“You have not allowed him to do much of anything, Jonathan.”

“Elaine is not a mage.”

“Jonathan,” Tereza’s voice was gentle but firm, “she nearly died today. It was her vision that nearly killed her. The visions are magic of some kind. We need to know what happened.”

“She is not a mage,” he said.

“And if she is?” Tereza asked.

Jonathan closed his mouth with an audible snap. He turned away from them all.

Elaine huddled in the chair, the tea forgotten in her hands. Would he send her away if she were a mage? Would she be cast out of the only home she’d known?

Mala came up behind her, placing her hands on Elaine’s shoulders. “You’ll not be sending her away.”

“If we’re not wanted,” Blaine said, “we can go.” His voice was warm with anger. He was struggling to his feet.

“Sit down, Blaine,” Konrad said. “No one is sending Elaine away.” His voice was very firm when he said it.

Elaine turned in the chair to see. Konrad’s green eyes were sparkling, the lines in his face tight with anger.

Would he have been this outraged over anyone’s leaving, or was this especially for her? Elaine’s face lit with a heat that had nothing to do with the potential loss of her home.

Tereza stood up. “Jonathan, you had better make yourself very clear on this issue.”

He spread his hands wide. “Well, of course, Elaine will stay, no matter what. This is her home.” But there was something
in his voice that made Elaine shrink against the chair back. A hesitation, as if he had more to say but left it unspoken. If she were indeed a mage, Jonathan would never make peace with it. Not really.

She didn’t want to be a mage. The visions were bad enough.

“Sit down, Gersalius,” Tereza said. “Jonathan and I were just leaving so you could get on with your work.”

Jonathan opened his mouth to protest. She stopped him with a small gesture. “We need to talk, Husband. And the wizard needs to see to Elaine.”

She rarely called him husband. When she did, it was usually the beginning of a quarrel, or at least a disagreement.

Jonathan stood very straight. “If you say so, Wife.” Anger was plain in his voice.

“I say so.” She left the room first, and he followed.

There was silence for a time, then Gersalius sat down and said, “Describe one of your visions for me, Elaine. Please.”

Elaine sipped her tea. She didn’t want to talk to the wizard. It wasn’t just wanting to avoid strife. Jonathan had taught them well. Magic could be useful, but it was easily turned to evil.

“I don’t want to do magic,” she said softly.

Gersalius’s smile widened. “Child, magic is not a choice. I have known men who wanted more than life itself to do magic but had not the talent. You cannot force magic into your body, nor can you rid yourself of it if it is a natural ability.”

“I have seen people who bargained with evil things to gain magic,” she said.

“That is not natural magic, Elaine. That is abomination.”

“Magic is magic.”

“Those are not your own words, child.”

She stared down into her cup. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Elaine, magic—true magic—is not intrinsically evil. It is like a sword. The steel itself has no leaning to good or evil. It is the hand that wields the sword that dictates whether it will be used for good or evil. The weapon itself is neutral.”

“But …” She searched his face, trying to find something that was not there. She could sense no trace of evil about him. Elaine wasn’t sure she had ever been around a wizard that didn’t bear some taint.

“You can feel I mean you no harm.”

“Yes.”

“It is magic that allows you to detect whether I am telling the truth or not.”

She shook her head. “I can’t always tell who’s lying and who isn’t.”

“With practice you could.”

“Can you?”

He grinned. “Most of the time. There are those with greater powers than my own. They can fool me from time to time.”

“Magic is unreliable.”

“Everything is unreliable, from time to time.”

A small smile flashed across Elaine’s face before she could stop it.

“See, not so bad,” he said.

Elaine swallowed the smile, but couldn’t quite chase away the warmth that had accompanied it.

Mala refilled Elaine’s mug without asking. She motioned to the mage. “Would you like some more, sir?”

“Yes, please.” He held out his mug. He offered her the empty cookie plate, as well.

“Would you like some more sweets?”

“Some more of those excellent cookies would be quite nice.”

Mala blushed and dropped a rough curtsey. It wasn’t as though Mala weren’t complimented on her cooking often by the entire household.

Elaine watched the plump cook hurry away. Did Harry the stableman have a rival? No, that was silly. Mala would know that Jonathan would never let a wizard court her.

Elaine’s stomach clenched in a cold, icy knot. Would Jonathan be able to abide a wizard under his own roof? Even if it were her?

Mala returned with a plate of cookies for both of them. She set it on a little stool before the fire.

“Thank you, Mala,” Gersalius said.

Mala giggled.

A mere thank you, and she giggled. Elaine had never seen the cook like this, not even around Harry.

Mala left to stir something at the stove. The back of her neck was red with a blush of pleasure.

Was the mage that charming, or was it a spell? Elaine wanted to ask but didn’t want to embarrass Mala.

Gersalius sipped his tea and looked at Elaine. There was a twinkle in his eye that seemed to say he knew what she was thinking.

“Do you know what I’m thinking right now?”

“Yes, but it is not magic.”

“How, then?”

He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Your body posture was very disapproving when your cook catered to me just now. Your face is like a mirror, child. Every thought chases across it.”

She frowned at him. “I don’t believe that.”

“You don’t want to believe it,” he said. “The thought that your thoughts, your feelings, are so easily read by a stranger frightens you.”

She opened her mouth to deny it, but didn’t. It wasn’t so much the mind-reading mage that bothered Elaine, but the others. Did Konrad know how she felt? Did everyone? Was she that transparent?

“I am a very noticing kind of person, Elaine. Most people aren’t, even people that see you every day. In fact, I have found, people that have watched you grow up are often oblivious to you. You know what they say, ‘familiarity breeds invisibility.’ ”

“I thought it was, ‘familiarity breeds contempt.’ ”

“Well, yes, maybe it was, but I don’t think he has contempt for you, do you?”

“You are reading my mind,” she said. She sat very straight, hands gripping her mug tight.

“Perhaps I am, a little. The fact that you are an untrained mage makes it easier for me. Strong emotions are also easier to decipher.”

Elaine’s hands trembled. Hot tea sloshed onto her skin. Mala darted forward, scooping the mug from her hands and dabbing at the spill with a clean towel. “Have you burned your hands?”