A Muddle of Magic. Alexandra Rushe
have an antiquated attitude toward sorcery. No point in causing a stir. Watch.” Brefreton touched the green stone on his chest. “Depart.”
His wizard stone wavered and vanished.
“Now, you try.”
Raine placed her hand on the brown stone. “Um…go away…please?”
Nothing happened.
“Reba’s girdle, girl, you’ve got to be more forceful than that. Try again and be firm. A talisman has a mind of its own, and it’s imprinted on you. Show it who’s in charge.”
Raine nodded and touched her wizard stone again. “Scram. Beat it. Vamoose.”
Her wizard stone shrieked in protest and disappeared.
Brefreton scowled and lowered his hands from his ears. “One command would have sufficed. Moderation, my dear girl, that’s the key to good magery.”
“Sorry,” Raine said, blushing. “Bree, about the furies. What happens if a ship tries to enter the bay without a seal?”
Brefreton gave her a steady look and arched a brow.
“You mean—” Raine gasped. “How awful.”
“Furies have to eat, same as you and me,” Brefreton said. “We should be safe. Still, I’d keep away from the rail, if I were you.”
Chapter 6
A Royal Mess
They sailed up the meandering inlet and into a sheltered harbor deep in the mountains. Cottages tumbled down the dusky, wooded slopes to the water’s edge. A winding road from the village disappeared into the tree-studded hills. At the lip of the rocky harbor was a wide stone pier. A group of horsemen waited on the dock, their mounts stamping in impatience. At the head of the troop, a tall, heavily muscled man with long, blond hair sat astride a wicked-looking stallion. The rowan—his air of command was unmistakable.
Gertie stood at the starboard side of the ship talking to Raven. She stiffened when she saw the pale-haired warrior on the fearsome charger and let out a joyful bark. The sound carried across the water, and the rowan jerked in surprise. Raising his hands to his lips, he gave an answering howl. With a happy rumble, Gertie dove into the lake and darted through the water, a wafting flicker of red in the lucent green.
The troll reached the landing and heaved her dripping bulk onto the wharf. She shook like a wet dog, water spraying from her furry body. The horses nickered in alarm, but the rowan held his steed in an iron grip. He leapt to the ground with the ease of a young man and crossed the quay. The warriors accompanying him got control of their startled mounts and quickly followed suit, engulfing Gertie in a friendly crush.
“She’s missed him,” Glory said, gliding up to Raine. “She hasn’t been to the Citadel in years.”
“Why not?”
“She and Hedda don’t agree.”
“You mean the scandal? Mauric told me.”
“There was no truth to it,” Glory said. “A chambermaid and a member of the rowan’s guard were . . . amorously engaged and saw Hedda slip into Raven’s room. Moments later, they were found together. Raven was fully clothed and out cold from drink, but the rumors spread, and the damage was done.”
“Why would she do such a thing? It must have ruined her marriage.”
“ʼTwas ruined already. Hedda used the same trick to become queen—waited until the rowan got roaring drunk and seduced him. They were found abed together. Hedda comes from a powerful northern family. There was an uproar and the rowan was forced to marry her, but Gorne Lindar does not yield easily to the bridle. From all accounts, their union is an unhappy one, and has been from the start.”
Raine puzzled over this. “I don’t understand. She’s the queen. Why create another scandal?”
“Power. Raven is a warrior of great renown. He had the confidence and loyalty of his men, and the rowan’s ear. With Raven driven to sea by the gossip, Hedda insinuated her kin into the king’s inner circle. More importantly, she drove a wedge between the rowan and Gertie.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Think on it. Hedda is a beautiful woman. Yet, despite her charms, her husband prefers the company of a troll.”
Gertie said something, and the rowan threw back his head and laughed.
“He does seem fond of Gertie,” Raine said, observing the exuberant reunion on the wharf. “They all do.”
“Oh, my, yes,” Glory said with a touch of asperity. “Everybody loves Gertie, with a few notable exceptions. She’s ugly and foul mouthed, irascible and rude, she drinks and smokes to excess, but people adore her, though it’s a mystery to me why.”
Raine shot Glory a look of dislike. . “Here’s an idea. Maybe people love Gertie because she’s not a joy suck and a know-it-all.”
“Meaning?”
“You’re so smart. You figure it out.”
Glory drew herself up, her eyes blazing. “Ungrateful brat, I should have left you to drown.”
She turned and stalked away, twitching like an angry cat.
Raine gaped at her for a moment, then started after her. “Glory, wait!”
But the Storm had reached the wharf and the gangplank lowered with a creak. Radiating fury, Glory left the ship with Brefreton, striding ashore without looking back.
Stunned, Raine watched the seer depart. Glory had saved her from the river? Raine’s thoughts spun back to the night her parents had died. She’d been four years old, and they were returning home from the county fair. Raine sat in the backseat nursing the beginnings of a tummy ache from too much cotton candy. The drone of her parents’ conversation was pleasant, and her eyelids drooped. Her mother’s scream had startled her awake. A tall, leathery figure stood on the bridge in front of their sedan, gaunt and black as a crow in the headlights. The thing unfurled its huge, skeletal wings and the windshields shattered, covering Raine in bits of glass. The heavy car was lifted like a toy and slammed into the guardrail. With a rending screech, the metal gave way and the front end of the car teetered over the edge. It hung there, suspended for a sickening moment, then plunged into the river.
The car sank, and the dark water had rushed in, hungry and rapacious, washing over Raine and tossing her small body about. Suddenly, the interior of the sedan was filled with a glimmering light, and Raine was yanked from the submerged automobile to the surface of the river. She emerged, disoriented and crying, and gasping for breath. The same unseen force towed her ashore, where she crawled onto the sandy bank, whimpering and shivering.
“Hush, child, it watches still.” The soft, musical whisper came out of the velvety blackness. “I will tell you when ʼtis safe to stir.”
Sometime later, an elderly couple had found Raine sitting in the middle of the bridge, wet, muddy, and suffering from exposure and shock. The river was dragged, and her parents’ bodies were recovered.
“Had to ʼuv been driving like a bat outta hell to go through the guardrail like that,” the sheriff had pronounced at the funeral the following week. “And with a kid in the car, reckless sumbitch.”
Raine had tried to tell them that her daddy wasn’t reckless. She’d tried to tell them about the crow and the angel who’d plucked her from the river, but no one would listen.
The ‘crow,’ hadn’t been a crow at all. It had been a demon named Xai, sent by the Dark Wizard to kill Raine, and her rescuer had been Glory, not an angel, as she’d imagined. If not for Glory—insufferable, grandiloquent, priggish Glory—Raine would have died along with her parents.
A noise from the pier drew Raine from her thoughts. Brefreton and Glory had reached the dock and