Dead Magic (3 page)

He found the trapped hand first. A little arm in pansy-printed sleeves led up to the seat just beside them. A seat that had come loose and now sandwiched Mirabella's hand to the train floor. Gingerly, slowly, Winslow worked the metal away from her hand. It was more than broken, he realized with a pang of sympathy, it was crushed.

"Mr. Winslow?" Mirabella's voice was closer now, and he could hear the tremble of fear in it.

"Just call me Winslow." He freed the hand and carefully pulled it away from the seat.

"Are you a Witch-Born?"

"Would it matter if I was?" Grunting in effort, he pushed at the metal caging them in, dragging it back and away, and shoving with his shoulder when it got too high.

"I can't imagine an Untalented man staying behind to free me."

"Nonsense. There are some perfectly sensible Untalented men who would do everything they could to save you." His fingers found a shock of curly hair and he breathed in relief. With another two bends and rips he revealed her face and, panting, tried to grin at her. "Hello there, Miss Mirabella. Would you like to get out of the train now?"

She nodded at him, her green eyes blinking.

"Excellent. Scoot closer to me and I'll show you the way out."

Careful not to jostle her mother too much, Mirabella shimmied her way toward him. When she reached the lip of the hole, her eyes grew wide with surprise. He knew she was still in pain; she had to be with her hand the way it was. Still, she didn't cry out when he took her by the arm and lowered her down. Even with his body stretched as far as it would go, it was still a drop, but aside from a small
oof
on impact, Mirabella kept calm.

The mother-Fates be praised-wasn't stuck on anything. Winslow pulled her by the waist, then fought to sling her limp form over one shoulder. When he was confident she was secure, he lowered himself until he dangled from the awkwardly positioned train car.

It really is a drop,
he thought, as he stared past his boots and at the ground. He tried to calculate if his magic could withstand a time-bend, and realized that if he tried that, he'd never recover from it. Grimacing, he took a deep breath and let go.

His still broken foot hit the ground first and he yelped. His body collapsed under the weight of Mirabella's mother and jolts of pain shot up and down his leg. Dizzy sparks overwhelmed his vision when his head smacked into pebbly ground. Dazed, hissing in anguish, Winslow stared up at the underbelly of the train car.

"Mother, Maiden and Crone," he muttered.

She's important.

Elsie tugged on her earlobe, knowing the voice hadn't been audible to anyone else, but feeling self-conscious just the same. Despite the rumors that she was going crazy, Elsie knew this voice; had known it all her life. From the moment she was born, magic had been a part of her, growing with her, sharpening as she'd learn to use the Talent inherent to her race. But until recently, it hadn't manifested itself in such a clear, undeniable way.

Her.

Looking up, Elsie watched Leona escort Ambassador Taven and a mousy-looking woman into the gardens. Since she knew Magic wasn't trying to point out Leona, Elsie focused on the other woman.

Cropped dark-brown hair with tints of red that warmed under the sun curled in disarray around the woman's head. She looked stylish without appearing to fuss over it, which meant there were more important things on her agenda. Dove-gray eyes flicked over the gardens, widening as though she were startled and impressed. There was a bird-like quality to the woman, gentle and small curves in her oval face, a slightly pointed chin, and a mouth that looked a smidgen small, but when taken with the rest of her face was proportioned just right.

As they neared the gondola where the table had been arranged, Elsie relaxed in her lattice chair and surveyed the woman openly. She was, after all, the House Witch of Delgora and did not have to apologize for taking an interest in an uninvited guest.

Whoever had dressed the poor thing should have been shot. The caramel-colored skirt didn't complement her hair and the cream lacing almost exactly matched her skin. Something red would have looked better.

"You've got that displeased look again."

Elsie smiled just as Dorian's hand squeezed her shoulder. She'd known he was coming but hadn't heard his approach. With a fluid movement he bent to kiss her cheek before settling in the chair beside her. For a moment, Elsie allowed herself to bask in the feel of her husband's presence. Reaching out, she took hold of his hand and felt the purr of his magic through his skin. He smiled back at her before turning his attention to the approaching emissary.

"Montgomery Taven." His mouth twitched down and she sensed his annoyance. "No doubt bringing more recriminations from my stepmother."

"He could be here on your father's business." Elsie squeezed his hand in what she hoped was reassurance.

"Father would have come on his own."

They quieted as Leona presented their guests, gesturing first to Montgomery, who gave them a perfect bow in greeting. His copper buttons gleamed in the sunlight and Elsie calculated that his beautiful coat was going to have him sweating before the tea was served. As nice as he looked, the thickly embroidered material wasn't practical for the Delgora tropics.

No,
Elsie thought.
Poor Taven is better suited for the high woodlands of Orzebet House.
Situated on the furthest northern border of Magnellum, Orzebet lands had some of the longest winters around.

"You look splendid, Ambassador Taven," Elsie said. "Those buttons are quite clever."

"You flatter me, Lady Delgora." Montgomery's cheeks flushed, either from heat or pleasure, and he bowed again.

With deliberate movements, Elsie turned to regard the woman beside him. Up close, there was an undeniable shine to her, something unnatural that seemed to warm out through her skin. Elsie met her gaze directly and held it, seeing the anxiousness in her but nothing that could explain the strange glow.

She's Fated
.

Startled, Elsie reflexively tightened her grip on Dorian's hand. She'd never known an Untalented to be Fated before. The Fates normally delved into the lives of the Witch-Born, leaving the Untalented to their own devices. Dorian squeezed her hand back, helping her to focus on propriety again.

"And who is this?" Dorian nodded to the woman in question.

"Ah, I do beg forgiveness. This is Miss Valeda Quinlan of the
Tormey Regular
. She has been a delightful distraction in the waiting hall." Montgomery emphasized the word "waiting", letting them know he was peeved about how long they'd left him.

Elsie ignored the implied accusation.

"The
Tormey Regular
?" Elsie smiled and gestured for them to be seated. "I've read several articles from that distinguished paper."

"You have, my Lady?" Valeda's eyes widened in surprise, but she managed to take her seat beside Montgomery.

"Yes, we Witch-Born do learn how to read, Miss Quinlan." Elsie continued to study the woman, who flushed a painfully bright pink under the scrutiny.

"No, of course, my Lady. I only meant that . . . well, Tormey is so far away. I wouldn't have thought a person of your distinction would have the time to bother." Valeda bit her lower lip, glanced at Montgomery, then Dorian, and finally back to Elsie.

Her mind mapped out Magnellum.
Tormey House,
she thought. Eastern Magnellum. She really didn't know much about the Tormey family. However, those lands were very popular with the Untalented and Elsie had a particular interest in its Universities.

"I take an interest in all of Magnellum, Miss Quinlan," Elsie said. "Isn't that right, Ambassador?"

"It would appear so," Taven said. He was too well-bred to squirm, but she had the distinct feeling that he wanted to. The attention of the table moved to him and Elsie spotted a bead of sweat rolling from his temple. The poor man was sweltering in that coat. If she asked him to, he would likely take the thing off, regardless of the social faux pas that would make. One did not dress down in the company of a Witch.

Elsie felt a wave of humid air pass over her and glanced at the garden. Strong purple and pink hues overwhelmed the greenery in the space, still keeping the jungle feel with the hibiscuses in constant bloom. There was only one bush that looked awkward in the bunch, set nearest to the gondola and small by comparison; a rose bush. Her mother had determined to have one many years ago, but it was Brochan Delgora-Fie, Elsie's father, who had managed to bring a potted rose into the tropics.

Leona kept the thing alive, mostly by her gentle willpower, or so Elsie thought. For years it had been a symbol of pain for Elsie; a dark reminder that the ambitions of men could end in murder. Her heart ached for her parents and she took a deep breath.

"Tell us, Ambassador, what news my stepmother sends." Dorian slouched in his chair.

"Lady Orzebet wishes to meet with you both at Winter Tournament." Taven remained poised but sweating, inclining his head just-so as he made the request.

"We were not intending on going to Winter Tournament," Dorian said, glancing at Elsie.

Elsie's mind went to the ark. Seven long years of construction and they were nearly done. There was an ominous growling in the back of her mind, a warning that they might not be done in time. That she would fail all of them, that she had somehow misinterpreted Magic's guidance, but even as she contended these thoughts, there was a greater fear. The ark was a colossal, sprawling, floatable dome of brass and iron, built to house many people and withstand any assault; and the Fates only knew why she'd had to build it. Magic only told her so much, shedding light only when it pleased him. She wasn't certain if he was just capricious or if he was hiding something from her.

Maybe she really was going crazy.

***

On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the most bizarre, Valeda decided that House Witch Delgora qualified for an eleven. She was beautiful, make no mistake, with the richest, blackest, shiniest hair Valeda had ever laid eyes on, and exotically curved features offset by lush eyelashes, perfectly arched eyebrows and a full mouth that seemed always to be half-smiling. But there was something preoccupied in the steady, umber gaze the woman sent her, something that made Valeda nervous.

Rumor had it that Elsie spent time as a Bedim Assassin prior to her ascension to House Witch. The league of assassins that plagued Magnellum for so long had suddenly disappeared from society-again, some eight years ago, around the time that Magic, the man-god, had last been seen. No one could say how or why they had gone and the noble Houses of Magnellum were just as tight-lipped about it as they were about the matter of Magic Himself.

With House Witch Delgora steadily appraising her from across the table, Valeda swallowed hard and tried to remember the last time an Untalented had been assassinated for political reasons.

By Fates! What was I thinking, travelling all this way for a story no one wants me to tell. It's ludicrous!

"We're in the middle of a project that requires special attention," Dorian said.

Consort and husband to the House Witch, Saldorian Dominic Gregorian Delgora-Feverrette was as much of a mystery to Valeda as his wife. While there was nothing peculiar about his direct gaze or his cagey smile, Lord Dorian had a manner about him that would not be crossed. His steely gray eyes remained fastened on poor Monty, who did a commendable job at dancing through the delicate politics at their table.

What Valeda knew about the people before her was a matter of public record. Saldorian Delgora-Feverrette was the son of Lord Rorant Orzebet and Lady Jessamine Feverrette, who had a scandalous affair in spite of the fact that Jessamine was married at the time. Lord Dorian's stepmother, Lady Minne Orzebet, was the leading contender against his marriage to House Witch Delgora, which made the request Monty had delivered less than friendly.

"Vicaress Leona assured me that your project was of the utmost importance," Monty said. "Otherwise you would not have left me for two full days without explanation. But nothing could be more important than representing Delgora at the Winter Tournament."

Valeda shifted in her seat and wondered where the tea was. She thought she might be more comfortable if she could bury her face in a cup and pray they forgot she was there. Beside the table was a small serving cart covered with a clean linen cloth, but there was no servant nearby to manage the tea. She could see the telltale lumps of carafe, cups and other such utensils beneath the cloth and frowned, wondering what they were waiting for.

"Thank you, Ambassador Taven, for your concern about Delgora House affairs," Lord Dorian said and leaned back in his chair. "I'm sure Winter Tournament will get along just fine without us."

Monty blustered, finally losing his composure. "But . . . will you send anyone at all?"

Elsie suddenly lifted her right hand to tug at her earlobe. Valeda blinked, startled to see that the Witch was wearing one long, sateen glove that stretched all the way to her shoulder. It was ivory, matching the breezy dress that Valeda hadn't noticed until that moment, but notable since it was the only glove the woman was wearing. Even if gloves were in fashion-which Margaretta would have made certain Valeda knew-the humidity in Delgora made the thing unnecessary.

The House Witch gently pinched her earlobe, looking distracted from the argument at the table.

"We hadn't discussed sending anyone," Lord Dorian said.

"But the Tournament is three months away!"

"Tell Lady Orzebet that we will be happy to entertain her at Delgora House during the Tournament," Elsie said.

Lord Dorian stiffened, sending his wife a sharp glance.

"We cannot guarantee when we will arrive and we certainly won't stay for long, but we will make an appearance." The House Witch stood up suddenly and Valeda gasped at the speed with which the men moved to follow her.

Realizing that she was the only one still seated, Valeda blushed and carefully got to her feet. All eyes were on her, she knew, but she was captivated by the gaze of Elsie Delgora. There was a troubled look to the woman, something that made Valeda shiver in apprehension.