Page 39 of The Consort's Curse
But this man was dangerous, and he’d helped murder my father and uncle, and I hated him, and he terrified me no matter what Duke Lucian’s policy on executing fifteen-year-olds might be. If Lord Ettori wanted to hurt me, he’d find a way, as last night had proved. Swallowing hard, I perched on one end of the sofa he’d waved at, and he took a much more relaxed seat on the next cushion. Too close.
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Stefan has spent a great deal of time away from home since you married, Remi. More than I’d think proper for a bridegroom. I believe he went out on your wedding night, even. On the evening that you visited us for dinner, you made quite a show, but I’m afraid I’m not a fool.”
My heart sank. Had it been worth it, horrifying his lady wife and infuriating him with my impertinence? Would the Lord Chancellor have resorted to a public poisoning if I hadn’t been quite so rude? Or had that been my punishment as well as a practical way to achieve his goal?
I believe he went out on your wedding night…and Lord Ettori was having the house watched. Of course. The interval between Stefan leaving the house this morning and this visitation had been just sufficient for a spy posted in sight of the door to run and alert his master.
“My husband has spent a great deal of time with me,” I said, knowing that I’d left too long a pause and hoping he’d attribute it to fear and stupidity. Some evil genius made me add, “He even escorted me to my first ball last night. It was magical.”
The man standing by the window let out a short cough, and Lord Ettori’s nostrils flared, beard and eyebrows seeming to bristle at me. Nowthatwould be magic, to make them move on their own. My turn to choke down a cough.
“Speaking of magic,” Lord Ettori said smoothly, “I wished to discuss that with you.”
Oh, thank the gods. What would I have done if he’d demanded that I pull down my breeches for an inspection instead? Right now I had Stefan’s protection, at least when he stayed home to give it, but a brawl in which the Lord Chancellor and his mage tried to take my pants off by force while every servant in the house came running would cause a scandal everyone in Nevaia would relish. Stefan’s anger might be enough to destroy our fragile truce.
“I understand that mages who’ve suppressed their powers for too long often have trouble recovering them,” Lord Ettori went on. “I’ve been worried about you, Remi. I would like to see you access your magic. To put my mind at ease on several fronts.”
The urge to light his beard on fire rose up anew. No, that would be at least as scandalous.
“I don’t know what to do, though,” I said, falling back on honesty.
At the thought of doing anything with my magic, my breath came faster and my heart pounded, but a strange stillness had filled my center, like cool water welling up into a mountain pool. My fingers itched. My body obviously knew more than I did, but I still had to direct it. All of the books on magic I’d read had told me that precise focus on the goal was required for successful magic use.
“Most mages begin by summoning light or a spark.” I turned to the man in the corner, startled by the sound of his voice; I’d almost forgotten him. He cleared his throat. “Focus on a light, perhaps. It’s less dangerous, especially indoors.”
The robes and his knowledgeable tone…the Lord Chancellor had brought along not just a mage, but an expert witness. No, this man left nothing to chance.
And they were both staring at me expectantly.
This would be the perfect moment for the front door to open and Stefan to stride inside and demand an explanation.Help me, Ennolu!
The house remained as quiet as a tomb. Right. That had been predictable.
“Hold your hand out, palm up,” the mage continued. “Feel your power move in a conduit to your hand, and let it collect there, like water filling a bowl. And think of a light in the darkness, or something showing you the way. Find a mental image that will support the intention.”
Too bad that this mage belonged to Lord Ettori, and that I couldn’t make real use of his tutelage; his soothing voice and easy-to-follow explanations would’ve been wonderful as I explored my magic for the first time.
Of course, that presumed I’d keep using it. Didn’t I intend to take my potion again in two days? Yes. I did. Of course I damn well did.
My magic tremored. I firmly told it to knock it off. And then I closed my eyes and did as the mage had instructed, holding my hand out and letting that cool reservoir of magic course up through my shoulder, trickle down through conduits in my arm I’d never known were there, and gather in my upturned palm, invisible but tangible, like mist.
The first thing that came to mind was a candle flame, but the mage had a point. Much as I wished I had the precise control to set only my guests on fire, I’d be more likely to burn the house down.
Instead, I fixed an image of the moon in my mind: brilliant, but chilly and remote and not at all likely to ignite anything.
Nothing seemed to happen…and then the Lord Chancellor let out a soft but audible gasp, and I felt it, a tingle in my skin and a coalescence of that cool magic.
I opened my eyes. And there, hovering over my outstretched hand, floated a delicate glowing silver-white globe no larger than a plum.
“Very good, Lord Remigius,” the mage said. “I’m impressed. Usually a mage in your condition can only produce a little flash of light.”
In my condition? He made it sound as if Stefan had gotten me pregnant, not simply taken my virginity! Of course, if he’d taken a woman as thoroughly as he’d taken me, with his thick cock opening up spaces within that no man had ever touched, spending his seed so deeply…
Those muscles I hadn’t realized I had before Stefan stretched them gave a quick, tight clench at the thought, and heat flooded into my cheeks. The tiny moon vanished in a puff of vaporous silver.
“I’m not in any sort of condition,” I sputtered. “Obviously!”
I’d have expected Lord Ettori to chastise me for my rudeness to his mage, but instead he smiled. Broadly, and with something horribly like charm. And despite the shiver that ran through me at the sight—if I’d pleased him, that had to be bad for me in some way, and gods, why did he want confirmation of this so obsessively?—for a moment I understood why Lady Estella had married him. When he’d been young and presumably happy, he must’ve been nearly as handsome as my husband.
