Page 24 of Spar of Hearts

The Queen cleared her throat. “Lord Bryson, please elaborate.”

Damn. He’d been so focused on being curt with Anya he hadn’t considered the optics of his behavior to the King and Queen.

“We flew on Yomira the wyvern. You have met her. Although, not under pleasant circumstances. She is waiting for us behind the arena.”

“Oh!” The Queen straightened. “We have been most rude hosts.” She called for a servant. A Lycanian kitchen hand stepped through the door in an instant.

“Oh, Rupert! Perfect timing. We have a wyvern guest, Yomira. She is staying behind the arena. Kindly make her comfortable at the royal stables. Bring her whatever she wishes for a meal.”

The servant’s nervous canine eyes darted between Anya and the Queen. “How do I do that?”

Roderick set down his fork and knife with a clink. “Allow me to accompany you. I can speak with her and fly her over here. You will be perfectly safe with me.”

The servant’s eyes and shoulders relaxed. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Lord Bryson, would you ask Yomira if she would mind flying the four of you to Balcott?” the King asked.

Anya nearly spat out her mead but saved it with an audible swallow. “You want me to fly on a wyvern?!”

“Balcott?” Roderick tensed. His palms began to sweat. “Why?”

“It would be prudent for both of you to see the epidemic firsthand. We also want to show the residents of Balcott that we are taking this seriously. A visit from the both of you may help.”

A knot formed in Roderick’s throat. Many of the Centarians despised Anya, and told him as much. But the children seemed to adore her, untainted by their parents’ understandable, but negative, opinion. And they were the ones that were ill. If it would lift their spirits, he would make it happen.

Even if it meant seeing Millicent again.

Chapter 11

Anya Delemond

Anya knocked on the double doors of Melusine Manor. A hawk from Marg had arrived with an invitation for tea before Anya even had a chance to brief Blackbird on the upcoming journey. Anya still jumped at the invitation and elected to bring Blackbird with her. Blackbird hummed and rocked back and forth on her heels, while Anya traced her hands over the engraving in the walnut wood as she waited. She’d never looked that closely at them before. They weren’t just swirls and scrolls; they were waves, and between each cresting wave was a horse with a scraggly, seaweed-like mane.

“Kelpie?” she whispered to herself. She’d only heard rumors of them, most recently from Captain Verden, who swore he’d seen an entire school of them a few moons back when the Lupus Star had been blown off course on its way to Gryphon’s Landing, but not a single member of the crew believed him.

The door suddenly swung back from beneath her claws, leaving her hand in the air as she made eye contact with Marguerite Melusine. Her friend’s light violet hair cascaded around her tapered ears, and over the shoulders of her silver double-breasted robe.

“Thank you for coming.” Marg sighed.

“We love seeing you, Marg!” Blackbird said, squeezing Marg in a tight hug. Anya and Blackbird had known Marg since they came of age. Namely, from the moment they watched Marg throw purple mead in the face of an overly-handsy bachelor at the equinox ball.

“Come inside. We can speak privately in my study.” Marg waved her inside and shut the door behind them with a flick of her wrist. The manor looked completely different in the daylight. It was like the masquerade had never happened. The smooth stone that was once cast in soft blue light was now sterile and white like most noble estates that had transcended the aging castles scattered throughout the kingdom. The curtains were flung wide to bathe the space in natural warmth instead of magical luminescence.

Marg’s study was as cozy as it was odd. Mahogany bookshelves lined the walls, but only a few actually held books. Bubbling concoctions, dusty mortars and pestles, and thin glass tubes on wiry metal stands littered the rest of the shelves. A contraption consisting of a series of buckets, gutters, and fine mesh obscured part of the window that faced the sea.

Anya and Blackbird sat on a blue velvet settee, while Marg took the one across from them. After an offering of tea and exchanging of pleasantries, they got down to rehashing the Council session. After some therapeutic venting about Cyrus and Lord Bryson, Anya mustered the courage to ask the question that had begun to bug her even more than Cyrus’s unexpected support.

Anya set her teacup down with a tink. “Marg, how do you use so much magic? In all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you run out of mana. Ever. Not that I doubt your abilities. I don’t mean to offend.”

Marg waved a hand. “None taken. That is precisely why I planned this tea.”

Marg fished in her pocket, then gently set a small cinch bag on the tea table between them. Anya picked it up and loosened the ties. Her eyes widened at the sparkling contents, shining like quartz in the moonlight.

“Mana stones?”

Marg nodded but averted her gaze. Her tapered ears were pinned back.

Anya furrowed her brows. “How did you get so many? This many won’t cure the children, but it will help their symptoms for sure.”