Borrowed Magic

Table of Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

Twenty-two

Twenty-three

Twenty-four

Twenty-five

Twenty-six

Twenty-seven

Twenty-eight

Twenty-nine

Thirty

Thirty-one

Thirty-two

Thirty-three

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To my family for all their support.

One

The siege had ended. Lord Kern, the
dark mage, was dead.

Maren pushed her forehead against the warm
glass, straining for a better view of the commotion below. A cheer
went up from the crowd, and she searched for any sign of the man
making his way to the castle. The man who’d saved the city – and
the kingdom.

All she could see was a mass of bodies,
crowding the path leading up from the city gates.

It wasn’t uncommon to see people in the
streets of Delorme. They’d come every day for the past two and a
half years, standing in subdued silence as they waited for the
daily rations that grew more and more meager as the weeks went by.
But today the crowd wasn’t silent. Today was different.

The tent cities beyond the wall, once
teeming with soldiers draining the city of life, were now
abandoned, destroyed, thin plumes of smoke the only movement. What
was left of the lush, green fields sat charred and barren.
Desolate.

“Anything?”

Maren jumped back from the window and felt
the color rise to her cheeks.

“It’s all right, Maren,” Adare said, trying
to get her own view of the street below. “We’re all curious. And
you have more right than the rest of us. You knew him better than
anyone.”

The dull, familiar ache in her chest forced
Maren to hesitate until she was sure she could speak without her
voice breaking. Even then, she couldn’t meet the queen’s eyes. “I’m
not sure I knew him at all.”

Adare didn’t comment,
instead turning her attention back to the crowd. “I wish I could be
out there with them. But that would be
beneath my station
.”

Maren managed a small laugh. “But would you
really give it all up?”

Adare thought. “Most of it. But not Daric.
Although what he ever saw in a plain girl with no fortune or
political connections will always be a mystery.”

True, Adare wasn’t beautiful. Her eyes were
too small, her nose too wide, and although her hair was a rich
shade of gold, it neither hung in a beautiful, straight curtain, or
in large, soft curls like Maren’s own. None of that mattered when
she smiled. It was like the sun coming out after a storm. “I think
the king fell in love.”

Now it was Adare’s turn to laugh. “Yes, he
did. Despite all the advice of his Council.” She shrugged. “You
can’t help who you fall in love with.”

No, Maren thought. You can’t.

After another moment, Adare sighed and
stepped away from the window. “They’ll be at the castle within the
hour.”

Maren’s stomach knotted. “I’m not sure I can
do this.”

“Are you all right?” Adare’s brows wrinkled
in concern. “Does it hurt?”

Maren instinctively pulled the fabric of her
dress over her shoulder as far as possible. “No more than normal.
It isn’t that.”

“You’ll have to face him sometime.”

“I know, but it’s been three years.”

Adare’s smile was full of sympathy. “All the
more reason not to put it off any longer.” She paused. “I won’t
order you to come. I’d never order you to do anything. I’m asking.
I can’t stand up there in front of everyone with only the other
ladies. I need you. As a friend.”

Maren kept her eyes lowered. “Daric will be
there.”

“But even he doesn’t understand. He’s been
on display his entire life.” She took a deep breath. “And it’s
easier for him to hide his heartache. Besides, the people love
him.”

The people loved her even more. But Adare
would never believe it.

“I’ll come.”

A dimple appeared at the corner of Adare’s
mouth. “Good. I want to watch his reaction when he sees you.”

Maren managed a weak smile, afraid his
reaction wouldn’t be at all what the queen was expecting.

Maren fidgeted as
she followed Daric and Adare down the threadbare, red carpet of the
Great Hall. The room was already crowded with members of the
nobility and a few commoners who had managed to find a spot. They
pushed up against the walls, whispering, eyes flicking to the doors
at the back of the room, anxious for the first glimpse of their
hero. The excitement in the air was tangible – for everyone except
her. She was nervous and apprehensive, terrified of what the next
few minutes might bring. Even the familiar surroundings didn’t
help. They only reminded her how much had changed.

Everything about the castle had once been
beautiful – stained-glass windows that sparkled in the sunlight,
tapestries prized for their rich colors and intricate detail,
marble laced with slivers of silver. Now only a shadow of that
remained.

A siege took its toll.

And as Maren walked between the
once-glistening marble columns, as she felt the breeze from
glassless windows that brushed against her cheeks and temporarily
pushed away the smell of mildew, her heart ached for all that had
been lost. For all that had been destroyed.

And yet, there was hope.
She saw smiles on the faces around her. Laughter even broke through
the terrified silence that had suffocated the kingdom over the past
two and a half years. There were repairs to be done, buildings to
rebuild, but it
could
be done. Things could go back to the way they were – her
thoughts strayed to the man who waited behind the closed doors – at
least most things.

Daric led the small procession to the front
of the room, took Adare’s hand in his, and smiled at the waiting
crowd. At twenty-seven, he was relatively young for a king. He
wasn’t, however, inexperienced. He’d inherited the throne of
Tredare at sixteen, after Lord Kern had murdered his father.
Daric’s first task had been to capture Kern, seal him in a tomb,
and leave him to die – or whatever it was black mages did. It had
taken two long years, after which the entire kingdom breathed a
sigh of relief. Only Kern had escaped six years later, vowing
revenge on Daric and taking the city hostage. Through it all, Maren
had watched Daric struggle to hold the kingdom together.

She looked at him now, staring out over the
crowd. Over the past three days, the worry lines around his eyes
and across his forehead had softened. They’d never be completely
gone. Some heartaches, some losses, left a permanent mark. But at
least that pain faded. Before she knew it, he’d be teasing her
again. Just like he had for years.

A footman signaled it was time, and she knew
this was her last chance to escape. It would have been the easier
decision. But Adare was right. She’d have to face him sometime.

A second later the doors at the end of the
hall opened, and two men stepped forward, one slightly in front of
the other.

Maren’s breath caught as her eyes glued to
the man in front. Philip. He walked with his shoulders straight and
head held high. His eyes never wavered from his king, apparently
unaware of the murmurs from the crowd on either side.

He’d chosen to wear black, the silver sword
hanging comfortably at his side the only exception. His dark hair
was shorter, his features older, more defined, but his eyes were as
brown as she remembered – like rich soil after the rain. Even his
walk was familiar, the firm, confident stride of a soldier. He was
the handsomest man she’d ever met. Three years had only emphasized
that. He was no longer an adolescent bordering on adulthood. He was
a man. Twenty-three years old and hero of a nation.

Her heart lodged somewhere in her throat and
she forced herself not to flee. Instead she took a step back and
lowered her head, hoping to go unnoticed as long as possible.

Philip reached the end of the carpet and
bowed low. Then he drew his sword, knelt, and presented it to
Daric. “I offer you my allegiance, My King.”

She closed her eyes as a wave of nostalgia
overcame her. His voice evoked too many memories, and even the good
ones brought pain. She mentally shook herself. Today wasn’t about
her. It was about a kingdom that had every reason to celebrate.

Daric took the sword from Philip’s
outstretched hand before presenting it back to him, hilt first. “I
accept your allegiance, Lord Philip, and offer you the gra—”

“How do we know we can trust him?!”

The crowd looked around in confusion,
searching for the person who dared interrupt the king.

He stood on the base of a pillar at the back
of the room. His hair was unruly and stuck out in all directions.
His face was as dirty as his clothing, and there was a slightly
unbalanced look in his eye.

“How do we know Kern is
really dead?” The man pointed an accusing finger at Philip.
“That
he
, Kern’s
own son, really killed him? He doesn’t have magic. How could he do
what no one else could?”

She’d wondered the same
thing over the past few days, but Maren’s immediate reaction was to
defend Philip – even though the small amount of information that
had trickled into the city didn’t offer an explanation that made
sense. They only knew Philip had amassed an army that outnumbered
Kern’s. But Kern had more than just men surrounding the city.
Still, Maren knew Philip’s deep, personal hatred for Kern.
He
must
have
found a way. Even though she’d spent every spare moment for the
past two and a half years searching for that way – and had
failed.

She looked back at Daric. For a moment, he
only stared, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Then he
smiled.

“We can trust Lord Philip because he’s saved
this kingdom. And we know Kern is dead because the thousands of
soldiers who now protect this city are the same soldiers who saw
Kern die. Who helped Lord Philip defeat him.”

Daric nodded to his guard, who quickly but
kindly ushered the man out of the room.

Everyone relaxed, they smiled, their laughs
echoed off the marble walls. Daric was right. Philip was a hero.
Old fears needed to be forgotten.

So why couldn’t she forget?

“Now,” Daric addressed the crowd, and Maren
forced her attention away from Philip, “should we start again?
Hopefully this time without the interruption.”

Daric once again offered Philip his sword.
“I accept your allegiance, and offer you the gratitude of a
nation.”

The crowd erupted in enthusiastic applause.
Daric motioned Philip to stand and then turned him to face the
room. Something Philip seemed uncomfortable with. His smile was
forced, and she could sense his eagerness for it to be over. It was
so unlike Philip, at least Philip from three years ago – popular,
charming, charismatic, winking at her from across the room.