Lost Magic (The Swift Codex Book 3) (29 page)

“Milady, can you stand?” Valerin asked.

My entire body was numb and unresponsive. Eventually I worked myself up onto my elbows but I felt so heavy. Arms encircled me and Valerin picked me up. As he tucked the cloak around my body, the other man said, “Issa. I would speak with you.”

“I did not know they would be watching for me, or I would have put us a little farther from the settlement,” Valerin said as he walked. To my satisfaction, he seemed to have a bit of difficulty managing my weight. Mordon may tease from time to time, but he did enough lifting in the shop and around the colony to not find me heavy.

Was it vines or moss which slid over my chest and flipped down behind us? It was damp, the whole place had become very humid, but not slimy, yet to look at the dangling vine-thing I thought they appeared remarkably like the seaweed in tropical fish photos. Parrots flew between branches of trees as big as those in the Wildwoods, trees so tall I couldn't see sky beyond their canopy. Water fell from rocks into crystalline pools, orchids and cyclamens and passionflower vines grew in the manicured gardens all around. A statue of St. Peter stood on a mossy bank surrounded by marble miniatures of various forms of animal life. Valerin bent over the edge of the pool.

I seized his orange prisoner shirt, clinging for dear life. If he dropped me I didn't know if I could surface on my own. He rocked back and sat at the water's edge, tipping his bare feet into the water, then my own. Too hot. It burned my skin. As soon as the chill had left my toes, I realized that the water wasn't that scorching, after all. Valerin sat on a ledge in the pool, taking me with him, soaking our clothes. Though I wasn't going to complain now, I hated the feel of wet clothes sticking to my skin. The grouchiness left as the water both made me feel lighter and less achy.

Soon as I felt life in my limbs, I slipped out of his lap and sat beside him, putting a little distance between us. Valerin acted as if he hadn't noticed, but I suspected it was him taking my rejection in good grace. After avoiding even looking at him out of the corner of my eye, something darted in the water. I turned—and froze. The wind rustled through the leaves of the trees and my fingers tightened on the ledge.

It had emerged from one of the underwater statuettes and it was either a trick of the ripples of the water, or it was approaching me. The arm-length thing was dark and looked like a snake with fins, an eel perhaps, and when I thought eel, I thought of nasty teeth. Were the more of them, just waiting to come out beneath the ledge I sat on? Trying not to shriek, I drew my legs up and involuntarily leaned into Valerin.

The eel-snake thing streaked for me, revealing glimpses of spines on its fins, its bright orange-black-yellow coloring threatening toxicity.

“Brave, come here,” Valerin said, putting his arm over my shoulders and outstretching his hand at the same time. The eel-snake thing flipped through the water, changing its course for the offered fingers. It promptly coiled itself around his arm from wrist to elbow. “There we are,” Valerin said, lifting it out of the water to show me what it was.

Snake and eel weren't exactly correct. Sea monster in its miniature form was better. It had the head of a sea horse, the scales of a snake, the overall body of an eel. Its fins fell to its side when out of water and expanded into waving curtains of brilliant color when put back under the surface.

“Ever seen a sea serpent before?” Valerin asked. I shook my head, embarrassed at the way I'd sought him out for protection. “This one is Brave. He has twenty-eight siblings who are hiding. They don't care for strangers. We got them on an adoption program from the Care for Creatures in Distress, their parents had disappeared and left them stranded. They were the length of my finger when they first moved in. It wasn't until they were the size of my hand that they spoke up and I learned they all had names. You have to listen. They don't speak much.” Valerin brought Brave close and I tentatively offered a finger. The sea serpent nudged his nose under my finger. “Rather like you.”

Blushing, I wanted to withdraw. “I talk a deal too much at times.”

“I wish you'd talk too much to me.” Valerin eased his arm off my shoulders, putting it on the rim of the pool behind me instead. I relaxed marginally. “I know I did not make the best impression, being not only in the dungeon for trying to kidnap you, but also for summoning you to break me out. Then everything that came after. Worst initial introduction I've ever made. It is not representative of my character.”

Brave was making an eventual trek from Valerin's arm to my hand, trying to be casual about it. I smiled, mulling over what Valerin had told me and analyzing the why of it. At present everything he'd said and done could be interpreted as him setting the record straight, but was there an undertone beneath it?

“I am impressed with what you've done with such a poor hand,” Valerin continued. I nodded, accepting the observation, but waiting to see where he'd take the conversation from here. “Is there anything I can do to get you to speak?”

I raised my eyes to meet his. “I need to let my coven know if I'm safe.”

“Don't you mean
that
you're safe?”

“Am I?”

Valerin smiled to hide the sadness in his expression. It didn't work for him. He said, “You're safe. The man you saw earlier was Julius Septimus. I know he's keen to speak with you about Josephina, but he's wise enough to wait until you feel secure.”

Questions warred in my head. I picked what Mordon would call the most obtuse first. “Am I a prisoner to be exchanged?”

“What?” Valerin tensed, sending Brave from his arm to my own. Quickly Valerin understood the reasoning behind my assumption. “Absolutely not. You're a friend. Free to leave.”

“I didn't feel free to leave when you prevented me from picking my own course.”

“There's nothing down there. I was thinking you'd want civilization, but I forgot that...”

“That I'm fey enough to take accommodations in the woods?” I sighed. “Forget about it. We are here, and you do not seem to be who I thought you were an hour ago. But if I am a friend, not a 'guest', free to do as I will, then I would like the soul gem returned to me.”

Valerin twisted his hair around a finger. From my perspective he had no more right to it than I did, though Julius Septimus probably had the first claim to it in the end. Valerin said, “As you wish it, milady. Please lift up your shirt.”

I didn't grace him with anything but a look which clearly stated my opinion on that request.

His cheeks tinged when he realized his error. “Up to your ribcage, the gems are worn within the navel to keep them close.”

That would explain why it hadn't been secured into any jewellery setting in Josephina's ashes. With a sea serpent wrapped around my forearm, I rolled my shirt up quietly. Valerin brought out the stone, worked it free from the chain, and placed the gem in my hand. I'd made him nervous, I realized as he avoided touching me. Given my side of the conversation, it was no wonder he was timid.

He licked his lips when it was in place. “Do you know how to use it, milady?”

“Not the foggiest idea.”

“You have experience with trinkets. It is very similar to any of them. Its primary function is to retain and store raw energy. During times of need, you draw from it, and in other times, it takes energy from you to recharge itself. They're special stones, created from energy. Only during an Assembly of the First Order can they be made, and then only by the phoenixes themselves. It's a great honor to be gifted one.”

Experimentally, I pulled strength from the stone. Warmth spread from my belly out to my skin and toes. Not that I wanted to draw a lot, just enough to feel steady again. Beneath my stare, Valerin was solid and seemed honest. Giving me the stone was quite the vote of confidence.

“Wolds, I want to burn a letter. To let them know I didn't die a horrible death in the dungeons.”

“Of course,” Valerin said, getting up. “Come with me.”

Retro-inspired ultra modern was the interior decorating style of the Settlement. Black and white checkered marble tile served as the main activities room, one where the couches didn't take up a lot of space. Talon scratches marred the center of the place, and I wondered what they did to create those marks. Wrestling? Games? I sat on the edge of the couch and wrote on the stationary provided by a shy yet watchful teenager who bore a resemblance to Valerin. Brother or cousin, those were my guesses.

One thing I was not prepared for in this settlement was how very bright it was. Sunlight reflected off of every surface—the glossy grounds, the blanket of fog which rolled in with every change to a stormfront. Additionally, it wasn't very hot. A little on the cool side, in my opinion, but the Selestianis were clearly not bothered by it in the least bit. I watched children outside as a teacher gave what seemed to be a practical demonstration of velocity by dropping a ball from various heights into a box of sand.

What to write, what to write. How to not frighten them yet also not make it sound like I'd had a grand vacation. Realizing that they might not have been told the right version of the story—for all I knew the crooked wardens had claimed that I had a choice in the prison break—I decided to start with the beginning.

Nest – I am sending this to you. I don't know if Mordon's mail is being spied-upon. Please give this to him.

Message below.

Coven,

I am alive and seem to be in a safe place. Not hurt though my shoulder, the one Mordon fixed in the Wildwoods, does ache and I'm wondering if it might have been re-injured. Will ask after it.

A quick account. After Barnes and Leif and The Warden Who Escorted Us left me to enter the Prisoner's cell alone, all was well for a time. The Prisoner has not threatened me in any way. But at one point the cell had unwanted visitors who were out of all control. As the outermost ward had a distortion on it, I waited until that had been removed in order to see who had come for me. There were five wardens wearing brown uniforms and a lot of prisoners. I think the number was about forty. I felt intimidated and threatened by them, and took refuge in the middlemost ward. Barnes had previously mentioned that Blackwings would kill the Prisoner in order to keep him quiet. I assume this was the mob's purpose and I was caught in the crossfire. As the mob was increasingly violent towards me, I opted to escape them. And I did.

At present I am in the Selestiani Settlement under the care of Valerin Wolds and Julius Septimus. Or so they have introduced themselves, who knows the truth of the matter. Mordon may know this, but the rest of you may not: Wolds is a drake. Septimus is something but I do not know what and have not yet been so rude as to ask. They say I am a friend and I do not seem to be restricted in any way. I seem to be in good hands.

Love you.

Fera.

The problem, once I'd decided what to write, was how to send the stupid letter. Mordon had been my stand-by and before him had been Lilly or Leif. Now I was confronted with having to ask a stranger, thereby admitting that I couldn't do a task children were proficient at.

“Need the right words?”

It was Valerin. I found myself smiling, glad that my guard was someone whose name I knew. But I straightened out my mouth, didn't want to make him think I was encouraging him. Thinking of how to frame the question made me instantly serious.

“What is wrong?” The couch dimpled as he sat next to me.

“I can't summon fire.”

He was confused.

I clarified, “Can you burn this to Agnes of the Kragdomen Colony for me?”

Surprise dawned on his face and he recovered quickly, accepting the envelope. “Yes, milady.” Then simple as pie, he burned the letter into the air. A water elemental, summoning a flame as though it was nothing. When it was gone, we sat in uncomfortable silence. He asked, “You can't do any fire … at all?”

“I got a spark once, when I was angry at a gryphon.”

Valerin nodded. It was so strange to see his sapphire-blue eyes meet mine when I was used to Mordon's lionlike ones. He said, “I struggled with fire, too, for some years. But not to the extent that you do.”