Page 73 of Twisted Magic

“Here, Lord Jadren.” A young man hastened over, flapping the paper to dry the ink, then bowing as he handed it over.

Selly read the finished missive over Jadren’s shoulder, still with some misgivings. Jadren was taking a sterner tone with Lord Chaim Refoel than she’d thought wise, but she’d also acceded to Jadren’s wishes. They were equals now, both lords of high houses and—Jadren had pointed out with a touch of arrogance that was frankly hot—in the informal social hierarchy of the Convocation high houses, El-Adrel outranked Refoel. The letter reflected it.

“Perfect,” Jadren said to the secretary, who flushed at the praise. “Send this via Ratsiel courier, followed by a copy to go with the group we’re sending via carriage to House Refoel, just in case he needs reminding. Receiving payment in advance should sweeten his temper.”

“Are you sure you should require that they ally with us and House Phel?” Selly asked, fretting. She absolutely agreed that the former occupants of the labs would do best at Refoel. She and Jadren had asked if Liat and Maya would personally handle those cases, given their familiarity with the trauma experienced by Jadren and herself. If anyone could rehabilitate Katica’s victims, those two could. She just worried about Chaim’s reaction to being told that Refoel would break their traditional neutrality and come to House Phel’s aid, or pay the price of earning House El-Adrel’s enmity.

“It will be good for Chaim to make an actual decision,” Jadren remarked sardonically. “Besides, he owes both Phel and El-Adrel for his attempts to suborn you.”

“Jadren, he never did more than make a case for me being his familiar.”

“You were and are mine,” Jadren replied with a hint of a growl under his otherwise pleasant tone. “It was a serious breach of etiquette for him to approach you when you were already bonded to me and do so without speaking to Phel first.”

“I’m a person, not a shipment of oranges whose price needs to be negotiated,” she replied, a little irritated.

Jadren snagged her about the waist, pulled her close, and kissed her. Then, holding her gaze, he murmured, “You are much better than oranges. Infinitely more precious.”

Unable to help herself, she laughed, pushing him away and wriggling out of the embrace. “My point stands.”

“Yes, well, I’m speaking the language Refoel will understand. Are my letters to Elal or Sammael done yet?”

“Here’s the draft for House Elal, Lord Jadren.” A young woman hastened up, brandishing the multi-page document. “It includes all the contract renegotiations between El-Adrel and Elal.”

Jadren flipped through them, making a few notes, occasionally chuckling to himself. “That will burn Piers Elal’s ass good and proper.”

This business-tycoon aspect of Jadren had come as a bit of a shock to Selly, in truth. But again: hot. He’d gone through the El-Adrel alliances with Elal, Sammael, Tadkiel, and several other houses with amazing rapidity, demonstrating a surprising flair for and understanding of the various agreements. Selly found it all especially amusing given how much he’d griped about Nic and Elals being wily in their business dealings.

“What about House Hanneil?” she asked when the secretary took away the notes on Elal for the final version.

“We’ll see what remains of them when all is said and done,” he answered thoughtfully. “With any luck, they’ll expose their role in this—including their egregious violation of the sanctions that allowed them to remain a high house after the wars—and the Convocation will take them apart piece by piece and redistribute the spoils.”

“And if they don’t?”

“We’ll cross that bridge.” He reviewed the drafts of the other letters and contract renegotiations. “All right, that only leaves naming my heir.” He glanced at her with a grimace. “I won’t leave House El-Adrel to be battled over by the scavengers, should the worst happen to us. The problem is a serious dearth of palatable candidates. Do I leave it to Bogdan in the hopes that a near-death experience will have transformed him into something less than an asshole?”

“You could name Fyrdo heir,” she suggested. The whole room stilled, it seemed.

“My father?” Jadren asked.

“Is there someone else named Fyrdo around here?” she countered sweetly.

“Funny. Fyrdo is a familiar.” Jadren’s gaze swept the cadre of secretaries, who all resumed their writing with poses of great intensity.

“Why, Jadren, you bigot,” Selly said. “Your father probably knows more about running House El-Adrel than you do, after all these years. He’s smart, insightful, kind, and he loves El-Adrel. He’d be a fine lord and it will give him something to do, to absorb his grief. In fact, you should make him regent in your absence.”

“But he’s not a wizard,” Jadren protested, sweeping a hand in a grand gesture to encompass everything. “What if the house acts up?”

“Then he can instruct wizards what to do,” she answered with impatience. “Just because wizards are the only ones who can use magic doesn’t mean that they’re the only people capable of taking action.”

Jadren stared at her a moment longer. “The Convocation will have convulsions over this.”

“Good. They need to break up their stony traditions.”

Shaking his head at her, he dragged over the implements to write the decision himself. “Dark arts save me from Phel iconoclasts.” He pointed the stylus at her. “I’m naming Fyrdo regent, as you suggest, but you will succeed me in governing House El-Adrel in the event of my death, with Fyrdo after.”

“Me?” she squeaked. “I can’t run El-Adrel.”

“See, that’s what I said and you didn’t listen to me. What goes around, comes around. It will give you something to do, to absorb your grief. And prevent you from running into Chaim’s arms,” he added under his breath.

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