Page 14 of Twisted Magic

Liat withdrew her hands from her sleeves and slapped her palms lightly on her robe-clad knees before standing. “Well, I suppose you have some decisions to make. We can meet again tomorrow if you decide to continue drilling in technique.”

“Is there any point?” he asked wearily, dropping his head into his hands.

“Not if you’re going to continue to throw temper tantrums like today’s distasteful display,” Liat replied crisply. Relenting, she set a gentle hand on his shoulder, a wave of calming healing magic filtering in to settle his jangled nerves. “You’re a mess, Jadren El-Adrel,” she said with what sounded like affection, “but you’re not a lost cause. Go find Seliah and settle whatever disagreement you’re having that brought you both in here in such terrible moods today. Then decide what you want to do. Together.”

Jadren lifted his head to her knowing smile, wincing in chagrin. “Was it that obvious?”

“To a wizard-healer who works with bonded pairs to turn them into well-oiled teams? Yes.”

“Any advice?”

She chuckled and patted his shoulder before stepping back and tucking her hands in her sleeves again. “Try not to be an asshole. It’s the best rule of thumb there is. By the way, we have an MP scorecard for Seliah, too.” Liat fished around in her sleeve, then brought out another card. “No surprises on hers, though her scores are impressively high.”

He took in Seliah’s card, noting that it pretty much matched what his mother had determined, via her own unorthodox methods. “Thank you,” he said, feeling that the words didn’t adequately embrace what having this information meant for them. They were almost like real people now.

“You’re welcome.” Liat smiled. “Now go fix your shit. That’s professional advice.”

Try not to be an asshole. Jadren snorted to himself as he trudged back to the rooms he shared with Seliah. Easier said than done, as being an asshole came so naturally to him. But he could see Liat’s point: if he wanted Seliah to confide whatever secret she was keeping from him, he’d make much more progress being patient and coaxing her to trust him than badgering and bullying her.

On that note, he abruptly turned at an open doorway leading into a sunny garden. With late summer finishing its reign before succumbing to autumn, the garden rioted with blossoms. Spotting one of the ubiquitous gardeners quietly weeding, he edged up and cleared his throat.

The robe-clad young person glanced up at him, squinting against the sun. “Yes, Lord Jadren?”

“Is it all right if I, uh, pick some flowers?”

“Of course. They’re here for all to enjoy.” They gestured to a set of shelves set under an overhang. “You’ll find clippers and vases over there. For best results, fill the vase with water first, then immediately insert the cut blossoms.”

“Thank you.” There. He sounded not at all like an asshole. Picking out a pretty vase, he filled it with water from a rain-collection barrel, then wandered about with his clippers, seeking out the blossoms he thought Seliah would like best. The big, fluffy-looking ones, he thought, along with a few of the wickedly dark ones. He was no artist, but the resulting bouquet looked pretty dammed good to his eye. Pleased with himself, he returned the clippers and resumed his journey to their rooms, hoping Seliah would be there.

If she wasn’t, maybe he’d set up the vase in the middle of the room, turn down the bed, and scatter flower petals over the sheets. That would be romantic, which he owed her. The last time he’d set up a romantic and seductive scenario, he’d drugged and abandoned her. It should have occurred to him to make that up to her. “No time like the present,” he assured himself, feeling more optimistic. Some romance, some lovemaking, then talking. They’d work it out. They always did.

“Seliah?” he called as he opened the door to their rooms.

No answer. Excellent. He could put his plan into motion. Whistling a jaunty tune, he bustled about the place, arranging the scene. Wine. They needed wine. And candles, though it was still afternoon. If he played it right, they could linger in bed until after dark. Which meant he should arrange for the evening meal. Finger foods they could feed to each other. Seliah would love this and forgive him.

He paused, frowning at the tug on the wizard–familiar bond, the sense of attenuation, as if Seliah were moving away from him at a rapid rate. Surely that couldn’t be right. Seliah might be justifiably pissed at him, but she wouldn’t leave him. Surely she wouldn’t have run back to House Phel as he’d caustically predicted to himself.

Would she?

In a panic, he went to her closet. But all of her things were there, along with her favorite big-bladed knife. And the ever-replenishing moon-magic silver water flask Gabriel had given her, inscribed with the House Phel crest by his own hand. She wouldn’t go anywhere without that. Relief flooded him.

And faded almost immediately as the sense of separation grew.

Then he found the note.

We told you to come home. Now you have to.

Seliah had been abducted.

He stood there, unmoving, wanting to howl, to rage, to make like the legendary Sylus and burn the world to the ground. But none of that would restore Seliah to him.

No, he could do only one thing, and it was the one thing he was terrified to do, had sworn never to do.

He must return to House El-Adrel.

Turns out they could make him, after all.

~6~

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