Page 74 of Twisted Magic

“So much for your heartfelt speech about me going to Refoel upon your demise.”

“I was out of my mind then. Woozy from blood loss. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Jadren,” she said softly, waiting for him to look up at her. “Nothing would absorb my grief. I would run El-Adrel for you, but I would never bond another wizard.”

His lips twisted in a rueful smile. “Never is a long time.”

“Nevertheless,” she replied, meaning it.

“The Widow Wizard Lady El-Adrel,” he mused. “Has a nice ring to it. You should commission a poet to immortalize our tragic tale.”

“I’d rather commission one to immortalize our triumphant victory.”

He grinned, a malicious edge to it. “That’s my girl. We’re going to hit those attackers from behind so hard and fast they’ll never know what happened.”

“I know your magic, and that of the El-Adrel minions we’ll bring, can take out the automatons. But what about the hunters?”

“We’ll cross that bridge.”

“They’re immune to moon-magic silver, remember. Nic said as much. Just like the one that went after me.”

“The one you killed, on your own, without backup, remember.”

“Only by chopping it into pieces too small to do me any harm,” she replied bleakly, not caring to remember that nightmarish fight. Maya had helped her to resolve the underlying causes of the frenzy she’d gone into then, when threatened, but those memories were akin to the swamping insanity that had enveloped her mind so much of her life. She was better, but she’d never be completely free of any of it, and she didn’t care to revisit that mental abyss worse than the most cloying bog. Still, she had to face this. “And we don’t know that I killed it. It might have spawned into a myriad of hunters resistant to moon-magic silver.” Who might even now be surrounding House Phel. Wonderful.

“Hey.” Jadren’s arms were around her, snuggling her close against his lean, hard body. “You did what you had to do,” he said against her ear.

“I know.”

“It’s not your fault that awful people created awful creatures. But we are going to destroy them. We found a way before and we’ll find a way again.”

She nodded against him. “Because we have to.”

“Has been done. Can be done. Must be done.” He kissed her cheek lingering there. “There’s always the option to run away with me to that theoretical hideout where we’ll forget this nonsense and I’ll devote my considerable energies and talents to sexually servicing you as often as you like.”

She giggled. “Tempting.” Then, drawing back enough to frame his face in her hands, stroking his silky beard, she smiled at him. “How about once this is done, we go away somewhere and do just that? You and me, alone together somewhere pretty, with no expectations.”

“Deal.” His lips brushed hers, opening and deepening, and she sighed with all her body, sinking into the sheer pleasure of him, despite their audience. Something clattered onto the desk beside them. They jumped, like kids caught out, then both stared at the silver dagger that had suddenly appeared. Jadren swept the assembly of scribes with an accusing black glare.

“It dropped out of thin air, Lord Jadren,” one explained with wide eyes, holding up empty palms as if in surrender. It would take time to get the denizens of House El-Adrel to shed some of their fear of their lord.

“I see.” He turned that stare upon the dagger. “That’s Phel’s magic.”

“Gabriel’s old dagger,” Selly confirmed, picking it up. “I remember this from when we were younger. He’s had it forever. Or used to.”

Jadren took it from her, handling it judiciously, studying it with his El-Adrel artifact magic. “He didn’t extrude this one from moonsilver,” he noted.

“You can tell?”

He flicked her a wry glance. “I’m surprised you can’t. I should send you back to study with Liat.”

“Ha ha.”

“No, this is a standard steel dagger inlaid with moon magic, the way Gabriel made things in the beginning—which, not incidentally, violated El-Adrel’s trademark. In fact, I know exactly which dagger this is and how it got here. It’s the one he and Nic lost on the barge when he brought her back from Wartson. The one my late, unlamented mother used to blackmail Phel into accepting me as a spy in their midst. The house apparently knew what it was and is giving it back.”

“Oh, well then,” she said brightly, taking it back from him. “This is my favorite dagger!”

“You are my favorite familiar,” he replied, running a hand down her hair. “Shall we go ride to the rescue of our friends and family?”

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