Page 21 of The Kingdom's Crown

I spun, stepping away from the prism and facing the older man leaning forward on his cane, glaring at me over the glasses perched at the end of his nose. He looked more like a solicitor than a mage, dressed in a careful black suit coat and brightly polished shoes. From the other doorway, papers rustled and footsteps clapped closer.

"Aric Martin, Chosen," I said, the title a little odd on my tongue.

"You can't come in here," the second man said, and I was surprised to find him so much younger, closer to Bryony or Owen's age. He was slight with a full beak of a nose and hair so light, it reminded me of Sam, wispy and too long around his ears.

"I'm also a mage," I said.

"Where's your certificate?" the old man asked.

"Well, I haven't got it on me, have I?" I didn't have a certificate at all, not that they needed to know that.

"I have. He has," the young man said. "You've got magic in your fists, and you're not wearing a conduit ring. He's untrained, Nathan."

"I can see that, Kenneth."

"Are you two the only royal magicians?" I asked them. The prism was a constant presence in the corner of my eye, pulsing and pleading for my magic.

"Don't answer," Nathan, the older magician said.

My eyebrows rose at the obvious suspicion. "You had a Leftman's locking charm on the door. It isn't hard to break."

Kenneth squawked and slammed his door shut on me, but Nathan only tilted his head. "You'd better come in, I suppose. He still has trouble with Leftman's. Prefers Bundry's."

I scoffed, glancing back at the other door. Bundry's lock was child's play. A good lock pick could break it, let alone any mage with basic skill. Weren't royal magicians meant to be powerful? I turned again and followed Nathan into a crowded office. He remained at the door for a moment, staring at the prism, before slowly shutting it behind us.

"Make me a cup of tea."

I frowned at the older man, watching him drift toward a large but old fashioned armchair with bald patches on the velvet. He sat down and cocked one eyebrow at me, tipping his gnarled hand in the direction of a teapot resting on a table.

This was the kind of instructional magic I'd avoided learning when I first discovered my talent. A pot of tea? When people were starving and sick? Eventually, I discovered that the principles in the charm reappeared later in more significant workings, ones with meaning.

I moved to the table, smiling and studying the scraps of paper with scribbled notes as I set about the magic. Pulling humidity from the air to supply water in the pot. I added a spoonful of tea from an open tin and deftly pocketed a note on balancing magical frequencies to examine later. My hands cupped around the chipped and cracked porcelain of the pot, held together with magic no doubt, and I created heat to warm the water and steep the leaves.

There was a mug on the far end of the table, stuffed with another note, and I called it over with a manipulated breeze. Nathan's breath caught, and he bit off a grumble as I swept the note—this one was more scientific and a little beyond my knowledge—into another pocket, and cleaned out the mug with a rinse of hot water.

"This is why mages aren't meant to be Chosen," Nathan muttered as water steamed from the teapot, and I strained the leaves as I poured his mug.

"I don't understand," I said, taking the mug to him.

He reached for it, eyeing the color, taking a deep sniff, and only frowning more deeply with every detail. "You have too much access to the source," he said, eyeing me warily.

I searched the floor and found a stool buried under a pile of books. Nathan didn't reprimand me when I moved the books, but he huffed as I helped myself to the seat.

"Because I don't use conduit charms to hold—" I didn't want to say Bryony's name. He probably knew exactly whose magic I used, but she was more to me than magical theory and a power source. I suddenly regretted showing off my skill with her power. "To hold power?"

"You're unmeasured. You spent twice the magic you needed on every one of those acts."

"The tea is too hot? Too strong?" I asked.

Nathan scowled at his tea. "It's a perfect cup. I think you know that. But no one needs magic to brew a cup of tea."

"Oh, and they need it for a luxurious bathing pool?" I laughed and narrowed my eyes at the older man, glancing briefly around the room. He was obviously scholarly, but also nervous, secretive. That prism was stuffed with magic, not because this man was using it for himself. He was hoarding power. "And you know about the source?"

"Youknow about the source!" he tossed back, leaning forward, a little tea spilling over the brim of the cup onto the floor. "That's another reason why mages aren't meant to be Chosen. And why mages aren't meant to be self-taught. To do as they please with any kind of instruction they can get their hands on!"

"If no one is meant to know about where Kimmery's magic comes from, why all the talk about the queen's line and—"

"Prosperity," the old man hissed. "It's not a very clear word, is it? Could mean plenty of things. None of them necessarily magic."

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