Page 17 of Joined By Magic

With a cold smile, he said, “The one thing mages fear above everything. It’ll strip their magic. Instant burnout. Imagine my father and brother, their magic torn away, forced to live out their days as non-mages—powerless and weak.”

Like me.

He didn’t realize what he’d said. The worst fate he could conjure for his greatest enemies was for them to be the same as me. My cheerful mood wobbled.

It was true, though. They would see it as a fate worse than death. I shut down the pinprick of hurt and focused on how satisfying it would be to watch them both led away in chains.

“Will it be difficult? Making the weapon?”

He nodded. “Almost impossible. But I’ll make it happen.”

Three days crawled by. Though uneventful, the journey tested my patience to the extreme. Being crammed in with the prince twenty-four hours a day was exhausting. Untethered from his life and his usual active schedule, his moods vacillated wildly, bouts of enthusiasm giving way to brooding and anger.

Each morning, a servant left a paper newsbook outside our door, along with breakfast. On the third day, only a couple of hours before the train was due to arrive, the picture had me staring in shock as our food cooled unheeded on a side table.

The picture showed the prince’s brother, on his knees before the king at what looked like a small official ceremony. In the background, seated with high-ranking cloaked nobles, sat his woman. His prisoner. What the hell?

I passed the paper to the prince. His jaw tightened and his hand clenched into a fist at the image of his brother. I leaned over to read.

King Varras of Atar shocked the world today by announcing a new successor to the throne. Genetic testing has confirmed beyond all doubt that Lord Commander Leopold Rahl of Dexia is the Ataran king’s true-born son. The king named him crown prince, replacing Prince Adante, currently wanted for crimes against the Ataran crown.

I glanced up at the prince. No genetic testing needed. The royal genes ran clear and strong in both brothers.

The bold Lord Commander courted further controversy by bringing his so-called consort, Livet Spencer, to the ceremony. Palace officials refused to confirm Ms. Spencer’s position, but previous news reports indicated she was a criminal, serving out a sentence as the Lord Commander’s prisoner. Regardless, she is without doubt a non-mage, which makes her unsuitable for marriage by Ataran custom, where unions between mages and non-mages are forbidden.

I couldn’t tear my eyes from the picture. An official ceremony—a front row seat—for the woman he’d made sit at his feet, exposed in public, and caned? His disdain for her had been an act, that had been obvious, but I’d imagined she held a position similar to mine. A favorite courtesan, given care and affection in private, but not equal. Not acknowledged in public as a mage would be. A burst of jealousy so strong it felt like a physical blow hit me. What had that fragile little thing done to so impress the prince’s brother?

The prince drew in a breath and slowly let it out.

“Didn’t take the old bastard long.” His voice was cold and brittle.

I searched his face. I’d never pressed the prince about his childhood. He’d told me enough to know the memories were painful where his father was concerned. In this quiet carriage, though, the question slipped out. “Why’s he so cruel to you? You’ve done so much for Atar.”

For a long while, the prince stared at the photograph. “He hated my mother. His father forced him into the marriage, and he resented it. Didn’t think she was worthy of him—not powerful enough. He despised me because I came from her.”

The prince took a sip of water from a glass on the miniature table. My guts churned at the prince’s words. How miserable must his mother’s life have been? The prince never spoke of her at all. I didn’t dare push him on that topic.

He continued. “Once I reached my majority, I rose in power, and his health began to fail. He expected me to act as his puppet—doing his bidding while he sat in his rooms and drank. I forged my own path, and he hated me for it. He sees my brother as easy prey. An inexperienced ruler from a backward nation. Easy to control.”

I examined the prince’s brother again. He hadn’t proven easy to control so far.

In a sudden fluid motion, the prince flew to his feet and slammed his fist into the wall. I jerked back and braced for more fury. His shoulders heaved, and he turned his black gaze on me.

“Years of work, and he’s taken everything from me.”

He looked away, fists clenched. His despair tugged at something inside my chest. “You must have supporters. You’ll get your throne back, I know it.”

He nodded. “And I’ll make them pay.”

Of course he would. I shivered.

The prince checked the device on his wrist. “We’re here.”

I frowned. The train still flew along the tracks at a rapid rate, showing no signs of slowing.

“What do you mean?”

“We’re within safe teleportation range of the house. Gather our things, and we’ll leave.”

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