Page 21 of Sorcerers and Saints

Then the beast simply gave up and disappeared. As it did, the flames did too, and Augustus realized too late that the fire that had been keeping him from Emmaline was only an illusion.

The actual fire had only been in the east wing, and even though Augustus was able to snuff the blaze with magic, it was too late.

Emmaline, the gentlest person he'd ever met, had been locked in her rooms and left to be burned alive by a mad, shapeshifting sorcerer with a grudge that Augustus was only beginning to understand.

It had wanted him to live, knowing that it had taken the only thing he'd loved just so Augustus would suffer.

Augustus shut up the east wing, never rebuilt it, and never entered it again.

* * *

As Augustus returned to himself, the tears in Mara's eyes were the first thing he saw. The cup in front of him steamed, but he didn't reach for it.

"The police thought I had lost my mind and had been the one to set the fire. It didn't matter that I had these to prove my story," he said, pulling the sleeve of his shirt up to show the three long scars that had been made by the leopard's claws. "If it wasn't for representatives of the Merlinus Academy stepping in, I would've probably been arrested. They knew I'd spoken the truth, but no sign of the rogue sorcerer was found. It didn't matter. Emmaline was already dead."

He reached across the counter and gently brushed his fingers along Mara's cheek, wiping away her fallen tears.

"I'm so sorry, Augustus," she whispered.

"It was a long time ago. You would've liked her. She used to bust my balls too," he replied.

Augustus studied her tears on his fingers and released some of his magic. The tears turned red before transforming into a perfect rose.

"Emmaline used to grow them all year round. I don't know how she managed it without magic, but the house always smelled of roses."

He passed the bloom to Mara before picking up his teacup. She watched him silently as he began to drink, hand resting on the pot handle.

The first cup tasted of the oak polish used on the furniture in the mansion, the earthy smell of Emmaline's greenhouse, and the countless cups of chamomile she made him drink during his convalescence.

The second cup tasted of burning heat, ash, and the fetid breath of the leopard's maw.

The third cup tasted of roses, caramel, peach, burnt sugar, and orange.

"Madeira wine," he murmured, putting the cup down.

"Pardon?" Mara asked.

"It tasted of Madeira. When Emmaline was seventeen, she wanted to know what it was like to be drunk, so we stayed up, playing chess and drinking Madeira wine until neither of us could walk straight. I had forgotten."

That was when Augustus realized that the good memories could be found under the horror, but they hurt even more. He got to his feet.

"Thank you, Mara. I hope you enjoy the book." He was reaching for the door when she called out to him.

"Did you ever find the leopard sorcerer?"

Augustus's face was a mask of twisted violence and satisfaction. "Oh, yes."

Seven

"The lifeof a saint is a life destined to be rich in experience but not in love." — Sayings of the Blessed Crow.

For the next two days, Mara was restless and frustrated. She had never cried during a petitioner's story ('Unprofessional,'Sophia would've said), but Augustus's pain had been as thick as syrup as it had poured out of him and over her. His agony moved her heart, and that disturbed her.

She sat in front of the statue of the saint, the book Augustus had given her open across her knees. It felt sacrilegious, but Mara wanted the saint's protection as she read it.

Occasionally she would reach up and touch her cheek where she could feel the ghost of Augustus's fingers. They had been warm and rough, and it made Mara acutely aware of how long it had been since she was touched by a man.

She did her best not to think of the scars on his arm, or the flecks of gray in his dark hair, or how she wondered what it would feel like to kiss his sad mouth.

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