Mage's End Game, page 11
“We’re off to Scotland, then. To find this loch.” Hugh crossed his arms, unconsciously mimicking the gargoyle’s stance.
Urgency gnawed at Sera. “Time is not on our side. Every day, the king grows weaker and Lord Rowan grows stronger.”
“We shall leave no stone unturned,” Kitty added, humour glinting in her eyes despite the gravity of their situation. “Or, more appropriately, no page unturned.”
Sera managed a smile at her friend’s quip despite the circumstances. “Let’s see if other scrolls in the same compartment might contain details of the battle or its location.”
They gathered most of the rolled-up parchments in the same area and set them in a row on the table. Working methodically, each took one to read, and when finished, placed it back in its home. That way they ensured they didn’t miss one or examine the same one twice.
“I have one here that speaks of a remote loch, guarded by ancient spirits and shrouded in an impenetrable mist.” Hugh turned his scroll around for Kitty to verify his translation.
“Someone had a poetic bent,” she murmured over the old vellum. “The writer describes the loch’s ethereal beauty, the great oaks that stand sentinel on its shores, and the soft cries of the wind as it whispers through the trees. It sounds like a place of enchantment and wonder but also one of darkness and danger.”
“What we need is a map of Caledonia from Roman times so we can match the ancient location names to their current ones. Are you able to assist with that?” Sera asked the library’s guardian.
Warin didn’t reply but stalked to a particular section of the library and plucked a roll free from its companions. He returned and handed it to Sera, then he retreated to his perch above the shelves. Sera laid out the map, and as Kitty read, she traced old Latin place names and rivers until she found an approximate location for an abandoned Pictish fort named in the scroll.
“It looks like it’s not far from Inverness,” Hugh said.
“So off to Scotland, then, to find a cure for the king.” Kitty took Sera’s hand and worry now tempered her earlier curiosity and excitement. “That’s a journey of over five hundred miles—and every mile an opportunity for Lord Rowan to snare you.”
“I will find a way.” Kitty’s concerns wormed their way through Sera. Her friend was right. To journey to the loch and back gave the wily old mage a thousand miles in which to set his traps, if he knew of her intention. Staying in the shadows and not revealing her hand would provide some protection. Her thoughts turned to Kitty’s comments about Lord Rowan playing a long game and how he viewed Sera as a pawn. But her opponent had forgotten one crucial thing.
If a pawn makes it all the way across the board, it becomes a queen.
“I wonder if I should go at all.” More thoughts assailed Sera.
Hugh’s eyes widened. “Of course, you must. We need to seek a cure for the king. You cannot leave him in such torment.”
Sera touched his arm as she paced before the shelves. “I meant if I should go now. It is a journey that will take two weeks. Meanwhile, Lord Rowan’s grip on this country grows stronger every day.”
“I did not want to tell you, but Lord Rowan has been officially endorsed by the House of Lords as Regent of England,” Kitty murmured.
Sera glared at her friend.
Kitty shrugged. “Father sent news last night. The old mage had been acting as regent while the queen and her son fought over it, and neither saw his wily move for power sneaking up on them. Now they have both lost.”
“Then it is even more important that I confront Lord Rowan first. Otherwise, who knows what further chaos he will unleash in the next few weeks?” Sera resumed pacing, magic flaring over her knuckles as her loyalties were torn in different directions.
“As a physician and a humanitarian, I argue that easing the king’s mind should be paramount. If—when—you defeat Lord Rowan and the king is still not himself, you will still be considered a traitor, to be seized and incarcerated at the Repository.”
Kitty tapped her chin with a fingertip. “Hugh raises a legitimate concern. You need the king to reverse the proclamations Lord Rowan made him sign. Unless you want to go back to that place?”
A shudder worked through Sera. “As a prisoner? Of course not. I did wish to return as a visiting scholar to unpick its secrets. But I cannot afford to leave Lord Rowan to spread his poison.”
Kitty snorted. “I am going to change my answer and agree with Hugh. Cure the king first. As much as we love the queen, her power is limited. If the king is lucid once more, it may stop the other mages from siding with Lord Rowan, thus reducing his number of allies. Besides, winter still has us in her grip. We all know no one engages an enemy until spring.”
Sera still paced as the internal dilemma raged inside her. Kitty raised a crucial point. If the king loudly denounced the previous proclamations and sided with her, she might only face one or two of the mages, rather than the entire council.
Decision brought her to a halt. “We journey to Scotland and find a cure for the king.”
Twelve
When they returned to the Apothecary’s Poison, which would forever have a place in Sera’s heart for how quickly it had become their safe haven in a dangerous city, they gave Elliot two tasks. The first was to steal the livery for Buckingham House again. The second was to find a way for Sera and Hugh to journey to Scotland without attracting the attention of Lord Rowan and his soldiers.
“I suppose my family’s travelling coach might be a tad obvious,” Kitty mused with a glint of mischief in her eyes.
“You are enjoying every moment of this, aren’t you?” Sera nudged her friend with an elbow as they plotted over ale and a meal.
“Of course I am. Life as your friend is like having a crucial role in a rather exciting novel. Do you think we could insert a thrilling encounter with dashing pirates before the end?” A rare sigh heaved through Kitty, and Sera wondered what sort of thrilling encounters she was imagining.
Later that evening, Sera once more donned the livery of a footman, and Kitty drew a rakish moustache and goatee with a piece of coal. Through the quiet streets, they made their way to Buckingham House and the smaller gate that allowed staff in and out.
Becoming accustomed to the bustle of palace kitchens, Sera stood silent a moment to watch the choreographed dance among maids and footmen as their superiors issued them instructions. Spotting an opening, Sera inserted herself, plucked a tray bearing a tea set from a table, and whirled out the other side.
With a determined stride, she walked the opulent halls. The scent of beeswax and wood polish filled the air, mixing with the delicate fragrance of roses that drifted from vases filled with fresh hothouse blooms.
As she had in St James’s Palace, she kept to the edges of the hall, to avoid any magical traps that might linger in the weave of the expensive runners. She nodded to another footman carrying a tray of empty crystal goblets as they passed.
Her footsteps were silent as she navigated around ornate side tables laden with precious curios, careful not to disturb a single object. Each step brought her closer to the queen’s private chambers. What guards she saw appeared bored, and one even lounged against the wall with his eyes closed.
At last, Sera stood before the door to Queen Charlotte’s sanctuary. She glanced over her shoulder, ensuring the coast was clear before she laid her palm over the lock and let a tendril of magic weave its way through the mechanism. When the click sounded, Sera took a steadying breath and pushed the door open with one hand, holding the tray with the other.
She approached the queen, seated on a sofa with a book open on her lap. Across from her, two of her ladies fussed with spaniels with glossy ears and silken coats. She paused, bowed, and placed the tray on the low table before the queen.
“Your Majesty,” Sera murmured. Catching the queen’s eye, she winked.
Queen Charlotte stared at her for a hard moment, and then she chuckled. “You two, leave me,” she commanded her ladies.
The women scooped up the dogs and curtsied before gliding into an adjoining room and closing the door behind them.
“Lady Winyard. You had better have news for me, and stop locking the blasted door behind you when you leave. I will not be treated like a common criminal.” Queen Charlotte tossed the book to the sofa.
“I shall ensure the door stays unlocked, Ma’am.” Sera clasped her hands together behind her back. “I was successful in seeing the king, and my fears were confirmed.”
“It is that amulet?” The queen’s own hand went to her throat, wrapped in a necklace of rubies and diamonds.
“Yes. I brewed a potion that Mr Miles administered. It granted the king a brief respite from his affliction and brought a short-lived clarity to his mind.” Had it been a cruelty to lift the king from the dark magic that tormented his mind, only to plunge him back into the festering pool it had wrought within him?
“George…” The name whispered past the queen’s lips, and she turned her head for a moment. When she turned back, there was a determined glint in her eyes. “Why did you not remove the damned thing?”
“The king said that when he tries, the chain contracts and cuts off his air and the demons…tear his mind and cause him great agony.”
If Sera had expected tears or the tremble of a lip upon hearing that, she did not elicit such a response. Instead, the queen’s gaze hardened. “You will make Lord Rowan pay for this. As we shall.”
“Such is my plan, Ma’am.” The queen was a woman after her own heart. One of action and justice.
“How is this amulet depriving the king of his senses?” Queen Charlotte inquired, her brow furrowing as concern settled over her features.
“The pendant is a rare thing called an entropy stone. It is a dangerous and powerful artefact that feeds on the energy of its wearer, causing their mental faculties to decline. Over time, it has taken a significant toll on the king’s mind,” Sera explained.
The queen rose and walked to the fireplace. One hand curled around the exquisite marble mantel, as though she needed a substantial anchor for the turmoil inside her. Sera waited, unsure whether to proceed with her plans or not. While she had decided to seek a cure for the king first, the queen might prefer she deliver the old mage’s head on a spike before she left for Scotland.
“Tell me plain, Lady Winyard,” the queen said as she gazed up at the wedding portrait of herself and the king hanging above the mantel. “Is there a way to remove the amulet and cure the king?”
The Nereus didn’t leave a curse without a cure; she reassured herself. “I believe, Ma’am, that one may be found in Scotland, where the entropy stones were formed. On the shores of a loch, I hope to find a means to counteract its malevolent influence.”
The queen tapped the marble and paced to her writing desk. “You will do this. Leave immediately. In exchange, we will have these ridiculous edicts against you reversed. You are our true subject, unlike Lord Rowan, who has weaselled control as Regent for himself. This has been his plan all along, has it not? To have my George declared unfit to rule so he might snatch the crown for himself. But we shall ensure he fails.”
The queen’s growing rage matched Sera’s own. “He will not triumph, Ma’am. Although Lord Rowan has impeded me. He has strewn London and the countryside with magical traps to ensnare me. They are also triggered by any aftermage with a trace of magic in their blood, and it is causing chaos as others are caught instead.”
“You have done well thus far, then. Leave at once. I will do what I can from the cage he has placed me in. When you return, Lady Winyard, you will cure the king, and Lord Rowan will be the one declared traitor. He will be stripped of his rank and wealth, and while we may not have him executed for treason, he and his family will be cast out from this court and all good society.” The queen’s tone softened as she studied Sera. “Your friend will be brought down with her grandfather.”
Sera bit back the urge to scoff. “Lady Abigail Crawley is no friend of mine. She showed herself to be cut from the same cloth.”
Queen Charlotte nodded. “Then we are agreed.”
Sera bowed—since she was disguised as a footman it would have been odd to curtsy. The queen and king, once restored, would end Lady Abigail Crawley’s precious reputation and prospects. The duke would insist that his son disentangle himself to stop his family from tumbling into the same treacherous waters that would claim Lord Rowan’s kin. Revenge would be swift and complete.
Having made a pact with the queen, Sera slipped from the royal rooms and left the door unlocked. On the margins of the wide halls, she hurried back to the kitchens.
“I hope you have an idea, Elliot,” she muttered as she dodged cooks with large pots and maids with stacks of plates.
Once out the last door, cold air enveloped her like a welcome embrace. Coal smoke hung heavy in the air, as few families could afford to heat their homes by magical means. That gave Sera the seed of an idea. The gargoyle library, held deep in the clutches of death and the earth, was temperate. Was there a way to funnel the warmth of the soil into a home?
By the stone wall, Hugh patiently waited. Scotland beckoned, its wild moors and ancient lochs holding the key to King George’s salvation. Excitement tinged her words at what mysteries she might uncover in Scotland. “The queen wishes me to heal the king first. Then she wants Lord Rowan’s head mounted above her mantel.”
Hugh stared at her in horror.
Sera took his hand. “Well, she didn’t exactly say those words, but it was strongly implied.”
“I have wondered how so many men can be so wrong in believing women to be the weaker sex.” He pulled her closer to his side, having theorised that the trace of gargoyle in his blood might cloak Sera from Lord Rowan’s traps if she were close enough to him.
“Most men are not as intelligent as you, Hugh.” A good mood wrapped itself around Sera. Something in her blood whispered that she had chosen the right direction.
The Apothecary’s Poison tavern crouched in its triangular intersection like an old crone awaiting unsuspecting prey, its exterior at odds with the soft golden light inside and the welcoming atmosphere. Perhaps most strangers turned away after taking one look at it, which allowed the pub to remain a well-kept secret for locals.
Elliot and Kitty waited in their usual corner.
“We leave tonight. I cannot afford to waste a moment,” Sera said before she even sat down.
“Well, isn’t it lucky you pay me so handsomely for my many talents?” Elliot leaned back and crossed his arms, a smug look on his darkly handsome face.
“I assume from that look that you have a way for Hugh and I to travel to Scotland without ending up back at the Repository?” Sera stole Kitty’s tankard and took a long drink to ease her parched throat.
Mischief shone in Elliot’s dark gaze. “There’s a troupe of travelling Daoine Sidhe camped outside London. They are returning home to Scotland. Their magic will shield you from prying eyes.”
“The fairy folk?” Sera blew out a contemplative sigh. Putting herself into their care brought its own dangers, but the risks would be worth it. “Elliot, I could kiss you.”
Sera jumped to her feet, and Elliot pushed himself back into the corner and raised his hands just in case she intended to carry out her threat. Instead, she grabbed Hugh’s hand. “We have to pack and find them before they leave. It is a full moon, and the Daoine Sidhe prefer to travel by moonlight.”
In their little room, Sera dug out her satchel and shoved in a change of chemise, stockings, and shirt. It took them less than fifteen minutes to prepare for the long journey. Anything they needed, they could acquire along the way.
Kitty and Elliot accompanied them to the outskirts of London, where the sounds of people gave way to the whispering rustle of trees and the distant hoot of an owl. There, nestled to one side of a meadow, they found the Daoine Sidhe. Their camp was lit by the ethereal glow of countless fireflies that hovered over them.
“Miss Napier and I can’t go any closer. Only you and Mr Miles can approach.” Elliot halted and held out a hand to stop Kitty from following her friend.
Kitty snorted. “The next trip you take off into the unknown, you are absolutely not leaving me behind.” Then she flung her arms around Sera and hugged her fiercely.
“I’ll be back before you know it. We shall set everything to rights, and then, I promise, we will go on an adventure together,” Sera whispered against Kitty’s russet hair.
Sera took a moment to consider what to say as they stepped into the circle of light. “I am the mage Seraphina Winyard. I seek your protection and assistance to travel to Scotland,” she called, her voice steady and strong despite the uncertainty that churned within her.
The fairy folk regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and wariness, their eyes glinting like emeralds in the moonlight. “Why should we aid you, mortal?” one man replied, without moving from his position on the ground before the fire.
Someone hushed him, and the fairy folk shuffled aside as an ancient figure approached, her face lined with the wisdom of countless years. A cloak of pale cream fell in soft folds around her diminutive form, as though the centuries had compressed her. “I am Liriel, seer of the Daoine Sidhe. Tell me, child, of the path you walk.”
Taking a deep breath, Sera laid bare her heart and her mission, revealing the pact she had made with the queen, her determination to save King George from the clutches of madness, and her resolve to see the traitorous Lord Rowan brought to justice. As she spoke, the old woman’s eyes seemed to bore into her, weighing the truth and sincerity of her words.
A hush fell over the Daoine Sidhe encampment as Sera awaited the old seer’s response. The inky sky above seemed to hold its breath, the stars shimmering with anticipation. The scent of wood smoke and damp earth enveloped her, grounding her in the moment.
