Mage's End Game, page 8
Upon entering the palace, Hugh found his mentor, Lord Viner, waiting for him in the grand foyer. The older man bore the dignified countenance of a seasoned royal physician, his silver hair neatly combed into a queue and his eyes sharp as a hawk’s.
“Ah, Hugh.” Lord Viner greeted him, clasping his former pupil’s hand. “I must admit, it surprised me to receive your note asking to join me here. You have not been seen for some time. There is talk you are consorting with that rogue mage.”
“While I consider Lady Winyard a friend, I have not seen her for some time.” At least fifteen minutes. “I have been absent from court as I have been engrossed in my studies. I believe I have brewed a potion that would offer the king some clarity of thought. I seek your permission to administer it to him.”
“Indeed?” Lord Viner raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the proposition. “Well, we could certainly use all the help we can get. His Majesty’s suffering is great, and no potion, poultice, spell, or any amount of bleeding has offered any relief.”
As Hugh spoke to the man who had taken him under his wing and ensured he received the best medical education, his thoughts drifted towards Sera. If there were a god, Hugh silently prayed that she had slipped past the guards and made her way closer to the king. Their plan hinged on both of them being able to carry out their tasks. As much as he trusted in Sera’s abilities, nowhere would there be more guards and traps than around the king.
“Come, then.” Lord Viner motioned for Hugh to follow. “Let us see if your elixir can bring some relief to our troubled monarch.”
The palace’s opulence made a stark contrast to the modest pub where Hugh had dressed that morning. As they walked through the grand corridors, their footsteps rang out against the marble floors and echoed off the gilded walls. Tapestries depicting ancient battles and mythical creatures adorned the walls, while crystal chandeliers cast shimmering light over the ornate furnishings.
“His Majesty’s condition has worsened over the last few months. Lord Rowan thought it best that he be sequestered in the countryside with fresher air. He has only recently returned to St James’s, but continues to be kept isolated,” Lord Viner explained as they approached the king’s private quarters. “King George has become increasingly erratic, plagued by fits of rage and despair. It is a sight best kept from the court and the people.”
Armed guards in bright-red livery stood on either side of the double doors leading to the king’s chambers. They bowed their heads to Lord Viner, recognising the renowned physician. A bored courtier stood near them, an open book in his arms.
Lord Viner addressed the courtier. “This is Mr Miles, my associate. He is assisting me today as I attend His Majesty.”
The man with the powdered wig and heart-shaped beauty mark scribbled in his book then gestured for the guards to open the door. Within was a scene of chaos. The once-regal room lay in disarray, with shattered porcelain and torn draperies strewn about. In the centre of the destruction, King George paced back and forth like a caged animal, his face contorted in anguish. His eyes darted around the room as if searching for an unseen enemy.
“Your Majesty,” Lord Viner bowed deeply, his voice soft and measured. “I have brought my former pupil, Hugh Miles, who believes he might offer some assistance.”
King George’s wild gaze fixed upon Hugh, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. Hugh felt the weight of the king’s suspicious scrutiny, but he held his ground, meeting the monarch’s stare with a kindly regard.
“Your pupil, you say? He looks like a man who breaks bones, not sets them.” The king resumed pacing, beating at his chest in time with each step.
Lord Viner continued to speak in a calm tone. “Mr Miles is an extraordinary surgeon, Your Majesty. He has been sequestered for some months, working on a remedy for you.”
“They will not catch me. No, they will not,” the king muttered, seeming to have forgotten their presence already.
Four men clustered by a sideboard covered in an array of foods to tempt the royal palate. Half-eaten pieces of cheese and abandoned slices of cake were scattered on stacked plates. Hugh recognised the men by sight. Two were old doctors who thought they could cure the king by continuously opening up a vein—a process which Hugh believed only weakened the monarch and made it harder for his body and mind to fight whatever assaulted him.
A third man was the royal taster. He had the job of sampling a portion of everything that passed the king’s lips. With an aftermage gift for detecting magic and poisons, he would sense any threat to the king in the food and drink he ingested.
The fourth man made Hugh’s blood run hot. Lord Tomlin. The man Lord Rowan had commanded to…lay his hands on Sera in hopes of producing a Nereus. Hugh’s own hands curled into fists, and he longed for a scalpel. One swipe and he would end the other man’s involvement in such a plot. But he couldn’t do that and also discover what plagued the king. Damn it.
The mage turned a critical gaze on Hugh, and he huffed in recognition. Had he already alerted his brethren that Sera might not be far behind? He needed to remove the mage from the plan running through his head.
“Good day, Lord Tomlin. I hear the Mage Council is doing all they can to find a cure for the king.” Hugh attempted to mask his unease with a smile.
“We all labour to serve the greater cause,” the mage answered.
Hugh bit the inside of his cheek. The only cause Lord Tomlin served was whichever one benefited him the most.
“Aren’t you a friend of Lady Winyard, the traitor?” Lord Tomlin narrowed his gaze, and his lips moved in unspoken words.
Hugh’s skin prickled. If Lord Tomlin thought to use a compulsion spell against him, he clearly didn’t know about the trace of gargoyle blood that lent him some immunity to magic. His love for Sera encased his thoughts in layers of steel that no spell would ever penetrate. “I aided her in a few of the council’s investigations, yes. Ones in which she had a particular need for my medical knowledge.”
The mage huffed and, with a bored expression on his face, dropped to a padded chair by the sideboard. “Tea,” he commanded and turned to watch the king pace.
Hugh’s mind had raced, wondering what to do about Lord Tomlin. He would raise the alarm the instant Sera walked into the room unless he did something. Since Hugh was always prepared for a variety of ailments and injuries he might encounter with his patients, his little field kit contained more vials than the luminous one for the king.
Hugh picked up the teapot and laid out fresh cups, then poured fragrant tea into them. As Lord Viner engaged the others in conversation, Hugh took advantage of everyone’s attention being elsewhere. He took a small brown vial from his kit and quickly poured a few drops into the mage’s teacup, then slid it along the side table so it sat by his elbow.
Putting the vial back, he slipped out the blue one and tapped the taster on the shoulder. The man had been listening to Lord Viner but turned and cast a tired look at Hugh. He held up the little vial. “I will be administering this to the king. It will clear the mind, rather like a good night’s sleep.”
“I could certainly do with a sip of that,” the taster said.
Hugh moved the king’s teacup closer, with its delicate band of gold around the rim. He counted out nine drops, as instructed by Sera, while from the corner of his eye, he watched as Lord Tomlin took a sip of his tea. Hugh had dosed his brew with the powerful sedative he used during amputations. It should work quickly and give the appearance that the mage had nodded off in his chair.
Hugh stirred the tea. A blue haze simmered over the surface and released a fresh spring scent. He handed it to the taster. The man brought it close to his nose and sniffed. Then he took a cautious sip, followed by another. He rolled the liquid around in his mouth as he used his gift to detect anything that would harm the king.
Then they waited in case the taster keeled over dead from poison. They were long minutes in which Hugh could count his heartbeats by the thrum of blood in his ears. When he glanced at Lord Tomlin, the mage’s eyelids had begun to droop. With each laboured blink, the sedative took a stronger hold. His limbs grew heavier until finally, his head dipped forwards, chin resting on his chest.
At last, the taster made a satisfied noise in the back of his throat. “My mind does feel a little clearer. You could command a high price for such a brew if you were inclined to provide it to the courtiers.” He held the cup in both his hands, and Hugh worried he might not relinquish it.
“It was a long and arduous process. I was driven by my desire to aid our king.” Hugh took the teacup, thankfully without a tussle for possession of it, and approached King George.
The monarch had slumped in a gilded chair, his body sprawled, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused, hands trembling as he grasped the armrests.
Hugh passed the cup and saucer to Lord Viner. “The taster approves,” he murmured.
The older physician approached the king with slow movements. “You must drink this, Your Majesty. It will ease your mind,” Lord Viner urged in a gentle tone.
The king sat up and scrambled back further on his chair. He eyed the cup suspiciously.
“It is a calming brew, Your Majesty,” the taster said from behind Lord Viner. “I can vouch for its effect.”
King George took the cup with shaky hands and brought it closer to his face. He sniffed much like his taster had. Then he grunted and took a deep drink. As he swallowed, the room seemed to hold its collective breath.
Sera’s elixir would flow through every part of the king’s body, unseen but potent in its effects.
“Your Majesty, the effects of the potion may take up to thirty minutes to fully manifest,” explained Hugh, taking care to maintain a respectful tone. “You might experience slight warmth and tingling sensations as it works through your system.”
The king didn’t reply but thrust the empty teacup at his physician. Then he slumped back in his chair, one hand shielding his face.
As the minutes ticked by, an uneasy silence settled over the room, punctuated by the occasional snore from the sleeping Lord Tomlin. Lord Viner fidgeted with the buttons of his waistcoat, while Hugh’s gaze remained fixed on the steady rise and fall of the king’s chest.
Worry for Sera consumed Hugh’s thoughts. Had she evaded detection? Was she even now hovering at the door, trying to convince the guards to let her in? He forced himself to focus on the task at hand, but concern for her safety gnawed at him.
Twenty-five minutes had passed when King George suddenly turned his head towards them. “I—I do believe it’s working,” he said, his voice stronger than before. “My mind feels lighter, like a fog has lifted. And my body…it’s as if a great weight has been removed. Is this truly the power of the tea?”
“I laboured for some time over the potion it contained, Your Majesty. The elixir is designed to bring clarity to the mind,” Hugh explained.
“This is most remarkable, Mr Miles. I do feel…clearer.” As the king spoke, his voice grew more certain.
“It gladdens me to hear that, Sire. The potion should continue to improve your condition over the next few minutes,” Hugh said, relief evident in his voice.
The physicians clustered around the king, eager to examine the miraculous change.
“We should bleed him and see if his humours are in balance,” one muttered, while the other claimed leeches would be superior.
Hugh rolled his eyes and sucked in his lips to stop himself from shaking the duo and inviting them to step into the eighteenth century, where a doctor used reason and not antiquated methods.
King George answered their questions in a calm and reasoned tone. The agitated, jerky movements of his body were gone.
“Remarkable,” whispered Lord Viner, his gaze filled with awe when he turned to Hugh. “Truly remarkable.”
“Long may it continue,” Hugh replied as he rubbed the ring on his pinkie finger.
Shaped like a bone, Sera had crafted it from mage silver—the rare material that allowed a mage, and those she loved, to stay in touch. He stroked the warm metal and thought of her.
The king was lucid. Lord Tomlin was snoring. But where was Sera?
Nine
Seraphina
Sera walked with a determined stride through the kitchens, snatching up a tray as she passed. Nobody stopped a servant who was carrying something and looked like they were following instructions. Hesitation was a weakness. A sign that she didn’t know what she was supposed to do.
Guards and courtiers patrolled the corridors, but she kept her cap pulled over her forehead and her eyes downcast. Remembering Hugh’s warning about her height, she rounded her shoulders and slouched. The curved posture also made her look older, along with a little flour in her hair to make the visible strands appear grey.
Further into the palace, she walked rapidly along halls and up staircases as she worked her way towards the king’s private apartments. Her senses were on alert to avoid the magical traps laid throughout the palace. Her servant’s guise helped, as she pressed herself to the wainscoting to avoid the courtiers and skirted around the patches meant to ensnare those with magic in their blood.
She suppressed a snicker when a foppish courtier stepped in one. A trace of aftermage in his blood triggered the trap, and it took hold of his stocking-clad leg and refused to let him go. His companions tried in vain to free his foot from the invisible snare.
“Don’t just stand there, girl—fetch the mage and tell him to let me go before my stocking is ruined!” he shrieked at Sera.
She bobbed a curtsy and took off at a faster pace. Let them think she sought rescue for the man. She did race towards a rescue, just not for the person they thought.
As she turned a corner, she saw a group of ladies with icy-blue powdered wigs and matching gowns walking towards her. She held her breath as she scanned their faces, but thankfully none was Abigail. Sera clutched the tray to her chest like a shield and pressed herself to the wall to give them room to pass.
“Do you think the rumours are true?” one whispered to her taller companion.
“Oh, indeed. Look how strenuously the lady is denying it. Some say that her grandfather is using magic to quash the rumours,” she replied.
“That shows the truth of them,” a third pronounced.
The fourth member of the group tittered. “I heard the truth is even more scandalous. That she gave herself to a man not her intended.”
Gasps of shock ran through the group, then as they turned into the next corridor, they dissolved into fits of laughter.
Sera allowed herself a moment of smug satisfaction. No need to guess who they were gossiping about. There was only one woman with a mage grandfather who would try to stamp out the wildfire of scandal.
Abigail. Sera’s little birds had done their work and augmented the story created by Kitty of a pregnancy.
Continuing on her way, at last Sera reached the carved double doors and the guards at the entrance to the king’s private rooms. She ruined her posture a little more and clutched the tray, affecting a tremble in her hands as she addressed the courtier in charge.
“If it pleases you, milord,” she lisped. “They have sent me to clear the dishes.” She kept her eyes focused on the toes of the guard’s boots while she addressed the courtier, who tried to stare at his reflection in a crystal vase holding magical roses.
“Make it quick, girl.” He waved a hand, his attention on his own face, and he barely glanced at her.
Sera bobbed a curtsy while internally she raged. The fact that she could walk through two royal homes and gain access to the monarchs simply by pretending to be a servant showed how utterly oblivious the aristocracy was to common folk.
If she had swanned in through the main doors below and announced herself as Lady Winyard, she would have been tackled to the ground before she took three steps.
The guard opened one door, and Sera slipped inside with a whispered, “Thank you.”
The first person she saw was an anxious-looking Hugh. Relief and pride flashed over his features before he waved her further into the room.
King George glanced up, but his attention returned to the physicians around him. As Sera approached the side table, the king’s once-feverish eyes seemed clearer, and the wild energy that had radiated from him was now dampened.
About to place the tray on the table, her heart skipped a beat when she spotted Lord Tomlin. The mage’s head was thrown back, resting against the wall, and a soft snoring came from his open mouth. She shot Hugh a questioning glance.
Hugh whispered close to her ear, “I gave him a sedative. He won’t be a problem for a while.”
She dared a quick touch, grazing his hand in thanks for his resourcefulness. As she set about gathering the dirty dishes on her tray, she stole glances at the slumbering mage. Her gaze moved to the king, seeking a hint of the mysterious amulet that hung around his neck, hidden beneath his clothing.
With Lord Tomlin incapacitated, her mission now hinged on gaining the king’s trust and examining the amulet before the elixir wore off. She also had to hope the physicians present didn’t summon the guards to seize her. A sense of urgency mounted as time slipped through her fingers like sand.
Steeling herself, she made a decision. Sera approached the king and ducked around the bickering physicians without making a sound.
“Your Majesty,” she murmured as she reached for the teacup set on the ground by the king’s chair. “It is I, your royal mage Lady Winyard. I must speak with you on a most urgent matter.”
Sera was crouched at the side of the chair upholstered in gold brocade, and King George leaned forwards to peer at her.
“Why, so it is. I always enjoyed your entertainments. But Lord Rowan tells me you have turned upon us.” His voice hardened on the last few words.
“That is not so, Sire. It was I who laboured alongside Mr Miles to brew the potion that has brought peace to your thoughts. I fear there is dark magic poisoning your mind.” She curled her fingers around the edge of the saucer.
