Smolder (Crown of Fae #3) - Sharon Ashwood Page 0,24

the pot.”

The name lingered in the air, inviting Morran to recognize it. He did, almost. Not quite.

“And this enemy of yours went through a portal to the human realm? He left Faery?”

Juradoc’s black hood nodded. “Most inconvenient. He is a collector of objects of great power. In particular, he has a tool that would guarantee the success of my plans.”

Morran waited as questions fell like snow in his mind, eddying and drifting, while Juradoc watched his face. It was a game of cat and mouse, where the mouse’s only hope was to play dead. If he revealed that his mental powers were coming back, he might find himself in chains—or worse.

“And you, my friend,” the general said with oily satisfaction. “You have your role to play in this as well. We are nearing the critical time.”

Morran nearly twitched. What exactly did Juradoc need him to do? But he knew better than to ask, and the Shade’s spate of words resumed.

Morran’s mind drifted. He sat inside the pavilion, chair angled so he could see the camp through the open doorway. Moonlight hinted at the endless open scrub of the surrounding landscape. More interesting by far was the trickle of peasants bringing tribute from nearby villages. These were the same earth fae as in Eldaban, dark-haired and solidly built, but he still found himself searching for fiery red hair. Since meeting Leena, he looked for her everywhere, whether or not it made sense.

A random image flooded Morran’s mind—thousands of fae fleeing through portals they called the Shimmer. The Shades had brought portal magic with them when they invaded, but a handful of fae sorcerers had stolen the technique. Mostly, they’d used it to evacuate cities threatened by the Shades.

Morran’s kin had stayed to fight. So had the dragons. And John Barleycorn’s name was linked with those days as well. He was one of Faery’s defenders. Morran fervently wished he remembered more.

“Barleycorn was earth fae, wasn’t he?” Morran asked, breaking into Juradoc’s story. He realized his mistake at once.

The Shade’s posture registered surprise. “You’re asking a lot of questions today.”

Morran forced himself to remain perfectly still. “Your conversation inspires me.”

Juradoc’s features were invisible, but his voice grew smug. “It’s endearing that you try to keep up.”

The Shade rose, then crossed to a small trunk he kept among his personal possessions. There, he extracted a round, flat object that at first appeared to be a carved plaque. Only when the general turned it over did Morran see it was a mirror in an ornate rosewood frame. Morran sat straighter as tension crept up his spine. Shades were masters of mirror magic—that was how they cast a Shimmer.

Juradoc pulled his chair near Morran’s before resuming his seat. “Our operatives have located one of Barleycorn’s flunkies.”

He held up the mirror, which was the size of a man’s outspread hand. The reflection was perfectly ordinary, showing the inside of the tent. Then Juradoc passed a gloved hand over the mirror’s surface, as if wiping away steam. The image blurred, grew cloudy, and reformed into something new.

A woman dressed in an unfamiliar style sat cross-legged on a bed. She held an object Morran did not recognize. It reminded him of a writing slate, but she tapped it with her fingers for no purpose he understood.

Juradoc spoke a word, and the image closed in on the female. She was a fae of the woods, tall and lean with almond eyes and slightly pointed ears. Her brown hair hung in a braid down her back.

Morran wanted to ask who she was, but he feared rousing suspicions with yet another question. Instead, he waited until Juradoc missed the sound of his own voice.

“She appears and disappears from our surveillance. It’s plain she does not understand how to maintain a reliable cloaking shield,” Juradoc mused. “Then again, what does one expect from an untutored exile? It’s probably all she can do to disguise her fae heritage from the humans around her.”

Morran waited again. His questions weren’t a snowfall now, but a blizzard.

“We think she knows where Barleycorn is,” Juradoc added. “She might even be his student. What do you think of that, prince?”

Morran caught the general’s sarcastic tone, but he stifled any reaction. “What are you going to do?”

“I have plans.” Juradoc rose, then put the mirror away. “Just wait and see.”

Frustration gnawed at Morran’s gut. As always, the Shade shared just enough to intrigue. What exactly had Morran learned? Evil plot. Ticking clock. Hapless student. Nothing of immediate use—unless one counted