Trial of Magic (The Fairy Tale Enchantress #4) - K. M. Shea Page 0,201

given that I’m sure it will take some time to inform Severin and Stil of all that has transpired.”

“I can contact Severin,” Angelique offered.

“Nonsense.” Clovicus batted across his mirror. “You look like death that got trampled by a carriage and a pair of horses. You need to sleep. You can talk to Severin after.”

Angelique’s shoulders hunched in relief. “Thank you, Clovicus.”

“Anything for my apprentice’s apprentice,” Clovicus drawled. “The two of you be careful. Since the Chosen know Evariste is still cut off from his magic, they may attempt to retrieve him.”

Angelique smiled and felt her magic rear up around her. “They’re welcome to try,” she said between clenched teeth.

Clovicus squinted at her through the mirror. “I approve of your intensity. Next time a snooty mage tries to boss you around, you should show them that look, and then maybe kick them for good measure.”

Angelique cocked an eyebrow. “Rebel against social customs?” she quoted.

“Yes—forever and ever. As long as it’s convenient for me!” Clovicus winked, then flicked his gaze to Evariste. “Rest up, Evar. You look even worse than Angelique.”

Evariste’s laugh was rusty—as if he hadn’t used it in so long, he could barely remember how to. “Your concern warms me.”

Rather than grinning in return, Clovicus hesitated. “Be safe, and destroy anyone who tries to harm you. Either of you.”

“I know, the continent can’t afford it,” Angelique said.

“Blast the continent,” Clovicus said. “I wouldn’t be able to handle losing you. Take care.” He plucked the spell apart before they could respond to the uncharacteristically warm statement.

Angelique smiled fondly at her mirror as its surface swirled and then turned reflective.

“You’ve gotten close to Lord Enchanter Clovicus.” Evariste acknowledged.

“Yes.” Angelique slipped the mirror back in her satchel and studied Evariste’s thoughtful expression. “I did tell you he was the only mage willing to help me when the Council kept summoning me.”

“You did. It’s just that Clovicus is very slow to bestow his affection on someone.”

Angelique’s eyes drifted to the Seven Warriors protectively posted around the room. Gregori was checking his quiver of crossbow bolts while Wendal attempted to ruffle his hair so it wasn’t so flat due to the position he’d slept in.

“You were gone six years,” she said.

“Mmm.” There was something about the way he looked at her. His eyes were…not calculating, but they glittered with a sharpness or maybe a slyness Angelique hadn’t seen before. “Did he talk to you about me?”

“He told me about the time you blasted your eyebrows off,” Angelique said.

He’d folded his arms across his chest, but at Angelique’s words he relaxed, the lines of his shoulders softening. “Ahh—he only told you apprenticeship stories then, did he?”

“Yes.” Angelique flicked her eyes from Evariste to a pile of fancy embroidered cushions the Seven Warriors had piled when making room for themselves on the furniture. It looked delectably inviting. “What else could he have told me about?”

“Nothing.” Evariste’s voice was breezy once again. “Are you ready to rest?”

“Yes!” Angelique staggered across the room and fell face-first into the cushions.

She would have fallen asleep immediately if her constant concern for Evariste hadn’t so completely filled her mind. Instead, she shimmied around on her cushion pile and watched as Evariste lowered himself onto the settee next to her.

“You’re going to sleep, too?”

“I’ll rest,” Evariste said. “Sleep seems…evasive.”

Angelique fluffed a pillow, then smacked her head into it. “Wake me up if you decide to leave to fetch breakfast or something.”

“I promise,” Evariste agreed.

Angelique nodded and shut her eyes. Almost immediately, her mind screamed at her to keep them open. She needed an assurance that Evariste really—really—was with her.

She popped one heavy eyelid open in time to see Evariste flip so he was on his stomach with one arm cascading over the side of the sofa, his hand resting on a wayward cushion from her pile.

She stared at the sleeve of his black and blue tunic.

Don’t. She told herself. Don’t be silly and needy.

Whether weakened by lack of sleep or by the necessity of assurance, Angelique ignored her own thoughts and crept her hand out, silently pinching the cuff of Evariste’s sleeve—a tactile reassurance that he was with her, even if her eyes were closed.

He didn’t seem to notice the indirect contact; his eyes were already shut.

Satisfied, Angelique closed her eyes. Between the steady woosh of his breath, the beautiful sound of the warriors adjusting their weapons, and the feel of Evariste’s tunic on her fingers, her worries receded, and Angelique fell asleep.

The few snatched hours of sleep Angelique got hardly felt like