Trial of Magic (The Fairy Tale Enchantress #4) - K. M. Shea Page 0,222

but she didn’t know what else to say. Everything was just…odd.

She pushed herself to her feet, her legs shaking like a newborn foal. When she could stand without tottering, she planted her hands on her lower back and stretched, moving her stiff muscles.

Daylight revealed the wreckage of the previous night. Several buildings bore damaged walls and roofs; a few were even collapsed. Rubble—broken crates and barrels, ruined bricks and cracked stone—spilled into the street. Smoke and dust drifted from the remains, and the fortress was disturbingly quiet considering much of the city usually stirred before dawn.

Angelique stared at the visual symbol of the Veneno Conclave’s complacency—or rather its failure—that had allowed the Chosen to worm their way in.

Even now, she still had a hard time understanding what had happened.

How had four Chosen mages gotten to be Council Members? How had the Veneno Conclave missed this quiet invasion?

“Do we know how many Chosen infiltrated the Conclave?” Angelique abruptly asked.

“…No.” The war mage lost her smile and joined Angelique in watching a curl of smoke rise from the shell of a collapsed building. “But we know that throughout the night, mages slipped out, escaping, even as we tried to rally our forces.”

“But it was a lot?”

“It’s not official, but I would estimate nearly a fourth of the mages present in the Conclave were Chosen members.”

A fourth? The number made Angelique stagger.

That’s so many. No wonder the Conclave wouldn’t move against the black mages. But how could this happen? We mages are supposed to protect and serve! How could the Chosen have possibly blended in so well with us?

She briefly closed her eyes—an attempt to rein in on all her wild thoughts and doubts—and settled herself. One thing at a time.

“I see,” she murmured.

Her resolve found, Angelique had to practically climb out of the nest of cloaks and robes that she was swaddled in. She peered curiously at them once she was freed.

“Many were concerned you’d be uncomfortable,” the war mage explained.

“Ah. That’s very kind.” Angelique awkwardly cleared her throat. “Thank you. Evariste, Clovicus, and Sybilla are still in the tent?”

“Yes, Lady Enchantress.”

“Great.” Still feeling awkward, Angelique picked her way around shattered ceramic pots (ignoring the way her magic curiously poked at the shards) and headed for the tent. She twisted back when she heard footsteps following her and found the war mage and her companions trailing her.

When they caught her gaze, they smartly saluted.

…I don’t know what this means.

In a bid to avoid thinking too deeply about it, Angelique nodded at them, then doubled her pace to the tent.

When she was about halfway there, the sound of muffled sobs reached her. She stopped abruptly—her well-armed shadows stopping with her—and listened.

The noise wasn’t coming from the tent but down a side street, which—if Angelique remembered correctly—was one of the housing areas for mages who worked in the Conclave.

Angelique fidgeted, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, then made the turn-off, following the hushed noise.

The side street widened, opening up into a courtyard encircled by skinny brick buildings. At the center of the courtyard was a rather sorry-looking bush, two stone benches, and a fountain that had been mangled in the night’s fight (if the broken, tipped-over statue on the ground next to it was anything to go by).

Sitting on one of the stone benches was a mage with russet-colored hair. She was curled over herself, her hands pressed to her eyes as tiny sobs escaped her.

She didn’t seem to know that Angelique was there, so Angelique kicked a rock that skittered across the path.

The woman cut herself off into a choked gasp and wiped at her cheeks. She folded her hands in her lap and raised puffy eyes to peer up at Angelique, an unhealthy pallor settled into her skin.

It took Angelique a few moments to place the subdued mage as Sinèad of the Assignments and Appointments Department. For a moment, she was certain she must be wrong. Sinèad was vibrant and expressive. This mage lacked the glow in her eyes, and defeat lined her face. And where was Alfonso, her husband?

“Sinèad?” Angelique asked.

The mage tried for a watery smile, but her lower lip trembled too much to make it stick. “Hello, Apprentice Angelique.”

Angelique glanced at the buildings behind Sinèad, but besides the broken fountain, the area seemed untouched.

It seems stupid to ask if she’s all right when she’s obviously been crying…

Her fingers twitched as she started to extend her hand and then thought better of it. “Can I help you?”

Sinèad