Trial of Magic (The Fairy Tale Enchantress #4) - K. M. Shea Page 0,223

stared down at her hands and a few tears ran down her cheeks. “No…he’s gone.”

Angelique tilted her head. “Who is gone?”

“Alfonso,” Sinèad whispered.

Angelique straightened. “Do you think he was hurt when the others left? Do we need to look for him—”

“No,” Sinèad whispered. “I saw him leave—with the others. He blasted a hole in the fortress wall and led some of the Chosen mages outside… I screamed for him, but he didn’t even look back.”

Angelique stared at the mage, refusal ringing through her mind. No, now that’s impossible. They were a disgustingly happy couple. Sinèad flirted shamelessly with Alfonso, and while he acted embarrassed, it was obvious he thought the world of her. He can’t be one of the Chosen. He loved her too much!

Angelique opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her.

“It was all a lie.” Sinèad mashed her hands into her eyes. “He married me, and we spent every day together. But he never loved me.”

The pain in her voice stabbed Angelique. She hesitated—no mage had ever really welcomed touch from her—but Sinèad’s slumped head spoke of a deep brokenness.

She knelt down in front of Sinèad and slowly hugged her. She twitched in surprise when Sinèad threw her arms around her and leaned into Angelique, trembling as she cried.

When Sinèad took in a stuttering breath and leaned back, Angelique heard the scuff of boots on the rock path behind her.

Still kneeling, Angelique twisted, peering back behind her self-appointed guards.

Rein, the master weather mage with hair a distinct shade of ocean blue, stood in the alleyway, his hands shoved in the pockets of his trousers. He stared blankly at the road, his hair messy and his clothes wrinkled.

“Blanche is gone,” he said.

Angelique squeezed Sinèad’s shoulder, then stood. “What?”

“Blanche was with them. The Chosen.” The wind ruffled Rein’s blue hair. “We were holding a demonstration for students… When the fight broke out, she attacked me. She hurt three of the children with a lightning strike.”

“Blanche did?” Angelique raised a hand to massage her forehead, but it felt pointless.

Blanche and Alfonso were some of the brightest in the Veneno Conclave. How could this happen? How could they turn their back on everyone and betray them like this?

Rein slowly raised his eyes, honing in on Angelique. “You tried to warn us.”

“I didn’t know it was this bad,” Angelique said. “I would have tried harder…”

“How could they do this to us?” Sinèad’s voice was small and frail. “How could they smile at us every day, laugh with us, fight with us, and then betray us?”

“Did we do something?” Rein asked. “Could we have—”

“No.” Angelique’s voice was hard and unforgiving. “They made this choice. I don’t know why, but you cannot take responsibility for it.”

Sinèad closed her eyes. “How do we recover from this? How do we know there aren’t more black mages among us?”

Angelique flinched at the unwelcome idea, but Sinèad was right. It wasn’t certain that all of the Chosen had left with Crest, Primrose, Lazare, and Galendra. Angelique flicked her core magic away when it curled around her, purring over a few broken fragments of the fountain.

“Angelique?” Lovelana stepped out of the alleyway.

“Lovelana, hello.”

“You’re looking much better. I’m glad.” Lovelana grimaced. “I tried to heal you, but it didn’t seem to do much…”

“My price is particularly stubborn,” Angelique said wryly. “Very little improves it besides time.”

Lovelana wrinkled her nose. “I’m going to take that as a challenge. But I digress. He’s looking for you.”

“Who?” Angelique frowned, her forehead furrowing.

Lovelana laughed. “Whom do you think? Evariste!”

Angelique blinked, surprised. That’s right…he’s back. I don’t have to face this alone.

“You’d better find him—he seems…on edge without you,” Lovelana said. “I think he barely stopped himself from bludgeoning Tristisim no less than three times.”

Angelique took a jolting step forward, then stopped, her gaze flicking from Sinèad to Rein.

“Go,” Lovelana said. “I’ll stay here.”

The edges of Angelique’s lips curled up into a grin she couldn’t hold back. She ran, waving to Lovelana as she passed the openly grinning enchantress.

She jumped a pile of rubble and zipped back out to the main road.

The gauzy purple tent was brighter now that the morning sun had climbed past the horizon. There was the scrape of boots, and Evariste stepped around the corner of the tent, his eyes skimming the decimated buildings.

“Evariste,” Angelique called.

He smiled when he saw her, and in a gesture that was so familiar and yet different, opened his arms.

Smiling and nearly sobbing with relief, Angelique walked into the embrace.

He may not have his magic, but