Trial of Magic (The Fairy Tale Enchantress #4) - K. M. Shea Page 0,224

he’s still here.

He tugged one of his hands through the wild mess of her dark hair and rested his cheek on the top of her head. “Good morning.”

“Morning.”

“I hope your sleep wasn’t too uncomfortable?” He arranged his arms around her back and shoulders.

“Nah, I’ve slept on worse.” Angelique’s eyes drifted shut as she listened to the warm tone of his voice.

Evariste’s hand that grasped her shoulder tightened fractionally, but he didn’t say anything.

“How are you?” Angelique asked.

“I’m uninjured.”

“And the situation?”

“Not good.” Evariste sighed and changed the tilt of his head so his lips almost brushed her ear as he spoke. “It’s estimated that a fourth of our mages left.”

“The war mage who was guarding me while I slept told me. I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen last night for myself.” Angelique reflexively tightened her grasp on his black cloak.

Evariste sighed, his breath stirring her hair. “Yes.”

They were quiet for a moment, holding each other in all the pain.

“This doesn’t bode well for the continent, does it?” Angelique asked. “Because this means without a doubt, we’re going to enter into a full-on magic war.”

Evariste didn’t reply.

Angelique sagged into him and wished things were different. Evariste’s warmth and the firm pressure of his hands was reassuring and inviting. She felt her breathing deepen as Evariste rubbed a sore spot on her shoulder.

“Ahem.”

Evariste grumbled something under his breath Angelique didn’t catch as she stepped out of his arms so she could turn around.

Lady Enchantress Felicienne stood in the opening of the square tent, Lord Enchanter Tristisim standing next to her.

Clovicus popped out of the tent, shoving his head between the frowning pair. “What are we looking at? Oh.” He visibly lost interest when he saw Evariste and Angelique. “It’s just Evariste and Angelique. That’s nothing to get stirred up over.”

Felicienne twisted so she could bestow her frown upon Clovicus, but the copper-haired enchanter wriggled between her and Tristisim, making the other enchanters move or risk getting an elbow in the nose.

“You’re looking unexpectedly perky considering you flushed out an entire traitorous faction, Angelique.” Clovicus shook out his robes and strolled up to them. Although he smiled, Angelique could see the shadows of grief in his face.

“I hardly did it on my own,” Angelique dryly said. “As I recall last night, you and the war mages took on the responsibility for the clean-up.”

“Yes, yes, yes. We did so much to drive off the stragglers. You merely took on four Council Members by your lonesome and scared them so deeply, they blew their cover.” Despite the lighthearted sound of his voice, his smile faded. Clovicus rested a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “We all owe you a great debt.”

Angelique shrugged miserably. “I didn’t solve any problems. I just revealed them.”

“And if you hadn’t, things only would have gotten worse,” Clovicus said. “It’s not just all the mages we lost; it’s whom we lost.”

“What do you mean?” Angelique asked.

Clovicus glanced around the empty street. “Why don’t you step inside our temporary quarters, and we’ll tell you what we’ve sorted out.”

Angelique nodded and began to amble up to the tent.

Behind her, Evariste said in a bell-light voice. “The two of you seem to have gotten chummy in my absence.”

“Of course.” Clovicus grabbed his one-time pupil by the cloak and ruffled his hair. “Naturally I’d look after your dear apprentice while you were missing.”

“Clovicus and Sybilla were both a great help to me in your absence,” Angelique said. She peered inside the tent, which was lit with starfire crystals and sported a rickety wooden table, a few wooden chairs, and a caddy of cooled tea. “Where is Sybilla? I assumed she would be involved in this discussion.”

“She was,” Clovicus said. “A bit before dawn, she left to go tell Mage Finnr what we’ve discussed.”

“Finnr is still here?” Angelique asked, not quite able to keep her surprise out of her voice. If she had to guess who would be a Chosen mage, she would have thought of him. He was in general grumpy, prone to disagreeing with any action anyone suggested taking on behalf of the continent, and actively refused to help—choosing, instead, to focus on who was breaking what rules of the Veneno Conclave.

“Yes,” Evariste said. “He’s one of the few we can say with confidence is high ranking and not a black mage.”

“Really?” Angelique asked skeptically.

“Try not to let your negative experiences with him color your view,” Clovicus advised. “The man is as fun as a herd of wild pigs, but he sticks to