Trial of Magic (The Fairy Tale Enchantress #4) - K. M. Shea Page 0,228

those charms that let them make gates and are clearly powered by your magic?”

Evariste’s gaze darkened. “When my magic is harvested from me using dark methods, a black mage can mold it to their wishes. That’s the danger in black magic. It appears to be able to do anything and break the regular rules of magic. In reality, it has a steep price—the humanity of its caster’s soul.”

Angelique stared at the pile of ash and stone. “Yes.”

Evariste squeezed her hand, then gently pulled his fingers from hers. “Your messages?”

“Right. Right! I better write to Snow White and notify Severin before Tristisim gets really snitty and orders someone to stop me.” Angelique veered toward Evariste’s desk, grateful to see the pile of unmarked white paper stacked on a corner of it—an accomplishment considering it was buried under letters, paperwork, and forms that had piled up during Evariste’s absence.

“He won’t do that,” Evariste said. “He’ll bristle and complain, but in his heart, he knows what you’re doing is right.”

“I hope so,” Angelique said grimly. “Or the Chosen will win without lifting a finger.”

With her letter sent—and Severin notified immediately via the magical mirror—Angelique was thrilled when she received a response from Snow White several days later.

The princess promised to come to the Conclave and mentioned she’d be riding with her grandfather’s troops, who needed to return to their southern fortification anyway.

A week after she received the response, Angelique skulked in front of the fortress gates, impatiently waiting for her friend’s arrival.

“You really think she’ll come today, Lady Enchantress?” asked Javed, the silver-haired war mage who had responded when Angelique asked for help while facing down Crest, Primrose, Galendra, and Lazare.

“She said in her letter that she’d arrive today,” Angelique said. “And if Snow White says something, she’ll make it happen.”

Satisfied, Javed nodded. He turned around and checked on his underlings—who stood against the fortress wall. Previously, the walls were beautiful and rustic, fashioned from timbers and dotted with the occasional spot of moss.

Already, the holes the Chosen had blasted into the walls in their escape had been patched, but the Conclave hadn’t been satisfied with that action alone, and now the walls glowed with the strongest protective charms Clovicus, Felicienne, and the few craft mages that were present could make.

(Tristisim, Clovicus had told her, was not pleased when he figured out that Chanceux Chateau had become a mecca of sort for craft mages, and that the most skilled of their kind stayed there with Stil, Gemma, Severin, and Elle.)

Angelique admired the walls for a moment, then turned to peer out into the green hills surrounding the Veneno Conclave fortress.

A wind swept down from the mountains to the west. The range was cloaked in mist, and the wind they spat out into the hilly area was both damp and chilly. Angelique shivered as it blew through her clothes, blasting her with cold.

I’ve forgotten how rough the weather can be when I’m not wearing my charmed dress.

Even though her oversized tunic was no longer needed to blast the Council and show how little she cared—Tristisim knew perfectly well, finally—she still hadn’t changed back. Dimly, she knew the Conclave’s position was so precarious, more roof running might be in her future.

Besides, with Evariste’s continued evasiveness in discussing the dreams, there was something awkward about wearing the gown, even though Evariste had already seen her wear it once.

Nothing says “I rummaged around your room” quite like wearing a gift a person hadn’t yet given you.

Angelique walked back and forth across the road—which was inlaid with stone. She glanced at the fortress walls, idly wondering where Evariste was.

He hasn’t acted like it bothered him—the dress or the dreams. I must be overthinking the situation. Yes, it’s silly to be fretting over it given what the Conclave is experiencing at the moment. I should be dwelling on things that are actually constructive.

Forcing herself to change her thoughts, Angelique offered a quick grin to Javed and his forces. She stopped pacing long enough to stand by the lead war mage and study him for several long moments.

He reminded her a little of her father: kind, honorable, and valiant. She had seen him around the fortress numerous times and had learned he was one of the top war mages in the Conclave.

Angelique pressed her lips together. “Why did you believe me when I said Primrose, Crest, and the others were with the Chosen?” She was half afraid, half hopeful of his answer as she fidgeted, scratching her elbow.

Javed tilted his