Wicked As You Wish (A Hundred Names for Magic #1) - Rin Chupeco Page 0,74

small clearing surrounded by trees…”

“What?” It was Alex’s turn to look pale. “A sword in stone?”

“I’m not sure what you saw.” Loki tilted the mirror downward; a normal-looking mirror. “It’s not a looking glass. There’s no bespelling or spelltech I can see inside it. If there’s any odd magic here, this isn’t one of them.”

17

In Which a Seeress Arrives for Dramatic Effect

Alex was waiting for Tala by the time she left her room, this time fully dressed and with the mirror very deliberately turned to face one corner of the bathroom so she wouldn’t have to look at it and any of the psychotropic nightmares within, bespelled or otherwise. No matter how many times they tried, they hadn’t been able to replicate whatever spell it was, and Tala just wanted it to go away for good.

“What did the sword look like?” he asked quietly.

Tala paused, looking at him. The firebird, as usual, was curved along his shoulder like some animated shawl, though it was looking as despondent as he seemed to be.

“I didn’t see too many details,” she said slowly. “It looked like an ordinary sword to me, although I’m not experienced enough to know what a normal one looks like, I guess. It was just a sword stuck inside a stone.”

He exhaled. “I was afraid of that.”

“Does this have anything to do with the Avalon sword?” She knew as much about it as the casual internet reader. Obviously, the fantastical elements of the legend were talked about more—how the sword could change shape and form, how it could manifest different abilities depending on its wielders’ personalities and preferences, how it was never the same with every incarnation. How it was always found in strange places; within walls, inside dragons’ tails, embedded in stone.

“Yeah. Been hoping you might have a clue as to where we could find it. But if you keep seeing it in a forest…” Alex gestured at the castle walls, indicating the winter outside. “I don’t think there’s anything even remotely green out there anymore.”

“It looked like a forest, right up till everything started decaying and the sword started corroding. Is that some kind of protection spell?”

He frowned. “None that I know of.”

“Why is it showing itself to me, then? What do I have to do with it?”

Alex shrugged. “Might have something to do with the Makiling curse. Maybe whatever enchantments used to conceal it aren’t holding up anymore. But you have to tell me if you see it again. It’s important.”

“I really don’t want to see it again, but sure.”

“Like I said, be careful what you wish for. If only I’d been in the room when you were. I would have—” He paused. “Just let me know, okay? And Tala, about your dad—”

“Don’t, Alex.”

“But don’t you think we should start—”

“No, we shouldn’t, and I don’t want to. I don’t want to start this now.”

“Then when are you going to?”

Never, Tala thought. Never’s a good place to start. “I’m hungry. I’m heading down.” She marched away, giving him no choice but to sigh loudly and follow.

The others had already seated themselves at the table in the dining hall downstairs by the time Tala and Alex emerged, a sumptuous meal spread out. There were roast chickens swimming in a tart orange sauce, bread still hot from the oven, and freshly made jam and butter. There were slices of cheese and platters of fruit in heavy metal plates, and flagons that held water, much to Ken’s obvious disappointment. Whatever their problems were after the frost had spread, starvation apparently wasn’t one of them. The castle, Tala soon learned, had both a bespelled glasshouse and a large chicken coop specifically engineered to remain untouched by the winter. West told her that most of the Tintagel family’s inherited spells were created to combat the Snow Queen in particular, with ice as the specific threat to design their magic against.

Ken, already ravenous, was stuffing his face with as many cheeses and bread as his mouth could handle, while West had long discarded knife and fork for fingers. Loki was more reticent, exerting some effort at table etiquette the other two had long abandoned. Their staff was back to the size of a toothpick, tucked behind their ear. Ken’s swords rested on the wall behind the boys, easily within arm’s reach.

The firebird hopped onto the table, settled itself next to Alex’s chair, and briskly attacked a platter of bread. The count smiled indulgently at it, like firebirds at the supper table were a