Wicked As You Wish (A Hundred Names for Magic #1) - Rin Chupeco Page 0,77

remember, was just as impulsive. The prophecy, too, mentions a staff of wood and lilies.” He looked inquiringly at Loki. “I presume that is yours. My apologies, but I see that sliver behind your ear is rife with spells.”

“I don’t know if it’s a segen.” Loki drew out the toothpick, flipped it in their hands, and a second later was holding a heavy staff. They turned it to show an intricately carved flower on one side of it. “Dad just gave it to me one day.”

“A water snake is the Wagners’ coat of arms, and the Suns’ are of a rare species of lily, if I am not mistaken. The Suns also have in their possession a majestic staff that can lengthen or shorten according to its owner’s wishes, called a Ruyi Jingu Bang. It’s said to possess some limited sentience of its own, able to independently defend its wielder against opponents.”

“My last name is Sun-Wagner, but I’m neither by blood. Shawn Wagner and Anthony Sun adopted me.”

“The prodigal sons,” the count said, with sudden understanding. “Your fathers’ story is known to me.” He studied them closely. “Yet I could almost swear you bear a passing resemblance to someone else. Surely, an adopted child would not be able to…but perhaps I am mistaken. My sight has been growing worse as of late.”

Zoe entered the dining hall at that moment. She had donned a soft silk dress dyed green that rustled around her legs as she walked, emphasizing rather than detracting from her blue eyes.

Ken let out a playful wolf whistle. Zoe turned a healthy shade of pink, but wrinkled her nose at him all the same. The count rose, accompanying her gallantly to the empty seat on Tala’s left.

“I’m not too late, am I?”

“Not at all. You must have had a trying day. If you were too tired from your journey, I could have given orders for your meal to be served in your rooms instead, Lady Fairfax.”

“Fairfax?” Tala asked.

“Zoe’s mother,” Ken whispered.

“I don’t want to impose too greatly on your hospitality,” Zoe said, smiling. “And you’re very well-informed. I wasn’t aware West had told you who we were.”

“The Dame spoke of the arrival of a white doe. If I recall correctly, the Fairfax family crest is that of a white doe running across a field of golden brown. And I have a very good memory for faces,” the count added, with the abashed air of one made to admit an unusual skill. “I have had the pleasure of meeting your mother, Felicity, on several occasions in the past, and you are both very similar in features.”

“‘Pleasure’ and ‘meeting my mother’ aren’t usually things I get to hear in the same sentence.” There was a faint hesitation in her voice, though, a barely perceived tension upon mention of her mother.

The count turned to Tala. “And of course, you are the daughter of Lumina Makiling and the Scourge of Buyan.”

Ken choked on his goblet, coughing loudly. Loki lowered their knife and Zoe blinked, taken aback by the count’s bluntness.

“Uncle!” West protested.

“I say it as a statement of fact, Nephew, not as an insult.” The man sounded apologetic. “I’ve met your father in years past. While I cannot claim to forgive him for the atrocities he’d committed, I cannot fault him for wanting redemption, and I support that, though others have not. My mother does not have the vision to see hundreds of years into the future, but she can foretell the events of coming months. But she cannot choose what she sees and has no control over her own visions.”

“When did she make these predictions?” Zoe asked.

“The day Maidenkeep froze. It was the final vision she had of His Highness. After that, she could discern nothing.”

“We were like, what? Six years old?” Ken muttered. “I didn’t even know where we were gonna live, then, much less know I’d be here.”

“You remember the war, Ken?” Tala asked.

“Of course. Don’t you?”

“Not really. Mom said I was still fast asleep when they brought me away.”

“The sky is dark tonight,” a new voice sounded by the doorway. “It shall rain hail again soon enough. The poor boy shall be wet before long, I warrant.”

Tala had been expecting a crone, someone that fit the age-old witch stereotype. What she saw was an elegantly dressed lady, her white hair piled high on her head and expertly pinned back, and amused green eyes, like a cat’s. She dressed like a royal noble about to hold court, glittering gems