“What is it? Spit it out—I’ve been traveling nearly nonstop to get back to the Conclave to help you,” Clovicus said.
She was barely aware of Evariste’s presence at her side, until he leaned in upon hearing Clovicus’ voice. “Hello, Master Clovicus,” he said with a hint of mischief and warmth in his voice.
“Evariste?” There was a sense of wonder to Clovicus’s voice as he jammed his face against his mirror. “Is that really you?”
Evariste moved a tiny bit closer to Angelique, so the side of his head leaned against Angelique’s. “It is. Angel fished me out of the mirror I was trapped in.”
Clovicus’s strong, handsome face crumpled, and his shoulders shook with the force of his emotion as he spoke in a broken voice. “Evariste—you bratty rascal.” His eyes were glossy with tears, and a choked chuckle escaped from him. “I’m so glad you’re back.”
Angelique had never doubted the Lord Enchanter was fond of Evariste, but his reaction made her realize just how deep the bond was.
“Of course,” Evariste grinned. “I could never leave you to live out the rest of your old, dried up life in peace. That’d be too nice for you.”
“You better not, you runty mouse,” Clovicus declared. “If you ever get yourself captured again, I will drag you across the continent by your ear!”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Evariste said.
They have a very different relationship than Evariste and I—even though we are also technically master and apprentice. I’m sure, though, it’s the difference in personalities.
Angelique couldn’t imagine Evariste using similar nicknames or threats on her. He was far more prone to coaxing and spoiling her. Perhaps it was that he had an entirely different teaching method?
“How did you get him out, Angelique? What transpired at Glitzern? You must tell me everything!”
After filling Clovicus in about the mirror, Queen Faina’s rescue, and the Chosen’s escape with said mirror (as well as the bad news that Snow White had delivered about the cold trail), the Lord Enchanter was in high spirits, and much of the weariness Angelique had seen in him when the spell first connected had been buffed away by his newfound joy.
“Angelique is right,” Clovicus declared. “It’s of top priority that Prince Severin is informed of all of this. I can contact him—and Stil; I’m certain he’ll be glad to hear you’re out, Evariste. But as far as I’m concerned, we can keep news of your freedom quiet from the Veneno Conclave. Particularly since we have established that there is a Chosen member somewhere within its ranks.”
“How far away are you from the Conclave?” Evariste asked.
Clovicus scratched his chin. “I should arrive in two or three days—maybe a little later given that I’m sure it will take some time to inform Severin and Stil of all that has transpired.”
“I can contact Severin,” Angelique offered.
“Nonsense.” Clovicus batted across his mirror. “You look like death that got trampled by a carriage and a pair of horses. You need to sleep. You can talk to Severin after.”
Angelique’s shoulders hunched in relief. “Thank you, Clovicus.”
“Anything for my apprentice’s apprentice,” Clovicus drawled. “The two of you be careful. Since the Chosen know Evariste is still cut off from his magic, they may attempt to retrieve him.”
Angelique smiled and felt her magic rear up around her. “They’re welcome to try,” she said between clenched teeth.
Clovicus squinted at her through the mirror. “I approve of your intensity. Next time a snooty mage tries to boss you around, you should show them that look, and then maybe kick them for good measure.”
Angelique cocked an eyebrow. “Rebel against social customs?” she quoted.
“Yes—forever and ever. As long as it’s convenient for me!” Clovicus winked, then flicked his gaze to Evariste. “Rest up, Evar. You look even worse than Angelique.”
Evariste’s laugh was rusty—as if he hadn’t used it in so long, he could barely remember how to. “Your concern warms me.”
Rather than grinning in return, Clovicus hesitated. “Be safe, and destroy anyone who tries to harm you. Either of you.”
“I know, the continent can’t afford it,” Angelique said.
“Blast the continent,” Clovicus said. “I wouldn’t be able to handle losing you. Take care.” He plucked the spell apart before they could respond to the uncharacteristically warm statement.
Angelique smiled fondly at her mirror as its surface swirled and then turned reflective.
“You’ve gotten close to Lord Enchanter Clovicus.” Evariste acknowledged.
“Yes.” Angelique slipped the mirror back in her satchel and studied Evariste’s thoughtful expression. “I did tell you he was the only mage willing to help me when the Council kept summoning me.”
“You did. It’s just that Clovicus is very slow to bestow his affection on someone.”
Angelique’s eyes drifted to the Seven Warriors protectively posted around the room. Gregori was checking his quiver of crossbow bolts while Wendal attempted to ruffle his hair so it wasn’t so flat due to the position he’d slept in.
“You were gone six years,” she said.
“Mmm.” There was something about the way he looked at her. His eyes were…not calculating, but they glittered with a sharpness or maybe a slyness Angelique hadn’t seen before. “Did he talk to you about me?”
“He told me about the time you blasted your eyebrows off,” Angelique said.
He’d folded his arms across his chest, but at Angelique’s words he relaxed, the lines of his shoulders softening. “Ahh—he only told you apprenticeship stories then, did he?”
“Yes.” Angelique flicked her eyes from Evariste to a pile of fancy embroidered cushions the Seven Warriors had piled when making room for themselves on the furniture. It looked delectably inviting. “What else could he have told me about?”
“Nothing.” Evariste’s voice was breezy once again. “Are you ready to rest?”
“Yes!” Angelique staggered across the room and fell face-first into the cushions.
She would have fallen asleep immediately if her constant concern for Evariste hadn’t so completely filled her mind. Instead, she shimmied around on her cushion pile and watched as Evariste lowered himself onto the settee next to her.
“You’re going to sleep, too?”
“I’ll rest,” Evariste said. “Sleep seems…evasive.”
Angelique fluffed a pillow, then smacked her head into it. “Wake me up if you decide to leave to fetch breakfast or something.”
“I promise,” Evariste agreed.
Angelique nodded and shut her eyes. Almost immediately, her mind screamed at her to keep them open. She needed an assurance that Evariste really—really—was with her.
She popped one heavy eyelid open in time to see Evariste flip so he was on his stomach with one arm cascading over the side of the sofa, his hand resting on a wayward cushion from her pile.
She stared at the sleeve of his black and blue tunic.