“Nah, we already did.” Emerys’ grin returned. “A very long, warm and—”
Angelique gathered up her reins. “I really don’t care to hear this.”
Emerys laughed from deep in his chest while Quinn mounted Fluffy and settled her feet in the stirrups.
Quinn twisted in her saddle to peer at her gear, then nodded in satisfaction. “I believe we are properly outfitted. We can go if—”
“Lady Enchantress Angelique?”
Angelique’s heart plummeted when an elf riding a buckskin-colored horse galloped into the clearing, nearly running over a few well-wishers.
The elf on horseback slowed his horse to a trot, but the animal tossed its head and snorted as he pulled it into a tight circle. “Lady Enchantress Angelique?” the rider repeated.
“Yes?” Dread frothed in Angelique’s stomach, and she placed her hands on Pegasus’ shoulders for moral support.
Here it is. Someone else asking for my help—I knew I’d never get the chance to search for Evariste.
“I have a communication for you from Prince Severin of Loire.” The rider held up a letter sealed with wax. “The messenger is waiting at the border of Alabaster Forest but said it was an important communication that you need to receive immediately.”
That kind of preamble makes me more certain I’m about to be asked to put out another fire. I hope it’s not a curse—if it’s a curse, I’m going on strike.
The rider directed his horse just close enough to pass the letter off before the spirited animal danced away.
Pegasus snorted a few sparks, unimpressed with the elven mount’s exuberance.
Angelique would have normally smiled at his antics, but dread was making her tongue go numb and brought a sour taste to her mouth as she broke the seal and scanned the contents of the letter.
Angelique,
In your last missive, you mentioned you and the soldier who broke the elves’ curse will be riding to Mullberg to search for Lord Enchanter Evariste.
I request that you stop by Chanceux Chateau while en route. I have received some intel that may be of use to you.
In remarkably different scrawl, someone had written just below that,
I’d love to see you again and meet this Quinn. She sounds fun!
Severin of Loire
Elle of the fancy front parlor
All of Angelique’s fears fell away as she studied Severin’s letter—and the scrawled note from Elle. Surprisingly, a wave of warmth enveloped Angelique.
This is fantastic—perhaps it’s the best letter I’ve received in my entire life. Any information will be a help, and Severin is not one to exaggerate, so it must be some first-rate information. Besides, we have to ride northeast through Loire to make it to Mullberg anyway—Chanceux Chateau is practically on the way.
She almost sagged in her saddle with sweet relief—some of which must have shown on her face because when she looked up, Quinn and Emerys were smiling.
“Good news?” Quinn asked.
“Fantastic news!” Angelique said. “We might have a lead!”
Evariste rolled his head, trying to loosen his muscles that felt permanently cramped from the pain. The movement incited jolts of pain up and down his spine, but he was already sweating from the constant agony that was the mirror feeding off his magic.
He was still actively placing himself between the mirror and his magic. It didn’t do much besides make the pain downright agonizing. But he felt better knowing he was resisting—even if the only outcome was irritating the ancient and evil mirror.
But the pain growing worse—something Evariste didn’t think was possible—and the mirror’s effect on Queen Faina of Mullberg was starting to strengthen despite his efforts.
Evariste stared out at the murky front of the mirror—unable to see much given the darkness of the queen’s chambers.
Queen Faina had left shortly after midnight, moaning in pain. It was just Evariste—and the mirror, of course.
“Why resist? You’re never going to escape. You are entirely in my power,” it whispered.
Evariste rallied the effort to yawn, showing the mirror just how little he cared about it. He regretted the display when hot pain burrowed into the hinge of his jaw.
Everything in him was tensed with pain—even his teeth hurt and his eyelids ached.
I’d do anything to sleep for an hour. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept. The mirror hadn’t even granted him the courtesy of letting him pass out from pain.
Whenever he was on the brink of it, the mirror lashed out with a singing magic that burned at Evariste’s skin.
I wonder if I’ll lose my mind soon, Evariste dully thought. Could the mirror still use my magic then? Or would it go mad with me? I imagine my sanity level wouldn’t matter to it. It would just be gleeful there was no resistance.
That thought alone made Evariste sit up a little taller despite the hot pain that tore through his lower back as the mirror ripped another strand of his magic free for its use. That was the only reason why he didn’t appear half dead when the black mage appeared.
Evariste didn’t even know he was there until the haze of the mirror faded, revealing a thin, elderly man wearing a gray cloak.
Evariste had seen him before. Every so often—maybe once a week or once a month? He didn’t know. Time ran differently in the mirror—a Chosen mage appeared to check on the mirror’s progress with Queen Faina, renew its orders, and to glance at Evariste as well.
Although the man’s limbs were skinny like sticks and he wheezed whenever he breathed—a combination that made him appear less than one day from the grave—when the Chosen mage reached out, Evariste braced himself.
“Are you sleeping, Lord Enchanter Evariste? Time to wake up!” The mage put a hand on the edges of the mirror and, as if he were picking up a toy block, hefted the entire mirror up—even though it was taller than he was. He shook it, jostling the mirror.
Strength magic—not a usual power.
Evariste didn’t feel it overly much—it made the ground ripple underneath him, but the motion was not as violent as the mage was hoping—so he stayed sitting where he was, watching the mage with a purposely lazy expression.
“Use me…” the mirror whispered to the mage.
“We are.” The old man’s laugh was high-pitched and raspy, and after a moment it descended into a cough that wracked his body for a good minute before he recovered.
Evariste stared past the man into Queen’s Faina darkened room, his eyes starved for any sight besides the rusty, brownish-red that continuously filled his sight, even if all he saw was blackness.
The mage wiped his mouth off on his sleeve, then pressed so close to the mirror he nearly mashed his mottled red nose against its surface. “Lord Enchanter? You haven’t finally died, have you? Me and the boys have bets going for when you finally break and croak, and I said you’d last at least another week!”
“My spite keeps me alive,” Evariste drawled. “Your beloved leader told me she didn’t believe I could survive this. But I live to hear of the day she chokes on her own ambition and black magic.” He fell silent, refusing to show an ounce more of weakness, when the mirror sucked more magic from him, making his fingers pop.