Angelique glanced at Quinn, trying to gauge just how road-weary the smiling soldier looked.
Quinn caught her gaze and shook her head. “There’s no need to delay on my account,” she said. “Though the pace was unusually fast, I am used to long hauls as a soldier.”
Angelique grinned. “Just what I was hoping for. We’d like to see Elle, please.”
The maid bobbed a curtsey and led them into the chateau while two footmen closed the doors behind them.
She led Quinn and Angelique to Severin’s private study.
The door was wide open, and—familiar with the room—Angelique stepped inside without hesitation. Over the years, Angelique had seen it warp from something that was similar to a personal library into the office of a commander. The Loire maps had been swapped out for maps of the continent with colored tacks marking out the movement of the countries in the alliance, as well as the monster hordes the Chosen were moving around the continent with alarming speed.
Wood was stacked high next to the fireplace, and three different hand mirrors were strewn across a massive desk that housed several geographical models of Erlauf.
Elle was seated at a round end table that was so small, the tea caddy balanced on its surface was larger than the table.
The Loire princess dropped a sugar cube in her tea and stirred it with a spoon as she glanced at the two guests seated at the end table with her—Gemma and Stil.
Stil was a Grandmaster craftmage Angelique knew quite well—he was an orphan she and Evariste had tested for magic and then taken to Luxi-Domus, the Veneno Conclave academy of magic.
Stil was something like a little brother to Angelique—though Evariste had always jokingly referred to him as their child—and was a genius at his magic.
Gemma, his wife, was just as talented in her work—sewing. She produced the highest quality of sewn clothes and goods that Angelique had ever seen, which was particularly important for craftmages who could place stronger spells and charms on higher quality goods.
Seemingly unaware of their arrival, Elle sipped her teacup, and then set it down. “Grandmaster Craftmage Stil, how much would a cloak similar to yours cost?”
“My black one?” Stil puffed his chest in pride. “Why, it’s priceless considering Gemma made it for me.”
Gemma—who appeared to be hemming a sash of some sort, probably something for the impending war that Stil would, in turn, enchant—didn’t even look up from her work. “I don’t think she’s talking about the cloak itself, but the spells.”
“Yes.” Elle eagerly nodded. “As much as I would love a cloak made by Gemma’s hand, that’s not exactly possible given the great need we have for her work. I was actually thinking a subpar cloak with a few small enchantments. Nothing too big—maybe a heat charm, or a spell to cool the wearer off, an invisibility charm—small things!”
Stil eyed the Loire Princess. “You just want that invisibility charm so you have an easier time slipping your guards.”
“They have gotten aggravatingly good at tracking me down lately,” Elle acknowledged.
“Can’t do it,” Stil said. “Severin would be mad—and don’t think I didn’t notice how you waited to ask until he was gone.”
Elle casually tossed a small bag onto the tea tray. It clinked suspiciously like coins when it landed and nearly tossed a spoon into the air. “Are you certain?”
“Weeeellll, those are small charms,” Still said. “It’s not like you’re asking for much.”
“No,” Gemma said.
“Why not?” Elle asked.
Stil poked a corner of the coin pouch. “Yes, why not?”
“Because I have great empathy for Prince Severin,” Gemma dryly said, “given whom I married.”
Stil sputtered. “I beg your pardon! I do not go skidding around on castle roofs for fun like Madame Elle!”
“No,” Gemma said. “You both just charge stupidly into fights and like to sacrifice yourselves in similar ways.”
Elle fluttered her eyelashes and looked excessively innocent. “Why would you say that?” she asked. “It’s not like we’re reckless or anything.”
Gemma actually set her project on her lap and stared at Elle.
Elle’s winning smile turned sheepish. “Ahahah.”
“I’ll tell you why—it’s that we are over-burdened with an abundance of good ideas,” Stil declared.
“Sometimes I wonder if I failed as a mentor because I was unable to stamp any lick of humility into you.” Angelique grinned as she approached them, skirting around a table that held drawings of the various monsters that plagued the continent.
“Angelique!” Elle stood, her smile warm and sunny. “I’m so glad to see you—and your lovely companion must be Quinn of Midnight Lake?”
Quinn saluted her as she had the princess’s husband. “I am.”
“Quinn, please allow me to introduce you to Princess Elle of Loire, Grandmaster Craftmage Stil, and Gemma.” Angelique gestured to each person as she made the introductions.
Quinn nodded to each of them in turn. “A pleasure,” she said. “Angelique told me much about you during our travels.”
“All good things, I imagine.” Stil winked at Quinn as he stood up, reaching out to clasp Angelique’s hand in his.
Angelique squeezed his fingers, then motioned for him to sit again. “We can make nice later—Severin told me about the Chosen stronghold.”
Elle held a finger up. “Ahh, yes—I’ll tell you everything I know!” She marched over to Severin’s desk and shuffled through several maps before finding the one she was looking for. “Here we have it. It’s a moderate stronghold. One black mage runs the place—the ranger estimated he is probably a high-ranking mage. Not high enough to be sorcerer or a Grandmaster, but on rank with a master mage. He’s got no less than three mages serving under him at a time, and most of them are craftmages.”
Angelique stared at the spot Elle tapped—a dot marked in northern Loire—before she finally realized what Elle had said. “Rogue craftmages?”
“Not rogue.” Stil stood up and joined the trio at the desk. “Chosen-trained—they never set foot inside Luxi-Domus.”
Quinn frowned. “How can they be craftmages without the proper schooling?”
“The same way many of these black mages learned—from records, documents, and previous members of the Chosen, I imagine,” Angelique said.
Stil nodded. “There’re a bunch of craftmage texts—it wouldn’t be hard to procure copies.”
Angelique slowly nodded. “If so many craftmages are present, I imagine they’re making something at this stronghold?”
“Exactly. They’re manufacturing all manner of charms that get distributed to various Chosen members.”
Quinn whistled. “This is big.”
“It is,” Angelique agreed. “We’ve found shops before, but not any suppliers. Are you sure it’s fine for me to go in first? I could ruin it all.”
Elle shrugged. “Then we’ll just find another stronghold.”
Angelique stared at the map, unable to articulate just how much it all meant to her.