Griffin sat back as the magician did simple sleight-of-hand tricks. He made a coin disappear, then two coins, then ten. All the while the audience remained in a state of stoic, unimpressed silence.
After a bit involving color-changing sticks failed to rouse a single clap, Esmera gave a prolonged yawn. The audience went back to eating and drinking, loudly clanking their glasses down on the tables, gaveling the end of Xavier Ambrosius.
But the sorcerer plowed ahead. This time with upside-down cups and a vanishing rock.
Griffin hissed laughter. The lutes added insult with a playful tune that plunged octaves the very second Xavier showed off the empty cup.
“Come now, give him time,” Egrid said. “He’s quite fun.”
“Laird Egrid, you speak of eternity. None of us are given that kind of time on this earth,” Griffin answered.
“King Umbert, you should feed him to the draignochs for lack of originality,” Silas yelled.
Maggie glared at Griffin as if it were he who’d said to feed her father to the beasts. Griffin frowned, pointing at Silas, then laughed, turning Maggie furiously red.
Esmera laughed along.
Sybil didn’t. She leaned back in her chair, watching Xavier’s every move.
Jori looked crestfallen as Xavier dropped a small crate and accidentally kicked the prop table. A crow flew out from underneath, soaring through the open door. “Oh dear . . .” He paled and fell backward on the table.
Bowls toppled.
Sand spilled.
He was a disaster.
The room erupted in laughter.
The king’s uttered words were barely audible, so he raised his voice. “I said enough! Guards, get him out of my sight.”
Griffin’s foot tapped in excitement. The prize was in his sights.
Prince Jori hopped up. “Father, wait.” He held his hand out to Raleigh, who repeated the gesture to the armed guards stationed around the room.
Griffin couldn’t fathom why Jori would speak up for this charlatan.
“All we’ve been doing is waiting,” Malcolm bellowed.
“Nice of you to help the cause, Sir Malcolm,” Griffin said, waggling his eyebrows at Jori.
Malcolm slapped him on the back, as if they were sudden friends.
Sybil elbowed her brother and Griffin in turn, trying to shush their laughing. “Bullies. Both of you.”
“Your Majesty,” Xavier said with a quivering voice. “I, um, I’m sorry. My assistant missed her entrance. Clean those things up, Maggie lass. The real magic is about to begin. I promise.” He closed his eyes, whispering words Griffin couldn’t understand, rubbing his thumbs over the stones on the backs of his hands.
With a look of serious determination, Maggie picked up the bowls and slammed them on the table, one after another, so loudly it silenced the laughter and snide comments. With the last bowl still on the floor, she scooped the sand into it and turned so that Griffin was in full view.
“I believe you’ve upset the assistant,” Esmera sniggered. “Look at her. Seething like a wild animal.”
Xavier’s fingers stretched over the top of the bowl, clasping it tightly. Another hand cupped the bottom. “Maggie, let go.”
She did.
The bowl and its contents hit Griffin. Expecting sand, he gasped as cold water drenched him.
Esmera screamed and jumped out of her chair.
“Sister, be calm. It is only water,” Sybil called.
Griffin couldn’t hide his surprise. He shot up to examine the floor.
So did Malcolm. “Where did the sand go?”
“Where did the sand go?” Jori smiled at Griffin.
Griffin shook his head at the prince. “Into a hatch at the bottom of the bowl.”
Xavier spun round to address the others, who were now, at Griffin’s expense, paying much more attention. Even the king. “Yes, fair people of the Walled City, sand to water.”
The rebecs and lutes wound together into a triumphant yet irritating series of chords that stretched until Xavier picked up a wooden box. The sorcerer’s confidence might’ve returned, but so did his simple tricks, all ones Griffin had seen before. Using trapdoors and hidden compartments, making silver spoons vanish, and changing a raven to a bunny that hopped up on the table and nibbled on glazed carrots, to the audience’s delight.
Griffin leaned over to whisper in Jori’s ear. “Jori, I say we go to the Oughtnoch as soon as this is over.”
Jori appeared unfazed. He arched a censoring brow. “It isn’t over yet.”
“Is this ever going to end?” King Umbert growled.
Xavier’s face paled. He cleared his throat. “Yes, Your Majesty. We have saved the very best for last.”
Maggie handed him his staff.
“Keep your eyes on the gem,” Xavier said, touching the top of the staff. His eyes slammed shut. His hands trembled, shaking the staff as he mumbled an unintelligible enchantment.
Maggie placed her hands beneath his, gripping so hard her knuckles turned white. Xavier called out more incomprehensible words, while Maggie’s eyes closed.
A moonbeam shot through the loop, striking a jewel in the top of the staff.
Gasps and screeches echoed off the high ceilings.
Blue light flashed, blinding Griffin.
Xavier squealed with delight.
When Griffin’s vision cleared, a glistening white cheetah bared its long, sharp teeth at him. But unlike the stuffed creature outside the Great Hall, this one seemed very much alive. Or was it? It appeared to be drawn from moonlight.
“Are you seeing this?” the king cried.
“Is that real?” Sybil gasped.
The room filled with screams. Chairs clattered, falling as everyone jumped out of their seats and backed up. The animal leaped onto the head table, stalking toward Griffin, its paws brushing forks and knives, the mere contact sending them flying in all directions.
“That’s not possible . . . ,” Griffin uttered in horror as he stood. What was this thing?
The cat jumped off the table, nearly landing on top of Sybil. Malcolm grabbed her, pulling her out of the way just in time.
The cheetah paused only inches from Griffin, its head tilting, its eyes narrowing, ready to pounce. Griffin leaped over the table, but the animal followed.
He heard Jori cackling. “Run, Sir Griffin! Run!”
Griffin did. Out of the room, hoping the bloody thing would stop to eat someone else on the way out. What was he thinking? It wasn’t real, was it? It was an illusion, made of light.
Then again . . . maybe it was . . .
In the hallway, Griffin pulled his knife on the fly. The cheetah’s glow grew in brightness. It was right behind him, and closing in. He used a column to reverse course. Griffin’s arm cocked, his knife’s blade down, he stabbed the vicious animal right between the eyes so hard his hand plunged through its head.
It burned—so cold—like the weapon had been chiseled out of a frozen lake.
“Ah!” Griffin ripped his hand and weapon out of the shimmering creature.
The cheetah melted into thousands of glistening stars, which dimmed, then went out.
“Did you see? It was the moon and the stars!” a guard exclaimed.
Everyone in the Great Hall spilled out the door, having witnessed what Griffin had: Xavier performing an inexplicable, miraculous feat of magic.
There was applause, yes, but also whispers of shock and fear. In his heart, Griffin knew there had to be an explanation.