Ten minutes later,I’d shed my heavy gown. Dressed only in my chemise and boots, I turned invisible, went outside, and scaled the wall of the castle. I’d taken off my gown to protect it from dirt and tears as well as for ease of climbing, although doing so almost seemed to be tempting fate. This would be the time one of the wizards shot a disclosing spell in my direction—when I was hardly dressed.
Once I reached the king’s council chamber window, I stood precariously perched, feet doing their best to find purchase onjutting stone blocks while my hands gripped the windowsill. Rows of iron bars prevented entrance of any sort, but I didn’t want to enter, I only wanted to hear.
The king sat on an ornately carved throne with a red velvet canopy that hung over it as though it needed shade. He sat stiffly, his expression stern.
Four chairs flanked the throne. The steward, the marshal, and Ronan sat in three. The other was empty. More than two dozen smaller chairs faced the throne in less ornate supplication. The men sitting in them wore their stately robes, proof of their magic.
Mage Zephyr, now the senior wizard, paced across the front of the room addressing the group. “We must do our part to root out the treachery among us,” he boomed loud enough that hearing him was quite easy. “Mage Redboot was left no more than a skeleton. What dark spell is that? I know naught of its origin. What book tells of it?”
None of the wizards answered. A few shook their heads. Former Mage Saxeus sat with the group of wizards, looking flushed and sullen. I noticed Wolfson among the group as well, sitting with an expression of firm disapproval.
Ronan’s brows drew together the way they did when he considered a puzzle. “Redboot’s condition may not be the result of a spell.”
Mage Zephyr snorted in derision. “You are truly inexperienced if you think any other cause but magic could?—”
Ronan cut him off. “I never claimed magic wasn’t involved. I simply meant it might not have been the purpose of the spell. Since Telarian, Sciatheric, and Saxeus’ marks were all taken, we can assume Redboot’s was as well. He might have been using magic to stave off aging, and his disintegration was caused by the loss of that magic.”
Meaning, Ronan believed Redboot had used dark magic to take the life of some other wizard or wizards to lengthen his own. At this accusation, a murmur went through the group.
My shoulders raised, lifted as the weight of guilt slid from them. If Ronan was right, Redboot’s death wasn’t my fault. Not really. He’d held death off by unlawful magic. I’d just taken away his protection.
The king tapped his fingers on his armrest. “It’s a heavy thing to accuse a man of dark magic, especially one who no longer can speak in his defense. What proof do you offer?”
Ronan had his answer ready. “Redboot was at least one hundred and twenty-six. I know because he once took credit for the spell that keeps crossbow strings dry in the rain. One of the books that recorded the incantation was written one hundred and ten years ago.”
The murmur that went through the crowd this time was louder and peppered with outraged exclamations.
“If you knew this about him,” the king said, silencing the crowd, “why didn’t you inform me?”
The question made me roll my eyes on Ronan’s behalf. Did the king really expect his newest wizard to make an enemy of a senior wizard who used dark magic?
“I apologize,” Ronan replied calmly. “I’d supposed Redboot was simply taking false credit for the spell, a fault of vanity, nothing else. Now I believe he told the truth. In the legend Nabaddon, that dark wizard met a similar end.”
Mage Zephyr stopped his pacing for long enough to scoff at Ronan. “You’re too soon out of the nursery. The legend of Nabaddon isn’t a historical source. It’s nothing but a bedtime tale meant to entertain children.”
“And yet even when we entertain children,” Ronan answered, “we don’t always lie to them. Apparently, it is true that when awizard with an unnaturally prolonged life dies, his flesh reverts to what it would have been without magic holding it together.”
Exactly. I wasn’t a murderer. I would continue telling myself this until the words scrubbed away the images of the man’s dissolving flesh.
Zephyr didn’t argue with Ronan’s assertion, perhaps because the king said, “Your theory would explain many things, I suppose.” Leofric’s countenance darkened. He shook his head and muttered a curse. “How is it that I knew so little about my head wizard that I couldn’t tell his heart was so black?”
“You’re not to blame.” Zephyr’s voice turned soothing. “He fooled everyone. He was an expert at hiding his crimes.”
Well, Zephyr had changed his opinion quickly. He was probably emphasizing Redboot’s skill so that no one could blame Zephyr for not detecting Redboot’s true nature earlier. “Regardless of the cause of Redboot’s demise,” Zephyr went on, “we must find the man guilty of last night’s crimes.”
“Men,” Saxeus interjected.
A manifestation of Saxeus’ ego. He was certain a lone wizard couldn’t possibly have overpowered him.
“Or men,” Zephyr amended.
“I suspect only one wizard was involved,” Ronan said.
Why was he so perceptive?
Zephyr glared at him. “Enlighten us, Mage Warison. What book have you read that lists a spell where only one wizard is needed to accomplish the task of removing a wizard’s mark?”
Ronan sent him a patient smile. “My assumption isn’t based on any books. It comes from the size of Redboot’s room. The space only allowed for one other person.”