“Pieravor Gimitri.”
Piers winced. “I prefer Piers.” He glanced from Aberfrer to Wycke. Wycke shrugged. “How did you get here? I remember something about a dragon.” Piers’ forehead furrowed with his frown.
“Familiar Chynne transformed into a dragon,” Aberfrer informed him.
Piers’ face brightened. “That’s right! You rode Chynne! I’m so jealous. I didn’t even get to pet the dragon.”
“You don’t pet something that can snap your hand off at the wrist.” Wycke certainly wouldn’t. Chynne could be very touchy.
“He’s my familiar. He wouldn’t hurt me.”
Piers had a point. “Especially not when he wants you to release him,” Wycke said. “Your mother tricked him into servitude. He wants to be free.”
Piers frowned. “How do I release him?”
Piers and Wycke both turned their attention to Aberfrer.
Aberfrer shrugged. “Do not look to me for advice. I’ve searched my tomes and found no guidance for releasing a familiar.”
“That’s it!” Piers snapped his fingers. “My mother’s grimoire!”
“Neither I nor any of my mages can access the text.” With less effort than one might expect, Aberfrer lifted his enormous eyebrows. So, they really didn’t weigh a ton. “Grimoires are often spelled to a sorcerer’s bloodline, allowing only close kin access. If Nyanda followed the pattern, Pieravor might very well be the only one who can share her knowledge. If so, perhaps we can find something to help King Broen and King Radre.”
Piers’ shot the sorcerer a look full of scorn that must’ve reminded Aberfrer of Nyanda, for he blanched. “I’m right here.”
“I beg your pardon, Piers.” Aberfrer inclined his head in a gesture others might see as an apology. Aberfrer’s version came across as a bit condescending. As the former premier sorcerer of Tirra Neu, faced with two possibly stronger than himself, he bore watching.
“I’ve tried to read it before,” Piers said. “Nothing happened. I haven’t tried since finding out about all the magic and stuff.”
“And stuff, he says!” Aberfrer sniffed, tossing his hands into the air. “Possibly the most powerful sorcerer in two realms, and he uses ‘magic and stuff.’ May the gods save us all.” Without another word, he left the room.
“What do you think?” Piers turned his eerily icy eyes Wycke’s way.
Wycke dismissed the old sorcerer from his mind in favor of the new, considering his words carefully. “He’s acting like he’s on our side, but remember, he killed your mother. Possibly twice. Granted, she wasn’t exactly a mother to brag about to your friends, but sorcerers are jealous of anyone with more influence than themselves.”
“So, I shouldn’t trust him? For some reason, I feel I can. That there’s something he’s supposed to teach me.” Piers shifted his gaze to his hands, now clasped together in his lap. “I think I dreamed…”
Wycke softened his voice. “High King Broen trusts him when he’s in his right mind. Aberfrer also got me, Saris, and Jess out of our cells and helped us rescue you.”
“With magic and kingdoms at stake, it doesn’t do to trust too many implicitly,” Aberfrer said, stepping back through the doorway. “However, I swore vows to King Broen and his queen, and also the good of the realm. If you intend to use your gifts for ill, then no, you shouldn’t trust me. But if you genuinely want to learn, to see the good you can do, I’m your new… What does young Jess call herself? Oh, yes, I’m your new bestie.”
Wycke pulled the sheet more tightly around his naked body, realized he exposed more of Piers, and waved a hand…
Aberfrer grabbed his wrist. “Allow me.”
One moment, only a sheet covered Piers and Wycke. The next, a woven blanket in shades of blue fluttered over the bed. “Courtesy of my mate,” Aberfrer said. “We have no children or grandchildren of our own, yet she insists on making hundreds of these things. Most go to the poor and foundlings. Now, where was I? Ah.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a leather-bound book.
Wycke cocked his head. There, just out of his hearing range, voices whispered.
“You can hear it?” Aberfrer asked.
“I hear something.”
“Good. Piers?” Aberfrer turned his too-sharp gaze to Piers.
“I hear whispering, but I never could make out the words.”
“Was that before Prince Wycke’s… um… influence?”