Why did he get treated likethis?
Cormal felt a bit feverish in the morning, waking bleary-eyed from a restless sleep, plagued by strange dreams he could no longer remember. But at least he felt a bit more as though the fire was once again settled beneath his skin. No matter how annoying Delana was, she wasn’tentirelywrong in everything she’d said last night. Hedidneed to get control of himself.
He needed to prove he could do this job as well as his father and Brannal had. He grimaced. No, he needed to provehe could do the job well. He was neither Brannalnorhis father, but he could be Summus. He would show them that he could do this, that the Queen had made a wise choice.
For some reason, people were less likely to listen if you threw fireballs when you were annoyed. Why was fire so vilified? If someone dropped water on your head when they were upset,thatwas fine. Wind whipping around a room, earth cracked beneath your feet? Those things were apparently bound to occur. But a fireball? As soon as you lobbed a fireball, you were an out-of-control lunatic who’d better control his temper or else.
He and Brannal used to joke about that, how they just needed to find someone who appreciated fire as much as they did…
Cormal’s breath caught in his throat. Instead, Brannal was with a carnalion, who was more susceptible to fire than any other element. And Cormal was all alone.
Cormal had a mug of strong tea with his breakfast and tried to convince himself that today was going to be a better day than yesterday. Since there were no celebrations in honor of the Princess’s thirteenth birthday, this actually seemed like a distinct possibility. There were fewer chances that he was going to encounter her, and if he didn’t encounter the Princess, he didn’t have to put up with her behavior.
It was report day, which should be much quieter, so he just had to put up with his… other challenge.
There was a knock at the door. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Molun limped in, hand curled around the cane that supported his healing left leg. The bone had mostly mended, but it wasn’t as strong as it used to be, and the damage to the skin and muscle had been severe. Molun wasn’t the quick, agile Warrior he had once been.
“Summus,” Molun greeted him.
It was astonishing, Cormal had discovered, how someone couldsaySummus but couldmeanasshole. Cormal could hear it Every. Single. Time.
Not everyone, of course. Therewerethose who believed, as he did, that he’d done the right thing, or who seemed to be at least neutral. The Queen had, after all, named him Summus, and that meant he was the head of the Mage Warriors. While there hadn’t been outright rebellion—nothing that he could reprimand or censure—he still felt the disapproval from so many.
Cormal had discovered that a carnalion was living in the castle, was tricking them, wasseducingthem and stealing their life energy. He’d exposed this demon, doing exactly what a Mage Warrior was sworn to do, and that should have been the end of it.
Instead, it had been only the beginning of what had become the disaster he was now living. Things hadnotgone back to how they were before. They’d lost Brannal, and resentment festered in so many interactions, leaving him floundering in a position he’d never asked for.
He’d genuinely thought he’d made the smart decision when he’d chosen Brannal’s Tertius to be his own Secundus. Left to his own devices, he would have chosen Delana, but he’d made her Tertius instead and elevated Molun. He was a strong Mage, and the only one in the castle now who could control more than one element. He and Cormal had always managed to get along well enough in their previous positions, though they were certainly not fast friends. Cormal had been trying to show there were no hard feelings, uniting Cormal and those who’d been closest to Brannal. And he’d thought the other man might be a little bit grateful, getting the position.
No. As it turned out, the answer to all of those things was “no.”
Molun looked at him as though he thought Cormal wasn’t worth the dirt beneath his feet. He didn’tsayanything that Cormal could take exception to. Molun had actually been much quieter than normal since everything that had happened. He’d been badly injured, of course, and had nearly died. He’d been laid up for weeks.
Cormal hadn’t thought that he would ever miss the man’s lighthearted irreverence.
“Good morning,” Cormal said.
Molun limped over and slowly lowered himself into the chair in front of Bra—Cormal’s desk, a flicker of pain crossing his face as he did so.
“Morning,” Molun said flatly.
“I hope you slept all right.”
Molun shot him a look and said stiffly, “I don’t believe my sleeping habits are any of your business.”
Cormal could have screamed.Come on, all he’d been trying to do was be polite, and he knew that Molun knew that. But ever since Cormal had become Summus, Molun had gone out of his way to keep everything strictly professional between them, to make it clear that there were absolutely no personal ties.
Cormal wasn’t here to make friends, but he’d kind of thought they were at least a step up from acquaintances. Not like him and Brannal, but…
Brannal’s words echoed in his head.
“There isnothingthat explains that adequately to me, Cormal. Just in the nick of time, I pulled my half-strangled, nearly smothered and burned, traumatized lover out of a burning house thatyouare responsible for him being in. Theonlyreason that you are still breathing is because he is.”
Cormal hadn’t intended any of that. Of course he hadn’t! He’d only tried to get Perian out of the castle, away from its vulnerable population. He hadn’t known that Venoran or Fomadin were hiding out, hadn’t realized what they would try to do…
Cormal had tried to explain. He’d been so sure that he could make Brannal see the truth, that revealing the deception would allow him to fix everything.
