The more he thought about it, the more it felt like the right decision… but he had to figure outhowto do it. The last thing he needed was for anyone to think he was about to attack Perian or Brannal. (He wouldn’t stand a chance, of course, but that hadn’t stopped him in the past.)
Then he realized that he was contemplating lying to everyone at the castle, which probably meant he hadn’t learned a singlelesson about anything… Except he wouldn’t be lying to do anything bad. If anyone was going to get hurt doing this, it would be him. His was the only safety he might be jeopardizing, and that was his choice to make.
He stared out the door of his office, not really seeing the corridor beyond. Sometimes, he dreamed about the way Perian had looked when Cormal had first seen him after the kidnapping, bruised, battered, and covered in soot. But by then, Cormal had helped stop the fire, and he’d heard that Perian had killed someone, and that was all he’d focused on. He’d pushed all the uncomfortable feelings aside, and focused on only the aspects that made Cormalright.
And now here they were. Cormal had done everything wrong, and maybe going back to the beginning was the only hope of untangling the mess he’d made. He drew in a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Yes, he was sure that was the way to go.
Summus went on inspections of the watch stations, so he should be able to set that up. Plus, it would give everyone at the castle time without him, and surely they’d like that. And assuming Brannal didn’t kill him, Cormal could complete the inspections after, so it wouldn’t even really be lying.
There was a knock on his door frame, and then one of the novices, Breeta, stuck their head in.
“We need you. There’s a new novice. Arvus sent me.”
Cormal sprang to his feet, all of his plans evaporating. He’d been seeing new novices arrive since he was six, of course, but this was the first time one had arrived while he was Summus. It was his job to greet them, to make sure they were comfortable and settled, and to come up with a training plan for them, though Summus typically worked closely with the instructors for that.
It was a life-changing event. Even without the possible trauma if their element had manifested badly, they almostalways needed to move to live with either the Mages or the Mage Warriors. (Some Mages did private tutoring, but they were the minority.) Even with a really supportive family, the novice’s life would be upended.
(He thought of a scared twelve-year-old boy and hoped desperately that he’d been a good friend to Brannal then, at least.)
The transition to novice and Mage Warrior wasn’t always a smooth one, and now Cormal was responsible for ensuring it went well.
He followed Breeta back to one of the small training rooms and saw that there were three people at the front of the room, two adults, as well as a slight figure in between them who was undoubtedly the child in question. Their backs were to him, but the child didn’t look very old. It made a difference if you arrived at twelve or at seventeen. Those years mattered. But there was no way to control when someone would manifest. It simply happened when it happened.
“Ah, here he is,” Arvus said, face relaxed and welcoming. “Cormal is our expert when it comes to fire—”
And then everyone turned, and Cormal actually felt the blood drain from his face as he sucked in a sharp breath. He wavered, like the world had tilted unexpectedly. He blinked, but the vision didn’t waver… and the look on the man’s face said he’d expected something like this.
Arvus took one look at Cormal’s face and then said, “Breeta, get Molun for me. Now.”
Cormal stared at a ghost and demanded, “Who are you?”
The man had his arms protectively around the woman and child. Cormal could see that she probably wasn’t his partner, as he’d assumed from the back. She looked like she was his daughter, and presumably the mother of the child who stood tucked next to them.
“My name is Tramon,” he said, and he even sounded—Cormal wasn’t thinking about it. “I couldn’t leave Livala here without seeing if it was going to be a problem.”
Cormal pressed his lips together and tried to get himself under control. “Butwhoare you?”
And after a long moment, the older man admitted, “Tramad was my father. You and I had different mothers. When I didn’t display any magical gifts by my eighteenth birthday, he moved on.”
Cormal stared blindly at the man who looked so very much like his father. He didn’t have the green eyes that Cormal had inherited, and his hair was mostly salt and pepper, but the build, the height, the nose, the chin… It was all there. In a man who looked like he was old enough to beCormal’s father.
He tried to parse through this with a brain that felt like it had been frozen. “He must have had you when he was very young.”
“Twenty,” Tramon agreed.
Cormal’s father had had a baby young… so he had plenty of time to try again if necessary? Cormal had known that he’d been a late baby, had known that his father placed so much stock in being from a family of Mages, but he’d never expected something likethis.
It was really hard to focus.
“So this is my… grand-niece?” he asked, gesturing at the child who was watching him like she thought he might explode.
Cormal wondered if she was right.
Tramon nodded. “Yes. Half by blood.”
Cormal waved this aside. “He hid a whole family from me?”
Tramon was silent for a long moment, and then he said carefully, “Continuing the magical line was very important to him.”
