“Of course you do,” Archminister Fishere said as though a theory from Ilain was expected. “Do share, Highlady Calder.”
Ilain rose, the beadwork on her bodice twinkling like starlight. “With pleasure,” she said, then threw a wink at Ethenn, who was failing miserably at keeping his eyes off her. Granted, that seemed to be the point of the provocative gown.
“As my brother mentioned,” Ilain began, authority evident within her words and drawn-back shoulders, “we lost our sixth Ephrian member at the hands of Blount. What he didn’t tell you is that Major General Hewitt Glaas was Private Evylin Deckard’s uncle and a Warrior as well.’
The archminister’s brow shot up. “Another Warrior? Finding two together is... Impossible. You’re telling me that you found three?”
“I’m telling you, Edmaund, that I’ve found the solution to your Warrior problem.”
The room was deathly silent.
Ilain didn’t falter under the direct stares of dozens of people. She simply held the archminister’s gaze as though he were her equal—her peer. And perhaps he was.
“Hewitt chose this team,” she went on, her hand sweeping over the five Ephrians. “He trained Evylin from childhood. She’sa fully-fledged Warrior thanks to him, and though she could use more training with her magic, I’d defy any of our men to beat her. Then you take Jonn, her husband, whom Hewitt chose for her after only three days of knowing him. He knew they were right for one another. A Warrior and a Mage.”
Evylin and Deckard exchanged a look, his thumb pressing against hers beneath the table.
Ilain motioned generally in Ethenn’s direction, not deigning to look at him. “Hewitt handpicked Loxley out of hundreds of soldiers. Hundreds whoweren’tWarriors. If you count up the odds of three Warriors among nearly five hundred men, that’s less than a single percentage. And while it’s greater than the presumed ratio of magical to non-magical individuals, what if our numbers are wrong?”
The ministers all considered her words thoughtfully, even as Ilain continued, “Jonn is a Mage—that’s a fluke of his heritage. Evylin and Ethenn? They’re two out of one million.”
“This is your theory, then?” Archminister Fishere said. “As a Warrior, this Major General Glaas was able to sense the magic in them.”
“Exactly.”
The ministers began conferring with one another as the crowd resumed its murmuring, heads bent together.
Evylin drew in an unsteady breath. Was it possible? Had Hewitt sensed Deckard’s magic from the start? Was that how he’d known they were a good match? Moreover, was it magic that drew Evylin to Deckard in the first place? If Hewitt could sense magic because he was a Warrior, that meant Evylin could, too, didn’t it?
Evylin looked up at her husband, finding his green-blue gaze turned to her already. Had she always known, innately? Was her love for him nothing more than a Warrior drawn to a Mage, magic drawing magic?
No. Evylin leaned closer to Deckard, the arms of their chairs getting in her way. Whatever magical pull she felt, it wasn’t the cause of her love. She’d chosen Deckard—consciously. Not Thom, Rafferty, Ethenn, Auden, nor any other man she’d come across in twenty-seven years. Only Jonn Deckard had captured her affection and her desire. Not because he was a Mage but because he was the only man her heart could love.
Archminister Fishere held up his hand, signaling for silence. “This is a potentially astounding and impactful discovery, Highlady Calder,” he said with weighty intonation. “One that we will need more evidence of before it can be officially accepted.”
“Where else would you go for evidence?” Ilain asked. “You’ve got four Warriors of your own in this room.”
Glancing at his fellow ministers, Fishere accepted the idea. “All right, Highlady Calder, we’ll put your theory to the test. General Waaver, Sergeant Caarney, Major Olsen, and Lieutenant Lohen, please rise.”
Around the room, chairs scraped against the tiles as the four Warriors stood. One man at the farthest table and one in the center, both with rich tans and burly builds like Ethenn. At their table, Emmaas and the woman at his side stood as well.
Remembering that Emmaas’s granddaughter was a Warrior, Evylin marked this woman as his relative. Though vastly shorter than her family patriarch and with a complexion more of a tawny brown than umber, they shared the same strong cheekbones and full features.
The archminister greeted the four of them with a grateful nod. “I’d ask that you all consider my question carefully before you reply, as this could be an imperative turning point for our people.” He leaned forward to impress the inquiry upon them. “Can you say with any certainty that you have a sense of when a person carries magic within them?”
The Warriors took their time, thinking and hesitating. The room filled with anticipation, waiting for their answers. Evylin scanned the room, trying to puzzle out the concept herself. Could she sense when others were magical? If there were Warriors attending the meeting tonight, surely there would be other Mages beyond those of their acquaintance. Was it possible that she could identify them by intuition alone?
The man at the far side of the hall cleared his throat, calling their attention.
“General Waaver,” the archminister recognized.
The general crossed boulder-like arms over his broad chest. “While Commander Loew might have more knowledge of the texts than I,” he began, “I don’t remember reading anything about this phenomenon. And with the literature destroyed centuries ago, we can’t consult them. However, if you’re asking for my personal experience alone... Then yes. I have discovered a dozen or so magical individuals that others failed to spot. Not regularly, mind you, but often enough that it seems unlikely for it to be a coincidence.”
“I concur with General Waaver,” Emmaas said. “There’s much about the Warriors’ way of life that we have yet to rediscover for ourselves. But from my own life, I can say there’s a certain air about those with magic.”
“A certain air?” the archminister repeated as though asking for clarification.
Emmaas’s granddaughter took over for him. “It’s a feeling in your gut,” she said, her voice tinged with the same sultry accent as Isla’s. “You look at someone and know there’s something different about them.”
