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Her heart sank. “So you’re saying it’s impossible?”
His dark eyes narrowed on her. “What do all great inventions have in common?”
She was tired of his lectures. His disapproval. His contempt. “I don’t know.”
“All of them were once called impossible.”
Even in the face of ever-growing obstacles in her research, he hadn’t given up on her scar removal. A knot formed in her throat and she swallowed hard. Of all the people she had consulted about her scar over the years, it was the Highmage of Dark Magic who still gave her hope.
Obryn stood and walked over to the window overlooking the forest. “I have contacted a fellow expert in Dark Magic potions. Highmage Eriksson’s work deals exclusively with attaching Dark Magic to certain potions. I think it could help your scar removal potion. I’ve set up a meeting for the two of you. She will be at the Dark Magic convention at Magus Rotunda.”
Magus Rotunda was in the jurisdiction of Triphea, several spheres away. Its Dark Magic convention was famous for hosting the most elite of Wielders.
“Oh…I…thank you for getting me an invite.”
Only the Highmage’s eyebrow moved. “I didn’t. Mr. Dawson did. He will be in attendance as well, albeit for very different reasons.”
“I’m assuming it has something to do with trying to prevent the council from installing enthrallment spells in unsuspecting Wielders?”
“Yes. There are several things that need to happen for permanent enthrallments to work. In my years of trying to remove Mr. Dawson’s incantation, I’ve become rather familiar with it. I, perhaps, understand the process better than the council. In order for permanent enthrallment to work, the council needs a powerful object—like the amulet—to tie the incantation to. Something to enhance a dark spell and bind it to a subject.”
“Dawson is there to make sure the council won’t get their hands on whatever Dark Magic object they’re after,” Mira filled in.
The Highmage gave a simple nod.
Infiltrating a Dark Magic gathering with Aidric Dawson. Dark dimensions, smite me.
24
Mira had always wanted to go to Triphea. The ancient city with its impressive architecture was home to the world’s oldest library. But she had no time to do any sightseeing.
Dawson’s scroll had been to the point, simply containing the address of their meeting location. When she passed through the various magic gates and coin traveled to the address, her stomach was in knots. She wasn’t ready to see him again. Not until she was able to ban the images from that night in the library from her memory. Perhaps she could ask him to erase her memories of it? Make her forget it had ever happened.
When she arrived at the house in Triphea, Dawson stood with his hands in his pockets, the first few buttons of his black shirt undone, and gave her a nod.
“Winters.”
She rolled her shoulders back and tried to appear unbothered. “Dawson.”
“Let me show you around.” He walked along the terra-cotta floor, expecting her to follow. “I hope the guest room will be to your satisfaction.”
“Guest room? Is this your home?”
“I certainly hope so.”
“Stupid for me to assume one ostensibly large mansion was enough for you.”
“Wait until you find out about the other eight properties I own across the spheres.”
The house was very different from his estate. Lots of light came through the large windows, sheer white curtains danced in the Triphean air, beautiful art hung on the walls, and fresh flowers were tastefully arranged in various vases.
They walked through a set of double doors into a large room fit for a banquet. The balcony overlooked the city. Mira couldn’t believe the view. She could see the river winding its way through Triphea—palm trees lined the old streets, and the setting sun tinged the red and yellow buildings with a warm glow.
The room itself seemed newly renovated with pristine wooden floors. Gold appliqués on the walls sparkled in the light. Antique vases were perched on shelves and coffee tables. The massive bed was covered in a sea of white pillows with gold trim. Soft and warm, nothing in this room reminded her of Dawson. Even the antique oversized reading chair in the corner appeared as if no one had ever sat in it before.
“This is the guest room?” she asked, afraid to put her bag down and dirty the place.
He didn’t react to her outrage. “Make yourself at home. Be ready by eight.”
