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“I didn’t even think—I wouldn’t’ve guessed.”
“I know.”
“Alex. How’d you find them?”
“I told you,” Alex said. “I looked.”
“But what did you have to do?” He couldn’t not ask. “Your arm—are you hurt, or—”
“Oh. No. That was—something else. I promise you I didn’t get into a brawl with a brothel-guard while looking for your wayward magical children. Though I’d like to think I’d win, at least by distracting the guard. I’m very distracting when I try.”
Garrett opened his mouth again, because Alex hadn’t answered his question, and then realized they’d arrived at the tangle of apprentices and silver and sun. They’d covered the last steps without him noticing.
Lilac, Maggie’s hand in hers, squared her shoulders and donned stubbornness like defensive armor. “Are you going to punish us?”
“For running away, or for falling in love?” He took in all their expressions: students gazing at him, here in the School he was trying to build. Here, where he was meant to have answers, to be the Second Sorcerer of the Middle Lands. He was only five years older than the oldest of them, and Lorre had pulled him out of his life on the heels of a rockslide three years before that, and had told him he’d be the second most powerful magician alive, if he finally let himself be who he was.
The air felt warm and thick. The stone shimmered, waiting.
Alex, at his side, did not offer a flippant comment. His eyes were calm: assuming Garrett would say the right thing.
Answers. The right thing. Why this mattered.
He said, picking out the reply cautiously, pebbles tossed out to test uncertain ground, “No. Or maybe a little. You can do the washing-up, after supper. But I know why you left.”
“We didn’t want to hurt you,” Lilac said. “We just wanted…”
“You want each other. And this isn’t a glamorous romantic tale, full of epic sorceries and enchanted thunderbolts. I know. But you’re here for a reason, both of you.”
“Lorre says love is an illusion,” Maggie murmured, barely audible.
“Sometimes our Grand Sorcerer is an idiot.” That made them both smile, though poor Quen looked rather shocked. Garrett went on, “I won’t tell you you can’t love someone. We’re human—most of us are human. Lorre is…Lorre. But. The rest of us can’t help having ties. Emotions. The forces that shape us. Lorre knows how powerful that is.”
“He wants us,” Maggie said this time, “to be magicians first. Beforeanythingelse.”
“Youaremagicians,” Garrett said. “You already are. To ignore that power, to run from it…it’s a danger. Untrained, unguarded. Like holding a sword, not knowing how to swing it. It’s a power you have, to change the world. Which is why we want you here. And that’s why loving someone matters more for us.” He stopped; his gaze had drifted to amber eyes, a sharp cheekbone. “If we love someone. If we speak vows. If we mean the words we say, with power behind them. It’s why magicians try not to lie. If you mean it enough, if you put enough of yourself into your lies or your truths, the water you tell someone is wine or the flower-petals you turn into a love-potion. The words you bring to life. You’ll make it real.” He stopped again, breathless. His sleeve was sliding down. “Whatever that means. Whatever you want. Your desires. Your responsibilities, for good or ill.”
Lilac had gone pale and thoughtful. But she was still holding Maggie’s hand. Garrett thought that that, perhaps, was a form of magic too.
Alex was watching Garrett, eyes unusually somber. His gaze slid away to find the toe of Garrett’s left boot; but then he looked back up, with the usual heartbreakingly glorious smile firmly in place. “So you can’t love anyone.”
“No,” Garrett said, heart lodging hard and unexpectedly in his throat. “That’s not what I—no, I didn’t mean that. I mean that it’s important. Not taken lightly. For us. That’s all.”
“Probably not,” Alex said, also lightly, “the way of thinking that’d approve of irresponsible and complicated choices. Choices that wouldn’t be right, given the circumstances. I mean the time I wore a scarlet silk bedsheet to a winter masquerade, as a costume from the old Winter Empire, obviously, and it was certainly complicated by the time I’d accidentally made three overlapping assignations for later that evening. I don’t know how the Emperors managed to get anything done, with everyone admiring their legs all the time.”
Everyone, including all six apprentices, looked at his legs. Impossible not to. Endless, lean and muscular, wrapped in clinging butter-soft black leather.
Garrett, aware that something—not Alexandre’s legs, which were flawless—had gone wrong, terribly so, in the last moment, bit his lip. Thought helplessly about words and accidental spells. “Can you stay? For supper. I think—I know we’ve got honeycakes. And an apple tart. I made that. And you brought more cheese. And pasties. And I did say Lilac and Maggie would do the washing-up.Withoutmagic.”
The apprentices melted away, as if sensing that this discussion was not for them. They lingered around the corner, though, potentially wondering how far a single tart would stretch with the addition of a royal guest.
“It’s kind of you,” Alex said. “But I should be going.”
“I could ask the river for a fish. It wouldn’t mind just that. If you—I know you must have feasts. Salmon. Venison. We’ll manage something.”
The line beside Alex’s mouth reappeared, fond and—what? Sad? Surely not; but then what was it, Garrett thought frantically. Tell me. Some sort of solution. A counter-enchantment. To whatever spell this is, that hurts so much. Please.
“I appreciate the river offering,” Alex told him. “I know you don’t eat meat. It’s all right, Sorcerer. I can’t, in any case. I promised Lady Claudine I’d come to her poetry reading. I’ll…come back, though. Another day.”
