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He locked the doors.
In the morning,he woke before Nic did. A rare occurrence—unprecedented, now that he thought about it—and further evidence that the working in the arcanium had exhausted her more than she’d let on. She lay on her back, arms and legs exuberantly flung wide, as restless and abandoned in sleep as she was awake. Sunshine streamed in the windows, warming the room and gilding her strong profile, coaxing red-gold highlights from her dark hair.
Tempting as it was to touch her, he carefully slid out of bed instead, doing his best not to wake her. She didn’t move or even alter her deep breathing, so he suspected she might sleep through a hurricane. He’d teased her before about the care and feeding of familiars, a concept she’d firmly rejected, but clearly he’d have to be the one to make sure she didn’t overextend in yielding up her magic.
She’d made a caustic remark the evening before about wizards who were too good to avail themselves of grooming imps, so he found her bottled one and had it shave him clean. Then, because Nic had also said the imp had trimmed and shaped up her lopsided hair for her, he tried instructing it to even up his own. It was a bit odd, watching the flickering, amorphous green being move around his head, the hair magically disappearing. Nic said they absorbed the hair and skin cells, delighting in the feast. Something that made him uneasy, which she’d only laughed at.
By the time he emerged from the bathing chamber, Nic was awake, though bleary enough that she barely grunted in reply to his greeting, then bumped her shoulder against the doorway on her way into the bathing chamber. Seeming not to notice, she yawned and corrected course, closing the door behind her. Breakfast had been left for them outside the master suite, so he busied himself fixing plates for them both. Nic emerged, looking fresh and lovely, but with shadows under her eyes. She sat and ate methodically, with none of her usual banter and teasing, so he stayed quiet, too. He was just considering suggesting that she could go back to bed for a while when she lifted her eyes and gave him a long look.
“Stop worrying,” she said. “This is normal.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he protested.
“You were thinking I should go back to bed. I’m not going to. There’s a great deal to be done today, and I’m perfectly capable of doing it.”
“You’re reading my thoughts now?”
“I don’t have to. You think very loudly,” she griped, sounding very like someone who’d imbibed too much wine and regretted it in the morning. “It could be that the pregnancy is making me more tired than usual,” she conceded.
He hated to pounce on her slightest mention of the pregnancy, but she’d also made it clear that she didn’t like to be interrogated about it. So he had to take the opportunities offered. “How are you feeling that way?” he tendered.
“You can ask about the baby, Gabriel,” she replied wryly. “It’s yours, after all.”
“Ours,” he corrected. “And you requested before that I not ask you about it.”
She gazed at him blankly for a moment. “Oh! Back on the barge of doom. I rescind that request. I was engaged in some unhealthy denial. To answer your question, I think everything is fine, but it will be nice to have the Refoel healer give an assessment. They should arrive today. I’m just hoping that the Byssan, Ophiel, and Ratisbon wizards arrive first so they can furnish a few rooms.” She cocked her head, just as something magical brushed across his senses. He sprang to his feet, seizing his sword and casting about for the source of the disturbance. Nic waved a hand at him. “Wizards,” she informed him. “Someone is arriving, so you can almost certainly stand down.”
“We’ll see,” he replied, striding to the suite doors.
“If it is an enemy, you’re better off using magic,” she said, catching up and descending the great staircase with him.
Not with her so depleted. He wasn’t going to draw on any magic—hers or what they’d stored in the arcanium—more than necessary. But he didn’t say so, because he was learning, if slowly, how to manage his familiar. “I’ve noticed wizards don’t expect the manual chop-chop method,” he said, slanting her a grin as he tossed her caustic assessment of his methods back at her. “Could be effective.”
“Not if they melt your sword first.”
“House El-Adrel with the enchanted artifacts?”
“House Hagith. Metalworkers.”
“Duly noted. Are we expecting a Hagith wizard this morning?”
“No,” she admitted, stepping to the side as he opened the great doors to the manse that led onto the long porch that bordered the front of House Phel. Sunlight poured in, making him blink after the interior gloom, and he found himself with Nic on looking forward to having more windows uncovered.
A sled glided around the lake, moving at a speed no mortal steed could match, which meant it was elemental powered. Four people sat within, looking about and occasionally pointing at something. Beside him, Nic let out a soft breath of disappointment, so faint he almost didn’t hear it. Sheathing his sword, as the group didn’t look all that threatening, he set a hand on her back, giving her an inquiring look.
Giving him a wry smile, she shook her head slightly. “I was hoping it would be my dowry and trousseau. Supplies before people would be optimal, but we get what we get when we get it. How do I look?” She sleeked her palms along the short sides of her hair, then shook out her skirts.
She wore the soft purple linen gown, the one with the neckline that showed off a great deal of her bosom—and the ring of bruises in contrasting green decorating her collarbones. Personally, he was hoping one of their impending guests would be the healer. “You look incredibly beautiful,” he told her in perfect honesty, gaze lingering on her tantalizing breasts.
She wrinkled her nose. “Notdo I look good enough to bed. Do I look presentable for Convocation company?”
“Both,” he said decisively, then picked up her hand and kissed it, rewarded with a dry but sincere laugh. “Let’s take in the view while we wait.” Interlacing her delicate fingers with his, he led her down the broad steps and onto the thick lawn. Reaching the verge of the pond, they turned, taking in the full grandeur of House Phel.
Nic whistled, low and long. “I have to say, I’m impressed despite myself. Goodbye, decrepit manse. Hello, House Phel.”
He nodded, not quite summoning the words. A surprising wave of emotion welled up in him, a bewildering tide of grief, joy, pride, fury, and cold vindication. Nic had said he’d inherited the Phel magic. In that moment he wondered if he’d also come into possession of the legacy of those final generations of Phel wizards. The bone-deep love of this house and exhilaration at seeing it intact, rising grandly against the misty blue Meresin sky felt not entirely his.
“We did this,” he said in a hushed tone, squeezing Nic’s hand. He looked down to find her gazing back with eyes glimmering green with similar emotion. “If nothing else, you and I did this.”
