The other wizard’s lip curled and Jadren felt his lungs stiffen, making it harder for him to draw breath. “Don’t you mean Jadren Phel of House Fell?” he sneered.
News traveled fast. Though Jadren had used the easy word-play joke himself, he had to admit it wasn’t actually funny. “Still a junior wizard and minion, not unlike your fine self,” he answered with an easy smile and nonchalant shrug, as if he didn’t feel the other wizard squeezing his lungs. It wasn’t like the guy could kill him. Just a bit of friendly torture on the doorstep. “Temporary assignment, while scion of House El-Adrel is forever,” he added pointedly.
“I’ve never heard of you,” the wizard noted with considerable scorn, looking Jadren up and down. Jadren could just imagine the picture he presented: jacket and shirt hanging open, blood-soaked bandages wrapping his torso, pants barely strung together by a few laces, Mr. Machete suspended from his belt, smirking.
“That should give you pause,” Jadren noted. “What kind of wizard would lie about being the son of Lady El-Adrel?” He bared his teeth, allowing some of the pain and stupid anger to leak through. Oh, look, he’d become a half-feral swamp creature himself. Seliah would be amused. “Now: Lord Sammael. Tell him I’m here.”
The other wizard grunted, looking thoughtful—and like thought wasn’t his strong suit to begin with. “If you are lying, there will be consequences.” The large wizard glowered, Jadren’s heart clenching painfully, and not from natural causes.
“I’d expect nothing else from the House Sammael Garden of Punishing Pain,” Jadren agreed, tossing off a salute that a more perceptive person would recognize as sarcasm.
The gatekeeper-wizard finally stepped back, opening the door wider. “You can wait in the parlor,” he said, the dainty word incongruous in the guy’s beefy mouth, “while I find out if Lord Sammael is in residence.”
He turned to lead the way, and Jadren saw for the first time that a familiar accompanied the gatekeeper. The smaller man had been hidden by the bigger wizard’s bulk and seemed to be attached by a device connected to a belt around the wizard’s waist. A cuff embedded in the belt clamped the familiar’s hand to the bouncer’s bare skin, making it nearly impossible for the wizard to lose the contact he needed to access the familiar’s magic. On top of that, the familiar wore a heavy collar with chains running to cuffs around his wrists that looked to be a permanent setup. The familiar kept his head bowed, not raising his eyes to Jadren’s curious assessment, focused on moving smoothly with his wizard’s steps. No doubt if he failed to keep up, he’d be dragged.
Jadren found it rather unsavory. He’d always heard House Sammael kept a stable of unbonded familiars for general use by the Sammael minions. It wasn’t the usual practice among Convocation houses, but it wasn’t beyond the pale either. Those heads of houses the most compulsive about control and paranoid about mutiny often chose to deprive their minions of a bonded familiar, using that as a sort of chokehold on those wizards’ access to magic. If a wizard depended on being in their liege wizard’s good graces to access magic beyond their own, then they weren’t likely to stage any kind of rebellion—nor would they have the power to do it. It made sense, if one leaned toward the authoritarian dictator end of the spectrum. To be fair, most heads of houses did.
Still, this was a foul deal for Sammael familiars, even more so than the usual shitty life-plan the Convocation employed to keep familiars docile and in their place. Used by all, cared for by none, the House Sammael general-use familiars sometimes turned up at auction to be acquired by low-rent wizards so desperate for a familiar that they’d snap up even one broken-spirited and drained nearly to death. They’d eke out a few months of service—maybe a year or two—before the familiar collapsed entirely, well away from House Sammael and any blame. Though everyone knew where the fault truly lay.
Still it wasn’t as if anyone would criticize a high house for the practice, and Jadren wasn’t going to be the first, much as he suddenly wanted to. Maybe it was contemplating fierce, innocent, and brave-hearted Seliah being in these walls, but for the first time Jadren experienced a decidedly queasy sensation about how House Sammael treated its familiars. Even though he knew Seliah was far too powerful and politically valuable to be treated as an appendage, a tool attached to a belt, a fury rose in him that he barely contained. If he hadn’t learned so well never to reveal what he truly felt, he might have blown his insouciant cover.
Instead, he whistled idly as the wizard and his miserable human caboose led him to a parlor done entirely in black on black. Really with this color scheme? Jadren liked black just fine, particularly in formal wear and lingerie on beautiful women, but this was too much. He was going to start referring to Sammael as House Over the Top. He made a show of examining the decidedly gory art hung on the (black) walls until the door closed behind them, leaving him there.
Just to verify his supposition and appease his natural curiosity, Jadren checked the door handle. Yup: locked. The heavy (black) drapes concealed no windows, only more of the flocked (black on black) wallpaper. He was tempted to sit on one of the (black) brocaded sofas, but was afraid the last of his energy would leak out, along with unmentionable fluids, into the (black) cushions and leave him passed out when Lord Sammael inevitably arrived.
For arrive he would. Sammael wouldn’t be able to resist. There had been the slightest chance that Lord Igino Sammael had gone to House Phel, but smart money had been on him staying home while Sergio took all the risk. Sure enough, Igino seemed to be in residence, no matter how cagily the gatekeeper-wizard had attempted to frame the information. Otherwise they’d have shut the door in Jadren’s face rather than sequestering him in the black-on-black parlor of doom.
Fortunately for his flagging strength, the door soon smoothly opened—the Iblis-made lock making no sound as it disengaged—and Igino Sammael strolled in. A tall, elegant man with short, golden blond hair, he wore a (black on black) lounging robe over (black) silk trousers. Jadren had to swallow the impudent suggestion that the man refrain from sitting on any of the furniture, lest he be lost in the camouflage.
With a lingering and considering glance, Igino sat in a (black) wing-backed armchair, propped his (black) slippered feet on a (black) ottoman, and relaxed. With his wizard-black eyes like pits in his pale face, Igino looked momentarily as if a blond wig and a white mask with empty eye holes had been propped on the back of the chair.
It put up the hairs on the back of Jadren’s neck, and his shook his head to clear it. The fever delirium was not working in his favor.
“Jadren El-Adrel,” Igino murmured. “I’m surprised your esteemed mother let you off the leash.”
“Not all bonds are visible,” Jadren replied easily. “You know Maman.”
“Indeed I know Katica better than most,” Igino replied with a knowing leer. He and Lady Katica El-Adrel had been occasional lovers, particularly when she had a yen for sharper-edged sex than Jadren’s gentle father could offer. A familiar found it difficult to be rough with their wizard, even when requested. It went against the grain. Besides which, Lady El-Adrel had a restless appetite and varied tastes—though Jadren had never understood how his maman could bear the company of Igino Sammael. Of course, that went both ways, so perhaps they were made for each other. “You look somewhat worse for wear, Jaddy-boy,” Igino observed with an arched brow. “Did you crawl here from House Phel?”
“Builds character,” Jadren answered, neither confirming nor denying. No telling how much Igino knew about Sergio’s shenanigans, but Alise had been confident of the presence of a powerful Elal wizard in or around House Sammael—though Jadren still had yet to detect any of Elal’s nosy spy-spirits—and it was beyond unlikely for a wizard of Igino’s skill and power to be in residence and unaware of a wizard of that magnitude. Thus, either Igino hadn’t been here or he was in on the plot. It would be terribly interesting to discover which it was, though that wasn’t Jadren’s highest priority. “How are dear Sergio and Sabrina?” he asked idly. “I thought they might pop in for refreshments, too.”
His pointed reminder that Lord Sammael had neglected basic Convocation courtesy by not offering Jadren food or drink—or maybe a towel—bounced right off. “Sabrina is off at Convocation Academy,” Igino replied blandly. “Though I realize you’re not familiar with the academy’s schedule,” he added with a thin smile, likely hoping the jab at Jadren’s lack of formal education would cover his prevarication. Of course, Jadren only knew it for a lie because Sabrina had pursued Alise Elal and her duo of unbonded-familiar refugees from Convocation Academy to House Phel, and then had accompanied Sergio in the charade where they “arrested” Nic. Igino was definitely going for full deniability. Still, it was a step too far. Convocation Academy would absolutely have notified Lord Sammael about Sabrina’s truancy as soon as they were aware of her absence. Even Jadren knew that.
“How odd,” Jadren said, stroking his beard thoughtfully, a gesture he quickly regretted as his fingers made contact with the blood-caked, dirt-encrusted hairs. How detestable to be so filthy in front of the fastidious Igino. That was no doubt a major reason Sammael hadn’t offered Jadren basic hospitality, enjoying Jadren’s discomfort. Therefore, Jadren couldn’t show that it bothered him in any way. “Young Wizard Sabrina showed up at House Phel, oh, a week ago, in Sergio’s company.” Jadren pretended to think, then brushed it off. “They waved about some official Convocation paperwork in the name of House Sammael. I’m surprised you didn’t know.”
Ha, take that! Jadren crowed privately to himself as Igino’s pale cheeks flushed slightly, black eyes glittering, so that he looked a bit more like a person than an armchair with a face. Now Sammael was caught between acknowledging that he didn’t know everything going on in his house—anathema to someone as controlling as Igino—or admitting his culpability in Lady Phel being taken into custody and removed to House Sammael rather than to Convocation Center. Depending on what Sergio and Sabrina were up to, which had to include their being off at House Phel causing trouble, Lord Sammael would have some explaining to do.
In fact, Jadren was discovering he held more cards in his hand than he’d realized. Now to play them to best effect. Assessing whether Seliah was in House Sammael and then taking possession of her was the primary goal, but perhaps he could eke out a bonus. Always a good thing to have a few extra cards up his sleeve, in case he had to deal with his mother. Perish the thought, but it was good to be prepared.
Igino still hadn’t settled on his strategy for extricating himself from the pinch between truth and lie. “Oh,” he mused, tapping a white finger against the arm of the (black) chair. “Did Sabrina play hooky and accompany Sergio on the errand to arrest Lady Phel? How very naughty of her.” He shrugged and evinced a weary sigh. “Teenagers. Always a trial.”
“I can only imagine,” Jadren said. “Though bad behavior isn’t limited to teens, is it?” Sergio was considerably older than Jadren. “Rather impulsive of Sergio to bring Lady Veronica Phel to House Sammael rather than to Convocation Center.”
Igino didn’t visibly tense, but the air thickened. Like his son, Igino’s magic manifested in causing excruciating pain. Jadren was counting on Lord Sammael being unwilling to antagonize his sometime lover and head of powerful House El-Adrel by attempting to kill her son, but he wouldn’t be above a bit of torture. In fact, Jadren’s wounds throbbed that much more—could be Sammael subtly prodding or simply his own increasing exhaustion. Either way, he didn’t have time to dally.
“We thought it safer for Lady Veronica Elal here,” Igino said, emphasizing Nic’s birth house. Had Jadren been slightly less tired and more intemperate, he would’ve done a little jig at Sammael’s admission of complicity. “We believed Lord Phel to be on the verge of death and the familiar improperly bonded. Given our longstanding and cherished alliance with House Elal, I thought to do my old friend, Piers Elal, the favor of keeping his daughter safe. Who knows what sort of rogue wizard might’ve taken it into his head to bond our sweet Nic for himself otherwise?” Igino’s raised brow made it clear he suspected Jadren of being just that low and desperate.
“Oh, then Lady Phel is in residence?” Jadren practically cooed. “I couldn’t possibly leave without giving my respects to my liege lady in that case. Maman would expect nothing less.” He let his voice drop with the severity of the warning embedded in those final words. Sammael wasn’t necessarily in Lady El-Adrel’s confidence, but they were cut from the same cloth. He’d at least suspect the reasons Katica had gone to pains to plant her son in Phel’s household—and that she wouldn’t appreciate Sammael’s interference with her carefully laid plans. Especially as it seemed that the outcome of the rescue and the return of the lord and lady to House Phel was still in question.
