“Lady Phel is correct,” Asa said, the quiet healer speaking for the first time in quite a while, still subdued over the news about Laryn. “The Sammaels are controlling and vindictive at best. Igino is also canny. This is an opportunity for him and he’ll want to play it to best advantage.”
“I would ask if he wouldn’t be concerned about his daughter, but I assume that’s a foolish question,” Gabriel said grimly.
“You’re learning,” Nic replied, not without sympathy. “He’ll regard Sabrina as a valuable asset and a critical playing piece in this game; you will have to adopt the same attitude about Selly.”
Gabriel held out his hands, studying them bleakly. “I just want to get her back.” He lifted his stark gaze to Nic’s. “What would I tell my parents?”
They were all quiet a moment, absorbing the impacts of humanity colliding with the ruthless wall of Convocation politics.
“Maybe we should discuss this with Sabrina,” Alise suggested. “What?” She raised her brows at whatever she saw in Nic’s face. “You’re the one taking on Lord Phel’s idealistic ways, wanting to rehabilitate our erstwhile classmate. Let’s find out what blondie thinks about the Sammael situation.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” Iliana ventured. “I’d be willing to go with you.”
“You would?” Han asked with considerable surprise.
Iliana shrugged, her sweet, pale-skinned and freckled face somber. “It’s not like she can hurt me.”
“She does still have her wizardry and innate power,” Asa cautioned.
“Then she can’t hurt me without consequence,” Iliana revised, nodding at the healer. “I want to do this. It would be good for me to confront her.”
“I’ll go, too,” Nic said, then flashed her sister a smile. “And Wizard Alise will protect us.”
“Am I to simply cool my heels?” Gabriel asked grumpily enough that Nic slid her arms around him, letting magic infuse him with soothing wine-red love to counter his silvery spikiness.
“There’s a great deal of correspondence awaiting your attention,” she said gently, giving him a stern look when he began to protest. “Some of it may contain important missives from Convocation Center, Sammael, or Elal. We need to be prepared to answer any challenges or summons. You also have a number of applicants with potential moon magic awaiting your assessment.”
“Plus we could use more moon-magic weapons, Lord Phel,” Han put in. “We left the bulk of what we had with Selly and Jadren. If we get attacked by hunters, we’ll need a lot more than what we have.”
“And there’s the ever-replenishing flask prototypes Jadren worked on for you to test,” Nic reminded him.
“Why do I have to do everything myself?” Gabriel bit out in bad temper. “I thought this is why you wanted us to acquire minions. Instead there’s more distractions than ever.”
“Minions need direction,” Nic said soothingly. “I’m simply pointing out that you have things to do to put your house in order, tasks that are not ‘cooling your heels.’ You do that. Let us do this. It won’t take long.”
“Fine,” he grumbled, but his magic smoothed slightly and he embraced her in turn, laying his cheek against the top of her head. “I’d prefer the information about Jadren and Selly’s whereabouts doesn’t leave this room,” he told everyone and they acknowledged it as an order.
That was only wise.
One of the new wizard minions stood guard outside of Sabrina’s room. They had yet to arrive at an agreement with House Iblis to procure their enchanted locks. House Phel might have resolved the bad feelings engendered by Gabriel essentially stealing their familiar, Narlis—though he saw it as rescuing the elderly woman—by paying way too much for her, but it would take considerably more negotiating to repair relations enough for trade. Nic hadn’t had the mental energy to think about that, much less the time. So, they were making do with their two prisoners by having apprentice wizards establish and monitor wards on the doors.
“Lady Phel,” the dark-skinned young wizard said with a respectful nod.
“How has Wizard Sabrina been?” Nic asked.
“Subdued,” the woman answered. At Nic’s gesture, she released the wards on the door, standing to the side as Alise sent a sentry spirit in first, just in case Sabrina proved hostile.
Alise nodded to Nic, then followed her into the room, Iliana trailing behind. It was a pretty room, not large, but with the graceful, airy feel of all of House Phel. The glassed-in window admitted the watery sunlight that followed the recent rain, and the high floor gave an excellent view of the back lawn and the river beyond. Somewhere in the distance lay Sammael lands, and Nic wondered if whoever had decided on this room as Sabrina’s prison had thought of that as a torment, for Sabrina to be able to look that direction, but be unable to go home.
Sabrina gave no indication she’d noticed the view. She lay on her bed, still in the gown she’d worn to House Phel, which was now stained with her brother’s blood, her once sleek blond bob in disarray, her golden skin pale with fatigue, deep shadows under her eyes. She cracked those eyes open, giving a glint of dull wizard-black, then closed them again wearily. “Come to crow over my downfall? Let me shortcut this session and tell you whatever you want to hear. I’ve lost. You’ve won. My brother is dead. I’m in your power, so just wreak whatever revenge you have in mind. I won’t stop you.” She turned her head listlessly to the blank wall.
Iliana paused, hovering by the door. With her gentle nature, her warm brown eyes held pity now. Alise flicked a cynical glance at Nic, making sure neither Iliana nor Sabrina saw it. Yes, they were in agreement there.
“Sit up and pay your respects to Lady Phel,” Alise directed in a crisp, remorseless tone. “Or has a Sammael fallen so far she forgets basic Convocation courtesy?”
“Or you’ll do what to me?” Sabrina asked sullenly. But she sat up, raked fingers through her greasy hair, and inclined her head to Nic. “Lady Phel, I am at your service. Clearly,” she added in a drier voice.
“Haven’t you been provided with a water elemental or grooming imp?” Nic asked, taking in Sabrina’s much-changed appearance with a frown. Even when Nic had been a prisoner at House Sammael in that horrible windowless tower, they’d provided her with the ability to keep herself groomed, and in clean clothes, even if Sergio had questionably lewd taste in what he’d provided for her to wear.
