“Soon you’ll tell me what I need to know,” his mother replied cheerfully. “It’s foolish to play at resistance now.”
He simply grunted in non-answer. There weren’t many secrets he could keep from his maternal tormenter, but he’d be even more dammed than he already was once she knew how to exploit that particular crack in his psyche. If she discovered that, she could use it to lever open the last bastion of his resistance.
He certainly wasn’t going to reveal before he was forced to, that this time his fear was all for Seliah, that he cared about her more than as a potential power source and political tool. He pretended to only clinical interest in her healing, resisting the urge to apologize to Seliah for each knitting wound, to kiss the tender new skin and whisper promises he couldn’t possibly keep.
Pretending not to care was made infinitely easier by the way Seliah glared at him, her furious amber gaze burning with promises of retribution over the brass plate his mother had enchanted over Seliah’s mouth to quiet her cursing. Jadren hadn’t forgotten that Seliah had sincerely tried to kill him, as well as his mother, and he reminded himself he’d wanted it this way. Seliah should treat him as an enemy. After all, look what he’d gotten her into.
“Shall I heal Wizard Jadren also?” the Refoel healer asked Lady El-Adrel deferentially.
“No, he’s fine.” She raised a brow at Jadren, daring him to protest. He met her gaze evenly, showing no reaction. “You may go,” she said, dismissing the healer.
Once the Refoel wizard departed, his mother eyed him. “I’m interested to assess any changes in your healing abilities during your tenure away. Fyrdo, take notes on Jadren’s current condition.”
While his father measured and recorded the extent of Jadren’s injuries, the machine ran through its enchanted program, spewing out—at last—a scorecard on Calliope cardstock, with the rows and columns the Convocation used for their MP scorecards, plus a few extra. Jadren had numerous iterations of his own card beginning in earliest childhood, showing fluctuations in his magical potential as he grew older, and as a result of his mother’s attempts to train his magics in particular directions. She’d compared it to espalier, a technique she also employed in the ornamental gardens in the various courtyards of House El-Adrel—with considerably more success. The unruly, shadowy magic in Jadren evaded all attempts at being similarly directed. And Jadren aimed to keep it that way.
Lady El-Adrel frowned at the scorecard. “Water magic, I understand, though I don’t like that it’s ‘too high to be measured.’ But this other part that’s unidentified… anything should be quantifiable.” She cast a speculative look at the testing machine, clearly considering some adjustments.
“Which part don’t you understand?” he drawled to divert her.
As he’d hoped, his mother speared him with an annoyed look. “It’s not that I don’t understand,” she defended herself with prickly pride. “The machine is inadequate. Look at this.” She thrust the card at him, the spectral intensity distribution showing the spikes in the spectrum of magical elements. Tapping a jeweled nail against a spike at the far end, she scowled. “It’s positioned like reverse fire, but it’s distinct from water and occupies an unidentified part of the spectrum.”
“Moon magic,” he replied, thrusting the card back to her. He’d already memorized it and it wouldn’t do to show too much interest in the data. No sense prevaricating on the moon magic, either. It wasn’t that much of a betrayal of Phel, and anything to free Selly of that vile chair so she could rest was worth it. Gabriel would agree. “No one’s been testing for moon magic since House Phel fell,” he continued to his mother’s raised brow, “but they have it in their family and that’s what it is.”
She tapped the card thoughtfully against her palm. “What could a wizard possibly do with moon magic? It sounds utterly useless. Water… there’s the ever-full flask you brought me. If we do establish a product line with House Phel—if they manage to keep from being destroyed by all the Convocation enemies they’re making—that could be quite lucrative. But moon magic…” Her eyes narrowed and he mentally cursed. He’d been hoping she’d forget, but that had been a long shot. “The weapons. The dagger from the barge and the ones you brought along—is that how he’s doing it? Somehow employing moon magic to enchant weapons, for whatever purpose?”
Leaning against the wall, arms folded nonchalantly, Jadren pressed his slashed palm into his elbow, using the pain to keep himself sharp as he planned his careful path through this dangerous conversation. His mother was no fool, but she didn’t have all the information, and Jadren had no intention of betraying Phel to the extent of telling her just how lethally Gabriel’s moon magic could be employed. “I helped enchant the weapons as you instructed and—”
“I told you to create a profitable product,” she interrupted. “Not make pretty silver swords and arrows.”
He allowed himself to look irritated and chastened. Far better that she not know the special properties of those weapons. However, if he managed to escape this place with Seliah, they’d better take the weapons with them, or arrange for the things to be destroyed. He had a few friends still here in House El-Adrel, though more were inexplicably missing and he didn’t dare ask after them.
“As you note, the moon magic isn’t useful for much,” he lied smoothly, “but it does have an affinity for silver. In his bumbling, Phel managed to infuse magic into the silver weapons, which are otherwise too soft to be useful.” Seliah squirmed in the straps binding her to the chair, making irate noises behind the brass plate that gagged her, shooting knives from her eyes. He smiled at her patronizingly. “Our little filly dislikes any slur against her brother. It’s true, however, that the water magic is where the potential profit lies.”
His mother’s eyes gleamed with acquisitive interest, well diverted, indeed. “If I allow you to bond this familiar, do you think you can make water-related artifacts using her water magic?”
“What about House Phel?” he asked in return.
She waved that off. “They’re being handled.”
Jadren wondered if that were true, but far be it from him to correct her misinformation. The truth would make it to them sooner or later—probably sooner—of whether the idealistic lord and lady of House Phel had survived Sammael’s attack. Stroking his beard, he pretended to ponder. “House Elal could put up a fuss over the products that cross over with their water elementals.”
“I can handle Piers Elal.” She dismissed that also with a slight smile.
“I noticed the automatons are powered by Elal-programmed spirits,” he said, tossing out a bit more bait.
“Oh, did you finally notice that?” Lady El-Adrel looked him up and down. “I’d decided you lacked the sensitivity for it. Perhaps your travels have sharpened you.”
Seliah was sagging in the chair, fighting exhaustion, each renewal of her struggles making it clear she was losing strength. The Refoel healer had taken care of her wounds, yes, but that wouldn’t restore her vitality. Nothing replaced the restorative effects of rest and sleep, especially for Seliah, who’d already been in less than robust health.
“I’d love to hear more about your plans,” he said to his mother. “And I have information for you—sensitive information I didn’t dare entrust to Ratsiel courier—that I’d love to relay in return, in private.”
“You have to tell me anyway,” she countered. “Remember our bargain.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” he returned mildly. “Just as I haven’t forgotten our bargain doesn’t go into full effect until the familiar is bonded to me. I just thought you might care to hear some of it this evening. I suspect there will be interesting news making the rounds tomorrow and that you’d prefer to be prepared.”
“Tell me now,” she demanded, rounding on him, her experiments forgotten.
“Here?” he asked, making a show of looking about.
