The Prodigal Mage: Fisherman’s Children Book One by Karen Miller Read Free Book Online

games, my love. I know why you came here.”
    And she did, he could see it. Feel it. But he didn’t want her to say it aloud. Once the words were spoken, what he’d felt in the cherry orchard, in his dreams, would be true—and he didn’t think he was ready to face this truth. Ten years of peace, they’d had, and continued prosperity.
    Ten years ain’t long enough. We deserve longer than that
.
    “Something’s stirring in Lur,” she said, a hint of sudden tears in her voice. “ Something—not right. It’s been making you restless at night. And a little while ago—that same sense of unease, stronger than ever. Don’t tell me you didn’t feel it too, for I won’t believe you.”
    As always, she stole his breath. Was there any part of him that stayed hidden from this woman? From before he’d even laid eyes on her she’d known more of him than he ever knew of himself. But he hadn’t realised she’d been feeling things too. That were irksome. How come she could always hide from him when he almost never managed to hide from her?
    “If you been feelin’ this, Dathne, why ain’t you said so?” He sounded accusing, and didn’t much care. Mayhap if they fratched a little they’d not talk about what frighted him.
    “I wanted to be wrong,” she whispered, turning away. A breath caught in her throat, a small, stricken sound, and she turned back. “I’d give anything to be wrong. But I knew from the first I wasn’t. What’s causing it? Do you know?”
    Since the day he killed Morg—and Gar—he’d hardly ever used the power in him, that he’d never asked for or wanted. There was no need for it. What he did in both Councils and Justice Hall, that were thinking and talking and wheedling folk to see things sensible. A man didn’t need magic for any of that.
    But lately, it felt like his magic was stirring anyway.
    Wakin’ up in a sweat in the small hours. Feelin’ the earth groan. Knowin’ Lur’s earth-song’s gone and changed its tune—that, too. All of it’s magic, whether I like it or not.
    “I ain’t sure, Dath,” he said. “That’s the truth.”
    She was frowning. “It’s not the Doranen, is it? It’s not that arrogant Ain Freidin still thinking she’s another Barl?”
    “I don’t reckon so. The fuddlin’ she were up to, that couldn’t upset the earth. And she swore blind to me her lesson was learned. Besides, I ain’t heard from Farmer Tarne that he’s lost any more crops and it’s been nigh on a month since the bloody woman was found out.”
    “Still…” Dathne hugged her ribs. “Don’t stop watching her, Asher. She’s not to be trusted.”
    “I know,” he said. “I ain’t recalling our man just yet.”
    Even though that didn’t make life on the Mage Council with Rodyn Garrick any easier. They’d already had sharp words, Garrick making it plain he didn’t care for an Olken taking a Doranen to task over magic. When he learned Ain Freidin was being
watched
he near frothed himself into a spasm. But the rest of the Mage Council had over-ruled his objection.
    What’s Garrick’s game? I can’t work him out. Formal hearings in front of the Mage Council mean trouble for everyone. No keepin’ that quiet. Is that what he’s after? Folk buzzin’ about Doranen magic just when Lur’s pretty well stopped nightmaring about Morg? Why?
    It was a good question, with no answer to it. But Rodyn Garrick weren’t his only worry. He was starting to worry about all the Doranen. Now that there was no Weather Magic to keep folk sensible, how many more Ain Freidins were out there, sneakin’ off to muck about with dangerous incants? Breaking Barl’s Law? Ain Freidin was lucky. A few slimed spuds on her conscience, no real harm done. But what about next time? Next time, could be, someone might get hurt. Or die.
    “I wish Matt was here,” said Dathne, sorrow shadowing her face. “He’d know who or what was causing this. He was the best I ever knew at feeling things in the