Doubleborn by Toby Forward Read Free Book Online Page B

Smith. “I can tell you a thing or two about tailors. Come on.”
    He seized Tamrin’s hand and led her inside the house.
    There were three places set at a table in the kitchen and the appetizing aroma of something roasting. Tamrin discovered she was very hungry and her legs ached. Even the little she had pushed the cart was more than she was used to.
    The only two kitchens she had ever known were Vengeabil’s lair and the high, arched space of the college kitchen. This was like neither. It was smaller than Vengeabil’s. And where his was kitchen, study, dining room and workshop all in one, this was just a place to cook and eat.
    None the worse for that, though. Tamrin looked at it and approved. There was no nonsense here. Everything was useful. She didn’t have to steer her way past an experiment or a pile of books. She could sit down at the table without having to check that the chair was clear first. So she did.
    “You must be starving,” said Winny. She poured Tamrin a beaker of cordial and put it in front of her.
    “Elderflower and rosehip,” she said.
    Smith dipped a ladle into a bowl of hot fat and meat juices and poured it over the chicken that was roasting on a spit over the fire.
    Fresh bread, crusty and brown, a dish of butter, peas and sliced runner beans, a jug of gravy, and finally the chicken, glistening and golden, were set in front of Tamrin. Winny refilled her glass, Smith carved the bird and they fell to eating and talking as though they had known each other for years.
    Tamrin didn’t forget the tailor, but her first mouthful of the soft, moist chicken persuaded her that she could afford to wait until tomorrow to follow him. His trail would still be clear. And that reminded her.
    “What were you going to tell me about tailors?” she asked Smith.
    “Nothing.”
    He forked another piece of chicken on to his plate.
    “You said you were.”
    “I said I could. I’m not going to.”
    “Why not?”
    “Not yet, anyway. I might one day.”
    Winny frowned at her father.
    “He’s like this,” she said. “Pay no attention to him.”
    “What sort of wizard are you?” he asked Tamrin.
    “Who says I’m a wizard?”
    “You think I don’t know a wizard when I see one?”
    He gave her a challenging look.
    “How do you know?”
    “Because,” he said, lowering his voice so that she had to strain to hear him, “because you haven’t done any magic.”
    “If I wasn’t a wizard I couldn’t do any magic, so that doesn’t make sense,” she argued.
    “Ah, but you could if you wanted. You chose not to. That’s the difference.”
    Tamrin knew what was wrong with this argument. She just didn’t know where to begin to show it was wrong.
    “Tell me,” said Smith. “Where did magic come from? At the beginning.”
    Tamrin was becoming full. The chicken was so good that she didn’t want to stop eating it. She took a small slice, and a little more bread and some beans. It gave her time to think. She dipped the bread into the gravy and ate it.
    “There are different stories,” she said, when she had swallowed the bread. “About where magic comes from.”
    “Which one is best?”
    “The mirror,” said Tamrin.
    “How does that story go?” He sat back, comfortable from his meal, folded his arms and waited.
    “I’m not allowed to tell you,” said Tamrin.
    Winny started to clear the plates. Tamrin began to help her but Winny touched her hand and stopped her.
    “You two need to talk,” she said.
    “So you won’t tell?” asked Smith.
    She shook her head.
    “Why?”
    “If I know it, then it’s wizard stuff and not for the likes of you,” said Tamrin.
    She thought that Smith was going to hit her. His face twisted and he clenched his huge fist. She flinched back.
    “The likes of me!” he shouted. And he erupted into the longest, loudest, most violent laugh Tamrin had ever heard. By the time he was finished his cheeks were wet with tears. “Oh, Winny. Thank you for bringing Tam. I