Jinx's Magic by Sage Blackwood Read Free Book Online

us. Now let’s hear from the young man with the foreign accent,” said the witch, nodding at Reven. “Bragwood?”
    â€œI grew up in King Rufus’s court in Bragwood, good, er, witch,” said Reven. “But I’m headed . . .” He stopped.
    â€œTo Keyland?” said the witch. He turned to Elfwyn. “Now I shall be brutally unfair. Why Keyland?”
    â€œBecause Reven is the king of Keyland,” said Elfwyn.
    â€œHa.” Witch Seymour looked down at the goat, which was nibbling on the cuff of his trousers. “Didn’t one say when one got up this morning, Whitlock, that today was going to be an interesting day?” He turned back to Elfwyn. “Keyland already has a king, you know.”
    â€œYes,” said Elfwyn. “We were hoping you could tell us how he came to be king.”
    â€œAh. Now the situation becomes clearer, Whitlock, eh?” The witch rubbed the goat’s head with the back of a finger. “But first one wants to know what you already know. Ah, I won’t ask you, dear.” He held up a hand to stop her. “Let’s hear it from the King of Nowhere, shall we?”
    â€œCertainly, sir,” said Reven. “There’s not much that I can tell you. I was born in—” he stopped. “And then I—” he stopped again. “Bragwood. With my stepmother. And I was raised there.”
    As Reven spoke, Jinx watched the orange and red lines of his curse weave and bounce around him, interrupting his speech.
    â€œAnd by means of fairy tales and other devices, she managed to make it known to me that I was—” said Reven. A cloud of sorrow, shot through with anger. “And then King Rufus killed her.”
    By rolling her downhill in a barrel stuck about with nails, Jinx remembered. He winced.
    â€œHm. That is, indeed, not much. Curse, eh?” said the witch.
    Reven reached down and petted the goat. He couldn’t even say that it was a curse.
    â€œAny stepmother might tell stories about lost kings,” said the witch. “It doesn’t mean you are one.”
    â€œIt was more than stories,” said Reven.
    â€œWas the curse on her too?”
    Reven couldn’t answer that either.
    â€œIf that curse wasn’t put on you by Dame Morwen herself, I miss my guess,” said Witch Seymour. “Ah, she was an artist, was Morwen. Well, one can hardly resist the chance to ingratiate oneself to a possible king, can one, Whitlock? I shall tell you what I know.”
    He took a sip of brew, wiped his mustache with the back of his hand, stuck his hands into his vest pockets, leaned back in his chair, and began.
    â€œFifteen years ago, in Keria, the capital of Keyland, a boy was born to King Kyle and his young bride, Queen Kalinda. We shall say, for the sake of argument”—he nodded at Reven—“you. All very proper, an heir to the throne, as required. Then—”
    â€œWhat was the boy’s name?” said Elfwyn.
    â€œRaymond,” said Witch Seymour, frowning at the interruption. “Prince Raymond. I suppose they ran out of K s. About six months later, the queen died. And this was unusual. Had she died sooner, it might have been childbed fever. But why wait six months, and then die? People thought it very improper. Poison was spoken of. Not, of course, publicly. That could have led to beheadings and dancing in red-hot shoes and all that sort of thing.”
    â€œFor the poisoners?” said Jinx. “Did they know who they were?”
    â€œNo, for the people who spoke of it, of course. Keyland is that kind of place. Naturally one assumed the king had done it. He promptly married one of Queen Kalinda’s attendants, a Lady Esmeralda, who was, you’ll forgive me, much better-looking than your alleged mother, young man.”
    â€œYou saw my mother?” said Reven.
    â€œOnce or twice, once or twice. Well, there was muttering, naturally,