The Magic Council (The Herezoth Trilogy) by Victoria Grefer Read Free Book Online Page B

answer: what would
happen to them if their parents could not arrange their safe return? They had
already spent a month in this basement. Was it possible to stay here, trapped,
for years? Would Ursa move them to proper lodgings? How long before Valkin did
something idiotic out of pure frustration and got himself hurt, or killed, and
maybe his brothers with him? Valkin’s restlessness frightened Neslan more than
anything else. He knew his brother would never in a million years harm August,
but just to think the idea had occurred to him made Neslan’s hair stand on end.
The situation proved just how deeply the crown prince felt the injustice he was
suffering. How much longer could Neslan keep Valkin’s anger in check? “Someone
better get us out of here soon,” he thought. “Soon, or something bad will
happen, something worse than just being stuck in this place.”
    Valkin
was thinking about Dorane and how he had made Hune cry. Having Hune here made
Valkin sick; he felt physically ill to see his youngest brother shake at night,
to watch him bite his lip each time Dorane claimed magic made them all unique.
More than anything, Valkin wished Hune had stayed home the day they had been
kidnapped. Neslan was made of tougher stuff. Hune himself was tough for being
so small, but he was only eight….
    I hate Dorane. I hate
him. He has no right to do this, especially not to Hune. I hate him, HATE him!
I wish Ursa’s bear would eat him, I really do. I wouldn’t care at all if that
happened.

 

 
    CHAPTER
FOUR
    The
King’s Spy

 
    Vane
slept that first night in the guest room he always used at the Palace, a room
small but luxurious, with the most comfortable mattress he had ever lain upon.
Though it was late when he turned back the sheets, a beam of light shot through
the eastern window soon after dawn and fell across the bed to wake him. He
stretched his arms and rolled over, deciding to sleep for as long as possible,
until the king summoned him. What else could Vane do? He was stuck in the room,
could not let anyone see him.
    Then
he told himself no, time was of the essence and he should be ready to leave
when someone came for him. Vane put his feet on the carpeted floor and grabbed
a change of clothes from the sack in which he had thrown little else besides
two or three pairs of pants and some tunic-style shirts.
    A
knock came at the door soon after Vane had dressed. When he opened to see no
one, he realized Zacry was there. “We’re eating next door. In my room,” said
Vane’s teacher. “Too many people come in and out of the king’s parlor. Come by
when you can.”
    “I’m
ready now,” said Vane. He did not bother to turn invisible; the hallway was
deserted. He followed Zacry—or assumed he had followed when the next door
over opened of its own accord—to a room identical to his own. There was a
wardrobe, a nightstand with a half-consumed candle, and a desk on which someone
had put a tray with bread, apples, a platter of eggs, and pitchers of milk and
grape juice. Zacry materialized near the window.
    “Rexson
just brought this down,” he said. “He’ll be back in a moment with the others.”
    Vane
poured himself a glass of juice and took a seat on the bed, which Zacry had
made inexpertly before fetching him. Neither man spoke, but the king was not
long in shepherding a group of three through the door. The first was a soldier,
a guardsman, probably the one who had let the sorcerers in the night before.
His hair, a premature deep gray—he could not be older than
thirty-five—was cropped close to his head, and the only word for his
step, air, and posture would be military. Vane did not distrust the man, but he
made no welcoming figure, and the hardness of his eyes, the way they darted
from object to object with suspicion, invited no confidence.
    The
second man had large ears and hair as fair as the king’s, but thicker. The
upper strands fell across his forehead when he smiled, as he did when he saw
Zacry.