Bright Familiar by Jeffe Kennedy

 

~ 1 ~

Three messages arrived at House Phel, all before breakfast, all bearing bad news.

“I told you so,” Nic said, taking in Gabriel’s frown as he read the missives.

Lifting his wizard-black gaze, he cocked his head at her. “No doubt you did, but which thing are you referring to this time?”

“That they wouldn’t leave us alone for long.”

“I thought we’d have at least a day to settle in.”

She snorted at his optimism. The morning had dawned fair and mild, so they’d decided to breakfast near the balcony overlooking the river. It wasn’t much of a breakfast, as apparently the minimally livable manse did not yet include a working kitchen. Instead they were eating the cold supper left over from the welcome-home picnic from the afternoon before. As Gabriel had asked his mother when he and Nic had abruptly left the party so as not to fight in front of his entire family, the food had been left outside the master suite doors. What with resolving their differences, discovering the arcanium, and finally—finally!—completing the bonding ceremony, they’d never gotten around to eating an actual supper.

The cold fried poultry was a bit disconcerting as a breakfast meal, but something to eat was welcome, as she was starving. She would kill for a hot cup of coffee with cream and sugar, but the hot, subtly floral tea would do. At least the view was lovely, the several sets of glass-paned doors open to the breeze that ruffled Gabriel’s raggedly cut hair. Without the weight of its previous length, the white strands curled in the humidity, glittering bright in the morning sun—except for the streak at his right temple, black as night, black as his eyes. She wanted to run her fingers through the surprising waves, but she and Gabriel had been observing a somewhat formal distance this morning. After the crashing intimacy of the bonding in the arcanium the night before, not to mention the life-altering sex, they’d barely made it back to the master suite before falling into bed and into instant sleep.

Waking to their dramatically altered relationship had been somewhat awkward.

Gabriel kept giving her searching looks, as if uncertain of her. She wasn’t sure what to say to reassure him. When he’d gone downstairs to determine the possibility of something for breakfast besides leftovers and returned with the missives, she’d been almost grateful for the distraction. Even though she was experienced enough in the ways of her people to know they wouldn’t say anything good.

“News travels fast in the Convocation,” she told him. “Now that they know where to find us, they have. No doubt they’ve been chomping at the bit to scold us. May I?”

“You don’t have to ask,” he replied almost testily, pushing the letters toward her, the formal stationery rustling crisply over the polished wood.

She restrained a similarly tart comment to that, also. As his familiar, she did have to ask permission for such things, but Gabriel didn’t follow any Convocation customs—to the point of obstinately insisting on subverting them—so suggesting anything of the sort would only lead to yet another argument. Still basking in the glow of the bonding, and the exceptionally good sex, she was unwilling to disrupt their tentative peace. They were traversing uncharted territory, however, and she disliked not knowing her footing. Gabriel might detest Convocation law, but at least she knew where she stood with the Convocation.

Gabriel seemed to think that everything would just fall into place for them, whereas she knew their struggle was only beginning. And these missives were the opening salvo in the coming war. With a sigh, she raked back her hair, feeling that odd jolt of surprise when her fingers immediately sprang free. It would take a while to get used to being without her own formerly waist-length tresses, particularly given how unkempt she now looked.

Gabriel’s assessment that she’d need a trim following the abrupt shearing during the bonding ceremony had been a massive understatement. One look in the bathing chamber mirror had confirmed that much. Without the weight, her dark locks were also curling—and with such uneven and wild abandon that they stood out around her head like a deranged halo. She would have gotten her grooming imp to try to tame the mess, but Gabriel had already returned from his fruitless breakfast quest—well, not entirely fruitless, as he’d found the tea and also brought some fresh oranges—and she hadn’t wanted to make him wait on her. Maybe she could find time later.

Setting aside the irritating but arguably frivolous concerns of vanity, she picked up what should be the easiest missive to deal with: the demand from House Iblis. It was exactly what she’d expected. Gabriel’s impulsive “liberation” of the aged familiar Narlis had been taken amiss. She sighed for that unnecessary complication.

“What do you think?” he asked, peeling an orange and giving her half.

She took it, the scent bright as sunshine. “I thought the orange trees drowned when the levee broke.”

“Leaked, not broke,” he corrected. “And just the new saplings. We have mature orchards, too. What do you think about the demand from Iblis? You have to admit it’s not as bad as you predicted.”

“Do I?” She decided not to point out that she was sensitive to Convocation nuance that he wasn’t. The missive was disturbingly condescending. “I don’t suppose you’re willing to return Narlis?”

Gabriel sat back, giving her a disappointed glare. “How can you even suggest such a thing?”

“I’m not suggesting it,” she replied mildly, not pointing out that he’d asked for her opinion—which she would have withheld, like a good familiar should, had he not requested it. “I’m ascertaining your position on the matter.”

“Hmm.” Unconvinced, he chewed a wedge of orange. “This decision, at least, is easy. Iblis asks that I return Narlis or pay for her. I’ll send the money, and we can knock House Iblis off our list of potential enemies.”

She nodded, giving every appearance of agreement.

“What?” he demanded.

She raised a brow. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Nic.” He bit back a sigh and took his irritation down a notch. “I’m relying on you to give me advice in navigating the arcane etiquette of the Convocation houses. If you see a pitfall that I don’t, I hope you’d tell me.”

She supposed she should try; she had harnessed her fortunes to his, after all, which meant this would be far from the last custom she’d disregard. “They’re asking for a ridiculous amount of money.”

“It’s not that much. House Phel may be far from wealthy, but we’re not beggars either. I can pull those funds together.”

Nic set her teeth. “That is not the point.”

“It’s exactly the point.”

“No,” she nearly growled at him. “An elderly familiar, well past her prime, who almost certainly won’t live a handful of years more, who will be only a mouth to feed and a consumer of expensive healing if you’re unwilling to let her suffer, which I’m sure you will be, and—”

“Of course she’ll have healing. We may be provincials here in Meresin, but we’re not monsters.”

“And who provides zero value in return,” Nic continued remorselessly, “is not worth any amount of coin, much less this absurd price. If anything, Iblis should pay you to take her off their hands.”

“We’re talking about a human being here,” he said tightly.

“Not in the eyes of the Convocation, we’re not,” she shot back, annoyed enough with his naïveté to abandon the circumspection she’d previously resolved upon. Which always seemed to happen in her interactions with Gabriel. “You want my opinion? Fine. To the Convocation, there are wizards, familiars, and nonmagical commoners.” She ticked off the points on her fingers. “The first have value. The second have value in respect to the first. The third are irrelevant. By demanding a price for Narlis that is beyond all reason, House Iblis is testing you. They’ve figured out who you are, which means they’re well aware you’re from a fallen house and were not trained at Convocation Academy. You revealed yourself as being weak by showing sympathy for a dried-up, worthless familiar to the point that you went to the trouble of exposing us by abducting her, which—as I told you at the time—is an act of war. Now they’re determining just how inexperienced you are by seeing if you’ll meet their absurd demands.”

Gabriel regarded her thoughtfully. “So, we have three options: pay the price, return Narlis—which, you are correct, I refuse to do—or refuse altogether.”

“Four options,” she corrected. “You could counteroffer.”

Though he remained apparently relaxed, his jaw tightened. “It doesn’t sit well with me to haggle over a human being.” When she opened her mouth, he shot a finger at her. “And don’t tell me a familiar isn’t a human being. I don’t care what Convocation law dictates. She is a person, as are you.”

“We’re not talking about me,” she replied, aware of the bitter edge to her voice. Hoping to sweeten it, she added honey to her tea.

“Nic,” Gabriel said, far more softly, and set his hand on the table, palm up. Always giving her the invitation rather than the demand that was his right. When she relented and laid her hand in his, he squeezed it gently. “I don’t believe either of us is capable of having a conversation about familiars and their second-class status in the Convocation without both of us being very aware that everything we say also applies to you.”

She sighed for the truth of that. Much as she’d rather have it otherwise, she’d been doomed to the life of a familiar long before Gabriel Phel applied to participate in her Betrothal Trials. None of it was his fault. So, she squeezed his hand in return. “Fine. Given that, I’m going to suggest that you’ll do better in dealing with other Convocation houses if you can set your emotions aside and view familiars—Narlis and me, both—the way they do. Otherwise they’ll discern your weakness and use it against you.”

Holding her hand, he rubbed his thumb over the back of it, the caress both soothing and arousing, as he gazed steadily at her with those wizard-black eyes. “I would argue,” he said softly, “that having feelings for the woman who is my lover, my wife, and the mother of my child is not a weakness.”

Her heart wriggled at the words, and the heat behind them, but she sternly told it to behave. “I’m your familiar first. In the eyes of the Convocation, I’m only your familiar, and I’m one who broke a number of laws. If you want to restore House Phel, you’ll have to deal with the Convocation, like it or not. They will be searching for ways to bring me—and you along with me—to heel. If you’re going to fight them, you’ll have to meet them on their terms.”

He gazed at her a moment longer. “And to think just yesterday afternoon you told me I wouldn’t have to become like them.”

He started to withdraw his hand, but she held on. “You won’t become like them. I don’t think it’s in you, frankly, though it would make this quest of yours far easier. But you will have to fake it at times.”

“What is the difference,” he mused, “between appearing to be a thing and becoming it? I suspect if I act the role long enough, the clothes will begin to fit so well that I’ll forget I was ever pretending.”

She just had to land herself with the one ethical wizard in all of existence. “Gabriel…” she replied helplessly. “Can we forgo philosophy until we at least survive the threats piled on our breakfast table?”

He followed her glance to the missives, then met her gaze again, turning their joined hands so their fingers interlaced. “Isn’t that how these things begin, though? You abandon a bit of integrity to survive the moment, exchange what’s right for another day, another hour of security, telling yourself you’ll make it up later, but by then you’re midway down a slippery slope, gaining momentum for the chasm below.”

With a groan of frustration, she pulled her hand away, seizing her eating utensil and stabbing it into a cold piece of fried poultry. No one would blame her if she imagined stabbing something else. “It’s a bit late to be worrying about that slippery slope. The time for that was before you applied to acquire me in the Betrothal Trials.” She pointed her utensil at him. “And cheated in order to win, I might add.”

That was the absolute wrong thing to say. His expression darkened, black eyes going broody as he gazed at her, jaw set. “Believe me, I’m well aware of my offenses against you.”

Good going, Nic.She mentally kicked herself. Putting down her utensil, she levered her elbows on the table—how Maman would cringe at the inelegant manners—and briefly buried her face in her hands, willing herself to think. When she met Gabriel’s gaze again, she caught the anguish in his eyes before he banished it.

“Lord Phel,” she said with deliberate formality, “you acted in the best interests of your house and the people of Meresin, who depend on you. More, what’s done is done. I’m yours, and you wanted me because I would be the best possible asset in the struggle ahead. Don’t throw away your best weapon because you’re squeamish about its provenance.”

“Squeamish,” he echoed, smiling without humor. “A benign word for a grave transgression.” But he held up a hand to stop her argument. “Still, I take your point. We’re bonded now, and we must move forward. A counteroffer, you suggest?”

“Yes.” She named a figure so low it had his dark brows rising. “It gives you room to haggle,” she added with asperity, hoping to make him smile—to no avail. “No matter what, refuse to apologize. You are a high-ranking wizard and lord of your house. You took Narlis because it pleased you to do so. Now you’re willing to pay a pittance to resolve their petty claim, but it’s worth no more of your attention than that.”

He inclined his head, taking the missive from Iblis and setting it aside. “I’ll draft the reply after breakfast.”

“And send it via Ratsiel courier.”

With a slow blink, he assimilated that as if she’d suggested they fly to the moon. “No one was around to retain the Ratsiel couriers after they delivered the missives.”

She chewed another wedge of orange, slowly, to kill the urge to roll her eyes at him. “One doesn’t retain Ratsiel couriers,” she explained. “House Ratsiel wizards wield communication magic like you do your water and moon magic. Use your magic to notify Ratsiel of your need, and they will supply it.”

“For a price.”

“Of course. I assume House Phel hasn’t set up an account with Ratsiel yet?” She sighed mentally as he shook his head. On top of everything else, she had a monumental effort ahead of her as Lady Phel in simply putting her new house on a basic footing of a minimal standard of living. Until Gabriel had manifested as a highly rated wizard—out of nowhere, generations after the last wizard Phel had produced—the people of Meresin had lived like wild creatures in the swamps. The house itself had fallen into ruin. Indeed, all but the section they occupied was suspiciously damp, if not actually underwater. They enjoyed none of the conveniences that made life in the Convocation comfortable. “That will be my first job after breakfast. I’ll draft the proper documents to set up an account with Ratsiel, and also with Refoel for healing, and a few others to get us started.”

He frowned blackly. “I don’t like the idea of being beholden to the other houses, especially the High Houses.”

“First of all, we’ll be paying for services, or bartering with them for House Phel’s, so there will be no debt incurred. House Phel will not go into debt under my management.” Maman had taught her that much. House Phel might be foundering financially as well as in its physical foundations, but Nic could and would fix that much. She hadn’t grown up as the eldest child of the wealthiest house in the Convocation not to use those skills. “Second, you’re going to need allies among the other houses, especially the High Houses—and establishing mutually beneficial financial relationships is one of the best ways to do that. If they need what House Phel produces, then they’ll reconsider before trying to crush your efforts to reestablish Phel to its former position in the Convocation.”

Gabriel regarded her with some bemusement—which was at least better than the black displeasure. “Need I remind you House Phel has no products to export or barter at this time?”

“You do too, and you’ll have more soon. I’ll be working on that, also.” Add it to the list. “For now, I’m going to promise only what I know you can deliver.” She gave him a bright smile, and he held up his hands in surrender, laughing a little.

“It occurs to me that this is part of why I thought it would be a good idea to marry the daughter of House Elal,” he commented wryly. “I don’t know why I’m arguing.”

“I don’t know why either,” she agreed pertly, then hesitated.

He narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“May I—would it be possible for me to have access to the house ledgers?”

“You can just have them,” he replied fervently. “Please take over the house accounts. And stop asking me for permission.”

Instead of explaining, yet again, why asking his permission was necessary, she picked up the missive from the Convocation, setting aside the one from her father to do so. Gabriel made note of her choice, black eyes studying her. Yes, she was more afraid of what her father had to say than the Convocation enforcers. What of it?

Gabriel ate steadily as she read the extensive list of her crimes and the Convocation’s detailed terms for when and how House Phel would relinquish her for punishment and retraining. Though some of the promised treatments to subdue the rebellious inclinations she’d demonstrated and to ensure her future obedience turned her stomach, they were also nothing new. She’d been a star student at Convocation Academy and hadn’t needed to undergo the more brutal methods of rendering a familiar pliant to their wizard’s will, but she knew of other familiars who had. Those treatments weren’t fun by any stretch, but they also wouldn’t kill her. Or permanently harm her. After all, she was a highly rated familiar, far too valuable to injure, and she carried the unborn child of her and Gabriel’s propitious blending of magical potential scores. The Convocation might not want House Phel to reclaim its former status among the High Houses, but they absolutely would want this child.

If she couldn’t persuade the Convocation that she’d been duly tamed, they’d simply take the child, and her own chances would turn sour rapidly. They wouldn’t kill her, but they’d make use of her in distasteful ways.

Feeling Gabriel’s steady gaze on her—his moon magic glinting silver-sharp in the air—she essayed a measuring glance at him. Oh yes, he was bubbling with quiet fury.

“Before you say a word,” he said coolly, “I am not complying with the Convocation’s insane demands. Not even the least of them.”

“Gabriel, if—”

“No.”

She took a breath, staring him down. “I’m just saying that—”

“No!” He slammed the meat of his fist down on the table, raising his voice in a rare shout, their breakfast dishes rattling in counterpoint. A few silver needles formed in the air and showered to the floor in a chiming rain.

Taking note of them, and that their appearance meant Gabriel had lost control of his moon magic, she raised a brow. “Can we have a conversation, or are you simply going to bellow at me?”

“I’m not having any conversation that involves turning you over to the Convocation for punishment and retraining.” He spat the words with profound distaste. “I chased after you, deprived you of your freedom, and brought you here—against your will—entirely to prevent them from doing exactly that. I bonded with you last night, against my better judgment, because you persuaded me that they couldn’t take you away if I did. I have become more of a monster than ever, all to prevent this!” He seized the Convocation missive and tore it into shreds.

Nic poured herself more tea—handy that her water wizard could heat it for her—added honey, stirred, then sat back in her chair, politely waiting.

“What?” he ground out.

Pleased with herself for outlasting him, she cocked her head. “Am I allowed to speak now?”

“I told you that you don’t—” He caught himself and raked both hands through his waving silver hair. “Point taken. Though I didn’t mean that you shouldn’t speak. Just that—” He broke off with a rueful sigh.

“It’s in a wizard’s nature to be commanding,” she replied sweetly, noting the flinch as her barb hit home.

“This is probably not the best time for you to needle me,” he said with a brooding glare. “I am not… the most rational where you are concerned.”

The magic—and sexual tension—hummed between them, so thick in the air that Nic nearly forgot what points she’d been hoping to make. She didn’t know what to make of his protectiveness. All wizards were possessive of their familiars, but Gabriel actually cared about her feelings. He truly wasn’t like any other Convocation wizard, with his odd obsession with making her a partner in all things.

“Go ahead,” he prompted ruefully. “Say your piece. I promise to keep my temper. Though I don’t promise to agree.”

“The Convocation intends to send my Betrothal Trials proctor to evaluate our bonding, along with my physical and mental health. Remember that they regard me as valuable and will want to confirm that I haven’t been damaged.” The proctor would also want to assess her tractability, but she didn’t mention that, as Gabriel was touchy on the subject.

“It’s a firm no if the proctor wants to travel in the company of hunters,” Gabriel cut in. “I won’t allow those things near you. I won’t allow them anywhere on our lands.”

“Then tell them so,” she replied with considerable exasperation. “Play arrogant Lord Phel, say that you have no agreement of reciprocity with House Tadkiel—true—and that you won’t allow Tadkiel magic on your lands until you do. But that you will welcome the proctor so—”

“I don’t welcome her. I met her at House Elal after you fled, remember? Her and that vile oracle head. I don’t want either of them near you.”

Nic pressed her lips closed and waited quietly, sipping her tea.

Gabriel growled, deep in his chest, and folded his arms. “Fine. I’ll stop interrupting.”

“I’m far from fond of the proctor,” Nic continued agreeably. “She can, however, attest to the successful bonding. If I appear sufficiently contrite and utterly enchanted with being your familiar, slavishly devoted to my wizard master…” That grinding sound must be Gabriel’s teeth, but to his credit, he didn’t interrupt her. She gave him a warm smile. “Perhaps we can get the Convocation to give me a probationary period to demonstrate that I’ve changed my ways. After that, they might leave us alone for a while.”

“I want them to go away forever,” Gabriel ground out forbiddingly.

“You might as well wish the sun from the sky,” she retorted. “The Convocation rules the world and—”

“Not all the world,” he countered.

“All of our world, they do. I tried to escape the Convocation, remember? They sent the hunters after me anyway. You want to restore House Phel? Then we need to be in good status with the Convocation.”

He gazed at her, sensuous lips slightly parted, black eyes opaque with dark thoughts. “I’m not sure I care about that anymore.”

“Then start caring again,” she replied briskly. “Because to all those people who welcomed you home yesterday, you are the sun of their universe. They need you.”

“Meresin survived before I manifested as a wizard.”

“Gabriel,” she said softly, “you tried to deny your nature. It didn’t work. And now that we know your sister, Seliah, is a familiar, you can’t go back to paddling about the swamps and pretending these things don’t affect you. She’s already losing her sanity. If we don’t get her Convocation training—and eventually a wizard to tap her magic—it will kill her.”

He grimaced, nodding reluctantly. “But I don’t want that proctor going near Selly.”

If Nic’s brief introduction to Gabriel’s sister was any indication, Seliah wouldn’t be capable of a conversation with the proctor. It made sense that she had manifested as a familiar, as far as any of the strange happenings made sense in the sudden, unprecedented resurrection of House Phel. The family, including all extended branches, had failed to produce anyone with measurable MP scores for generations—thus losing them their house status—and then Gabriel appeared. An adult wizard, self-taught, with MP scores of the highest levels.

Of course his sister just had to be talented, too. Because familiars couldn’t work magic on their own, their manifestation tended to be less dramatic. With no one trained to recognize magical potential, Seliah had lived with untapped magic well into her twenties. It was a miracle she was still alive, let alone able to string two words together. Though Nic hadn’t wanted to upset Gabriel by putting it that strongly.

The best place for Seliah was Convocation Academy, but Gabriel wouldn’t agree to that at this point. If Nic could demonstrate to the proctor that her training was intact, that she’d happily bonded to Gabriel and was indeed fascinated by her wizard master, the proctor would relax considerably. Perhaps at that point, Nic would be able to show Gabriel that the Convocation wasn’t all bad.

Of course, she’d have to explain to the proctor why she fled rather than marry Gabriel, but she had time to think up a story.

“So, you’ll reply to the Convocation and invite the proctor to confirm our bonding?” she asked, a bit tentatively, as Gabriel still looked apt to explode. For a wizard of the quieter water and moon magics, he was fierce when pushed. In truth, the man couldn’t be pushed, which was a large reason for her flight. Before she met Gabriel, she’d hoped the upstart rogue wizard would be malleable enough for her to manipulate. Ha to that.

She also hadn’t counted on the Fascination, that will-sapping desire that drove her to do anything to please him. Even knowing he wanted her opinion, she had to focus to go counter to his stated desires. Knowing that he wasn’t being reasonable, or thinking like a truly ambitious wizard should, only helped her resolve to a small extent.

“I’ll draft a reply and you can look it over,” he conceded.

“All right.” She’d call that a successful negotiation.

Unfortunately, that left only the missive from her father still to read. It lay between them on the small table, like a snake coiled to strike. Her stomach chilled at the prospect of reading of Papa’s furious disappointment in her, she who’d once been his golden child. The one he’d trained to succeed him as the head of House Elal. Until she turned out to be a familiar instead of a wizard. When she’d made the decision to flee, she’d known she risked losing his respect and love forever. She’d also thought she’d be so far away that she wouldn’t have to face it.

“You don’t have to read it,” Gabriel said gently.

“I think I do.”

“At least finish your breakfast first.”

She glanced at the remaining piece of cold poultry, her stomach revolting. “Is it awful?” she asked in a small voice, feeling ridiculously like a child.

“He’s obviously not happy,” Gabriel replied slowly. “Though most of it is directed at me for interfering in recovering you, against his specific orders. He wants you to come home.”

She met Gabriel’s black gaze, taking in his oh-so-neutral mien. He’d let her go, too. Had offered to before. “This is my home.”

“I won’t keep you against your will.”

“My will is to be with you,” she answered with perfect honesty.

He winced, understanding all too well. Perhaps she shouldn’t have explained the Fascination to him, how she would follow after him no matter how he treated her, how she wouldn’t be able to help herself. He wanted her to love him, and she did. But he had ideas that somehow her love wasn’t offered freely enough. She didn’t know how to give him any more than that.

She reached for Papa’s letter, and Gabriel once again put his hand over hers. “I can reply to it, Nic. You don’t have to put yourself through this.”

“Are you telling me not to read it?”

“No,” he answered, holding her gaze. “You are an adult who can decide for herself. I’m offering to shoulder this burden for you.”

She slid her hand and the missive out from under his. The Fascination might be beyond her control, but she didn’t have to lean on Gabriel more than it compelled her to. Her relationship with her family was her problem.

Opening the folded letter, she began to read.

And her heart sank to join her stomach.