Bright Familiar by Jeffe Kennedy

~ 4 ~

All things considered, he felt oddly happy.

He recognized the emotion, though happiness wasn’t something he’d had much experience with in recent years. Sure, when he received the missive confirming that Nic had conceived and that he could claim her as his wife and familiar, he’d been ecstatic. But a large part of that had been relief that his gambit had paid off. And that he hadn’t bankrupted House Phel before it even got on its feet. That happiness had largely consisted of a healthy dose of self-vindicating triumph.

But Nic was right, as she so often seemed to be with her keen insight into the dark corners of his heart: He had been lonely, probably for a long time, without realizing it. Discovering the pleasure of her company, and her complete acceptance of the magic that had taken him by the fist and bent him all out of shape from the young man he’d been, had made that much clear.

His family meant well, and they loved him, but they didn’t understand him at all. Something about what Nic said had brought that home with the impact of a thudding arrow. They might want to understand, but they never could. It wasn’t their fault, nor could they change that.

Gabriel strode out of the empty house and surveyed the big lawn out front, cleared from yesterday’s welcome party. Only his parents and Selly actually lived in the house with him. As far as that went, he suspected his parents often retired to their own cottage, the one he’d grown up in. Selly… Well, as he’d told Nic, though he’d given her a bedroom in the manse, she tended to vanish into the marshes. Everyone else in his extended family preferred their homes in the various villages or near their fields and orchards.

Though much smaller and far less imposing than House Phel, their homes were at least largely dry and in good repair. Nic had a point that the pair of them couldn’t rattle around in the big place by themselves. And that they needed daily help maintaining it. He’d been all right on his lonesome, throwing together meals—a great deal from food his mother dropped off—and spending the bulk of his time either in the fields or reading as much as possible from the intact books in the library.

Nic deserved better. He’d put a great deal of expense and effort into preparing a decent bedroom for her, wanting her to be comfortable and feeling it was symbolically important to install the new Lady Phel in the manse. In retrospect, however, he hadn’t quite thought it through. Had he envisioned Nic as she’d been in her locked tower room at House Elal, forever tucked inside, reading her books, and gazing out the windows?

To his chagrin, he had to admit there was something to that. He certainly hadn’t imagined her demanding a tour of the house, taking over the accounts, and making lists of renovations. Though he should have. He hadn’t been in the same room with her for more than a few minutes before he realized nothing would contain her fiery ambition.

As he rounded the small lake before the manse, he studied the serene surface of the water, bright as a mirror this morning, and looked for any sign of the arcanium he now knew lay beneath. No hint of it showed. Perhaps the design of the dome, formed mainly of silver and glass, helped to camouflage the structure. It was amazing, however, that he’d ever been unaware of it. It seemed to call to him, a silvery and seductive song, magical and arousing. Perhaps he simply remembered the powerful coming together from the evening before. Nic, her naked body glowing with moonlight, turning in a slow pirouette beneath the moon window. With a desperate urgency, he wanted to be there with her again immediately, if not sooner. At the same time, he dreaded facing it again, beyond reluctant to confront the dark imaginings that plagued him.

Nic had said the arcanium would have spells laid into the walls to store and focus power, a heritage from a long line of Phel wizards, and that sex magic would infiltrate them, refreshing and reenergizing them. He’d sensed it, the power resonating through his bones and blood, calling to him to use it. Power was more seductive than he’d ever realized, and though the walls of the arcanium whispered of cruelty and twisted desires, he nevertheless craved what they held for him.

He now understood the source of the tales and rumors of various madnesses that had plagued the Phel wizards before the magic died down to insignificant levels in the last several generations. Until it burst back with full force in him. And Selly, too, if Nic was right. Why now? Why them? Worst of all, did the dark and twisted yearning the arcanium stirred in him mean he was destined to follow the same path?

“Ho, Gabriel!” his father called from a distance away, coming from the direction of the fields. His father waved, a strong and hearty man, at home on the land. He looked so… normal, so of the earth and natural things. He wouldn’t understand the shadowed imaginings of wizards.

Waiting for his father at the far side of the lake, Gabriel thrust aside the darkly erotic thoughts, focusing on a practical assessment of the regally dilapidated manse. It was a gracious old thing, mostly white—where it wasn’t yellowed or coated in green moss—with steps leading to a balustraded porch that ran the length of the main section, though the porch listed noticeably in places, giving the impression of an uneven smile. The columns supporting the several tiers of balconies on the center section, however, had only required a bit of shoring up, as they’d been sunk directly into solid rock, which supported the original core of the house.

If not for that foundation, the entire house would have sunk. The more distal wings certainly had, their gable rooflines barely showing here and there among the marsh foliage, while the more proximal wings lurched at unlikely angles. One was the arcade leading to the sunken north wing, which he’d begun to raise when he received the message that Nic was pregnant. As his parents said, it had indeed sunk again, possibly even more so than it had been before, looking to be creating a strain on the mostly intact part of the house where it was attached. He should probably have Nic find a place on her lists for that.

It would have been easier, and possibly wiser, to finish sinking the entire decrepit manse and build elsewhere. Start fresh. But sentiment had won out, along with an expensive dollop of pride and stubborn determination. Still smarting from how his life had changed so dramatically, he’d been determined to restore the ancestral manse along with the non-tangible aspects of House Phel.

Despite that determination, the solid farmer in himself had considered the entire enterprise a folly. And yet Nic hadn’t thought so. She would have said so if she did, but no, she was throwing herself wholeheartedly into restoring the place. Knowing about the attached arcanium changed everything, and he was grateful in retrospect that sentiment—Nic might call it his wizard’s intuition, though he didn’t think he deserved that much credit—had won and he’d kept the house in place. The arcanium might be soaked in the blood and cruelty of his ancestors, but that translated to potent stored magic.

He had a feeling they’d need every bit of magic they could gather. He would find a way to control himself and not succumb to the dark needs that whispered to him.

“I thought you’d still be abed, romancing your beautiful new wife.” His father clapped him on the shoulder, giving him a broad grin and startling the shit out of him. What he got for brooding and forgetting what was going on outside of his head. “Honeymooning, doncha know,” he added with a broad wink for Gabriel’s absentmindedness. “Or is she still feeling poorly?”

Gabriel had to quickly suppress a vivid image of taking Nic hard and thoroughly on the floor of their bedroom not an hour ago. There hadn’t been any romance to it, giving him a flush of shame in retrospect. He had to search his brain for an answer to the feeling-poorly question, finally remembering the excuse he and Nic had given for retiring early from the welcome party. So much had happened since, though it had been less than a day, that it felt like another lifetime.

“Nic is fine this morning,” he answered, unable to help the smile at just how fine she was. Apparently his shame didn’t last long in the face of his overwhelming lust, which had been his problem all along. “A good night of sleep made all the difference. She’s in the library with the accounts. She’ll be handling those from now on.”

His father grunted in approval. “With her fancy education, she’s a good choice for it.” Lifting off his broad-brimmed hat, he scratched his head, the hair beneath already damp with sweat from his labor in the fields, though the spring day remained mild. “Cut your hair, did ye?”

He’d forgotten about it, and ran a hand through the disordered mess. “Yes. I need to get someone to neaten it up.” Nic’s hair, too, though how they’d explain the mutual shearing, he didn’t know.

His dad turned to stand beside him, gazing at the house also. “You’re thinking about work on the house?”

“Mmm, yes. Nic has plans. She’s going to set up agreements with other Convocation houses for us to buy and barter for supplies and services.”

Giving him a sidelong look, his father frowned. “You think doing business with those greedy, arrogant bastards is a good idea?”

“No,” he replied honestly. “But Nic does, and she knows the Convocation. She made a good point that I can’t do things halfway. If we’re to restore House Phel as an official Convocation house, then we need to engage in trade and establish alliances.”

“We’re not like them,” his father cautioned. “If you hadn’t turned up as a wizard…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. Gabriel had turned all their lives upside down with his unwanted magic. The only way to make up for that cataclysmic upheaval was to use that magic to improve all their lives. “Nic and I are like them, whether we enjoy the idea or not,” Gabriel reminded him. And Selly, too, though he didn’t say so. Breaking that particular news to his parents would be gut-wrenching. “I’m trying to find a balance that gives us the best of both worlds.”

“You know what they say about a man trying to straddle two worlds.” His father’s grin cracked his weather-worn face. “He gets split up the middle, starting with his balls.”

“Thanks for that image, Dad,” Gabriel said on a wince.

With a good-natured guffaw, his dad clapped him on the back again. “So what’s your plan? I thought you’d raised up as much of the house as you could. I suppose we could saw off the listing sections and salvage what we can. You don’t really need such a big house, even after the baby is born.” He chewed on his lips, eyeing those wings dubiously.

“We’re going to raise it all,” Gabriel replied, enjoying his father’s surprise. “Now that Nic is here, she and I can work together to perform the necessary magic.” He grinned in the face of his father’s jaundiced expression. “You’ll see.”

For the first time since he’d arrived at House Elal to discover Nic had fled rather than marry him, excitement filled him at the prospect of working with her. She was right: They were bonded, and what had gone before was water under the bridge. He needed to set aside his guilt—he would never entirely forgive himself for his role in destroying her hopes for a better life—and focus on building their partnership.

Restoring the house together would be an excellent first project. After he dealt with the fires that needed putting out. Or rather, the water that needed displacing.

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell his father about discovering the old arcanium under the lake when he reconsidered. Nic had said that wizards kept their arcaniums secret. In some houses, apparently, all the occupants knew the location of the arcanium, but couldn’t enter. Having the House Phel arcanium as a place no one believed even existed would be even more secure. Still, it felt odd to keep a secret from his father, especially one that implicated their family in unsavory activities. What would his good-hearted, farming parents make of the devices and tools in there?

They’d be shocked, and they wouldn’t understand. Yes, better to keep it secret from them. Just one of many secrets, in truth, with no doubt many more to come.

A lone wizard amid a nonmagical family.At least he had Nic now. “Headed to the orchards?” Gabriel asked, and his father nodded. “I’ll walk you there.”

“Coming to fix the levee?” his dad asked as they turned in that direction.

“I’ll take a look at it anyway.” Gabriel figured that he’d promised Nic not to work on the levee. Assessing it wouldn’t take much time, and he had to go there anyway to find workers for her. And to set a few people on Selly’s trail.

“Your mother’s beside herself about those orange saplings,” his father noted mournfully. “She’s worried about losing that much money.”

“Tell her we’ll more than make it back now that Nic is here.”

“Don’t call me a coward, but I’ll let you tell her that.” His dad glanced sideways at him. “You’re putting a lot of stock in that new filly of yours.”

Recalling Nic’s many barbed remarks about being an expensive piece of livestock, Gabriel breathed a laugh. “Yes, I am.”

“You need minions,”Nic said without looking up from what appeared to be one of several lists on the desk. “I know you’ll want to argue, but there’s no getting around it. Hear me out.”

“Lady Veronica Phel,” he replied formally, “I have brought the assistance you requested.”

She glanced up, not in the least embarrassed, and smiled at the group of workers hanging behind him, shuffling mud-caked boots against the parquet floor. Selecting one list, Nic stood and came around the desk, smoothing back her asymmetrical curls and tucking them behind her ears, managing to look elegantly regal anyway. “Greetings to you all, and thank you for coming to help.”

They stared at Nic in brash curiosity, far more impressed with meeting a real Convocation familiar than they’d ever been with him. They also eyed the purple and green bruises around her throat, left by the hunter’s collar. It looked like Gabriel had throttled her, unfortunately, an impression helped along by a vivid and fresh love bite just under her ear that he must’ve put there that morning.

“I’ve made a list of tasks,” Nic was saying, smiling warmly at the crew. “I put them in order of my preferred priority and then in what I think is the logical order of precedence, but please feel free to tell me if I’m mistaken. I don’t know a great deal about house renovation.”

Their mute gaping soon turned to smiles and occasional laughs, as Nic wryly jested with them, charming them into being at ease with her. He shouldn’t be surprised that she excelled at this, too. She’d been raised to run House Elal, so herding—what had she called them? “minions”—was no doubt one of the required skills.

Staying out of her way, Gabriel wandered to the desk, perusing the several lists she’d completed. He was reading a dauntingly long list of supplies she apparently intended to acquire, frowning at the inclusion of Elal imps, elementals, and spirits, when she joined him. The workers had begun an industrious and noisy attack of the boards covering the library windows, while another group headed out the door. In search of furniture, no doubt. He wished them luck. “See?” she said, tapping a different list than the one he was looking at. “You need minions.”

“I brought you minions.”

“No, you brought me barely magical commoners who are earnestly invested in helping and who will be of critical assistance in this long list of manual chores.” She waved the list that she’d been discussing with the workers at him. “You need other wizards working for you. If you had an established house, you’d have a full roster of wizards of various levels—”

“And familiars,” he reminded her, not liking the way the Convocation tended to erase the existence of half the magical population.

“In some cases, sure, but not all wizards have familiars.”

“Because they can’t afford them.”

“That’s true for some, but not all wizards seek to bond a familiar. Minor wizards can be useful within certain refined skill sets that don’t require a familiar’s power augmentation.”

That coil of cold shame twisted inside him. “Then the Convocation lied to me. I didn’t need to acquire a familiar.” And ruin Nic’s life.

Nic stomped on his booted foot—impressively painful given her small stature and the light slippers she wore.

“Ow,” he complained, scooting back.

“No more guilt!” she hissed at him. “And you do need me, stubborn wizard. I specifically qualified my remark as applying to minor wizards with a refined skill set. That is hugely different from a high-level wizard with MP scores off the charts, no Convocation education, and a lord of a High House with a host of enemies. I’m going to prove to you how much you need me, Gabriel Phel, if I have to beat you over the head to do it.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he protested. “Of course I know I need you, I just—”

“Save it.” She waved the minions list at him and plunked it on the desk for him to see. “As I was saying, if you’d become Lord Phel through the fullness of time, having grown up in a house full of wizards—and familiars—you would have minions already. Right now you have no one, so we need to import some minions.”

“I have you, as you’ve been reminding me so sternly.”

“You need wizard minions, like any self-respecting head of a house does. For example, Papa has nearly a thousand wizards working for House Elal.”

“I don’t want to be anything like your father,” he ground out.

“Then you shouldn’t have acquired his daughter for a wife,” she retorted. “You want my savvy in establishing Phel as a High House? You need minions, starting with a House Refoel wizard.”

“I thought you planned to set up an account with Refoel, barter for services.” He didn’t like the idea of any other wizards in Meresin, much less in his house.

“I changed my mind. Once I started assessing what we needed to bring House Phel up to standard, I realized that having in-house wizards with loyalty to you is key.”

“How do we know they’d be loyal to us? Seems like they could act as spies for their houses.”

She shrugged as if that was of no concern. “There’s some of that, for sure, but that can work in our favor, as they can report back that you’re not up to anything scurrilous.” She raised a significant brow, not saying aloud like hoping to destroy the Convocation. “Besides, of all the High Houses, Refoel tends to steer clear of wars and disputes. As healers, they hold themselves to a standard of benevolence over hostility.”

“How comforting,” he remarked drily.

“Isn’t it? Most importantly, we have the control here, so we’ll issue the invitations carefully, seeking out people who I believe will be tolerant of… the unusual living conditions, shall we say, in exchange for the opportunity to be first among the wizards of a brand-new High House.”

“Which we are not, yet.”

“Which we will be.”

“You finally said we!” Slipping a hand behind her neck, despite the presence of the workers, he kissed her long and tenderly. “Thank you.”

She made a face, but a high flush graced her cheekbones. “A slip of the tongue. Focus, would you?”

Obediently, he studied the list, noting House Ratsiel on it. “I thought one doesn’t retain a Ratsiel courier.”

“One doesn’t. The couriers themselves aren’t living beings. But the best houses keep a Ratsiel wizard on site—who keeps a stable of couriers, much as an Elal wizard will have an arsenal of spirits—for speed of communication.”

Gabriel suppressed a shudder at the reminder of Jan, the Elal wizard who’d attempted to abduct Nic, and his creepy spirit warriors. “Is that really necessary?” He’d been fine with the previous speed of missives. In fact, he could wish some had arrived more slowly.

“Yes. Unfortunately, we’ll have to pay Ratsiel to install a wizard on site.”

“Sounds expensive.”

“Looks expensive,” she corrected, “and appearances are important. If we were an established High House, we could make a trade, send Ratsiel a water wizard to keep their wells clean, for example. But you don’t yet have junior water wizards, and we’re not giving them you.”

“Comforting.”

“You’re much more valuable here,” she replied with an impish smile.

“Darling, you say the sweetest things.”

“Now, with Refoel, I think we can barter flasks like the healer in Wartson had, with water that purifies wounds. Can you do that?”

“Should be easy, with a bit of experimentation.”

She gave him an approving look that warmed his heart. “I wonder who made hers?”

That was a good question. “El-Adrel, of enchanted artifacts fame?”

“Maybe. I wish I’d looked for a trademark stamp. Lost opportunities. It would be ideal to have an El-Adrel wizard work with you to produce the artifacts to hold the waters you enchant, but I doubt they’ll want to play—yet.”

“Yet?”

She narrowed her gaze at some distant image. “I have ideas for some leverage to use on them.”

“You’re terrifying in this mode.”

“Remember that.” She tapped the list. “Given how much work needs to be done to bring the house up to snuff, I’d also like to invite wizards from Byssan, Ophiel, Hagith, and Ratisbon.”

“Glass from Byssan, I understand. Ophiel to replace your wardrobe, but the others?”

“Ophiel for carpets and upholstery,” she corrected. “They do fabrics of all kinds. Hagith for metalwork, which seems to be scarce in Meresin, and Ratisbon for furniture and carpentry. From what I’ve observed, we can supply our own lumber?” She waved a hand at the house at large.

“Yes,” he agreed, relieved to be at least not lacking that much.

“Good. That ought to be sufficient for now. With the lower-tier houses, we can get by with offering them less for a wizard, in return for the favor of House Phel. Ratsiel should be the only major expense.”

“What about this one?” He stabbed at the line with House Elal, wishing he could do far worse. “I don’t want your father’s spirit minions on my land, much less an Elal wizard.”

“Are you sure? I thought we could invite my cousin Jan,” she replied blandly.

He nearly burst out with a furious rebuttal when he caught the dangerous glint in her eye. Stupid him—of course Nic wouldn’t want Jan anywhere near her. “I apologize,” Gabriel offered on a wince. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, but your protectiveness is charming.” She patted his cheek, her smile warm. “We don’t need an Elal wizard here, as we can use pre-trained spirits, imps, and elementals. They can handle menial tasks—like dusting—sparing our people for work that requires human intelligence.”

“More expense,” he grumbled, more because he hated the idea than because of the cost.

“No. Part of my dowry. As an Elal, no matter how lowly my status is as a familiar, I am entitled to a percentage of the family wealth. Or, rather, you are entitled to it, as my lord and master.” She fluttered her lashes at him, baiting him so outrageously that he held up his hands in surrender, laughing.

“Fine. I don’t like it, but far be it from me to deny you what’s lawfully yours. I’ll finish composing the letters responding to Elal and the others.”

Just then, a trio of workers returned carrying a heavy table between them. A fourth followed with a pair of wooden chairs hoisted on her shoulders. Nic directed them to position the table near the newly uncovered windows, though far enough away, he noted, to be clear of any rain that might come in. The day remained clear and bright for the moment, and he had to admit the library looked—and smelled—considerably better with the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows open to the light and air.

Nic was conferring with the workers on their next assignment, so Gabriel obtained a few sheets of paper and a spare quill, setting himself to the unwelcome task. It would help if he hated the Convocation a bit less, but he attempted to channel that long-held rage into the appropriate arrogant disdain. Having dispatched the workers again, Nic sat at her own desk and applied herself diligently to her tasks and lists. She looked happy, gainfully occupied, and even her disparaging mutters about living in a backwater swamp with no resources to speak of lacked any real animosity.

And it was pleasant in a way he’d never anticipated, working with her on the business of the house. She was right: He’d been climbing this mountain for so long on his own that, even though he’d deliberately set out to gain a partner to help him rebuild the house, he hadn’t fully imagined how rewarding that would be.

Even when Nic read his letters with pursed lips and a disdainful eye, rather than being annoyed by her criticism, he nearly wanted to laugh. Or throw her over the desk, push up her skirts, and make love to her until she was breathless.

“If you keep looking at me like that, we’ll never get these missives out,” she said, quill poised over his draft. “May I?”

“Can I stop you?” he asked in a dry tone.

She gave him a brilliant smile. “Well, you could follow that prurient impulse and have me on this desk until my eyes are crossed and I’m too limp from pleasure to say boo, but that won’t get glass in the windows.”

He stroked the exposed back of her neck, enjoying her shiver of response. He’d loved her long hair, but this cut had its advantages. Pressing his lips to the tender hollow at the base of her skull, he murmured, “How did you know what I was thinking?”

“Your magic,” she replied throatily, bending her head in a delicious yielding. “You’re all silvery cool until you start thinking sex, then you get… I don’t know how to describe it. Spiky.”

Reaching beneath her, he cupped her full breast, her nipple taut through the silk, and she moaned as he trailed his lips down the elegant arch of her neck. “Spiky,” he echoed.

“For lack of a better word,” she replied breathlessly.

“Ah. But as you so practically point out, this won’t put glass in the windows.” Reluctantly, he stepped out of temptation’s reach. “Edit away.”

She glanced up with eyes a sensual deep green. “I begin to regret being such a practical soul.”

He grinned. “I’m surprised to find how much better this place is with the windows uncovered. Let’s get that glass.”

“I’ve created a monster.” She rolled her eyes but pointed the quill at him. “You make yourself useful and summon a courier.”

Hmm.“I thought you wanted to get better-quality paper first.”

“I do, for the missives to Papa and the Convocation, and I suppose to Iblis, so they’ll think we actually care what they think, for Narlis’s sake. But unless you want to walk to House Calliope, we’ll be sending them my letter setting up an account and requesting supplies.”

“That would be a fair walk, I assume.”

She crossed out a line and wrote something in, then looked up with a raised brow. “You don’t know how to summon a courier, do you?”

Though he’d resolved to stop touching her, he couldn’t resist running his fingers through her silky curls, growing ever more tousled in the humidity. “I thought we’d established that you should assume my ignorance.”

With a look of exasperation, she sat back and folded her arms. “How did you communicate with the Convocation before this?”

“Sent a rider to the nearest Convocation city, just over the Ariel border.”

Shaking her head, she rummaged for a clean sheet of paper. “I suppose this is as good a segue into the afternoon of working magic as any.”

“I thought you determined the afternoons were for working on the house and grounds?”

She pointed the quill at him. “With magic. I’m not breaking my nails on manual labor.” Grimacing, she surveyed said nails. “Though that’s a moot point now, I suppose. They used to be pretty.”

Remembering how her nails had sparkled on the night of the Betrothal Trials, he wrapped his hand around her wrist and lifted said nails to kiss them. “Be sure to get a manicure imp in your trousseau of gremlins, then.”

“Believe me, I plan to. As you’re always being pedantic and telling me a marsh is not a swamp, I’ll inform you that a gremlin is an animal, not a spirit, thus not under the Elal aegis.”

“So noted.”

Pulling her hand away, she sketched a symbol. “This is the crest of House Calliope.”

It looked familiar, and he recalled seeing it stamped on covers of the books he’d bought her. “You have it memorized?”

“The advantage of a Convocation Academy education,” she replied, neatening a few of the lines. “We memorize all the house crests along with the alphabet. I’m sure there’s a book in here somewhere that lists them all.”

“There is.” He’d found the old House Phel crest in it. The only place he’d found it. Apparently it wasn’t included in the newer books, as the Iblis locksmith hadn’t recognized it.

“You should learn them. It’s good to have them memorized, for all kinds of reasons. Now, touch your finger to the center of the crest. You don’t need physical contact, but since you’re learning, that will help you to focus.” She laid a hand over his. “And draw on my magic to do it.”

“Surely this doesn’t take much power.”

“No, but you need to practice drawing on me with more finesse. Don’t look like that. You’re learning to be more precise in working with me. Drawing miniscule amounts of power is an excellent exercise. Now extend your wizard senses and request a courier.”

He frowned. “Why aren’t I requesting the courier from Ratsiel?”

“Because the mercantile houses like Calliope will provide a courier at their expense to fulfill a customer’s order, if the customer is promising enough. They’ll do it for House Phel.”

“Iblis hadn’t heard of us.”

“Incorrect. That low-level locksmith wizard in a backwater town hadn’t heard of us. You can be sure the wizards running House Iblis are paying close attention to the potential rise of a new High House. In fact, we can be sure of it now, since you stole their familiar.”

“One they didn’t want.”

“Not until you expressed interest in her. Quit stalling and make the request.”

“I don’t know what you mean by extend my wizard senses,” he confessed.

“Oh, hrm. I, of course, don’t know how that feels.” For once too absorbed in the puzzle to sound bitter, she contemplated him. “Feel how the paper is slightly damp?”

“Everything gets damp here,” he said apologetically.

“So I’ve noticed. Without moving your finger, wick the water out of the paper and make a puddle of it on the desk.”

That was easy enough. She nodded approvingly. “So, whatever you just did, do the same, only push your intention into the crest and ask that a commercial courier be sent to House Phel.”

Only somewhat dubious, he did as she instructed, surprising to feel an answering buzz of magic that felt like an acknowledgment. Nic raised her brows. “Got it done?”

He rubbed his tingling index finger against his thumb. “I think so. Though it seemed too easy.”

She gave him that brilliant smile. “You’re a powerful wizard, Lord Phel. This should be easy. In the future, we’ll task a low-level wizard to act as secretary for you, to handle this sort of thing. That’s a good job for an apprentice minion.” She began sketching a new crest. “For the moment, however, you have a substantial list of requests to send. Apply yourself, please, Lord Phel.”

“As you wish, Lady Phel.”