Bright Familiar by Jeffe Kennedy

~ 5 ~

Even before Gabriel was halfway through sending the remaining courier requests, the House Calliope courier arrived, giving Nic a lovely sense of vindication. She hadn’t been misleading Gabriel—at least, not deliberately so—but she had experienced a frisson of doubt. The other houses should accord the new House Phel at least conditional respect, as one never knew who would turn out to be the next power to be reckoned with, but she’d worried that the scandal of her flight might’ve circulated via gossip, tainting Gabriel’s reputation as a fearsome wizard.

After all, it didn’t speak well of a wizard to lose his familiar, regardless of the circumstances.

It could be, however, that word of her escape and recapture hadn’t made the social rounds. Certainly neither Papa nor the Convocation would want word of her rebellion, failed though it might be, to be commonly known. She’d been secluded in her tower since late autumn, so no one expected to hear much about her. Also, it was winter still in most of the Convocation, making travel difficult, so the real social season wouldn’t begin for another month or two.

The written message from Calliope was couched in tones just short of fawning, extending personal congratulations to the nascent house and providing the account information so that they could supply all of House Phel’s publishing needs. Calliope even offered credit terms, in case House Phel wished to pay its account on an annual basis. “No, House Phel does not wish to pay your exorbitant interest,” she muttered at the letter she was drafting. “But it’s a lovely thought.”

She had yet to dig through the house accounts with any thoroughness, but she’d found the most recent sums. Gabriel had kept the finances reasonably updated, at least up until he’d taken off to track her down. Despite her confident assurances to him, she winced as she deducted the cost of setting up a balance with Calliope. If his income numbers were accurate—and she had no reason to doubt them—their expenses would quickly outpace the revenue. They needed to step up their income, fast. Her dowry would be a most welcome addition.

The Calliope courier took her order, carefully grasping the rolled-up scroll in its tiny hands. Spreading its wings, it lifted off from her desk, hovered a moment, trilling that House Calliope thanked her, then vanished.

“The couriers I’ve seen so far didn’t look like… a small person,” Gabriel commented from his table.

“I think it’s supposed to be an angel, though rendered with considerable artistic license. It was specially designed for House Calliope. Some of the mercantile houses take branding very seriously. Quite some time ago, Calliope paid for House Ariel to collaborate with Ratsiel to create a proprietary courier just for them.”

“Fascinating,” he commented, though he looked horrified. “I thought Ariel magic worked on animals, not humans.”

“Well, humans do have animal bodies, so there’s some overlap. But the Calliope angel is only based on a human shape, with wings. It’s an entirely magical construct, with no self-awareness and just enough corporeal form to transport physical objects. They come in all sizes. Just wait until you see our order delivered.”

“Oh, joy,” he replied, drily enough to make her laugh, and she turned to the next arrival, a courier that was—fortunately for Gabriel’s peace of mind—a nondescript cloud from House Byssan with their house crest in translucent, glasslike scrolling.

Gabriel watched her hold out the written request for an account, along with a personal letter to Quinn Byssan, then shook his head when the cloud vanished. “How do they make the material objects disappear?”

“Ratsiel magic,” she replied with a shrug. “Nobody knows how they do it. All we know is they scoop up any wizard with an MP score in communication of five or higher.”

“Communication magic sounds rather vague,” he replied thoughtfully.

“More so than moon magic?” she inquired archly.

“Good point,” he conceded.

Before Gabriel had presented himself at Convocation Center, a fully fledged wizard from the swamps of Meresin, the MP scorecards hadn’t even included a column for moon magic, though water had been there. Now moon magic would be regularly tested, too. Chewing thoughtfully on her sandwich—since they were still dealing with business, Gabriel had asked someone to bring them lunch, and it had turned out to be a delicious olive-oil-drizzled bread with fresh tomatoes and a mild cheese—Nic considered whether she could add one more change to Gabriel’s life, or if she’d pushed him too far already.

“Just ask,” he said as he wrote out the third draft of the letter to her father. He lifted his head. “I can feel you thinking at me.”

“Can you?” How interesting. She could certainly sense the hum of his thoughts as they intensified, but she hadn’t expected him to be as attuned to her. Was it a result of the reciprocal bonding? Hard to say. When he just regarded her steadily, she forged ahead. “Speaking of scooping up wizards, you should also begin recruiting young wizards with MP scores in water magic.”

He looked unhappy but didn’t immediately argue. Progress! “I recall your explanation of how this works, that houses bid for wizards with high MP scores in the magic the house is licensed for.”

“It doesn’t always come to bidding. That’s only for the bright young talents of that season. We can’t compete for those, and we’re not going to try. Yet. I’m going to suggest you want wizards with any potential in water magic, high to low. I’d like to aim in particular for the ones with low MP scores because they’ll be grateful for the opportunity.”

“To live in a backwater swamp with no resources to speak of?” he asked drily.

She refused to be embarrassed. “It does us no good to delude ourselves about what we don’t have to offer. What we do have to offer will make up for that.”

“Do tell.” He sat back in his chair and crossed his long legs, folding his hands behind his neck and giving her his full attention, those wizard eyes black and impenetrable. For all that she’d found him irresistible in his fighting leathers, this laid-back Gabriel at home was oddly enticing also. Of course, that was the Fascination at work. He’d be devastatingly attractive to her covered in mud and swamp water.

She ticked the points off on her fingers, determined to keep her mind on the task at hand. “Exclusive and intensive tutelage by the most powerful water wizard alive. Opportunities to invent new applications for water magic and participate in the development of a product line. And freedom to hone their own skills, rather than owing all their time and energy to the lord of their house.” She held her breath, waiting for his reaction. With any other wizard, she wouldn’t have dared to suggest such radical ideas, but she’d been thinking a great deal about Gabriel’s determination to upset the status quo of the Convocation. If he had any hope of succeeding, he’d need fellow rebels to assist. What better way to attract the malcontents?

Gabriel frowned, however. “Junior wizards normally owe all their time and magical energy to the house that adopts them?”

Letting out the breath in relief, she nodded. “Standard contract. The bright young things can usually negotiate for more latitude, but the moderately talented are expected to be grateful to have room and board. The ones with low scores can look forward to a life that’s little better than indentured servitude.”

He eyed her. “I find it obscurely comforting to discover that wizards also receive a brutally raw deal from the Convocation.”

“It’s not all bad. Through diligent application of effort and unshakeable loyalty, they can rise in position and gain more freedom. Their familiars with them,” she added, “which gives us incentive to assist our wizard masters with all enthusiasm. Their good fortune is ours.”

Gabriel’s lip curled in distaste. “There you go, quoting Convocation spin.”

“I don’t want to fight about this. I’m simply explaining what the average, moderately talented and low-talented wizard faces—and what House Phel can offer both wizards and familiars.” Perhaps by emphasizing he’d be helping familiars, too, she could sway him to her concept.

“What all is involved in establishing these contracts?” he asked, an encouraging sign, that he asked after particulars.

“You know, I don’t know what other houses do. Something they teach only to wizards, apparently. House Elal has a detailed agreement, plus the tattoo.”

His brows climbed. “A tattoo?”

“On the inside of the wrist, inked by a metal elemental. Actually, all Elal citizens receive one. It identifies them as protected by Elal, and allows them to cross the border protections without a wizard present.”

“How does that work?”

“I’m not certain of the details, as it’s proprietary to wizards, but as I understand it, the metal elemental in the ink passes the information to the spirits guarding that section of the border, and the wizard attending them knows to allow the passage.”

“Thereby monitoring everyone who crosses.”

“Well, yes,” she replied, suddenly uncomfortable. “Papa is zealous about the security of Elal borders.”

“Why don’t you have a tattoo?”

She looked at the inside of her wrist as if one might appear. “I’m family.”

“I see. No tattoos. We’ll draft an equitable contract that’s fair to everyone involved. Can we offer them a percentage of sales of any products they develop?” he added thoughtfully, surprising her.

“That kind of thing isn’t done…” But she trailed off, considering the ramifications.

“All the more reason to do it,” he said, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his desk. “The familiars, too. The teams split their share equally.”

“Familiars have no way to store wealth,” she mused.

“So you’re dismissing the possibility.”

“No.” She glared at him. “I’m thinking through the options. Stop being an ass just because you’re prickly on this topic. Familiars have no legal right to property—anything they might receive goes to their wizard, and its incumbent on the wizard to provide for them.”

“We can make it legal in Meresin.”

“You could. It would give the Convocation one more reason to want House Phel to sink into the swamp again, and the familiars wouldn’t be able to spend their income outside of Meresin. We could, however, front for the familiars with the house vendor accounts, provide them opportunities to purchase what they like. But there’s a complicating factor.”

“There always is.”

“Isn’t that the truth? The wizards would have to agree to this scheme, and I’m thinking not many will.”

“It would be an excellent criterion to eliminate unsuitable candidates. If a wizard won’t agree to our basic rules of familiar autonomy, I don’t want them.”

She contained a sigh of exasperation. “We’re not looking for reasons to eliminate candidates. You need to build your house.”

“Not on the backs of indentured servants,” he replied implacably. “I won’t bend on this, Nic.”

“Do you bend on anything?” she snapped back, knowing the answer to her question. She’d known it from the moment he’d walked into her tower room, and she’d despaired, feeling the Fascination click into place for this man who could never be browbeaten or manipulated.

Abruptly, he grinned at her, a wicked slant to it. “I can think of a few things you’ve gotten me to compromise on.”

Absurdly, she flushed at the innuendo, the reminder of how they’d come together. “You’re forgetting a key factor in this dynamic.”

He sobered. “The bonding.”

“Exactly. The wizards might agree on the surface, then tell their familiars to turn over their share of the profits—and the familiar will have to do so. The familiars might even offer that freely, just to keep their wizard happy.”

The muscle in his jaw flexing, he fixed her with a deathly black stare that she knew wasn’t for her, but for this foolish wizard who might dare to cross him. “I will make it very clear to these wizards that they will abide by the spirit of my rule as well as the letter, or they will pay the consequences.”

She shivered, uneasy under that unyielding gaze despite herself. Like the moon, Gabriel had two distinct sides. Having been showered with silvery bright affection from his gentle face, she’d nearly forgotten the ruthless warrior who’d pursued her so relentlessly.

“I’ll teach these water wizards you want to attract,” he continued in a milder tone, “though it may be a case of the teacher being one step ahead of the student.” He essayed a smile, but it came across as a grimace.

“Any number of steps,” she assured him. “You’re a quick study, and I can promise there is no more powerful or skilled water wizard in the Convocation, even as you are now.”

Grunting noncommittally, clearly unconvinced, he eyed her thoughtfully. “Is there any reason I can’t draw from the population around here?”

“Not if you can figure out a way to suss out the ones with more than trace abilities. Those won’t ever be able to do more than the household spells you mentioned.”

He continued to regard her with that intent stare, his thoughts opaque now. “You don’t mention moon magic.”

“They only just started testing for it again. No one would know if they have it or what their MP score is.”

“Would I know?”

She hadn’t thought of that. “You might. Testing falls under the aegis of House Hanneil and their psychic wizards. You met one, no doubt, when you were tested.”

“Five of them, in fact. Culminating with Lady Hanneil herself.”

Nic laughed at his chagrined tone, glad that he was sounding a bit less like he wanted to slice off someone’s head with his sword. “They probably couldn’t believe the scores and thought there was a false reading somewhere.”

“I suspect you’re right. At the time it was… bewildering.” He let out a sigh, gaze going to the sunny sky outside, and her heart bled a little for the overwhelmed young man he’d been. “I’d like to try testing for it. Moon magic could be even more important to us than water.”

She didn’t have to ask why. He’d been learning to weaponize moon magic, and he was still thinking they’d be at war sooner or later. She wished she disagreed.

“Are you done here?” he asked, focusing on her again.

“‘Done’ is a strong word, considering the length of my lists, but this was a good start for today.”

“We should go outside,” he said, abruptly standing. “Get out of this room and enjoy the clear weather before the rain comes.”

She stood also. “Is it going to rain soon?”

He lifted his face, as if testing the air. “In a couple of hours. Enough time for me to give you a tour of the house, such as it is, and our land.”

“All of Meresin?” she asked with a lifted brow, taking the hand he held out.

“At least the part that isn’t underwater,” he replied, so seriously that she nearly swallowed that bait.

“Ha ha. I know Meresin is large enough that we can’t see it all in a couple of hours.”

He interlaced his fingers with hers, walking her out of the library and into the hall leading to the grand entrance. That part had been decently restored prior to her arrival, though it would be grander soon. The sounds of hammering and sawing echoed from the adjoining parlors, which were dry, if not exactly livable, and certainly not furnished.

“I don’t think of all of Meresin as belonging to House Phel,” Gabriel mused, escorting her onto the sunlit porch. Below, the lake glittered, mirroring the house and green surrounds. “I’m sure all of Meresin would dispute any claims of ownership.”

“That has to change if Phel is to be a High House.”

“Does it? I have no wish to be a governor.”

“If it’s not yours, Lord Phel, it will be acquired by someone else. Your enemies could nibble up all of Meresin until they have this place surrounded and blockaded.”

“We defend the borders and always have, against raiders, scavengers, and greedy Convocation landholders.”

“It will get worse,” she predicted.

“Such a ray of sunshine.”

“Practical,” she reminded him, but she laughed, pleased when he smiled down at her. “You could use the income from taxes. Don’t look like that. You give them your protection in return—from your army of wizard minions that you’ll provide—and that increased security will be an investment in the trade you’ll be bringing to all of Meresin, along with magical conveniences. You’ll improve their lives, Gabriel.”

“We will,” he corrected. But he didn’t sound convinced.

They spent apleasant few hours touring the fields and orchards that surrounded House Phel in a fertile spread of glorious colors, like the full skirt of an elaborately embroidered gown. Nic had never imagined such a variety of produce, the mild weather and copious moisture of Meresin yielding a gracious bounty of crops. She revised her earlier dismissal of Gabriel’s plan to sell fruit for trade, and began figuring what kind of distribution system they’d need to make the trade cost-effective. With central Elal and the other northern lands still in the grip of winter, Meresin stood to make a fortune selling out-of-season produce.

Her joke about the decrepit barge Gabriel had bought to pursue her to Wartson being the flagship of House Phel’s nascent shipping fleet had been more prescient than she’d thought.

“Does Meresin have a shipping port?” she asked Gabriel as their horses circled an unpleasantly fragrant small swamp bordering the bright green of a cotton field. He rode Vale, who pranced and tossed his head as if he’d been stabled and rested for more than a day, and she rode the neat mare Gabriel had bought her in Ophiel, who she’d named Salve.

“No. We have the Dubglass River, which leads to Port Carica.”

“That’s in Sammael.” Though the afternoon sun remained warm before the advent of rain, she had to repress a shiver.

“I’m aware,” he replied in that dry tone she’d begun to learn meant it was a source of aggravation for him.

She didn’t blame him there. House Sammael dealt in punishment, which made them valuable to the Convocation and unpopular with everyone else. The Sammael heir apparent had been one of her suitors, and he’d been as brusque and unpleasant as you’d expect from that family. He’d also been singularly stupid and nicely aged, so she’d had hopes of running circles around him until he died an early death.

Eyeing Gabriel sideways and placing a hand over her ripening womb, she gave thought to their unborn child. She still wouldn’t have had any idea she’d quickened had the Convocation proctor’s oracle head not confirmed it. Difficult to imagine, now, that anyone but Gabriel would be the father, and her husband. She could be pregnant with Sammael’s child, living in forbidding House Sammael. At least, it looked that way in paintings. It could be that House Sammael encouraged a grim representation, and it wasn’t that bad in reality. Still, learning to deal with Sammael as her wizard master would’ve been leagues worse than her current struggles. Given the way he’d treated her at the Betrothal Trials when she hadn’t even belonged to him yet, she doubted even her pregnancy would’ve given him much pause in extracting all he could from her. That near miss made her shudder. It didn’t bear thinking about.

She banished the thought, though not quickly enough to elude Gabriel’s keen insight into her mind.

He studied her. “Was he one of them?” he asked abruptly, darkness coiling into the underside of his silvery magic.

“One of who?” she asked, making a display of looking puzzled.

“The suitors before me. I know there were three, and I know Sammael heir has been searching for a replacement for his lady wife and familiar, who died last winter. He was one of them, wasn’t he?”

“Why does it matter?” She lifted her chin. “It’s my personal business.”

“Your personal business is also mine now,” he practically growled. “Tell me the truth.”

“I hear and obey, master,” she taunted, but it didn’t work to back him off. He simply raised an expectant brow.

“Yes,” she admitted, shrugging it off, and offering nothing further.

“Which one?” Gabriel demanded, far from mollified.

“The first one. I can’t imagine why that information is relevant to you.”

“You know that’s not what I’m asking. You said one of them barely spoke to you at all except to give instructions. Was it Sammael?”

The man had a cursed good memory. It made him a quick study, which was to their advantage, but also a tricky opponent if she wanted to conceal anything from him. “Did I say that?” she wondered aloud, attempting to sound vague. I know you’re an innocent, Sammael’s cold voice echoed in her mind, but no one cares what a familiar has to say. If I want intelligent conversation, I’ll talk to another wizard.

Gabriel reached out with one long arm and snagged Salve’s bridle, bringing them close. “You know you did. Quit playing games with me.”

“I don’t care to discuss this,” she replied through gritted teeth to keep her voice from wobbling. She had been innocent when Sammael took her, in more ways than one, and it had been an abrupt degradation to be used so perfunctorily by him. That moment, perhaps more than any other, had brought home the powerlessness of her new status in life. Feeling the prick of tears in her eyes, she determinedly looked away.

Gabriel narrowed his eyes, swore under his breath, and released Salve’s bridle. That did not, however, signal a reprieve from the interrogation. He swung down from Vale’s back, came over to Nic, and plucked her from the saddle with his easy strength. Instead of setting her down, he held her against him, wrapping his arms around her and holding her in a tight embrace. Despite her resolve to remain regally poised, she dropped her head on his shoulder, surprised to find herself needing the comfort.

“I’m sorry,” he said raggedly, and she nodded against his shoulder.

“It’s of no matter,” she said, her voice coming out small. She’d said that to Gabriel back in her tower, though she’d done a better job then of sounding like she didn’t care.

“It is. I asked.” Gabriel echoed his own reply, making it clear he remembered, too. Finally, he set her down, though he didn’t release her. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, “more than you can know, for what you went through.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“In part it is,” he asserted. “I took advantage of the same system that exploited you.”

“Well, it’s turned out fine.” She felt better now, less wobbly, not so much on the verge of tears. “What’s gone before is gone.”

“It will be when he’s dead,” Gabriel replied with grim purpose.

“Excuse me?” Completely taken aback, she’d nearly stammered in her shock.

“I resolved back then to find out the names of all three of those suitors who brutalized you—and to kill them.”

“But… but you can’t kill the House Sammael heir.” Curse it, now she was stammering.

“Watch me.” Gabriel’s eyes glittered with black hatred. The dark side of the moon. “They will not abuse my wife and live.”

“I wasn’t your wife then,” she pointed out, flailing for an argument to stop him.

He considered that. Came to a decision. “I don’t care.”

“Gabriel, I never even said it was him.” She nearly stomped her foot at her inability to sway him.

“You didn’t have to.” He touched her cheek, achingly tender in contrast to the roiling shadows under the silver magic. “He made you cry, then and just now. You’re a fierce, proud woman, Lady Veronica Phel. Anyone who hurts you enough to draw tears deserves to die.”

She was still gaping at him when he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her with devastating thoroughness, stirring the fire he’d kindled in the library into leaping flame again. Aching with unfulfilled desire, she melted against him, needing him inside and around her, more and more and more.

“Not here,” he muttered against her lips, breaking the kiss to nip the tender spot under her jaw that made her shudder with need. “Anyone could come upon us.”

“And nobody wants to have sex next to a swamp,” she agreed with a wrinkled nose.

He shook his head. “A bog. But your point is taken.” Lifting her easily, he settled her in the saddle again and mounted Vale, both horses reluctant to give up the serendipitous grazing opportunity. Moving at a faster clip, they headed back to the manse, perched unevenly on a slight rise in the near distance, between the winding river and the lake.

Slight hills rose gradually on the river’s opposite bank. Grayish brown with little foliage, they weren’t planted with crops or orchards.

“Gabriel?” She stirred him from the thoughts that had his expression as flinty as those hillsides. He was no doubt plotting how to extract the other two names from her, information she had no intention of giving him. House Phel had enough enemies without Gabriel adding to the roster simply to redress imagined wrongs against her. “Is that the Dubglass River, going past the house, the one that goes to Port Carica?”

He frowned at it as if he’d never seen it before. Yes, his mind had definitely been elsewhere. “Yes, why?”

“Just thinking. And those hills there—why aren’t they planted?”

“The soil isn’t right. Sand and clay, probably deposited there before the river shifted into its current course. They’re actually a problem.” He shifted his frown to the unoffending hills. “In heavy rains, the clay gets slick, and we get mud slides, which clog the river. We have to dig it out or the river water floods the marshes there and there.” He pointed to the more distant wings of the manse, which were mainly gables showing through the water and grasses, like upturned boats. “Family lore has it that there were several attempts to build the manse on the hillsides originally, as they’re the highest point around, but that the structure had to be relocated to the bedrock below, as it kept sliding down the hill with sufficient rain.”

He smiled wryly at her. “I’ve always taken heart from those tales of my ancestors’ folly. They put my own failures into perspective.” His gaze lingered on the sunken wings of the house. “Sometimes I think I should’ve razed the house and built it elsewhere.”

She’d had the same thought. “Why didn’t you?”

“Folly runs in my blood along with the water and moon magic?” He breathed a laugh, shaking his head. “Pride, I suppose. I wanted to prove that the Convocation hadn’t truly destroyed my house, that we would rise again from the ashes of destruction.”

“Rather, the swamps of them,” Nic corrected with a smile.

“That does it.” He reined up. “You’ve been tutoring me in all things to do with magic and the Convocation, including the nature of gremlins. You are going to learn the correct terms for wetlands.”

She clapped her hands to her cheeks and widened her eyes in a semblance of astonishment. “Can it be that I’ll be allowed such sacred knowledge? I’m agog to find out!”

“You think you’re funny,” he growled, but his lips twitched. “Observe, young pupil.” He waved a hand at the sunken wings of the manse. “Do you see any trees or other woody plants in yon wetland?”

Nic pursed her lips and scanned the reedy ponds that merged with the river in places. “The only woody bits I see appear to have once been rooflines.”

“Sadly accurate. Also, they are not plants or trees. Thus, this is a marsh.”

“That’s the definition?”

“Yes. A swamp has trees and the like. Now, turn your scholarly eye upon that low area on the far side of the river.”

“The one that looks like a really wet meadow?”

“Not a meadow, but a fen.”

“Ah.” She nodded knowingly, amused by this whimsical side of him. If nothing else, she’d managed to dig him out of his dark thoughts of vengeance. “Looks like a dense marsh to this untrained dry-lander.”

“Exactly. More plant life, fed by a steady source of ground water: the river.” He met her gaze, expression serious but dark eyes sparkling. “Remember the bog you didn’t like the smell of?”

“Having an excellent memory, I do recall that place from less than a quarter of an hour ago.”

“An enclosed depression, without a source of ground water, but instead filled by rain.”

“Makes it a bog,” she said with a sigh. “I confess I never thought I’d have to know the difference between a swamp, a marsh, a bog, and a fen.”

“And now you do.” His gaze traveled over the considerable expanse of sunken and partially sunken manse. “It’s not too late to raze that heap and start anew.”

“Never say it. I’m committed now. Tomorrow, you—with the able assistance of your nubile familiar—will raise House Phel from the marsh of doom.”

“Correct usage, but ‘doom’?”

“Ignominy?”

“More accurate.” He grimaced. “I suppose we should start with the piece I’ve already raised, see if together we can do more to stabilize it.”

“We’ll do the whole thing.”

Turning his head slowly, he looked at her like he suspected she might have lost her mind. “The whole wing?”

“The whole house.” She had to laugh at his incredulous expression. “Correct me if I’m wrong, because I don’t know much about house construction, but wouldn’t raising just one part while it’s being dragged down by the other parts only create strain on the existing structure? I mean, that’s one of the things our morning crew reported—that there’s ongoing damage in even the dry portions of the core house, because of the stress from the submerged sections.”

“Well, yes, of course. There wasn’t any way around that, because it’s simply not possible to raise the entire manse at once.”

“It wasn’t possible on your own, but that’s why you acquired a powerful familiar, isn’t it?” She simpered at him.

“I had one or two other reasons in mind,” he replied drily.

“Yes, and we’ll get to those. But let’s just raise the entire structure, stabilize it, remove most of the water—then we can turn the remainder of the restoration over to the worker bees and the low-level water-wickers in the population. That will free us to concentrate on our other pressing matters.”

“The entire structure is extensive.” He pointed to a far gable, sweeping his hand across to the other distant end in demonstration.

“I can see that. We should spend some time building power for it tonight. Visiting the arcanium was on the schedule anyway.”

“Nic.” He frowned at her, seeming to be searching for words. “I appreciate your confidence in me, but this is a far more massive undertaking than keeping a barge from wrecking on the rocks. I was barely able to do that.”

“It’s not any different,” she insisted. “You’re still tied down to your farmer ways of thinking. Magic doesn’t operate according to physical laws. A manse is no different from a barge. It’s time you understood what you’re capable of doing.”

He gazed back at her, uncertain, something of the young man abruptly swamped—and ha to that metaphor—by overwhelming magic in his haunted gaze. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“That, my only love, sums up your problem.” She tried to soften it, to be kind, but he flinched anyway. “You’ll see. Better, you’ll learn.”

“Maybe we need a few days of practice.”

“Tomorrow.” He’d only build up the endeavor to even more impossible proportions in his mind if she let him stew over it. She would propose doing it immediately, but she wanted plenty of power in reserve. If they tried and failed, he’d only be more predisposed to think of the task as impossible. She nudged Salve into motion. “I should check for any replies to our messages from this morning before dinner. After we eat, we can spend the night in the arcanium.”

“The entire night?” Gabriel sounded aghast as Vale trotted briskly to make up the distance.

“Yes, which means we’ll need to locate a mattress and blankets for that bed.”

“You want to sleep on that… thing?”

She could swear, he made it sound like she’d suggested sleeping on a rack studded with spikes. “And use it for some magic-amplifying rituals that will include intense sex.” Raising a brow, she gave him a dubious look. “Unless you prefer the floor?”

“As a matter of fact, I would.”

“Too bad. The silver bed is made to concentrate your magic. Stop being squeamish about it.”

His jaw flexed with irritation. “You have a knack for dragging out that milquetoast word to describe the truly horrible.”

She rolled her eyes at him, making sure he could see. “You have a knack for the dramatic. It will just be a bit of sex magic, not skinning babies and eating them alive or anything like that.”

“I don’t want to know if that’s something Convocation wizards do.”

“Not at all,” she reassured him. “What if the baby could grow up to be a powerful wizard or familiar? It makes no sense to run that risk.”

He eyed her blackly. “You have such a twisted sense of humor I’m not sure if you’re joking or not.”

Giving him a bright smile, she dropped that subject without further comment. “You’re right, it feels like it’s going to rain soon.”

“The surprise is that it held off so long.”

“Are the winters here cool and rainy, plenty of misty weather?”

“As a matter of fact, they are. Why are you wondering?”

“Perfect weather for grapes,” she replied with satisfaction. This would be fun. “Those sandy hills will be ideal for growing them, too.”

“Grapes. You want to plant grapes?”

“I want to plant grape vines,” she clarified. “A vineyard. We’re going to make wine.”

He assimilated that. “I suppose you would know how.”

“I would—and we’re going to give Elal a run for their money with House Phel wines.”

“Elal doesn’t hold the license?”

“Nope. Grapes are grapes; wine is wine. Not magic, but nature. Elal does supply earth elementals to improve soil and what grows from it. Those could be useful here.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said in a tone that meant he’d already decided he didn’t like the idea but didn’t want to argue. “I don’t know where we can buy grape vines. I don’t know much about making wine, but I’m assuming that you can’t use just any old grapes.”

“Not if we want to make good wine. And we do. So we’ll need the very best vines, in several varietals, so we can test which perform best in this climate.”

“Sounds expensive,” he noted with a sigh of resignation.

“Not at all, except that we’ll be forfeiting a bit of income. They’re going to be included in my dowry.”

Gabriel gazed at her thoughtfully. “Is Lord Elal aware of this plan?”

“Not yet.” She tried for a carefree smile but was aware it likely looked more like a baring of teeth. “But he’s going to do it. Just you wait and see.”