Lord Cailean's Tower

By Angela P Wade

Lord Cailean Dragonsson is the oldest, most powerful, and most reclusive wizard in Belarin. When he sends out a command for a conclave of his fellow practitioners, Edward Red Mage immediately assumes it's because of his own recent misadventure with a coven of vampires. But as a deadly blizzard traps them in the tower, and wizard after wizard is

• Language: English
• Publisher: Angela P. Wade
• Release date: Oct 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781737947110

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Lord Cailean’s Tower

Lord Cailean’s Tower

Book 4 of Edward Red Mage

Angela P. Wade

The Necessary Legal Stuff

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the cases of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. For more information address Angela P. Wade.

This book is a work of fiction. All persons, places, things, and events are fictitious or used fictitiously, with the usual exception of the cats and dogs. Well, most of them, anyway.

Copyright © 2021 Angela P Wade

Cover Design © 2021 by Angela P Wade

Interior Art © 2021 by Angela P Wade and Sam J Wade

Publisher: Plaid Dragon

First Ebook Edition published 2021

Printed in the United States

Editor and Typeset: Leona R Wisoker

ISBN: 9781737947110

Contents

Acknowledgements

Previously...

Chapter One: An Invitation

Chapter Two: The Road to First Fork

Chapter Three: An Unsavory Accident

Chapter Four: Blood on the Snow

Chapter Five: Dragon’s Cleft

Chapter Six: A Weird Welcome

Chapter Seven: Lucy Mandragora

Chapter Eight: The Ghost in the Kitchen

Chapter Nine: The Faceless Corpse

Chapter Ten: Morbid Inquiries

Chapter Eleven: The Nightmare Continues

Chapter Twelve: Spying, Prying, and Scrying

Chapter Thirteen: A Beastly Evening

Chapter Fourteen: Talking With A Dead Man

Chapter Fifteen: The Kiss of Death

Chapter Sixteen: Bits and Pieces

Chapter Seventeen: The Hunt

Chapter Eighteen: Funeral Rites

About The Author

OTHER BOOKS BY ANGELA P. WADE

Dedicated to the memory of Gary Lord Guido Robinson, who first suggested that I try writing a Locked Room/ Stately Manor style mystery.

Acknowledgements

There are a few people I’d like to give a particular thank you to as I wrap up this fourth mis-adventure of Eddie Red Mage:

First, my family:

My husband, John Wade, who is always supportive of me, no matter what lunacy I’m coming up with—he’s even let me bring home a random dog of my own. Not as pretty as Phoebe, I’m afraid.

My children, Sam and Liz, who are mature beyond their teen years. Liz did all the cooking and cleaning around the house to give me time to write. Sam collaborated with me on the cover and interior illustrations. If Eddie ever encounters an island that’s really a sea monster, that’s on Sam.

John’s mother, Barbara, who always reads what I’ve written. This one might not be as good as Book Two (her favorite), but we’ll see.

And my friends/co-conspirators:

Leona R. Wisoker, my editor, who knows exactly where I need to put more details in or take extra talking out.

Lisa C. and Lucy S., who used to read/critique my work back in Ye Olde Fanfic days. Y’all might recognize a few things—such as the road to Lisa’s hometown.

Rick Lord Valik Johnson and Marti Wolflaw, fans who donated to a previous book’s publication fund and therefore get their names used in this (and hopefully future) books. Audrey Tweed-McCord also donated at the same time. I haven’t named characters after your parents yet (though I know I need to)--but there is a moment in one scene I included in memory of your dad: Rabbit, rabbit.

Then there are the lovely folks from California to Virginia who follow my weekly Tarot posts and keep me encouraged: Lara B., Marina L., Cheryl M., Michael L., Kitty M., Gareth Blackthorne, Patti W., Dawn G., Aloma A., Becky H., and Sharon M.

I have more friends than these, of course, but if I listed you all out it would take another six pages and Leona would have me cut them. Love you all,

Angela

Previously...

Young wizard-for-hire Edward Red Mage of Belcamp never thought of himself as a hero. Or an instrument of Divine justice. Then he made friends with a social outcast, an elf named Weihlya-Leah (Lee), and began to see the world in a very different light indeed.

In Cloak of Obscurity, Lee is accused of murder. Eddie realizes that Lee was a convenient scapegoat. Outraged, he starts searching for the truth. His quest earns him the friendship of the local elf clans and the attention of the King.

After Lee is declared innocent, another suspect is arrested in her place. Eddie, uneasy with how neat that solution seems, keeps prodding. He winds up exposing his own cousin, Damian, as a criminal. Out of an abundance of family empathy (and a distinct lack of self-preservation instincts), Eddie convinces Damian to flee with his pregnant wife in order to avoid being hung as a murderer.

He confesses to the local church, does penance, and generally worries about his failures until Lee comes to find him and shakes him back to sense.

Eddie continues to do his best to stay in the background, taking care of the poor and desperate. This puts him at odds with his fellow wizards, who generally prefer rich clients and dislike Eddie’s growing influence with the King’s wizard, Master Gabriel.

In Queen Isabeau’s Book, Eddie finds himself in the middle of a murder investigation and a romance at the same time. The romance involves an entirely unsuitable traveling actor, and the murder investigation unearths a plot against the Queen. A popular book turns out to contain hidden codes guiding dissidents towards a planned assassination.

The assassination attempt is, unfortunately, successful, although Eddie nearly dies in his attempt to prevent it. In spite of that failure, as recognition for his heroic efforts, the King elevates Eddie to the nobility, which neatly puts paid to his hopes of continuing to work in obscurity.

The romance also fails to survive, but succeeds in teaching Eddie some critical facts of life along the way.

In the third book, The Mermaid and the Monster, Eddie visits Blackwater, his new holding, and clears up a murder. On returning to Belcamp, he is promptly summoned by the Church to help with yet another murder, this time of an elf. The stakes are high: it looks like a ritual killing and calls to mind a bad time in history when humans slaughtered elves in retaliation for a misunderstood crime. Eddie, with Lee at his side, starts to investigate, but is promptly sidetracked by yet another ill-advised romance. This time he begins an affair with a married woman -- who turns out to be a vampire, and part of the coven actually responsible for the elf woman’s death.

Before Eddie is able to solve the murder and stop the vampires, several more bodies pile up, including his beloved sister Debra. Once more, he winds up feeling like a complete failure, even as he risks his own life to stop the rampaging coven. Once more, his friends and family, not to mention the King and his wizard, Lord Gabriel, pull Eddie back to reality and give him a reason to keep trying in spite of the losses.

And now, shaken but determined to keep doing good in the world, he reluctantly sets off on yet another high stakes adventure...

Lord Cailean’s Tower

Chapter One: An Invitation

I strode up to the Snake and Egg tavern, squinting in the cold afternoon sun. Planning a trip to a cemetery in a light snow probably wasn’t the most cheerful way to spend a winter day, but it wasn’t the most depressing either. Almost anything would beat sulking around my house, thinking about my dead sister Debra. Or thinking about my undead lover, Elizabeth, who’d helped murder her.

I pushed open the front door, and called, Hullo, Sadie? It’s Edward. I’m here to walk you to the cemetery!

Come in, and close the door! called a loud female voice from the far side of the dimly-lit room. Shapeless lumps of people huddled around the tables, all of them appearing to have on every article of clothing they owned against the chill. A few grumbled at the draft I’d let in. I ducked my head and entered. As I closed the door, I dropped a copper coin among the other coins, nuts, and lit candles surrounding Sadie’s shrine to Saint Cyprian. I murmured a quick prayer, kissed my fingertips, and touched the Saint’s pot belly.

At least it didn’t burn my hand. There might be hope for me yet.

Or maybe not. At one time I’d lived in the tavern. I knew all of the folks there. I’d cast spells for them, maybe even saved their lives. But none of them looked directly at me; they just shot me sidelong glances and turned away before I could meet their eyes. No one wanted to be friends with the man who’d slept with a vampire.

No one except Sadie. Eddie, love, bless you for coming, the tavern-keeper said as she waddled and squeezed between tables. My former landlady was bundled for the cold in layers of mis-matched clothes: a rusty orange linen gown, a green and brown checkered over-dress, a faded blue wool cape, a blue and white striped headscarf, and, finally, a rough wool shawl in a plaid that contained all of the other colors, plus a few more. Already short and very stout, draped in that much fabric, she looked like a pile of washing. I know the cemetery’s not the most cheerful place, but I need a man to escort me, and my Nat just isn’t up to it. Not in this weather, with his game leg.

Custom proclaimed that a woman wasn’t safe walking through the city alone; I was pretty sure those who believed in that custom weren’t aware of the rolling pin Sadie usually carried in her purse, or the strength with which she could wield it.

I’m happy to go with you, Sadie. Not entirely true, but again, being with a friend was better than being alone.

Are you sure you’re going to be warm enough? she asked, putting a hand on my arm.

I’m fine, I reassured her. Mother made me a new cloak and hood as a Solstice gift. I held up an edge of the cloak: a double thickness of pale blue wool, woven with a pattern of golden stars and moons. The hood, though only one layer, was equally thick fabric, in bright scarlet. See? I’ll be fine.

Sadie felt the cloak and frowned. Would you like to eat something before we go? I’ve got mushroom pies ....

Oh, no, I’m not hungry, I said. Normally, I would never refuse her mushroom pie, but I’d spent the previous day at a New Year’s feast held at Castle Belcamp. I knew no one was expected to eat even a bite of every dish presented at an occasion like that, but it hadn’t stopped me from trying. Part of my motivation for walking up and down the city with Sadie was not wanting to be cooped up indoors with my own farts.

Or would you like some beer? Sadie suggested.

No, thank you. Maybe later.

Later, then, Sadie said. I know—when we get back, I’ll fix you some hot cider. Come on.

I followed Sadie up Water Street, then turned north towards the Temple. Sadie carried a basket of leftover greenery from the Solstice celebrations to put on the graves we were visiting.

I’d never followed the custom. My father figured the ashes of the dead had no use for greens. He never visited the Cemetery unless there was a funeral. My mother went, to see the graves of her relatives, but not very often. I’d gone with her once or twice. She always made a point to show me the grave of young Robert, the child she’d had before me who hadn’t lived two months. Every family had at least one or two children die young. The priests always claimed that those children were ready for heaven; they had no lessons left to learn in this world, and had been taken to a better place.

It didn’t seem to comfort the families much.

I’ve got plenty of cedar branches here, said Sadie, intruding on my thoughts as if she’d been listening to them. I’ll give you some for Debra’s grave if you like.

My sister isn’t there, I said glumly. It’s only her ashes. If my visions were anything to go on, my sister was as busy in the next life as she’d been in this one, escorting the souls of the dying. I should have been elated, but I just missed having her around to nag me.

I know that, Sadie chided gently. They aren’t for Debra, they’re protection! So nothing can get at her ashes, use them.

I shook my head. The Cemetery’s blessed ground, I said. No necromancer could defile it. Even if there were any in Belcamp. Which there aren’t.

So-called black magic, magic involving the dead or parts thereof, was so rare in our kingdom as to be near-mythical.

Well, it never hurts to be careful, said the plump innkeeper, skirting a slick frozen patch of something-or-other in the center of the road. Besides, it shows respect. Still, it’s your choice. If you want the greens, I’ve got them. Cedar, holly, ivy, and rosemary.

Thank you, Sadie, I said.

How’s your nephew?

Which one? I asked, though I was pretty sure I knew.

Raglan, of course, the one you’ve taken as an apprentice. How is that coming along? You really think he’s got the makings of a wizard?

Absolutely, I said, if I can teach him that it involves more than setting things on fire. I left him back at my shop, working on a potion.

Sadie chuckled. You trust him not to burn the place down?

I trust him not to do it intentionally ....

Thinking of fire, and of Raglan, led me inevitably to think of the burning at Blackwater, and death, and guilt ... I stopped talking. Sadie didn’t. On our way through the city, she tried to draw me back into conversation. As we skirted the Great Rose Temple, all gilded domes and colored glass, there was a bit more traffic. She launched a stream of commentary on the passers-by: Did you see that girl in the carriage there? Gonna catch her death before she catches a husband, wearing her dress cut like that in this cold!

Heading up into the more fashionable reaches of Belcamp, as we passed between the high brick walls of nobles’ mansions and the stone of Castle Belcamp, she started talking about the weather: Looks like it might snow again! I say, why does the King even keep a wizard if he’s going to let the weather stay this bad!

As we approached the bridge over the Bel River, Sadie tried bringing up business at the Snake and Egg. First month of the year is always slow, but if it gets any slower, I shan’t know what we’ll do. I’ve got my regulars, sure, who come for drink and food, but the only traveler I’ve had is that elf, and he’s leaving tomorrow!

What elf? I asked, mildly curious.

Some noble’s servant, Sadie said. Messenger of some sort, all got up in fancy livery. Came from out south about a week ago.

Hmph, I grunted, my interest fading. I was still struggling to not think of my sister, of the way she, unlike my parents, would probably have visited the cemetery with greens herself. How she would have woven pentacles of cedar and rosemary branches and laid them over the graves of my grandparents, my brother, assorted aunts, uncles, cousins. Now she was there herself. Well, not really. Ashes and burnt bones, swept up into a sealed urn and buried in consecrated ground, was all there was of her here. And not even all her bones. Her head and hands had been carried off by her killers as trophies, and presumably burned up in the great fire at Blackwater.

I don’t see much of him, Sadie went on.

Much of who? I asked absently.

That elf, the one from the south in servant’s livery. He comes in at night, goes up to his room, goes to sleep. Then he’s gone out again in the morning. Don’t know what he does all day. Suppose he’s at the markets or something. Sometimes he comes in with parcels.

Something tugged at my memory. What color livery? I asked, grateful for the distraction.

Red and black, said Sadie. And silver. An eagle’s claw worked in silver on his shoulder. You wouldn’t see it if he had his cloak on, of course.

I vaguely remembered seeing an elf in a red-and-black cloak leaving my shop earlier in the week. He’d gone out as I was coming in. I’d intended to ask my nephew, who’d been minding my shop for a while, what he’d wanted, but we’d had a family gathering for the Solstice to attend and it had slipped my mind.

Do you know who he serves? I asked.

Sadie shook her head. He doesn’t speak much. Though I’ve tried to be friendly.

I figured Sadie hadn’t let him get a word in edgewise, even if he’d wanted to talk to her. I let the conversation drop as we crossed the North Gate bridge. We were the only people heading that way. The second day of the year wasn’t the time for travel. I nodded at the guards in the gatehouse as we passed them. They glanced up briefly, grunted, and returned to playing cards. I guessed one tall young man, gaunt from recent illness, and one short, round woman with red cheeks didn’t merit more than that.

* * *

The cemetery was as bleak and miserable as expected. Patches of partially-melted snow added to its forlorn appearance, mirroring the dull gray of the clouds overhead. No one else seemed to be visiting the graves that day. One funeral was in progress: a crowd of what looked to be servants, judging from their gray cloaks, were gathered around a coffin-topped pyre. A priestess droned out the corpse-blessing.

I know him, I said, indicating one stocky form in a fur-lined black cloak standing next to the priestess. That’s Lord Otto. Uptown wizard.

Sadie’s lips were pressed into an odd expression. So, Himself can’t even save his own kin?

I glanced at my landlady. You know Otto? It was a stupid question. From her look and words, she not only knew him, she hated him. Which was remarkable, in that Sadie was usually friendly to everyone.

Sadie just grunted. Before your time, lad, more’s the pity. You’re the true wizard. You save lives. Otto, there, he just sells useless potions.

It occurred to me that perhaps Sadie blamed Otto for at least one of the graves she was about to visit. Sadie, I said gently, some things no wizard can cure.

Oh, that’s what they told me, she said, her plump features going slack with resignation. Come on, boy, I’ve got to place these greens.

We visited a number of graves marked Fisher—her side of the family—and several more marked Brewer—her husband’s. Finally, she led me to a small but costly granite marker carved with the words Susan Brewer: Too Good For This World. Blinking away tears, she began laying some of the last of her greenery in front of the stone in a protective pentagram.

So, is this the grave of Nat’s mother? Sister? I asked awkwardly. Sadie was always talking about her relatives, but I’d never heard this Susan mentioned before.

No, she said in an odd, far-away voice. Susan was our daughter. She was born in the winter, when the snow lay on the ground, and she died the next spring, when the first rose bloomed ....

Her words had a practiced air to them, as if she’d said them to herself over and over though the years. I was shocked. I had no idea Sadie had ever borne a child. Nat Brewer walked with a cane and a heavy limp, result of a serious war wound. I’d assumed he’d been unable to father children and had tactfully said nothing at all on the subject.

Sadie ... I don’t know what to say. I stammered, realizing too late that maybe I should have said nothing at all.

Oh, just say you’re sorry, said Sadie, wiping her eyes with a corner of a shawl. And I’m sorry I brought you here, lad. No one wants to hear sad things. Not fair for me to upset you with my troubles.

Impulsively, I put an arm around Sadie’s shoulder. Sadie, you can always share your troubles with me. Not like I haven’t brought enough of mine to you.

Sadie turned and hugged me back, fiercely. It felt like I was being squeezed by a pile of pillows. True enough, I suppose, my former landlady said with a tiny flash of smile. Now, don’t you want these last greens for your sister?

I nodded, surrendering. Thank you, Sadie, that’s very kind. I think I will take some of them. I smiled at her. She smiled back and hugged me again.

You do know I love you like a son, don’t you, Eddie? she said, voice muffled by my new blue cloak.

I may have gotten that impression, I said, though you’re nowhere near old enough.

Where did they bury your sister’s ashes? Sadie asked, pulling her face out of my clothes.

Other side of the walkway, with the Weaver’s Guild, I said. Let me show you.

* * *

We left the cemetery after laying a pentagram of greens in front of Debra’s marker. On the way out, we passed Lord Otto’s group again. They pyre had been lit and the coffin was starting to smolder. A fine needling of ice, somewhere between rain and snow, stung our faces. I hoped, for the priestess’ sake more than anything, that the pyre would burn steadily.

I wonder who died? I mused aloud. Otto hasn’t any family. He comes from the south and he’s never married. It must have been a servant.

Sadie whistled. Otto’s a very wealthy man, to pay for a coffin for a servant.

That was true enough. Most people were burned in a simple shroud, a pine coffin being quite expensive for an item that was only going to be burnt. Most of his clients are nobles, I admitted. He probably makes more coin in a day than I do in a month.

Huh, Sadie snorted. He overcharges, the old fraud. Not like you. Now come back to the tavern with me, and I’ll fix you supper for your troubles.

You don’t have to .... I protested halfheartedly. Walking the entire length of Belcamp had actually made me hungry again.

Nonsense. It’s my pleasure, Sadie said, taking my arm and heading towards the bridge.You can get in out of this cold and wet. And we can talk about more cheerful things. Did you know Lee is learning to play the lute?

* * *

The sun had been down for an hour when I finally returned home, lugging a basket of Sadie’s cooking. Firelight and candles gleamed from the front windows, lighting a row of straggly potted herbs that I’d actually managed to keep alive through the winter.

I let myself in out of the damp and cold. A fire on the broad hearth gave the room a smoky warmth. Strings of sausages and a large ham hung from the rafters. Hampers of cheese, pies, and bread (gifts from my family) took up a good section of the floor. Bottles of roots, berries, and bark filled my shelves and were scattered across my table among a clutter of books, parchment, and tools.

A gangly, red-haired boy and an elf woman sat in front of the fire: my apprentice Raglan, and (unofficial) housekeeper and scribe, Lee. They sat cross-legged on a pair of floor cushions, playing King’s Court with the rustic clay pieces my Blackwater tenants had made for me.

Two years before, King Harold the Fourth had rewarded me for service to the crown by making me Lord of what had to be one of the smallest, poorest villages within a day’s ride of the capitol. Inhabited by about thirty people and nearly twice as many dogs, Blackwater’s only income came from hog-farming and pottery.

Well hello, Lee, I said. Didn’t expect to see you here. I should have; she worked for Sadie, and I hadn’t noticed her at the Snake and Egg. In spite of her being barely over five feet tall, her brightly-colored clothes and abundance of flashy jewelry made her stand out in a crowd.

I remembered I hadn’t finished copying those book pages for you, she said, not taking her eyes from the pottery soldiers and beasts of the game board. They’re done now, though. Would you like me to get you some supper?

Not now, I said, setting my basket down among the leggy rosemary, sage, and elf-weed plants in the window seat. I pulled off my hood and cloak, and hung them from pegs near the door. Maybe later. Raglan, if you would allow me to sample that digestive tonic I had you work on, it would be greatly appreciated.

What did Sadie feed you? my nephew asked with a grin.

What didn’t she feed me? I replied, relaxing into the pillows of my favorite chair and propping my feet on a stool. She’s trying to fatten me up, same as all our kinswomen. Now, may I have the tonic, please? I need to see if you brewed it correctly.

I’m beginning to think you took me as an apprentice so you could lounge around all day with your feet up while I do the boring work, Raglan complained as he strained a pot of greeny-brown liquid into a glass cup.

I took you as an apprentice because you asked me to, I said. And because anyone born with magic needs to be trained, if only to keep them from becoming a hazard.

Where were you yesterday, Master Edward? Lee asked, turning away from the game board. The gold beads ornamenting her braids caught the firelight. I stopped by to work on the copies, but no one was here.

He was stuffing his face at court, Raglan said before I could answer. The King invited him to a New Year’s feast, and he sent me home to my father.

Was I going to refuse the King? I said.

You could have brought me with you, Raglan said, handing me the cup.

I took it, sniffing the contents. You weren’t invited.

What was it like? Lee asked, leaining towards me, blue-gray eyes wide. Was there dancing?

Yes, but not involving me, I said with a chuckle. We’ve been six weeks without fresh meat, so to break the Fast of Saint David, his Majesty served oxen, mutton, pork, veal, swans, geese, chickens, rabbits, pigeons, partridges, various fish, and, oh, yes, several soups, and an herb omelet to finish. I was too busy eating to dance.

Was William there? Raglan asked. I’ll bet he was—some wizards actually think to bring their apprentices with them, he complained.

Yes, but I doubt that you would have liked standing behind my chair watching me eat any more than William and Matthew liked standing behind Lord Gabriel’s, I said. They put up with it for an hour and then conveniently remembered they had chores to finish and disappeared. Probably into the kitchen. Missed the big fight between Master Arnhard and Phillibert of Corvina.

Wizards started a fight in court? Raglan asked, his expression far too gleeful. Did they cast spells at each other? Fireballs? I could tell he was hoping for mayhem.

Nothing so exciting, I admitted. They just argued, extensively, on just how horrible the local clergy’s dramatic interpretation of scripture for the Solstice pageants was, with an especially heated debate as to whether or not clouds of birds and bats could block enough sunlight for stone trolls to come out in the daytime without being petrified.

Raglan sighed, disappointed. Didn’t we see a troll on our way to the Faire two summers ago? he asked.

No, that was an ogre, Lee put in as she stood and walked over to the basket I’d brought in.

Yes, a different creature entirely, I said. But I don’t think it came out in daylight, either.

Who is Master Arnhard? Lee asked, opening the basket and taking out a couple cheese and mushroom tarts. I’ve met Phillibert, he’s the skinny, pale wizard from the far north, right? The one who turns into a bird? She moved to put the food away in a cupboard.

Yeah, that’s him, Raglan said, taking hold of her arm as Lee passed. Arnhard is that crotchety old guy who lives alone and doesn’t take clients. Right, Uncle Edward? He took one of the tarts from Lee and bit into it.

Yes, he’s something of a recluse, I admitted. I don’t know him well. He doesn’t show up to court often. I think he was only there yesterday to hide food in his clothes and argue about trolls.

How’d the fight turn out? Raglan asked around a mouthful of food. Did Arnhard win?

I grinned at the boy. Not for lack of trying. He’d talk the hind leg off a donkey. But for sheer force of authority, I would say that Phillibert won the argument. He’s related to some sort of royalty up north. Since all royals are descendants of Saint Roland the Wizard, he’s probably read the Saint’s books more times than I have. So barring divine intervention, I would agree with Phillibert’s opinion that no, trolls cannot come out on cloudy days. Only at night. Otherwise, the sun’s rays will petrify them.

Lee, returning to the basket and removing a loaf of bread, said, Just because someone’s got royal blood doesn’t mean they’ve studied their ancestor’s books.

Well, I’ve read them, I said, and I agree with Phillibert. Now I suppose I’d better try this tonic, I added, raising the glass in my hand to the firelight to check the contents for debris.

You trust me not to poison you? Raglan said, grinning.

I grinned back. Yes, because you made it here and I know what’s in my stock. I took a sip of the bitter, spicy draught. Tastes exactly as horrid as it ought. Congratulations.

May I try some? Raglan asked. I handed it to him, and he took a sip. Not bad, actually. Could use some honey or sugar, probably.

Exactly what I don’t need, I said. "His Majesty’s cooks presented him with a model of the city yesterday. They made it of cake, biscuits, meringue, and plate-sugar, held together with sweet almond paste. I’d eaten half the Great Rose Temple before I realized it was really more of a decorative piece.

Lee rapped me over the head with the bread. Sure you did, she said, and tucked the bread away on a shelf, smirking.

Raglan scoffed. Ever notice how even though Uncle Edward always says he’d rather be thin, he never seems to say no when someone offers him food?

If his Majesty wants to bless me with his household’s excellent cooking, I let him, I countered. And before you start complaining about the unfairness of your life, Raglan, may I remind you that I brought home that mushroom pie you’ve just eaten.

There are apple tarts here as well, Lee added as she finished unpacking the basket. Further commentary from my nephew was postponed while he shoved tarts into his mouth, making unintelligible happy sounds.

Lee put the last of the food in the cupboard and turned to face me. I, for one, can’t wait to see you healthy and strong again. Do you have any idea how frightened we all were for you? She reached hesitantly towards my left cheek, where I still bore red, puckered marks where I’d been burned with holy water. Holy water Lee had thrown.

Don’t worry about me, I said, turning away. I’ll be fine. I’ve got a mother, five sisters, and Sadie taking care of me.

And that, said Raglan, is the injustice of my being his apprentice. Everyone is always fussing over Uncle Edward, coddling him and fattening him. He gets to enjoy all the fine food he wants, and I’m stuck trying to live on his scraps. Is that fair, I ask you?

Pretty sure you’re getting more than scraps, I said. Those tarts aren’t scraps ....

You know what else? my impudent nephew continued. I’ve got to share a bed with him. I don’t know what’s worse—the snoring or the flatulence.

Raglan ....

I’m just being truthful, Raglan said.

And you wonder why I never take you anywhere, I said. You know, if you showed more respect, I might actually consider taking you to court with me. And if you made yourself useful. Like by letting me know when we have visitors. I remember seeing an elf in a red and black cloak leaving here a few days ago. Sadie says he’s a visitor from the south, staying at the Snake and Egg. He was here just before Solstice. Do you remember him? What did he want?

Just before Solstice, in a red cloak? Raglan closed his eyes, trying to remember. Oh, yes, he said. He brought you a letter. Sealed with red wax. Where did I put it?

Lee darted to the table. Raglan, you never put anything where it belongs. It should be here, she said, picking up a flat basket overflowing with scraps of parchment and other odds and ends. There you are, Lord Edward, she said, pulling it out and handing it to me.

It was folded parchment, sealed closed with wax stamped with a five-taloned claw. It bore my name written in a large, elegant hand. My nephew stared at the letter. I slid my knife under the wax seal, breaking it, and unfolded the parchment.

Greetings, Lord Edward,

Having been apprised of the recent unpleasant events in and around Belcamp, and desiring that we should not be troubled with similar occurrences in the future, I have determined to hold a Convocation of Wizards, to take place at my castle, during the third week of Marinus. If you wish to attend, be in Dragon’s Cleft by no later than Earthday of that week.

My messenger will be pleased to bring me your reply.

Yours,

Lord Cailean Dragonsson

I was unable to stifle a gasp of oh, my God!

What is it, Uncle? Raglan demanded. Is something wrong?

I was still speechless.

Uncle Edward, what’s wrong? Raglan asked again.

I read the letter over again. Short, to the point—and in its brevity, quite damning. I stood up, walked over to the cupboard, and took out a tart, shoving it absently into my mouth while reading the letter for a third time, wondering if I’d missed anything.

Must be trouble, if Uncle Eddie needs food to deal with it, Raglan said. What is it? You owe someone money? Have a bastard somewhere?

I gave the boy a withering look. What I wanted right then was to crawl into a bottle of something potent and not come out, but I knew that would cause more trouble than it solved. Overeating would have to do. I took another bite to nerve myself, and then read the letter aloud to my two companions. They stared at me expectantly.

Why is an invitation to meet with other wizards bad news? Raglan asked. Sounds exciting to me.

Lord Cailean Dragonsson is the oldest and most powerful wizard in the kingdom, I said.

Really? Then why haven’t I ever heard of him? Raglan asked.

Because, I said, he’s so old and powerful, he doesn’t even bother with the kingdom very often.

I’ve heard of him, Lee said, from her seat by the fireside. I looked at her in surprise. "I mean, I’ve heard stories of a Shonshu Perizhadi who did such terrible things during Belerin’s last war with the Empire, that he was cursed to live ‘till the end of the world, in exile