Susurrus

By Warren Rochelle

Varon Cambeul has made it to the top: Royal Magician of the Kingdom of Lothia, at the right hand of the king, who is his lover. He has always kept the promise he made to his mother and his apprenticeship master: he has used his magic for good.

This promise is tested when the king asks him to make a curse that will be cured by the king so everyone will love him. Helping the king is using his magic for good, right? But is Varon doing this because he has fallen in love with the king? What about those who will suffer from the curse and slowly be transformed into ghosts, people like Theo and Russell in the town where the curse is released?

Can Varon undo this great wrong? Can he save Theo and Russell and the others as they turn invisible? How can he love someone who is not doing good?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Nov 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685503277

Book preview

Chapter 1

Government House

Logran, Lothia

Summer

Varon Cambeul sat nervously in the waiting room of the Office of the Monarchy of the Kingdom of Lothia, in Government House. He was still somewhat amazed to actually be there, the greenwitch of Cliffhaven, a fishing village on the north coast, one of three finalists for the position of Royal Magician. His magical demonstration had been deemed most impressive. He was more amazed this last interview was with King Aloysius himself.

He had, of course, arrived too early. He had taken the evening steam train the night before, followed directions from the station to the guest house, and got up too early. Nervous walks, tea and toast, lots of tea, too much tea, more than one visit to the water closet, and now here he was, fifteen minutes early, and outside the Office of the Monarchy’s Support Services. The beautiful young man at the front desk told him he was so sorry, but His Majesty was running late. Tea and biscuits in the corner, if he liked. At least the waiting room was big and open, one wall all windows, facing the Royal Palace and the surrounding National Park and Queen Fiona’s Gardens. A walk through the park and gardens would be calming but Varon was sure if he did, the king would show on time after all. His name would be called and he would be nowhere to be found. Clearly, Not A Serious Candidate.

Sixteen years, he thought, since he was fourteen and starting an apprenticeship with Corinna, the greenwitch back home in Cliffhaven, and here he was. He had kept his promise to Corinna and to his mother: he had used his powers for good. With and for both women, the two most important people when he was a boy, he had done good with his magic. Four years with Corinna, five years across the border in Joria, at the Royal University of Myr-on-Calan’s School of Magic and Healing. Four more years as the greenwitch and house magician for a Jorian noble family in New Roesk, and back home to Cliffhaven, when Corinna died, to take her place as the village greenwitch.

He had cared for his mother the first year. She refused all treatment, magical and medicinal, except something to dull the pain. I won’t get better, she had told him. I feel it in my body, in my bones. I know this. It’s time. You boys are all settled, you are all doing what you should be doing. Promise me one more thing, Var. They have their wives, their children. Promise me you will find someone.

I promise.

I know he may not be here. Go where you need to go.

The next year, he and his brothers spread their mother’s ashes at sea, and short while later, their father’s. In Varon’s third year back home, news of the royal magician position came to Cliffhaven. His older brothers, Orvin and Torian, had come up the long zigzag cliff stairs from the lower village, where they had all spent their childhoods in and around the fishing docks, the marina, the boats going out into and returning from the Western Strait waters. Racing up and down the steep, narrow stairs to the upper village, before their mother caught them. He smelled them coming up the street to the greenshop and apothecary before they knocked: fish, salt, sea, fish, fish. His brothers urged him to apply. This place is too small for you, brother. Go, where you can be all that you are.

He had had a serious lover in Myr and he thought they were going to last. But Charlie had gone home to New Roesk and gotten married. Varon had been heartbroken. He met another man he thought was going to be forever, working for the same Jorian noble where he was the licensed greenwitch. Randall had left him for another. He had met a childhood friend in Cliffhaven. Kenny, however, wasn’t ready to settle down.

Maybe things would be different here in Logran. If he got the job as highest ranking licensed magical practitioner in the country, maybe the man of his dreams was here.

Varon Cambeul? His Majesty will see you now. Varon followed the secretary into a warren of corridors, offices, and meeting rooms, past open doors, closed doors, people all having something to do with running the Kingdom of Lothia. The secretary opened the door not to the expected office, but rather a small sitting room, announced him, and waved him in.

Varon bowed and looked up. Here, sit, King Aloysius said, gesturing toward an empty chair. Varon stared at the man. He was beautiful.

* * * *

After the interview, Varon took the walk through the park and gardens he had wanted to do earlier. The interview had gone well, he thought, as he tossed a handful of coins in the garden fountain for good luck. It was his reaction to the king that worried him. Desire. Lust. For the king. For a beautiful man who happened to be the king. He sat down by the fountain and let the sounds of the falling water soothe him. He prayed to the love god. Please let the king have not seen me staring. Please let him not have noticed.

When the sky darkened, Varon walked back to the guest house. He smelled rain coming. By the time he got back to his room, it started with a crack of thunder and rising wind. The rain beat against the windows as he sat watching it fall, a small ring loom in his lap. Maybe he could finish the scarf he was making for one of his nephews. Varon’s mother had given him the small loom when he was ten and taught him to