Free The Awakened Mage by Karen Miller Page A

him more than you or the kingdom.”
    Now the faintest of smiles was curving Orrick’s thin lips. “For a fisherman, Asher, you display a remarkable grasp of politics.”
    “Aye, well, I’m a fast learner,” he said, scowling.
    “Speaking of His Highness,” said Orrick after an appreciative pause, “how is he this morning?”
    He shrugged. “Fine.” Orrick’s eyebrows lifted. With an effort, silently cursing the Guard captain’s instincts, he smoothed his tone. “Grievin’, of course. Looks a bit the worse for wear, which is only to be expected. But he’s fine.”
    “I’m glad to hear it,” said Pellen Orrick. “Because the kingdom needs stability, Asher. There’s nothing a man in my line of work likes less than a lack of stability. It tends to make people … frisky.”
    From inside the Tower came a loud lamentation, voices male and female raised in disbelieving shock and pain. Daniyal, still holding Orrick’s horse at a discreet distance, looked around, alarmed.
    Asher winced, then sighed. “He’s told ‘em. Now we’re in for it.”
    Orrick clasped his shoulder briefly. “I must get to the palace. With luck Holze and Nix will know by now if there was magical foul play. Will you tell His Highness the bo— his family is safely retrieved?”
    Asher nodded. “Aye.”
    “He’ll want to see them, of course. Tell him that provided Holze and Nix have finished their examinations, I have no objection.” Orrick frowned. “I hope Nix thinks to… put them to rights. His Highness shouldn’t have to see them … like that.”
    “No,” he said after a moment. “He shouldn’t.”
    “Good morning then,” said Orrick. He collected his horse, mounted neatly, economically, and trotted away.
    Daniyal came slowly up the Tower steps, looking to Asher for instructions.
    “Go inside,” Asher told him. “The prince has news for you.”
    Daniyal ran. Asher stayed on the Tower steps, letting the sunshine soak into his bones. Willing it to melt the shards of ice still chilling him to the marrow. Familiar footsteps sounded behind him and he turned.
    “So. That’s done,” Gar said grimly. Dressed head to toe in unrelieved black, his hair had been confined in a tight plait. Black ribbon was threaded through the braiding. “What did Orrick want?”
    Asher told him. Gar took the news in silence.
    “You goin’ along to the palace now?” said Asher.
    “Once I’ve eaten. You’ll join me?”
    “S’pose,” he said, shrugging.
    Gar’s icy expression fractured, revealed a churning of emotion. “I’ve said I’m sorry. I’ve sworn it won’t happen again. What else do you want from me?”
    What he wanted, Gar couldn’t give him. Nobody could. The dead were dead and couldn’t be brought back to life, nor an unfamiliar world made trustworthy once more. Gar was staring at him. Angry. Fearful. Uncertain. He shook his head. Smiled, just a little. “Griddle cakes, berry syrup and hot buttered toast.”
    Gar’s face flooded with relief. “I think I can manage that. Come on. We’ll eat in the solar, quickly, and then go to the palace. There’s a lot to be done today.”
    Aye, there was. And none of it pleasant. In silence, he followed Gar back into the Tower, where the housemaids were weeping and even Willer’s tongue was stilled.
     
     
    One of Nix’s myriad assistants came forward to greet Gar and Asher as they entered the Royal Infirmary’s reception room. She bowed low then clasped her hands behind her back. The green badges on her collar, denoting her status as a fifth-year apprentice, winked in the bright glimlight.
    “Your Highness.” Her voice was calm, her face smooth, polite, but there was a horrified sympathy deep in her eyes. “I’ll tell Pother Nix you’re here.”
    She withdrew, and some moments later Nix joined them. He looked exhausted; Asher realized that the sagging, wrinkled blue robe he wore this morning was the same one he’d worn last night.
    “Your Highness,” said the