Spellwright

“Flattery.” He closed his eyes and pressed four trembling fingers to his forehead. “I know that Magister is plain and that you are painted. I will tell him.”

She shook her head. “Then listen to me, game-piece Nicodemus. One day you will not have the luxury of hiding behind your disability. One day soon you will have to paint your face and play my game or die.”

He said nothing.

“Before you tell Shannon,” the druid said coolly, “consider that he might, perhaps unknowingly, serve our enemy.”

Nicodemus started to protest, but she held up her hand. “And perhaps he does not. But men speak with loose tongues. Telling Shannon what I told you may start rumors. At present, your jailer doesn’t know that you are aware of him. Informing Shannon may alert him to your new knowledge. Informing Shannon may ignite a bloody struggle before Kyran and I are ready to defend you.”

Nicodemus frowned. “If Shannon were a demon-worshiper, he never would have left me alone with you.”

Deirdre cocked her head to one side. “You care for him.”

Nicodemus blinked.

Her infuriating half-smiled returned. “Game-piece Nicodemus, beware of Shannon. He is only a man. If he is your jailer, then he might be an imperfect one. Leaving you alone with me might have been simply a mistake.” She paused. “Don’t you wonder what caused those unusual cuts across his face?”

Nicodemus opened his mouth to defend the old man, but before the words came, muffled voices sounded at the door.

“They’re coming back.” Deirdre leaned forward and took his hand. “Nicodemus, if you remember anything, remember that the wizards are more than they seem. Shannon is more than he seems. We must get you to my goddess’s ark in Gray’s Crossing; you will be safe there. Until then, take this.”

From the folds of her robe, she withdrew a small sphere of polished wood and placed it in Nicodemus’s palm. A root wound around the object.

“It is called a Seed of Finding,” she said softly. “If you need me, break the root that encircles the Seed and I will come. I have another artifact that will allow me to find you so long as you are touching the Seed.”

She closed her hands around his and knelt. “By Bridget’s love,” she said, her green eyes fixed upon him, “I hereby pledge myself to the protection of Nicodemus Weal, our beloved Peregrine.”

CHAPTER

Twelve

Nicodemus stared down at the wooden orb. It didn’t look like any seed he had ever known. A tingling warmth was spreading down his fingers. “Its power is quick,” he whispered.

Deirdre released his hand. “Keep it safe. Many wizards would pay their weight in gold for this spell.”

Nicodemus met her gaze. “If I gave this to a wizard so that he could study the druidic languages in it, and the other druids learned that you gave it to me-”

“-they would strangle me before our goddess’s altar. Just as the wizards jealously guard Numinous and Magnus, the druids guard the higher druidic languages.” She stood. “You see how I risk my life for you.”

Across the room the door latch chirped. Nicodemus stood and stuffed the druidic artifact into his belt-purse.

Deirdre stepped away from him as the door swung open to reveal an exhausted Shannon. Azure, perched on the wizard’s right hand, bobbed her head.

“My esteemed druid,” the grand wizard rumbled, “I have just heard a report that will harrow your soul. But might I have a moment with my apprentice first?”

“Of course,” Deirdre said with a bow.

“Nicodemus.” Shannon gestured to the door.

The younger man followed the grand wizard into the hallway.

When the door clicked shut behind him, Shannon held a gnarled forefinger to his lips and cast a miniature river of Numinous from his brow to Azure’s. The bird looked over the old man’s shoulder and down the dark hall. A responding sentence flew from bird to wizard.

It was then that Nicodemus noticed the sentinel, Magistra Amadi Okeke, standing partway down the hall. She half faced them while talking to a male sentinel whose long black hair was done up in an Ixonian bun.

Unexpectedly, Azure began to flap and screech. “Help me calm her down,” Shannon said. “She’s absorbed my anxiety about the news.”

Nicodemus stepped forward to stroke Azure’s dorsal feathers. Though she submitted to his reassuring fingers, the familiar continued to squawk. Shannon began cooing over the bird. “Ohhh, Azure, old friend, Azzzure… there now… Azzzure.”

Nicodemus frowned; usually Azure quieted when receiving such attention.

Suddenly he realized that Shannon wasn’t cooing at all; he was talking under his mother-bird impersonations. “Azure, ohhh… Amadi may be listening. No, don’t look at me… Azzzure, there now… that’s her private secretary she’s talking to; an Ixonian man named Kale.”

Azure wasn’t agitated; she was deliberately creating enough noise to drown out their conversation.

“If I tell you something shocking,” Shannon murmured, “can you keep your face blank?”

Nicodemus nodded slightly.

“Oh, there now, Azure. Did you know Magistra Nora Finn?”

“Yes, but I’ve spoken to her only a few times,” Nicodemus whispered.