Page 54 of Kingdom of Feathers

It’s an explanation of how one enchanter can store magic to enable its use by another magic-user, she said, for Lyall’s benefit.

Store it like in an artifact?he asked, sounding confused.But I don’t remember the enchantress using an artifact.

Wren shook her head.Neither do I. That’s why I’m excited. I’d never heard before that magic-users can pour their power into each other like this. It seems it’s not common practice, and I can see why. It looks risky if you don’t do it right.

So who was the other magic user who poured his or her power into that madwoman?Lyall asked skeptically.

Wren sighed, rolling up the parchment.It’s a clue, not a solution to the whole mystery.

If you say so, said Lyall vaguely.

Wren swallowed her exasperation. Given that figuring out who had empowered the enchantress’s attack would do absolutely nothing to break the curse, she couldn’t really blame her brothers for their tepid interest. Perhaps if she and Basil were still investigating once they’d returned to their human bodies, they might care a little more about solving the mystery.

The information in Basil’s records might be only a clue, but it was tantalizing enough to keep Wren lying awake for some time. This must be the solution to the enchantress’s incongruous power. But unless the person who’d given her access to their own magic was incredibly powerful, it still seemed like too much. Could it have been multiple people? It was a chilling thought. She was impatient for the morning to come, eager to share her discovery with Basil, but eventually she drifted into an uneasy sleep.

She all but pounced on the visiting king at breakfast the next morning. Basil had beaten her to the dining hall, and he looked up as she hurried across the room, smiling a greeting in his open way. When she slid into the seat beside him, he just nodded at her. They’d spent at least some of each day together for the previous two weeks, and Wren had noticed that he’d fallen into some non-verbal habits of communication.

When she gave him a meaningful look, however, he seemed to realize she had news to share.

“What is it?” he prompted eagerly. “Did you find something in Zinnia’s notes?”

Wren nodded her head minutely, aware of several pairs of eyes on her. One of those pairs belonged to her father, who was watching her with a frown between his brows. She tried to smooth out her features, focusing on the plate in front of her.

Basil was apparently oblivious to their audience. “What was it?” he pressed. “I pored over every word of my half, but there was nothing we didn’t already know.”

Wren cast a quick look up at her father. He was still watching, and his frown had turned to a scowl. She returned her gaze to her plate, but she could still sense Basil’s shift as he glanced between her and the king.

“He’s the one who organized for you to be my minder,” he said mildly, but when Wren didn’t respond, he let the matter drop. “We can talk after breakfast,” he said instead.

Wren nodded again, turning her attention to her food. She could feel Basil’s impatience as the meal progressed, and she didn’t blame him. In all their discussions over the past two weeks, they hadn’t found a hint of any solutions to the mystery. Wren had been surprised—and pleased—to discover just how extensive an investigation her father had launched at the time, in spite of being convinced that Entolia was behind the attack. She’d assumed no one had looked into other options, but hours spent perusing the sealed records demonstrated that wasn’t so. Nevertheless, the investigations had found no evidence of foul play closer to home, and neither had Wren and Basil.

The confirmation that another enchanter could indeed have given their attacker extra power might be small in the scheme of things, but it was at least a step forward.

Wren had intended to make her way to the hothouse with Basil immediately after breakfast. Or perhaps the gardens—this find might be worth sharing with her other brothers. Lyall hadn’t cared much, but Caleb would.

To her frustration, however, she wasn’t at liberty to go to either place. King Lloyd summoned his daughter imperiously the moment she rose from her seat. With an exasperated look back at Basil, she followed her father to his private study, her mother walking serenely alongside them.

“What are you doing, Wren?” King Lloyd demanded, as soon as the door was closed behind them.

She stared at him blankly, waiting for more context, and he gave a huff of annoyance.

“You’re too friendly with King Basil.”

Goaded, Wren pulled out her slate. Her father made another impatient noise in his throat, which she ignored.

Youassigned me to babysit him, remember? Or was I just a way to insult him?

“Of course not,” blustered the king, not entirely convincingly. “I thought he might treat better with a counterpart of his own age.”

Wren spread her hands appealingly. What grounds did he have to complain when that was exactly what was happening?

Her father seemed to realize the same thing, and he leaned back against his desk, taking a moment before speaking again.

“I realize I asked you to be his guide of sorts, and at first I was pleased you were taking the duty seriously. But it’s been more than two weeks, and your guards report that you still meet with him every day. Are you sure your loyalties aren’t becoming divided?”

Wren glared at him, genuine offense radiating from her at this questioning of her devotion to Mistra. Her irritation drove away any guilt she might have felt about concealing from her father the investigation she and Basil were attempting. It wasn’t as if she was doing anything to harm Mistra’s interests. Quite the reverse. The kingdom would be best served by an end to the war, and a true understanding of the enemy who had attacked her brothers and started the conflict in the first place. If she thought she could safely tell her father what she was up to, she would have done so in a heartbeat. But his unreasonable behavior since Basil arrived convinced her that it would be a bad idea. She wasn’t going to let her pursuit of the truth be impeded by her father’s inability to put his personal feelings aside and listen to what Basil had to say.

“All right,” said the king, raising his hands defensively under the force of her glare. “I suppose it’s good if you can gain his trust enough to soften him to our cause. He must be made to see that there can be no progress without an Entolian admission of wrongdoing, and reparations. Understood?”

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