Page 12 of A Touch of Royalty

Cas traced the symbols etched into the handle the mirror, watching the glass silver and then go utterly opaque as the sending mirror reached for its other half.

“Highness,” the mirror cleared, revealing the Wizard Asan, surrounded by his books as usual. The older man was handsome in a sharp sort of way, even down to his voice. “What can I do for you?”

“I need some answers.” Cas said. “And the library here has only given me more questions.”

“Tell me what plagues you and we will see what answers we can find.”

Cas tried to explain it clearly. His illness, the way that the palace healers could do nothing. “Mother sent for a city healer, her name is Emryn, and she managed to banish the illness.”

“Interesting,” Asan nodded, “go on, Cas.”

Cas continued. The way he was feeling, the flutter at the back of his head, the strength of it and somehow he dovetailed into the way that the council was attempting to marry him off.

“Return to the subject at hand, Cas.” Asan waved a hand. “You will wed, but Her Majesty will see to it that the choice is yours.”

“I need to know what the flutter is, Asan.” Cas tapped his forehead. “It’s in my head, in the base of my soul, and I need it to stop.”

“Would you like me to look?” Asan asked. “There is nothing I can do without some examination.”

Cas nodded.

“Set the mirror on the floor, Cas.” Asan instructed.

Cas did as he was told, setting the mirror on the floor and backing up as it unfolded into a bright doorway that spat out Asan.

“Now, let me see what we can do.” Asan walked over, robes swirling, and laid a hand directly on the top of Cas’ head.

9

WINGS

It had been two days, and Emryn was just now able to stay awake for more than the duration of a meal. She wasn’t entirely certain why it was taking her magic so long to recover, but the fact of the matter was that in the place where her flame should be, there was nothing but an empty hole.

It was worrisome in the extreme. Her magic showed no signs of rebuilding, which meant that either the Mother had taken it from her, or it was being siphoned away.

And she hadn’t seen the prince in those same two days.

Which was making her wonder if something was happening to him. She couldn’t get out of bed, that only resulted in her falling down again. She’d tried it this morning.

But there was an odd scent on the air, attacking the base of her skull in the place that said there was an illness nearby. Emryn’s vow was still ironclad, it was the only thing that she lived for, and if there was an illness, she was going to go and fix it.

No matter that she was down to the dregs, and that she would hurt if she did what she planned. That didn’t matter at all, nor did the fear of the pain that she was about to cause herself.

There was a method of healing that didn’t care if her magic wasn’t there. It was never used, taught only as something that should never be done, and Emryn knew if she did what she was planning, that it would be months before she recovered. If she ever did.

Because the illness that she scented was dire indeed.

But that didn’t matter either.

Emryn slid from the bed and, just as she knew would happen, she hit the floor. But that wasn’t going to stop her. She kilted up the nightdress she was wearing and made for the door, fighting her shaking weakness every step of the way.

She fought with the door, opening it with the last of the spare strength that she could muster and poking her head out into the hallway to try and find what she could only sense.

But there was no one in the hall until there was. A sharp featured, older man in robes that said he was part of the Arcanum was looking down at her with barely disguised curiosity. He had something in his hands and that was where the scent was coming from.

“What are you doing?” He asked, the words blending and blurring together until it was like trying to decipher words spoken underwater.

Emryn reached for the thing in his hands. Shaking hard enough that she overset herself and ended up flat on the floor.

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