The Gossamer Mage by Julie E. Czerneda

Author:Julie E. Czerneda [Czerneda, Julie E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: DAW
Published: 2019-08-06T07:00:00+00:00

* * *

Mages. Cantankerous, self-centered, and peculiar, the lot of them, and that was being generous.

As for Maleonarial? Kait had never heard the like of him: old in magic; young in years. Though she knew full well how it had been done.

Leorealyon, as Her Designate, would have been the conduit. Spent, at The Lady’s need.

Not Maleonarial’s fault. Or was, if she counted his reckless use of magic in this quest of his. To end The Lady?

To end Her toll, by whatever means. On the surface, who could argue? Not a mother, given who slept beneath the carriage, wrapped in two of their three blankets, dark lashes curled over still-soft cheeks.

A daughter must. For magic filled Tananen, and only The Lady kept it, tamed it, made it serve Her people. For all their sakes, She must be defended. Kait was ready—would strive to be, with body and mind and heart—to be spent as Her Designate.

Against what might have come with them?

Unwilling to risk sleep, Kait sat against a wheel, blanket around her head and shoulders. She wasn’t convinced Leksand’s arrival had been what she’d heard, or all, not when she continued to be rocked by sickening dread. Were the Fell here?

Another had their doubts about this night or what roamed it. Lamplight limned the carriage curtains; the vehicle creaked every so often as if someone moved restlessly inside.

Someone not to take lightly. The damesen was under Insom’s orders—full, in Kait’s opinion, of his secrets. Could Pylor be trusted? Oh, how she missed her fellow daughters, Atta’s good sense and Pincel’s steadfast lack of imagination. Together they’d been more than three, they’d been Woodshaven’s heart and soul, and if with her now—

Her lips quirked. Used to her fancies, they were. They’d believe none of this one, and ply her with wine till she slept it off.

The sisterhood of the Daughter’s Quarters of Tiler’s Hold hadn’t been the same. There were too many of those raised there who looked askance at a stranger in homespun; too few among the prospects, vying for position. Mish, maybe.

Who wasn’t here, was she? Kait gave a silent, impatient snort. She wasn’t alone. She’d her family. She’d met the hermit mage, and while Maleonarial had perilous notions—was perilous, no doubt, himself—he’d knowledge and an open mind. Mayhap more than any she’d find at the mage school.

Where they’d arrive tomorrow. Domozuk had set out the details during their visit by the fire, stepping in with practiced ease to settle nerves frayed by the mages’ reaction to Insom’s troublesome gift. There’d be a brief stop in Alden Hold while teams were obtained—or rather made.

Hadn’t Leksand’s eyes lit at that?

Maleonarial had stared into the fire, his mouth a crooked line. He expected to write that intention; would do it, Kait guessed, however unwilling he appeared. Though from what Rogeonarial had whispered to her in the warmth of their bed, magic was its own reward, the euphoria linked to a successful intention greater than sex or love.

From the hold, they’d travel as

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