The Sorcerer's Equal (The Telepath and the Sorcerer Book 3) by Jaclyn Dolamore

Author:Jaclyn Dolamore [Dolamore, Jaclyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Catlord Press
Published: 2017-01-26T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Velsa dragged on her clothes the next morning. She didn’t want to see Madam Blazar ever again. She didn’t want to endure Madam Peroneel calling her ‘Princess Velsa’ in a sarcastic voice. She didn’t want to spend time with those other meek Fanarlem.

She came in the back door of Madam Blazar’s.

“You’re late, Princess Velsa,” Madam Peroneel gleefully pointed out.

“I’m sorry,” Velsa said curtly, determined not to start any more trouble. It was just a job, that was how she had to look at it.

All that week, the workload was intense. They were usually there for twelve hours without a break, with an endless sea of sleeves to attach to dresses, beads to sew onto collars, buttons and hems and pockets to be put in their places. And Madam Peroneel never missed a chance to make a snide comment about Velsa. A few days in, Velsa was telling her fellow workers about the Peacock General’s mansion, the piano and the ballet dancers.

“What’s this now?” Madam Peroneel interrupted. “The Peacock General? What business did you have with him?”

“My husband worked for him.”

“Oh my goodness. I don’t know why you ever came here, Princess Velsa. The life of a concubine sounds so much better than this.”

“I—I wasn’t exactly a concubine anymore…”

“Oh, do tell us more about what a good man he is, this Peacock General.” None of the Four Generals were, of course, at all popular in Dor-Temerna. Calban’s glory days were during the War of the Crystals, which everyone remembered as the bloodiest day in Miralem history. But Velsa hadn’t meant to remind them of all of that. She just wanted to talk about the music and the dancing, which she feared she would forget.

Velsa shook her head and got back to her sewing.

The next day was the party, a welcome respite from the suffocating atmosphere work had become. Sorla led the way to the Tarsa farmhouse, through the winding outskirts of town and up a green hill. Stacked stone fences hemmed in some sheep. The land was cleared save for a few trees, where wyverns perched, taking flight when their party drew near to sniff around. Tomato got a little defensive with Kessily. He fanned out his ridges and raised his wings.

Then, he pounced on another, slightly larger red wyvern and they started trying to scratch each other before the larger wyvern chased Tomato into the tree.

He sat on a branch, head lowered in submission, making pathetic screeches. The larger wyvern circled around him.

Sorla clapped her hands, but they didn’t make much sound. “Drat,” she said. “Ruven claps at them when they fight.

Kessily slapped her one hand against her thigh and the larger wyvern backed down.

A beautiful house topped the hill, a bit larger than the stone house where Grau had grown up, but this one was plastered white with exposed brown beams, two small balconies on the second floor with moons cut into the pattern of the wood, and a steep thatched roof with a chimney. The house had

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