Court of Rogues by Ann Gimpel

Author:Ann Gimpel [Gimpel, Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ann Gimpel

9

Chapter Nine, Dariyah

Dragons! I still couldn’t believe I’d seen dragons. Noble and majestic, with incredible wingspans, they’d captivated me. As I broke through the veil between Faery and Earth, I recreated them in my mind again and again. What would it be like to talk with one? To ride on a dragon’s back? Did they ever accept riders? If the lore books were to be believed, a scant handful of rare mages had ridden one.

I corrected course, returning to the spot I’d searched for the rift. I wasn’t certain how time flowed in Faery, but my guess was it would be far too early to apartment hunt. At least today, the two worlds appeared to share a timeclock. Dawn was breaking as I walked through my spell and emerged near the far point of last night’s exploration.

A bevy of raucous bleating accompanied by heavy hoofs churning up mud suggested I’d scared the crap out of a small herd of mountain goats. “It’s all right,” I called and sent calming vibrations outward, but they were a quarter of a mile away by then. Damn. They moved fast when they wanted to.

Driven by a new urgency, I picked up where I’d left off and walked due north along the base of cliff-riddled foothills. I’d let my attention linger on the dragons because the scene in the dead unicorn’s mind had been so upsetting. I wished Cyn and his court well as they crafted plans to address the disaster before it claimed more souls and more magic.

Deep in thought, a blistering bit of insight brought me up short, and I slapped a palm against my forehead. Talk about missing the obvious. I hadn’t checked, but I felt certain whoever had orchestrated the deadly charade had drained Rona’s magic to strengthen themselves.

I punched the cliff. Fuckers. The side with the most magic was sure to win; they’d probably been systematically draining everyone they came into contact with. Oberon had tippled from me like as not, but he’d been subtle about it. Or maybe he’d turned up his nose at Witch magic. It’s viewed as inferior with its reliance on charms.

If I ever saw him again, I’d take care to build a wall around my magical center.

Longing swept through me. For Faery. For Cynwrigg. To finally be what I should have been born into. I was sick of skulking on the sidelines, of pretending to be a Witch. Not that there’s anything wrong with Witches. I could have picked any iteration of mage but had settled on Witches because of their commitment to sisterhood.

If I had my way, I’d retire my habitual glamour, lay it aside. I wanted to fight for Faery. It had been my magic that had raked through Rona’s memories. Mine!

No one else had thought to do such a simple thing. Maybe not simple. It had taken a buttload of magic, but the casting itself was straightforward. I’d stopped walking, and I urged myself to keep going, pausing every few feet to check the integrity of the boundary.

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