The Mage's Master by Finley Fenn

Author:Finley Fenn [Fenn, Finley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-05-13T22:00:00+00:00

20

The walk back to Coven Manor felt endless, abominably exhausting, but once Fasta had finally arrived, and collapsed onto her bed, her traitorous body wouldn’t even sleep. Just tasting Henrik on her sheets, feeling Henrik all over her room, even all over her body, with the marks and soreness he’d left behind.

Finally she gave it up and went down toward her workroom, which, while still full of memories of Henrik, didn’t reek of him quite so strongly. Enough, at least, that Fasta could make an attempt at drawing, a stupid useless diagram of what she would do with Elgin’s ballroom, if it were actually hers. Put in windows here, divide it here, turn it into a cozier space with a little seating-area off to one side…

But it was ridiculous, because Fasta knew very well that Elgin, like her father, would have certain ideas of how things should be done, how his house should look. And allowing one’s daughter — even one’s wife — to mess with one’s ideas of perfection was simply not done. Right?

Fasta scribbled out the drawing, and rubbed her eyes, hard. Elgin wasn’t her father. He hadn’t been trying to be an ass. And here, alone, in the silence of her workroom, she could admit that he was, objectively, probably not the worst possible choice for a husband. Yes, he was selfish, arrogant, set in his ways, but he was also cheerful, charming, handsome, pleasant. He never lost his temper, rarely even raised his voice. And Fasta could believe, very easily, that he would give her space, would have fewer expectations around manners and customs than most men of their station. He understood earth-magic. He would let her still have Henrik.

And gods, why was she even thinking about this, and Fasta was almost grateful when there was a sudden knock on the door, making her jump in her chair. “Come in,” she called.

The door opened, and behind it was the red-lipped, gaudily-dressed form of — Kjaran. Looking both smug and cagey at once, and Fasta sighed, and waved her inside. “What,” she said. “Do you need something?”

Kjaran was glancing around the workroom — Fasta didn’t think she’d ever been in it before — and now her eyes lingered on the scribbled-out diagram on Fasta’s desk. “I heard you had returned early,” she said, “and wanted to ensure that nothing was amiss with the job. Is the Earl of Valkin pleased with your work, to date?”

Of course, that was what Kjaran cared about, and Fasta shrugged, pasted a cool smile on her face. “Yes, he is excessively pleased, of course,” she said. “And the job is proceeding according to schedule. Henrik had to finish some mortaring before we could continue, so I returned here to sketch out our next steps.”

Kjaran seemingly accepted this, though she really shouldn’t have, and she came a little closer. “I did also wish to mention,” she said, pointedly now, “that it is being said, by several sources, that Mr. Hallen’s younger brother has

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