A Shadow Bright and Burning (Kingdom on Fire #1)(12)

Magnus had thick, wavy auburn hair and bright gray eyes. He was broad-shouldered and, I admitted to myself, almost absurdly handsome. His mouth was set in a grin, and he seemed to believe us old friends, not strangers who’d only just met.

“Henrietta Howel.” I smiled in a way I hoped was friendly but not too encouraging. I didn’t know this young man, after all. Magnus laughed.

“Well, now that the pleasantries have been exchanged, we must make certain you’re the prophecy. A demonstration of your power at once!” He clapped his hands. “Come along, start burning. Nothing too grand—a small inferno will do.”

“Perhaps when we get home. I should hate to startle the horses,” I said. Magnus seemed to like that response. “What was your name again, sir?”



He snorted. “?‘Sir,’ is it? I told you, Mr. Julian Magnus of Kensington, at your service.” Here he gave a bow again. “To be commended by Her Majesty. You’re from Yorkshire, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I said. I had to force myself not to tuck a stray curl behind my ear. The force of Magnus’s attention was disconcerting.

“Northern girls have the ice and chill about them, but now that you’ve come south, you can thaw out as fast as you like.” He kept smiling, as though this wasn’t an insult.

“I’m sure I don’t need any ‘thawing out,’ as you put it,” I said, conscious of the edge in my voice. My irritation appeared to delight him.

“Cross with me, are you? That’s the glorious thing about northerners. They’re all Sturm und Drang.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” I muttered.

Magnus laughed, reached through the window, and shook Agrippa’s hand.

“Thank you, Master. It’s like Christmas. She’s the funniest girl I ever met.”

Agrippa struggled to contain a smile. “Mr. Magnus is one of my Incumbents. The son of a magical family spends ages fourteen to sixteen living under the supervision of an established practitioner.”

“That would be our dear Master here,” Magnus said. “It’s his duty to make sure we don’t fail our great test before the queen.”



So I was to share a roof with Magnus. I prayed I wouldn’t want to murder him every time we had breakfast.

“Allow me to escort you home.” Magnus grinned as he rode alongside our carriage.

After a further ten minutes, Agrippa pointed out the window. “Here comes the ward.”

There was nothing ahead but two men in crimson soldiers’ uniforms standing in the center of the road. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“Wait a moment.” He knocked on the roof of the carriage, which rumbled to a halt. The soldiers stood directly ahead of us, their hands out in a signal for us to stop. I thought them ordinary guards until they each unsheathed a sorcerer’s stave.

“We request entrance,” Magnus called.

There was no gate. “Can’t we just ride past them?”

“Wait,” Agrippa said.

The guards bent down, touched their staves to the ground, and traced them slowly upward. Floating into the air, they moved toward each other, one from the left and one from the right. The men met in the center, drew their staves together, and dropped to the ground. They’d sketched an invisible square, about ten feet long and ten feet high.

Satisfied, Agrippa knocked on the roof again, and the carriage lurched forward and through the square. I gasped; it felt as if some enormous pressure was squeezing the sides of my head. An instant later and it was done.



“What was that?” I asked, hands over my ears.

“The ward is designed to keep the Ancients from entering the area. Only sorcerers’ staves can cut through the shield to create a brief entryway,” Agrippa explained.

Magnus gestured to the streets before us. “Welcome to London proper,” he said with a flourish.

If the unwarded area had been hell, this was paradise itself. Wrought-iron gates bordered parks and gardens. The sweet scent of fresh bread and cinnamon wafted from a bakery, and we passed a coffee shop where laughter and conversation bubbled out the doors.

“This is wonderful.” I leaned from the window for a better look as elegant women passed by in an open-air barouche. “The Ancients have never attacked here?”

“Not even R’hlem has set foot in the heart of London.” Pride tinged Agrippa’s voice.

I knew that sorcerers had the power to create a shield around themselves to block an attack. But I’d never dreamed of a ward like this.

“What about the area outside? Can’t you shield them?”

“No.” Agrippa cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. “The sorcerers’ power forms the ward, and one of our members specifically designs it. Master Palehook assures us that we have stretched our ability to its limit.”

“Over there,” Magnus called, pointing to the front of a beautiful building, “is the Theatre Royal. I should take you for a show sometime. Have you ever been to the theater, Miss Howel? Do they get much Shakespeare up in Yorkshire?” His smile was full of false innocence.



“No, but I can spot bad acting when it’s right in front of me,” I said. Magnus laughed so hard I feared he’d fall off his horse.