Hunted by Magic (The Baine Chronicles #3)(64)

I arched an eyebrow. “It sounds like you’re afraid of them.”

“It would be foolish not to be.” Iannis’s eyes were hard, glittering chips of amethyst now. “They are largely amoral as a race, and any interaction they have with our world is but a trifling amusement, such as when my grandmother decided to take a human lover. She abducted my grandfather shortly after he was married and bewitched him. Not unlike what Halyma did to me, but Tua magic is infinitely more powerful. She eventually returned him to his wife when she tired of him, but he was never the same, from what I understand. It took him over a year to recover and move on with his life, and not long after that his Tua lover dropped my infant mother on their doorstep before walking away once again.”

“Wait a minute.” I held up a hand as I tried to digest this. “A year? I thought babies had to be in the womb for nine months?”

Iannis shrugged. “Time moves differently in the Tua realm. In any case, my grandfather’s wife was gracious enough to take my mother in as her own, and they raised her as best they could, considering she had powers they didn’t know what to do with. Eventually she became too much for them to control, and they handed her over to the Dromach, a sect of mages in Manuc who are specially trained to deal with the Tua and charged with maintaining the walls that separate Recca from their realm. It was amongst them that she met and married my father, nearly a thousand years ago.”

“A thousand?” I echoed faintly. “Just how old does that make you?”

Iannis smiled slightly. “I believe it’s not polite to ask one’s age.”

I snorted. “That only applies to women, and you know it.” My eyes narrowed as I considered him. “So what exactly did you inherit from your half-Tua mother, then?”

“For one, a longer lifespan than the average mage,” Iannis admitted. “Barring accidents such as tumbling from an airship, I might live to three thousand years of age, if not longer. My lifespan is one of the reasons why my heritage is little known – most mages of my age are nearing the end of their life and show signs of it, when they aren’t using illusion to disguise their wrinkles. It is easy enough to fabricate a history for myself.”

“By Magorah.” I shook my head. “So when I’m old and grey and lying on my deathbed, you’ll still be baby-faced?”

“I don’t know that baby-faced is the right term, but yes.” A troubled expression briefly crossed Iannis’s face. “But as a half-mage, your lifespan should be longer than the average shifter’s.”

“Well that’s good to know,” I said lightly even as my heart sank. For some reason, even though it didn’t matter, I didn’t like the idea that Iannis would look exactly the same as he did now when I was old and grey. I wondered if he would become more aloof with age, or if he would soften up and show more emotion as the years went by. And what about me? Would I become more stern and emotionless like the mages, the more I spent time among them? Or would I retain the wildness of my shifter heritage?

“Okay, so being a quarter Tua means you live super long and you get to run fast, amongst other things?”

“I have a few other tricks up my sleeve, like my healing talent, but yes.” Iannis inclined his head, his lips curling up at the corners. “I can actually run much faster than what you’ve seen, but there was little point in leaving you and Fenris in the dust. Besides, I’m accustomed to hiding my speed, since if my peers noticed they could easily deduce that I’m not a full-mage.”

“Lord Iannis, are you in there?” the Finance Secretary called, interrupting our conversation as he rapped on the door. “I have urgent news.”

Iannis was instantly behind my shoulder as I undid the locks and opened the door. The Finance Secretary was dressed in blue-black robes, the Canalo Mages Guild emblem sewn onto his breast. There was a tightness around his eyes as he inclined his head briefly at me, then swept into the room with a large leather notebook tucked underneath his arm.

“You look agitated, Cirin,” Iannis remarked as I shut the door behind him. “What is this urgent news?”

“I just got word that Zavian Graning is resigning his post as Federation Minister. We’re expected to cast votes for his successor on the last day of the Convention, so I suggest you start thinking about your choice now.”

“Resigning?” Iannis asked, sounding highly alarmed. “Why?”

“For health reasons, apparently.” Cirin perched on the edge of one of the white sofas, his dark eyebrows drawn together in a frown. “I’ve no idea as to the nature of his malady, but it must be very serious to prompt such a sudden resignation. When I arrived at the Convention the Minister did seem a little lackluster, but I didn’t think he was that ill.”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Iannis argued. “The Minister is a mere four-hundred years old – he should still be in excellent health.”

“Umm, I hate to interrupt,” I said, “but are we talking about the same Minister who’s presiding the Convention?”

“Yes,” Iannis said tightly. “Along with his staff, he organizes the Convention every two years. When it is not in session he ensures Federation law is executed in the various states, and maintains the Federation’s foreign relations.”

“His office is also tasked with bringing any Chief Mage or other high-ranking official who violates the Great Accord in any way to justice,” Cirin added.