Marked by Magic (The Baine Chronicles #4)(36)

“Great.” I slapped my cheeks to force myself into alertness. “Don’t forget, I’m taking the lead on this one,” I warned. After all, this was all my idea.

“If you insist,” Fenris said mildly.

As he parked the steamcar, it occurred to me how anomalous it was for Fenris to be as easygoing as he was. After all, just a few years ago, he’d been Polar ar’Tollis, Chief Mage of Nebara – a mage who had defied the Federation by helping a group of humans escape a death sentence. Clearly, he’d not only been a leader, but he’d also been willing to completely disregard the Federation’s authority in favor of his own.

And paid the price for it, I reminded myself as I looked at him. The one photograph I’d seen of Polar ar’Tollis had depicted a tall, fair-headed mage not unlike the Legal Secretary. Fenris had not only had to change his identity on every level, but his appearance as well. Perhaps the knowledge that his actions had cost him life as he’d known it had taken him down a few notches.

“Is there a particular reason you’re staring at me?” Fenris asked as he killed the engine.

I thought about brushing off the question, but we had a minute, so I answered it instead. “I just wonder if you regret your actions,” I said. “The actions that forced you to go into hiding and transform yourself into a shifter,” I clarified when Fenris arched a brow.

Fenris sighed, leaning back in his seat and staring out the windshield. “There are times when I wonder whether it was truly the right decision.” A faraway look entered his currently dark brown eyes. “I do wonder if it might have been better to let that family die, and use my position to lobby for changes to some of the outdated laws that continue to make lives difficult for Northia’s non-mage citizens.” He shook his head, laughing softly. “But then I remember that if the case had not come to my attention, if the injustice of their situation had not caused me to take action, I may very well have gone on governing as I was, indifferent to the plight of my subjects.”

His expression grew serious as he turned to face me again. “No, I may have paid a steep price for my actions, but on the whole, I prefer Fenris, the man I’ve become, to the late Polar ar’Tollis. And besides, I am needed here at Iannis’s side, at your side too, and right now, I can’t think of a better place to be.”

I smiled, tears stinging the corners of my eyes, and threw my arms around Fenris to hide them. “You’re such a sap,” I told him.

Fenris laughed, returning the embrace. “I’m not the only one,” he said, seeing through me.

“Seriously though, I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there when I first came to the Palace.” Fenris’s calming nature and willingness to act as a go-between for Iannis and me had been crucial to bringing us together as master and apprentice… and maybe something more. “I might even be dead,” I added softly.

“Don’t be silly,” Fenris chided. “You’re far too resourceful to die. I’ve watched you escape death too many times to count in the short time we’ve known each other. I don’t know if it’s luck or intelligence that keeps you alive, but you defy death on a regular basis.”

“Maybe someone’s watching out for me,” I said with a grin, pulling back. I took a moment to compose myself, settling my face into stern lines again, then reached for the door. “Now let’s get inside and scare these poor people into telling us what they know.”





15





“Right this way,” the manager babbled as he led us down a dimly lit concrete hall in the factory. It had been pleasantly easy to intimidate the security guard into calling his boss, who came down and immediately began blustering and threatening us for trespassing. But once Fenris had produced a document that demanded access to Timbran’s tax records – an illusion, of course, but a human couldn’t tell that – the manager had crumbled, fear entering his grey-green eyes at the thought of being dragged back to Solantha and tossed onto Prison Isle for failing to cooperate.

“I assure you, we keep meticulous accounting records,” the manager continued, shouting over the noise of the factory machines. I forced myself to stop breathing through my nose – the stench of old food and meat that I sincerely hoped was not making it into tin cans, was turning my stomach. “And, of course, the head of our finance department is up to snuff on tax codes. She would never make a mistake.”

“Of course not,” I said smoothly, injecting a slightly patronizing undertone into my voice. “But we have to make these surprise visits every once in a while, or else businesses would become complacent and try to work around the codes.”

“Yes, yes, I understand.” The manager led us into a large, utilitarian office space. Vertical filing cabinets and stacks of bankers boxes lined the walls. The two desks in the room, while neatly organized, had large stacks of paper on them, and boxes were stacked on the floor next to them.

“If you had come a few hours earlier, I could have had Verna show you the records.” The manager’s eyes darted around the room worriedly. “But, unfortunately, she’s gone for the day, as she gets in very early. I’ll do my best to find what you’re looking for.” He scooped a hand through his thinning hair, then turned to look at us again. “What did you say you were looking for again?”