Island of Dragons (Unwanteds #7)(44)

“Why not just appoint Claire or Lani now? So they don’t have to restore the world?”

“The same thing will happen if they die fighting. That’s why it’s got to be you, don’t you see?”

“Hide them away, then.”

“No way. They’re both way too strong, and both team leaders. I can’t spare either one. We’re going to need everyone fighting who is willing to fight.” He knit his brow. “Plus, Artimé doesn’t hide.”

Aaron sat dumbfounded. He turned and looked back over the water, thinking. It all made sense. But him, the head mage of Artimé? Even temporarily, what sort of uproar would that cause? He turned abruptly to look at Alex. “It won’t work. No one will allow it. You know that well enough. Simber, Claire, Carina, Samheed—they’d throw me over the waterfall before they’d let me wear a robe in Artimé.”

Alex grew troubled. “True,” he said. He thought for a long moment. “But remember what Ishibashi said? He said not to tell anyone about the immortality. We don’t want the news of the power of the seaweed to get into the wrong hands. We need to keep this information between us—at least for now. Since we can’t explain why we’re doing this, we won’t actually tell anyone. We’ll make the transition a secret.”

“A secret?”

“Yes. And if I don’t die, I’ll just take the position of head mage back again after we win the battle, and no one will ever know. But in case I do, Artimé won’t disappear. I’ll appoint you tonight—I’ll give you a robe and everything, just in case. Keep it with you, but don’t wear it unless you hear of my death.”

A myriad of emotions filled Aaron—more than he’d ever let himself feel before. Anger and fear came out first. “You’re not going to die,” he said. “Stop talking like that!”

“Aaron, please. I’ve been in enough battles to know people die—even the ones you wouldn’t expect to. As the leader of Artimé, I have to be practical. Don’t you see?” He gripped Aaron’s shoulder. “Say you’ll do this. I need you to. For Artimé.”

Aaron sighed, exasperated. He pulled away and walked to the front of the boat, letting the cool spray of the sea hit his face, his skin. He didn’t know what to think. He didn’t want to picture his brother dying. He didn’t want to think about what Claire and Carina and Samheed and all the others would do or say if it happened—would they believe Alex had given him control? He doubted it. Simber would no doubt eat him immediately.

As if Alex could read his mind, he called out to Aaron, “I’ll give you a letter of proof that explains everything so you can show the others. It’ll be in my handwriting. Simber will know I mean it. He’ll help you if I ask him to. So don’t worry about that.”

Aaron stared straight ahead over the water. Alex’s plan would resolve the problem, he supposed. But something else was bothering Aaron. Something that stirred inside him. A dormant longing. A reawakening craving that was both thrilling and threatening.

Aaron clutched his vest, pressing his fist against the spot in his chest that stirred. It was almost painful. He thought about Quill. And he thought about Artimé. He thought of the stunning mansion and the majestic jungle and the beautiful lighthouse on the hill. He thought about all the magical abilities he’d already attained, and those yet to be discovered.

He pictured himself wearing the swishing, colorful robe, and sitting at the head mage’s desk, and strolling over the entire island with the sun shining, the glorious green sea sparkling with whitecaps, and people—his people—fawning over him. It was everything he’d once dreamed about, and had finally given up hope of ever having. He didn’t think he’d ever want it again. But now his mouth watered. A grimace crossed his face. He swallowed hard.

It pained Aaron to break away from the images. He dropped his hand to the railing and squeezed it until his knuckles turned white. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to block the images. “Applecorn,” he muttered, opening his eyes.

The sun disappeared behind a cloud, turning the seawater gray. Aaron let out a breath. After a moment he let his grip slack on the railing. He looked over his shoulder at Alex, who was looking back earnestly, expectantly at him.

Aaron shifted his gaze. “Okay,” he said lightly. “I’ll do it.”

? ? ? ?

When the boat reached Artimé’s lagoon and the boys finally arrived back at the mansion, Alex brought Aaron up to his office. He chose a carefully hung robe from the rack in the corner, folded it, and placed it on his desk. Then he grabbed The Triad spell book from a drawer, gripped it tightly for a moment, and put it on top of the robe. From his pocket Alex pulled the letter that he’d written on the boat, which would explain everything in the event of his death, and slipped it inside the book. He picked them up and turned toward Aaron, who stood stiffly nearby.

“I’m not sure how to do this,” Alex admitted. “I haven’t found a book on transferring the duties of head mage yet, if there even is one.” He glanced up at the ugly artwork that held the code to restoring Artimé. “But I declare here and now, in this magical office, in the presence of these magical pieces of art that hold the secret to this world, that I am hereby turning over the position of head mage of Artimé to my brother, Aaron Stowe.”