Scorched by Magic (The Baine Chronicles #7)(57)

“Yes,” he spat, whirling about to face me. Up close, I could see the remnants of what used to be his handsome, if cold, face, buried beneath age and illness. His thick chestnut hair and smooth skin were gone, and in their place was a bitter old man. “Are you happy to see me brought so low, Miss Baine? Why don’t you get it over with and arrest me?” He shoved his wrists at me. For a moment, I was tempted to do as he said and cuff them.

But I could sense absolutely no magic coming off him, and somehow it seemed wrong to chain such a sorry creature, even if he had committed horrendous crimes.

“So what the hell happened to you, then?” I said instead, crossing my arms over my chest. “Did Thorgana’s Magic Eraser get to you?”

“Yes,” he hissed, his eyes narrowing. “I met with her at the Mendles’ house, and she nearly killed me with that damned thing. At first I didn’t realize why I was weakening, but once I figured out that blasted metal object was the cause, I dragged myself from the house as fast as I could manage.” He clenched his jaw. “I was only there for around thirty minutes, but that was enough time. I have no magic left.”

Rylan and I exchanged a horrified look—thirty minutes? That was all it took to strip the magic from a powerful mage like Chartis? “Prove it,” I said, grabbing his gnarled hands. Had the lack of magic accelerated his aging process? Speaking the words of the testing spell, I pushed my magic into him, searching for that glowing core inside all mages. But there was only a wasteland inside of him, devoid of all but the tiniest spark.

He’s dying.

“I believe you,” I said softly, pulling away. “You can go now.”

Argon stared at me. “You’re not going to arrest me?”

“What would be the point?” I shook my head, motioning for Rylan to return to my side. “I don’t see why we should waste an executioner’s axe on you.”

I walked away as Argon sputtered, feeling both triumph and pity. Yes, maybe arresting the former Director of the Mages Guild and putting him on trial was the right thing to do. But it seemed more just to let him live out the rest of his numbered days, knowing he was reduced to the very thing he loathed—a mere human.

“You were right,” I said to Annia as we rode back to the Palace in the steamcar. “He was an enemy, even if he didn’t mean me any harm just then. How did you know?”

Annia’s eyes flicked to Rylan, and they assessed him for a moment. “I get…feelings, sometimes,” she said. “Not quite premonitions, but more like a really strong gut instinct.”

It was clear she didn’t want to say more in front of Rylan, so I didn’t push. When we got back to the Palace, Annia and I went to meet Iannis and Director Chen in the Winter Garden for lunch. A somber mood settled over our group as we sat down and ate, and even though Iannis led the discussion as normal, going over our accomplishments for the day so far, and our plans for the week, there was a tinge of sadness to his gaze that was barely noticeable unless you knew what to look for. Subdued, I told them about my encounter with Chartis among the homeless in the tent city.

“So Argon Chartis has been turned into a powerless old man?” Director Chen asked, sounding incredulous. “I’m not sure the Council will agree with your decision to let him go, Miss Baine, but I understand why you did it.”

“My nose told me he has only days to live,” I explained. “Two or three weeks at most. I don’t think it’s worth the effort to arrest and prosecute him under the circumstances.”

“As Sunaya said, Chartis is already suffering the worst punishment that could be imagined for a mage,” Iannis said as he forked up some salad. “A quick death would be almost too merciful for that traitor. There is little point in wasting resources on indicting him, when we have so many other things to worry about.”

I was about to ask Chen where Kardanor was—he’d attended our other working lunches—when the door opened and a servant hurried in. “Lord Iannis,” he said breathlessly, pulling a letter from his breast pocket. “Urgent news from the mines.”

Iannis took the letter, his violet eyes scanning it swiftly as he unfolded it. “There have been cave-ins at the prison mines,” he said, his voice tight. “Over three hundred dead.”

“No!” Annia jumped to her feet, her face white. “Noria. Is Noria alive?”

“I don’t know,” Iannis said gravely. “The message doesn’t list the names of the victims.”

“I need to go there,” Annia said, her voice trembling. Her eyes were diamond hard and bright, her skin stretched too tight across her face. “I need to see my sister, make sure she is safe.”

“Of course,” Iannis said. He pulled a piece of stationary and a pen from his magical sleeve, and quickly began writing. Glancing over his shoulder, I saw that it was an order to the mine overseer that Annia should be admitted immediately, and allowed unrestricted access to her sister. It also said that all mining must be suspended until the place was certified safe, and that a representative from the Guild would be coming out to inspect the place soon.

“Take this,” he said, handing the order to her. His official seal was stamped on it—a magical ink that shimmered across the bottom of the page and could not be covered up or removed. “Go and see Dira, inform her that you have access to any form of transportation you may need.”