Stormcaster (Shattered Realms #3)(65)

“It was not well known,” Evan said. “My source is close to the king, and was involved in the negotiations.” He was watching the healer when he said that. Sul’Han straightened, as if he’d finally heard something he didn’t already know. He waited for Bayar to ask who his source was, and the High Wizard didn’t disappoint.

“Who was this source who was close to the king?”

Evan had no intention of giving Destin away. “I would rather not say. It would put this person in grave danger.”

“Don’t worry,” Bayar said. “What is said here stays here. You can speak freely.”

Evan could continue to object, but that would be the same as saying “I don’t trust you,” and that wouldn’t advance his diplomatic agenda. So he found himself lying, and then waiting to be struck dead. Or at least called on it. “It was Queen Marina,” he said. “We met once, when I boarded her ship in the Southern Islands. I must have made a good impression.”

They all looked at each other, faces full of doubt.

“Well,” the queen said, glancing at the healer. “I suppose it’s possible. She is a Tomlin, after all.”

Bayar still looked puzzled. With a faint shake of his head, he tightened his grip so that the pressure was almost painful. “Why didn’t you want this deal to go forward?”

“I did not want the empress’s influence to spread farther than it already has,” Evan said. “Trust me—you don’t want Celestine for a neighbor.”

Bayar abruptly let go of Evan’s hands. “Something’s wrong,” he said flatly.

Barrett leaned forward. “With—? Do you mean that he’s not telling the truth?”

“I have no idea if he’s telling the truth,” Bayar said. “I don’t think it’s working.” He turned back to Evan. “Are you blocking me? Because if you are—”

“I’m not blocking you,” Evan said. “How could I? You took my amulet. Besides, as I already said, I wouldn’t know how.”

“It’s in your best interest to cooperate,” the queen said to Evan.

“I am not trying to interfere with the High Wizard’s magic. The truth serves me as well as you.”

The High Wizard rubbed the back of his neck, his expression making it clear that he didn’t believe him.

“Doesn’t persuasion work on you?” Queen Raisa said.

Evan shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never . . . submitted to this kind of magic before.”

Sul’Han was staring at Evan now, eyes narrowed, as if he’d had some kind of epiphany. He leaned over and whispered something to Shadow Dancer, who nodded.

“Well,” the queen said briskly, “we’ve been at this a good while already. Perhaps we should—”

“Let me try,” Prince Adrian said.

Suddenly, the healer was the center of attention.

Queen Raisa shook her head. “I was about to say that perhaps we should recess for now and review what—”

“I promise I won’t hurt him, Mother,” the healer said, those remarkable blue-green eyes fixed on Evan. “But I believe I can get at the truth.”

“Lord Bayar is as capable as any wizard in the realm when it comes to interrogation,” the queen said, her voice low and furious.

Now the healer looked at Evan. “Do you object?” he said.

Sweat trickled between Evan’s shoulder blades, but he shrugged and said, “Why not?”

The prince swapped places with the High Wizard. Sul’Han sat across the table from Evan, shook back the sleeves of his jacket, reached across, and gripped his hands. The prince’s hands were strong, callused, buzzing with energy. There came that same cold current as before, though perhaps a bit more . . . intuitive. Then the prince said, “What’s that on the back of your neck?”

Evan’s heart plummeted to his toes, and his palms grew slippery with sweat. They stared into each other’s eyes for what felt like a lifetime.

Outed, Evan thought. But how? He’d made sure to keep his neck under cover. He said nothing aloud.

“Lord Bayar,” Prince Adrian said, his grip tightening on Evan’s hands, pinning them in place. “Could you examine the back of Strangward’s neck and tell us what you see?”

Evan heard the wizard’s robes rustle as he crossed to where he could stand behind him. He could feel Bayar’s fingers brushing his skin, raising gooseflesh as the wizard swept his hair aside. It reminded him of that day in Montaigne’s palace at Ardenscourt, when he’d done the same to Jenna Bandelow in front of an audience of gawkers.

What goes around comes around, he thought. What you cast into the waves often washes up on your own private beach.

He heard Bayar’s dry, amused voice. “It would appear to be a metal-and-stone badge, like an embedded amulet,” he said, his breath warming the back of Evan’s neck. “I assume that it is what we have been calling a magemark.”

Evan heard chairs scraping, the sound of feet padding across the floor as they all had their look. He kept his eyes on the healer, who wore a trace of a smile.

“I think now would be a good time to have a recess,” the healer said.





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