Sianim 02 - Wolfsbane

I discovered that the Lyon’s eldest daughter was of shapeshifter blood.” He was almost as good with a significant pause as she herself was. After a moment, he turned back to Irrenna. “It was the Uriah that were his downfall. He was looking for a way to make them less harmful and lost control of the ones he had with him. There was not even a body left.”
    “It was an accident, then?” asked Irrenna. “I had heard that it was—though there were all of those rumors about his son.”
    “The council declared it an accident,” confirmed Kisrah. “A tragedy for us all.”
    Aralorn noted how carefully he avoided saying that he believed the council’s decision that his predecessor’s death had been an accident. Surely he didn’t—he’d been there.
    “Would you care to look at my father? Or would you prefer to rest from your travels?” she asked.
    Lord Kisrah turned back to her. “Perhaps I will eat first. After that, would you consider accompanying me to your father? I tried to open the wards when I arrived, but I couldn’t get through.”
    It had been Kisrah, then, who’d tried the wards. Did he know Wolf’s magic well enough to tell that he’d set the spells? Stinking wards, she thought. If she’d had the sense of a goose, she’d have set them herself in the first place.
    “. . . at first it might have been Nevyn’s work, but I know his magic.” He looked at her inquiringly, and Aralorn wondered what she’d missed while she was cursing herself.
    “No, not Nevyn’s, nor mine either—my mother’s gift of magic is green magic. I can set wardings, of course, but the baneshade’s presence called for a stronger magic. I did a favor for a wizard once, and he gave me an amulet ...” Wizards were always giving tokens with spells on them, weren’t they? At least in the stories she told they were. At her feet, Wolf moaned softly, so maybe she was wrong.
    Kisrah’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “An amulet? How odd. I’ve never heard of a warding set on an amulet. Do you have it with you?”
    Yep, I was wrong.
    Aralorn shook her head and boldly elaborated on her lie. “It wasn’t that big a favor. The amulet itself was the main component of the spell—so it could only be activated once. I thought the baneshade warranted using it. But my uncle killed the creature, so it’s safer now. I’ll come with you to take them off.”
    He stared at her a moment, his pale blue eyes seeming blander than ever. But she had been a spy for ten years; she knew he saw only what she intended him to see. Innocently, she gazed back.
    She was lying. He knew she was lying. He wasn’t going to call her on it, though—which made her wonder what he was up to.
    “I see,” he said after a moment. “With the baneshade gone, did you look at the spell holding Henrick?”
    She nodded. “I’m not an expert, though I can tell black magic. My uncle said that it feels as if there was more than one mage involved in the spelling.”
    “Black magic,” he said softly, and she had the impression that it was the real man speaking and not his public face. For an instant, she saw both shame and fear in his eyes. Interesting.
    “Why don’t you get some food, Lord Kisrah,” said Irrenna.
    “That would be good,” agreed Aralorn. She wanted to give Wolf time to recover a little before they went back to the bier room with Kisrah. “My brother sent a pair of his hellions to force me into telling a story or two, and I gave them my word of honor I would entertain them after I’d eaten.”
    Irrenna laughed. “You’ll have to stay for it, Lord Kisrah. Aralorn is a first-rate storyteller.”
    “So I have heard,” agreed the mage, smiling.

    Aralorn sat cross-legged on the old bench near the fireplace where she’d spent many long winter hours telling stories. The children gathered around were different from the ones she remembered, but there was a large number of her original audience present, too. Falhart sat on the floor with the rest, a couple of toddlers on his lap. Correy leaned against a wall beside Irrenna and Kisrah, who stood with his food so that he could be close enough to hear.
    “Now then,” Aralorn said, “what kind of story would you like?”
    “Something about the Wizard Wars,” said one of the children instantly.
    “Yes,” said Gerem softly, as he approached the group from the shadows. “Tell us a story about the Wizard Wars.”
    Startled, Aralorn looked up to meet Gerem’s eyes. They were no more