it away.’
‘You fear he’s betrayed you?’
Mizraith caressed the girl’s long hair. ‘We have had some argument lately. About
his progress… he thinks I am teaching him too slowly, withholding …
mysteries. The truth is, spells are complicated. Being able to generate one is
not the same as being able to control it; that takes practice, and maturity. He
sees what his brothers can do and is jealous, I think.’
‘You can’t know his mind directly?’
‘No. That’s a powerful spell against strangers, but the closer you are to a
person, the harder it is. Against your own blood … no. His mind is closed to
me.’
Amoli returned with the square of parchment. She held it out apologetically. ‘He
shared it with the other bodyguard and your son. Is this enough?’ There was a
dark patch in the centre of the square.
He took it between thumb and forefinger and grimaced. ‘Mark-mor!’ The second
most powerful magician in Sanctuary – an upstart not even a century old.
‘He’s in league with your strongest competitor?’ One-Thumb said.
‘In league or in thrall.’ Mizraith stood up and crossed his arms. The bodyguard
disappeared; the cushions became a stack of gold bricks. He mumbled some
gibberish and opened his arms wide.
Marype appeared in front of him. He was a handsome lad: flowing silver hair,
striking features. He was also furious, naked, and rampant.
‘Father\I am busy\’ He made a flinging gesture and disappeared.
Mizraith made the same gesture and the boy came back. ‘We can do this all night.
Or you can talk to me.’
Noticeably less rampant. ‘This is unforgiveable.’ He raised his arm to make the