Phony Potions

Chapter 39

 Divinis Wenrick's old eyes gazed at me, his silvery brown hair falling across his eyebrows, his mouth in a line. Silence coursed between us and my shaking hands struggled with undoing the knot I'd tied in the showy red sash. He wasn't scared or angry. He was disgusted and weary all at once, like he'd come across a rotting carcass in the middle of a road he needed to pass that had to be moved.

"Emerge from beneath, hands bound by thine own wreath—" A deafening crash came as the door slammed open. I was being yanked toward the edge of the bed, my scrambling feet not gaining purchase on the floor. My sash had twisted, knotting around my wrists. Divinis Wenrick's face was gone. Yet I was still drifting roughly to the edge of my cover.

A thud of the door, heavy footsteps.

"Sir Osoro?" Divinis Wenrick asked, sounding confused.

Relief mingled with the unease of my drifting body.

"Why is it so bright... never mind. I heard what happened," Osoro said. "Winsor's not in any state for casting, but he's stable. You didn't, I mean, you wouldn't dare with so many witnesses and Arcana Enforcement right under your nose, it would have been unwise—"

The light faded. It went dark again, Divinis Wenrick dropping the spell.

"Arcana Enforcement has agreed to keep their beaks out of my business, so they are not a concern even if I had. But, no, I didn't. There was no need to." Divinis Wenrick cut Osoro off. "He didn't die this time. He was exhausted and injured from battling. Azeria's kiss and a warm bed was all he needed. My servants are keeping piping tea next to his bedside, closely watching to ensure there are no attempts to poison him."

"How did he reach the point of frost shock? He's usually so cautious with those mittens and those heavy cloaks..."

My head was forcefully dragged from under the bed in time to see Sir Osoro tug thoughtlessly at his pony tail, tightening it with both hands. It had been loose, and stray hairs still fell around his face and framed it. He wasn't in his armor, just a finely made tunic he was wearing earlier at the cabaret, and despite the embroidery of golden thread, he was smaller and less powerful than he ever had been before. His smooth face was ashen.

Wenrick shook his head.

"It's unclear. He was exhausted and untalkative but I was able to gather that he was out exploring the disturbance at the old Reglarun ancestor ruins." He glowered at Osoro. "Something I thought the Avalons would have attended to already, considering all the people that have gone missing."

"There are only the four of us and the Age Day festival has been keeping us quite busy," Osoro said, his face churlish but his tone respectful. "In my defense, I've a habit of looking the other way in cases similar to this one on your behalf, Enchanted One."

The Divinis reached out and slapped Osoro. Osoro didn't stagger, though he winced. He stared at the Divinis. The soft, red spot on his cheek feathered at the edge, before quickly fading into the tan skin. The perfect image of controlled obedience.

"Enchanted One?" he asked belligerently, although his face had already resumed its usual magic perfection. "On what account do you assault me?"

Wenrick stood still, uncertain of what to do. I realized that he was trying to avoid looking at me, but in so intentionally avoiding it, he did. I was now emerged from the bed fully. I moved my arms and legs freely. I stood. For some reason, I was why he slapped Sir Osoro. But why...? What had he said to warrant such a response?

Wenrick jerked his arm, pointing at me.

"Winsor was brought back to the manor with that man over there carrying him."