Chapter 51. Grayson
Grayson
Eloise’s large eyes double in size.
I’m sure I look a wild mess. I tore my shirtsleeves off in the forest, and I’m sweating, having alternated between normal running and using my wind spell.
But Eloise doesn’t yell or smile in relief. She doesn’t say a word; she just goes right back to staring at Sage. Which is when I realize they’re having a standoff. And I lose my cool.
“What the hell, Sage?” I say, stepping fully inside the tent.
“Stay out of it, Grayson,” Sage bites out.
“I don’t think I will,” I reply, not because Eloise can’t handle herself, but because I’m pissed. “Whatever this is, it’s bullshit.”
The glare Sage gives me is nothing short of deadly. “You wanna talk about bullshit? She’s some Mage-wannabe. And I brought her to my home!”
“Brought? The word you’re looking for is kidnapped,” Eloise says, matching Sage’s outrage. “Unless there was some polite invitation I missed while you were yanking me out a goddamn window?”
“I’ll get to you when I get to you, Mage,” Sage says, and the whole situation inches past heated.
Eloise’s hands curl into fists and Sage’s fingers twitch near her belted dagger.
One quick scan of Eloise reveals two pink marks on her skin, one on her arm and the other on her forehead.
Which tells me she had to be healed after the stunt Sage pulled.
And it takes every modicum of my will not to blast Sage across the room for it.
“If you pull that blade, Sage,” I say with deathly calm. “Me and you are going to have a serious problem.”
“We already have one,” Sage says with venom. “Because I swear to everything that if she has anything to do with Charles Riley’s death—”
Sage’s hand wraps around her dagger handle and I lift my hand to cast.
But Eloise doesn’t assume a defensive position. “What?” she says, her voice ratcheting up. “His death? I should be saying that to you! Charles Riley was my grandad!” she yells, and for a split second the entire room stills.
“Charles Riley was not your grandfather,” Sage says, and I can’t imagine why.
“Tell that to my mother. His daughter. Who would have a few choice words for you,” Eloise fires back.
“What was Charles’s hobby?” Sage practically spits, and now I’m beyond confused. What the hell is this conversation?
“Whittling,” Eloise replies like a challenge.
“Whittling animals,” Sage corrects her, and Eloise’s eyes widen. “Favorite knife?”
“The one with the bear handle,” Eloise answers, her eyebrows pushing together.
But instead of asking a third question, Sage removes her hand from her blade. “Shit,” she says more to herself than to us, and turns around, scrubbing her hands down her face.
“What the hell did I miss?” I ask the room, but no one answers me.
Sage crosses the tent and Eloise watches her every move. She stops in front of a folding table that has an old duffel bag on it.
“Charles was a good man,” Sage says plainly, bracing her hands on the wood with her back to us. “He was … a friend.”
“You want to try that again?” Eloise says. “Grandad was not friends with the Lawless. I’d have known.”
“He made nearly half of the weapons in our American outpost,” Sage replies, and my eyebrows shoot up my forehead.
Well, that certainly took a turn.
“Bull,” Eloise says, her chest rising and falling quickly.
Sage unzips the duffel bag and shoves her hand in. Then she whips around and holds up a small hand-carved lion.
Eloise gasps.
“What—” I start.
But they both say, “Not now, Grayson,” and I’m wondering how I became the third wheel in this situation.
“Where did you get that?” Eloise demands, immediately moving toward Sage, the very person who was threatening to pull a blade on her.
“I grew up in the American outpost,” Sage says with a sigh.
“I’d known Charles since I was three. I thought of him as a surrogate grandfather.
He carved this for me.” Sage turns it over in her hand.
“Charles always told me that this little lion had a friend,” she says, and Eloise goes very still.
“One that lived far away but had the same heart. One she might—”
“Meet some day if the wind blew just right and magic was willing,” Eloise finishes, her eyes glistening.
Sage sniffles and crosses the room, zipping it safely back into her bag. She swipes a cup off the table, downs the drink in one go, and clinks it onto the wood.
“I’ll give you a few minutes to talk,” Sage says, walking toward the door.
But I suspect it’s as much for her as it is for us.
“We don’t have much time, though. The sun is setting and by morning we’ll need to be packed and ready to move in case the Chancellor finds us.
So, say your piece and meet me outside.” She leaves the tent without a backward glance.
For a long moment Eloise and I stare at each other, neither of us knowing what to say.
But I settle on, “I found Maggie.”
Her eyes widen and that reality seems to crash over her. “Maggie,” she breathes, her gaze moving to the door.
“I carried her to the healers’ hut,” I tell her. “They were working on her when I left and she was insulting me, which I take as a good sign.” I offer her a small smile. “Also, she said to tell you … nothing less.”
Eloise’s eyes fill and she nods, like it’s the exact thing she needed to hear. “Thank you for helping Maggie. And thank you for finding me.”
Only now I’m even more confused. “Hang on. Aren’t you going to yell at me for getting you into this mess? I deserve it.”
“Actually, as messed up as everything is right now, I’m glad I’m in this mess. Because I just learned that Grandad helped the Lawless, that he believed in them.” She lifts her chin. “And if he did, then I do, too.”
“Even after what Sage just did?” I ask.
“She kept calling me Mage. She thought I might have had something to do with his death. She was defending him.”
I nod, not knowing if I could be as forgiving.
“You know,” she says. “In a way it all makes sense. Gran hates Mages. And there was never a subject my grandparents disagreed on. Well, except who got to plant what in the garden.” She smiles at the memory. “Which also means we need to get moving. If the Chancellor’s headed here, we need a plan.”
Eloise
Sage stands outside the tent with her hands in her pockets and a faraway look on her face, one that makes me wonder if she’s still thinking about Grandad.
“I’d like to show you the camp, if you’re willing,” Sage says.
“I’d like that,” I reply, finding that I mean it.
Grayson watches the two of us with a discerning eye, but doesn’t comment.
“You’re open-minded,” Sage says as she leads us through the rows of tents. “That’s rare.”
“After what the Chancellor did to me today, I know he’s capable of anything,” I say.
“He’s the reason our homes are temporary structures,” Sage says as we follow her to the center of camp where there’s a big firepit with stones and benches around it. Adults are cooking together and children are running around in the forest playing games. “We always have to be ready to move.”
“Because he attacks you?” I ask, repeating what Grayson told me.
“Because he’s threatened by their existence,” Grayson replies.
“But why?” I ask.
Sage stops near the firepit. “A couple hundred years ago things weren’t like this,” Sage says, offering Grayson and me two bowls of what smells like broccoli-cheddar soup.
“There was still the class system, sure. There were Mages and Laborers. But it used to be a choice to leave the wards, not just for Laborers, for anyone.”
I sit down on one of the log benches next to Sage, and Grayson sits next to me. “I’ve always been told that if we didn’t accept our Laboring assignment that we’d die out here or be attacked,” I say.
Sage looks at the firepit, her forehead wrinkling. “Look around. It’s by no means an easy life.” She gestures at the people, families playing and friends laughing. Their clothes are simple just like their lodgings. In a lot of ways, they remind me of my own neighborhood at the edge of the wards.
Sage swallows her soup. “Magical plants grow poorly out here and magic is dampened the farther you get from the wards. After a few days you start to feel it like some basic need you can’t fulfill.
Which is why we choose to build our camps by the warded towns.
If we didn’t need to be near the magic concentrated within the wards, we’d just go live a peaceful life somewhere else. But if we do, we’ll get sick and weak.”
My eyes widen. “Did you guys ever try to return to Mage society?”
“Many times,” Grayson says.
Sage nods. “My mother’s sent letters to the Chancellor, tried to strike bargains with the Council. But they never answer her. For all I know, no one even reads them.”
“But why?” I ask.
“Because the Chancellor needs us to be the villain,” Sage says. “He needs us to suffer so he can control all of you. But the real reason he’ll never let us return is because we know things.”
“One thing in particular he’s worked hard to keep secret,” Grayson adds.
I swallow, my heart picking up speed. “What is it?”
“I’ll show you,” Sage says, and calls over a girl about Delilah’s age. “Chloe, can you help me demonstrate something?”
Chloe raises an eyebrow, considering Sage.
“Can you show us a spell? Any spell. Your pick,” Sage asks.
Chloe looks from Sage to me and says, “Nope!”
Which makes me smile and feel heartsick for Delilah. But as Chloe runs off after a boy, she does cast, and I stop smiling. Because it’s not a beginner spell—she pelts him right in the head with a ball of water.
“Did that tiny child just … cast an Elemental spell?” I ask, unable to comprehend.
“You should see her Illusion magic,” Sage replies.
“But she’s … she’s little!” I protest. “How could she know those spells?”
Sage turns. “Because, unlike Mage society, we don’t start teaching magic in high school. We teach it as soon as a child can understand. And not just the spells the parents know. We all chip in to round out their magical education.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” I ask, repeating what I was always told.