29. Sage
SAGE
Sage was not at all ready.
He’d barely managed to catch his breath when Conrad cast again, sending Wyndham’s handkerchief soaring over their heads.
He scrambled to reach out after it with his magic, finding it slightly easier to tangle it with the other man’s this time as it swirled through the air.
With their combined efforts, they pinned the square of embroidered silk flat against the ceiling and held it there.
“Less power, both of you,” Wyndham instructed, his throat working attractively over his words as he stared up at their work.
Conrad bent over his paper and scribbled some adjustments.
The handkerchief fluttered and sank in the air.
Sage was able to settle his magic just enough to make it happen again, until the item of everyone’s focus was levitating over the desk at chest height before it dropped lifelessly back to where it began in the middle of Conrad’s paper.
Sage stared at the bundle of fabric. Not once in his entire life had he been told to use less power with his magic. In school, it had always been the opposite. Try harder , his instructors had always said, you can do better than that.
Suddenly, Conrad’s hand was gripped tightly on his arm again, squeezing just above his elbow as he bounced on his toes.
“Sage, this is extraordinary! I’ve never done anything like this before. Even casting with Wyndham did not make my magic so strong. I cannot believe it!”
Those words cut through Sage like a knife through butter, melting him just the same.
He had to brace himself with one hand on the edge of Roger’s desk as he tried to breathe normally again.
To his immense relief, Conrad was too preoccupied suggesting another spell he would like to try to notice his discomfiture.
Roger told him they should go and have a look in the garden for a particular type of parsley to experiment with, and the duo were gone in a flurry.
As soon as their footsteps had quieted in the hallway, Sage collapsed against the desk where he stood, forehead against one arm as he smacked his fist against the workspace with the other, rattling some of the items around him. He let out a low moan of distress and squeezed his eyes shut.
Wyndham laughed like the villain he was.
Sage lifted his head just enough to glare at him.
“Think it’s amusing, do you?”
Wyndham had his arms crossed loosely over his chest.
“A little, yes.”
“Dratted imp,” Sage cursed him.
He righted himself to mostly standing again, both hands on the lip of the desk this time. Thoughts of Conrad served as such a distraction that every issue he’d ever had with Wyndham seemed to disappear, leaving behind only the familiarity that had existed between them for so many years.
“This is what you feel with Roger,” he guessed, staring out into the hallway.
“It is,” Wyndham agreed sedately.
Sage shook his head before giving him a desperate look. “And he cannot even feel it. Can Roger feel it? Your magic?”
“To some degree, he can.” Wyndham took a few steps closer to the desk. “Human magic is unique to each person, much like our own.”
“You know my magic is not strong,” Sage said in a hushed tone. “How could he possibly think that casting with me was better than with you?”
“Because it was.” Wyndham’s shoulders moved in a delicate shrug. “My magic might be more powerful than yours, but that says nothing about compatibility.”
Sage groaned and stood fully, pushing a hand back through his hair in frustration. “Compatibility,” he grumbled.
“I think you can hardly deny it,” Wyndham said smoothly, eyes dipping to the front of Sage’s trousers with a smirk.
Sage rolled his eyes and tugged at the fabric there, a weak attempt at adjusting himself.
There was no use trying to hide it—Wyndham had seen him in such a state more than any other.
“If you’d like, I can tell them you had a personal matter to attend to when they return. ”
Sage narrowed his eyes and offered him a tight grin.
“How thoughtful of you.”
Wyndham sauntered to his throne and settled himself against the pillows on the chaise lounge, ankles crossed as he picked up his book from the day before. “You would not be the first man so overwhelmed by compatible magic that you had to excuse yourself for a time.”
Sage’s brows went up but then settled. He snorted at the confession, observing the elegant seat where Wyndham had placed himself. There was no question that the chaise in the study had been his idea, and likely for more than sitting comfortably to read or watch Roger work.
“I’ll wager you do no such thing.”
Wyndham peered at him over the pages of his book. Sage could practically feel how hard he was working to come up with a clever response. Unfortunately, being crass with his words was one area where Wyndham had always fallen short.
“You’re right,” he said finally, returning to his novel. “This is my house. I have no reason to excuse myself, if I do not wish to do so.”
Before Sage could give any thought to that particular fancy, Conrad returned and the room lightened instantly, as did the magic in his chest. Somewhere along the way, Roger had found a small basket to help carry all of the leaves and herbs they’d collected in the garden.
“What do you not wish to do?” Roger set their spoils on his desk with little care, some dirt falling through the loose weave of the basket.
Conrad brushed at the mess with his hand as he came to stand beside Sage again. He offered a smile and Sage returned it, secretly pleased that it felt so natural for him to return to his side.
“I was only telling Sage that I do not wish to lose another round of charades this evening,” Wyndham said casually as he turned a page. “So you’ll have to excuse me if I reduce myself to our current champions’ level of propriety in order to give the correct answer.”
“Oh dear,” Roger sighed.
“Not to worry.” Conrad wrapped his arm around Sage’s waist and pulled him close. Sage’s heart tumbled. “Wyndham has no chance at winning when the two of us are working together.”
Behind his book, Wyndham was smiling.