“Because I have no idea where to find the Council of Magic, but I presume you do.”
I felt her tense behind me. “Are you sure about this, Evie?”
“I have few other choices, and none are any better than the path I’ve decided to take.”
Brigette exhaled and slumped in her seat. “Then it looks like we’ll be making our way to Isolas.”
“In Vinitzia?” Niffin asked, his voice high with surprise.
“Do you know of another Isolas? Don’t worry. It’s not such a long trip... once we make it through the Omeg Mountains.”
“Good thing we’re not traveling in winter,” I said.
“Two horses with two riders each is not the way I would wish to travel through the Omegs,” Niffin said, “regardless the time of year.”
“Then make another wish, Niffin.” I jingled my fat bag of coins at him. “I’ll make it come true.”
BOOK TWO
A SEASON OF MAGIC
Chapter 14
Our train chugged into the Isolas station three days later, having made the trip from Dreutch without incident. With Brahm’s money, we’d indulged, purchasing first-class tickets—private compartments and sleeping berths—and we’d eaten fine foods until we felt as stuffed as bears fattening up for winter. But there was nothing wintery about Isolas. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Stepping onto the platform, I inhaled a breath of briny, humid air, and wiped a bead of sweat from my brow. The late-afternoon sun burned in a blue, cloudless sky, illuminating marbled and stucco façades. A concourse paved in pink bricks sprawled at the foot of the platform, and several gilded dome roofs shone like golden crowns above the city.
Brigette appeared at my shoulder, her head swiveling as she took in Isolas’s details. During our journey, Niffin had kept her supplied with djageesh, warding off the worst of her withdrawals from the mordid. Even now she smelled faintly of pine and cabbage, but her skin had regained a healthy tone, and the dark circles beneath her eyes had diminished. “My imagination couldn’t do it justice,” she said, gesturing toward the buildings around us.
“It’s amazing,” I agreed.
“You haven’t even seen the canals yet,” Brigette said.
Composed of a series of interconnected islands, Isolas was a floating metropolis, impossibly ancient and, according to Brigette, sacred to all Magicians. After I paid the train’s concierge to see to our horses and have them stabled near the station, Brigette motioned for me to join her as she stepped down from the platform. She strode across the concourse as though she knew where she was going. Malita, Niffin, and I followed. Porters carrying our luggage trailed behind us.
“First item on our to-do list is finding somewhere stay,” Brigette said. “And I know just the place.”
“I thought you haven’t been here before,” I said.
“I haven’t, in person, but I’ve studied every map, every compendium, every diary I could get my hands on.” She tossed a look over her shoulder. “This city is in my blood.”
We exited through the train station’s wrought-iron gates and stepped onto a walkway flooded with people—elegant couples in fine clothing, men and women in work attire, toting baskets and tools, leading donkeys, or pushing carts. On thin lengths of cord strung between rooftops and balconies, row after row of multicolored flags fluttered in the breeze, each imprinted with a domino mask emblem.
Spotting a break in the foot traffic, Brigette darted across the street. A wide, murky canal meandered beside the walkway, and a string of narrow boats passed up and down the waterway. She called out to a woman standing at the stern of an empty boat. The woman clutched a long pole that served as both paddle and rudder. Responding to Brigette’s call, the pilot swept off her wide straw hat, smiled, and bowed.
Brigette waved, motioning for us to join her.
We dashed through traffic and gathered at the canal’s edge. Boldly, Brigette stepped down, boarding the boat. “We won’t fit in one taxi with all our luggage.” She pointed at another narrow boat floating behind us. “We’ll have to split up.”
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“The Hotel Terrazzano.” She waved at the train porters who still stood above us at street level, waiting for us to take our luggage and give them their tip. “Get our things, will you?”
Swallowing a retort about her bossiness, I paid our porters, boarded the taxi, and sank onto a low bench seat opposite Brigette. Peering over her shoulder, I watched Niffin and Malita climb aboard the next watercraft in line. He snugged her closer to his side, and she relaxed against him, resting her head on his shoulder as their pilot steered into the waterway behind us. We looked like casual tourists, I supposed. Anyone observing us would probably never guess we weren’t there to simply appreciate the scenery.
On the train, Brigette had explained the Council of Magic maintained its headquarters in an old basilica on the city’s southwestern edge. It sat on its own private islet, surrounded by powerful wards—spells protecting the basilica’s occupants from invasion or attack. Controlling Jackie would be challenge enough, but breaking him out of a Magical prison on a private island compound would be next to impossible. Never did I need Gideon more, but I wouldn’t let myself regret sending him away. Because of his information, I now had the key to getting my throne back.
One step at a time, I told myself. Figure out how to get Jackie, then worry about crowns and thrones.
A breeze stirred, bringing a strong aroma of fish and seaweed. The strands of colorful pennants fluttered overhead, drawing my eye again. “Are those flags always there, or is there a special occasion?”
Brigette’s eyes sparkled. “It’s Stagioni di Magia, the Season of Magic—a month-long celebration of the end of summer when tradition says the presence of Magic is stronger than any other time of the year.”
Magic is at its peak? Grandfather asked. If that’s true, then things just became even more difficult.
I don’t think things can get more difficult. On the bright side, it means Brigette will be stronger.
Jackie and the Council of Magic will be stronger too.
A sick sensation stirred in my stomach. Let’s worry about that later, all right?
Brigette’s smile widened. “There are parties every night. Doesn’t matter if you’re a peasant or a queen—everyone dances and feasts.”
I pointed at a flag overhead. “Why the mask symbol?”
“Everyone wears masks during the season. The traditional lines of social hierarchy are blurred. Whoever you meet on the streets could be a prince or a pauper. So could the person you take to your bed.”
I blushed at the thought of the freedom in all that anonymity. But the idea of bringing a stranger home with me did not appeal, especially not with Gideon so far beyond my reach.
