Mind of the Magic (Arhel Book 3) Read Online Free PDF

fish.”
    Hrogner gave his burned fur another lick, then flew down and landed, clumsily and with claws out, on Faia’s arm.
    “Ow!” she yelped. She grabbed up a handful of fur at the scruff of his neck and dragged the hissing, snarling Hrogner into the house.
    Inside, she stopped and frowned. She turned back. “Come with me, Kirtha.” She eyed Witte, who noted her expression and followed, too. “I want to know what happened.”
    Faia studied the cat once everyone was inside. The changes in him were altogether more subtle and clever than the changes in the bird had been. The wings looked clumsy enough, and the feathers were the sort of silly detail she would expect from a five-year-old, but there was an underlying soundness of structure and form that implied knowledge of flighted creatures—a knowledge Faia did not think Kirtha had. She narrowed her eyes in concentration and magically probed deeper. The musculature was very finely done, while the boning and changes made in the cat’s spine to accommodate the addition of wings were as elegant as anything Faia had ever seen from the Mottemage during her time at Daane University.
    She arched an eyebrow at Witte. He grinned sheepishly.
    Hrogner, having acquired wings, was not willing to part with them.
    “You cannot keep them,” she muttered at the cat, who gave her a disdainful look. “The neighbors would execute both of us.” She couldn’t force him to give them up, however, and she knew Hrogner knew it.
    Nothing she tried would get him to let her remove them, either—until he passed a mirror and saw his own reflection. He hissed and arched his back, and the clumsy feathered wings splayed out, gangling and awkward-looking.
    Hrogner seemed terrified of his appearance—he who usually loved to admire himself.
    Faia used his reaction to her advantage; she laughed at him. All cats hated to be laughed at, and vain Hrogner was no exception. He glared at her, stalked away, and snagged a wing on a chair dowel when he tried to walk under it.
    Then and only then did the cat permit his wings to be removed. Dewinged, he skulked down the breezeway. Not until Faia heard a crash from the kitchen did she remember the fish she’d been cleaning on the tray.
    “Nondes!”
she yelled, and ran after the cat into the kitchen. But it was too late. The tray and two of the sea-brouk were on the floor; the third Hrogner had apparently dragged off to eat in peace.
    Faia turned on her daughter and Witte. “So much for a nice meal,” she said. She crossed her arms over her chest and studied both of them. “I want to know what happened.”
    Kirtha looked at their guest, her eyes accusing. Witte said nothing.
    “Witte told me a story,” Kirtha said at last.
    Faia tilted her head and looked at him, eyebrows raised.
    “I merely recounted the old Forst fable about why cats climb,” Witte said quickly. “You know the one, perhaps?”
    “No.” Faia settled into a chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “Why don’t you tell it to me.”
    “Well—” Witte cleared his throat “Well. When Fetupad created cats—”
    “Fetupad?”
    Witte hopped up into a chair across from her. He sat, his feet dangling more than a handsbreadth above the floor, looking at that instant very like a guilty child. “In Forst Province, the people worship Fetupad as the god of beasts. In any case, when she made cats, she created them with wings. For a time, all was well. But cats, with their great pride, flew to the sky home of Fetupad—the Forsters believe all their gods live in the clouds, you see—and moved right in. They bothered Fetupad’s sacred hounds, and ate Fetupad’s sacred birds, and they sang and carried on all night on Fetupad’s sacred roof.”
    “Her roof is sacred?” Faia asked.
    “All things which touch the gods are sacred,” Witte said stiffly.
    “Of course.”
    “So, in a fit of anger, she ripped off the cats’ wings and threw the beasts to the earth. Cats, of course, are