The Wizard King Read Online Free PDF Page A

the absorbing pursuit of knowledge. “Give it time.”
    “Time is one thing Nicolas may not have,” Athaya replied, snapping a loose thread from her sleeve. “And it’s been so long already.”
    Forcing herself to stop pacing for a while, Athaya leaned against the windowsill and gazed out at the lush, rose-scented expanse of late spring surrounding the steward’s tower. It had been a cold and snowy night in February when she had delivered her brother Nicolas into Adam Graylen’s care; now it was a hot and languid June. The world had undergone a thorough transformation, but sadly, Prince Nicolas had not.
    More than four months had passed since the Sage of Sare ensorcelled her brother, coercing the Caithan prince to murder his elder brother and king, Durek. He was confident that the atrocity would be blamed on Athaya—which it had been, she thought with a scowl—thus neatly destroying the reputations, if not the very lives, of nearly every legitimate claimant to the Caithan throne. But even the Sage proved vulnerable to error. Under his sway, Nicolas went so far as to offer the tainted wine to Durek, but his inner self rebelled against the crime he was about to commit, and he was able to resist the spell long enough to break the brunt of its force—and slap the cup from Durek’s lips before he took the fatal sip. But the defiance cost Nicolas has sanity, leaving him little more than a child, in need of constant care and with few memories of the prince he had been, or the king—and kingdom—he had almost destroyed.
    Athaya whispered a private prayer as she turned her back on the verdant swells of earth before her. Only Master Hedric and his decades of mystic learning could save her brother now.
    After a grueling hour of waiting, during which Athaya had yanked an entire handful of loose threads from her sleeve and scattered them like rushes on the floor, she heard a fragile sigh and saw Master Hedric emerge from the stairwell leading to the bedchamber above. Slate-colored robes hung listlessly from his frame like curtains in stagnant air and he leaned heavily on his gnarled cherrywood staff.
    Athaya let the last strand of wool fall from her grasp. “How is he?”
    “Resting quietly.” Reading the agitation on her face, he added, “Just let me sit a moment before we talk. I’ve done what I can for the moment, but I’m a bit tired.”
    Athaya nodded, stamping down her impatience. She had waited months already; she could wait a few minutes more. Moreover, she should be grateful that Master Hedric was here at all. When Jaren had returned to his Reykan homeland to find out what he could about the spell of compulsion—a spell long forbidden by the Circle of Masters because of its inherent unscrupulousness—Athaya assumed that Hedric would simply share what knowledge he possessed and send his instructions back with Jaren. She was stunned by Hedric’s unexpected arrival three days ago; at seventy-one, travel was a burden to him, and his decision to return with Jaren made Athaya all the more fearful. Nicolas’ situation was dire indeed if Hedric thought it required his own personal attention.
    “I’m sorry if I’m rushing you,” she said by way of apology. “I never should have insisted that we leave for Belmarre the very day that you arrived from Reyka. You must be exhausted by now, after close to a month on the road.”
    “Oh, I’ll manage,” Hedric replied, summoning a crooked smile as he rubbed the fatigue from his eyes. “I’m not as old as all that, you know.”
    Once, Athaya would have chuckled her agreement and thought no more upon it, but now she bit her lip and remained silent. Master Hedric had aged noticeably since she last saw him in October. His movements were slower and more studied, his eyes in need of brighter light by which to peruse his myriad books and scrolls, and Athaya soon discovered that she needed to speak a shade louder if she didn’t wish to repeat herself. Although far from a