The Wizard King Read Online Free PDF

young man when he began to instruct her in the ways of magic two years ago, Athaya never thought of the Master as old before—his keen wit and vitality had always neatly distracted her from the fact. But now that vitality was ebbing, and it was a weight upon her heart to realize that his star would not burn forever.
    Athaya’s eyes flickered briefly toward the spiral stair. “May I see him?”
    “You can look in on him, but try not to wake him. Our first session was somewhat… difficult. He needs rest.”
    “With respect, Master Hedric,” Jaren observed, “I think you both do.”
    While Jaren set about making his former teacher a cup of chamomile tea, Athaya ascended to her brother’s bedchamber. The weathered door creaked only slightly as she entered and gave a wordless greeting to Adam Graylen. Despite carrying almost as many years as Hedric, he was neatly tucked in the windowseat like a boy, paging through a book of rudimentary magic that Hedric had loaned to him so that he could better understand the nature of the prince’s illness. Adam was the longtime steward of the earl of Belmarre—one of Caithe’s few lords who, while reluctant to support Athaya openly, could be trusted not to betray her or Nicolas’ temporary presence in his domain. Athaya smiled wistfully as she passed by the older man, seeing as she ever did the image of his long-dead son Tyler, beloved to them both, in the depths of those tranquil green eyes.
    She curled up on an oak chest at the foot of Nicolas’ bed and gazed at him, his skin delicately pale against the deep blue coverlet. Light brown curls were combed neatly back from the smooth cheekbones, and he slumbered peaceful as a babe, breathing slow and deep. That alone was a striking change for the better. Nicolas no longer tossed fitfully, tormented by the seductive voice of a Sarian wizard whispering murder in his mind.
    The voice was still there, but it was silent for now.
    Assured that he was at peace, Athaya slid off the chest and went to his side, laying a gentle kiss atop his forehead. She jumped when Nicolas’ eyes fluttered open in response; he had not been sleeping so soundly after all.
    Nicolas was not startled by her presence; her kiss had convinced him she was a friend. A friend… but nothing more; her brother’s eyes were devoid of recognition. “Is he coming back?” Nicolas murmured drowsily, his voice sandy from disuse.
    “Who?”
    “The old man that was here.”
    “Yes,” Athaya said, forcing a smile. “Yes, he’ll be back.”
    Nicolas nodded contentedly. “My other friend hasn’t come yet. He’s a wizard, too. He laughs a lot and tells stories. Mostly dirty ones.”
    Athaya tried valiantly not to betray any glimmer of despair. “I’m sure he’ll come as soon as he can.”
If he’s still alive
, she added privately. Ranulf had fallen captive to the Sage on the same day as Nicolas and had not been seen or heard from since. The onetime mercenary was Sarian-born, so Athaya doubted the Sage would kill him outright, but who could say whether he would ever leave the island again?
    “Do you live here, too?” Nicolas asked through a yawn.
    Athaya pursed her lips tightly to keep them from trembling. Hedric had eased Nicolas’ suffering, but Nicolas himself was still astray, lost in the dark mists of his memory. “No. I’m just visiting. I’m a friend of the old man, too.”
    “Oh.” Satisfied with her explanation, Nicolas rolled over and promptly drifted back to sleep.
    Athaya blinked back a tear as she retreated from the bedside. At least he wasn’t in pain, she reminded herself. At least the Sage hadn’t destroyed him fully.
    “Good night, Nicolas,” she whispered.
    When Athaya returned to the lower chamber, Master Hedric was visibly refreshed by both his tea and his moment of rest. The deep worry- lines on his face had smoothed back into mere wrinkles, and his eyes had regained some of their sparkle.
    “That’s as peaceful as I’ve seen him