I blushed and looked away. “I understand.” And I did. When your uncle is your King, and that King orders you to keep a secret, then your follow those orders and keep your mouth closed.
We rode along for a few more minutes before Rowan broke the quiet. “Have you any ideas on how the Vicomte could wield Necromancer power?”
“I’ve been thinking about it.” In fact, I’d been contemplating it quite a bit. “It would need to involve a totem ring.” That was how we Necromancers stored spells. Totem rings enabled mages to cast lengthy incantations with a single word—there was no lighting up bones or creating colored smoke. Unfortunately, totem rings were incredibly hard to create and only stored one kind of spell at a time.
Rowan stared at my hands. “I notice you’re not wearing any today.” Normally, I had a totem ring on every finger of my left hand.
“Yes, I’ve had to set those aside. Wearing totem rings would be a clear sign that I’m a Necromancer. And the spells for creating new rings would attract too much attention.” Sadly, I didn’t have any old rings to use, either. They’d all been ruined during my last battle against the Tsar.
“The Vicomte using a totem ring.” Rowan frowned. “It’s possible. Although, how would he get the magick into his body? The man isn’t a Necromancer. Totem rings only work for mages like you, right?”
Excitement fluttered inside my stomach. I loved these chats with Rowan. There were no other free mages around that I could discuss new magick with. Sure, I could transport back to my old Cloister, the Zelle, and chat with Petra, my Mother Superior. However, Petra was almost a hundred years old. Her mind was sharp when it came to traditional magick. But when I needed to think through new uses of power, no one was better than Rowan.
“What do you think?” Rowan spoke again, snapping me out of my thoughts. “How could the Vicomte take in power from a totem ring?”
“I do have one idea.”
Rowan grinned. “I knew you would.”
My body warmed under his praise. “The Vicomte has a number of adopted children. All of them are experts in machines.”
“And?”
“He’s not bringing in orphans out of the kindness of his heart. I think he’s putting them to work. They’re creating some kind of device for him. It’s a machine about as large as a throwing stone. And if my guess is right, that device could transmit magick into a non-mage.”
“Quite possible.” Rowan nodded slowly. “The Vicomte’s been obsessed with machines for years. We’ll focus our spy work in that area.” His voice took on a deep tone that I liked very much indeed. “Thank you, Elea.”
I looked away quickly. Even with the space between us, being this close to Rowan made me all distracted. I needed to refocus on my mission. “I learned some news about my lost Necromancers. Perhaps you can shed some light on it.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“The Vicomte is hiding my Sisters somewhere on Royal land.”
“Not his own property?”
“It’s someone from court. The thief back there confirmed it.”
“I see.” Rowan grew quiet. It was what he always did when thinking through a problem. “Not a lot of places could be used for draining magick. After the Tsar took power, my team canvassed all the known dungeons on Royal lands. None of them would have worked for such a purpose.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” A sense of emptiness filled my soul. My people had been disappearing for years, and yet there was no sign of them.
“Take heart. I’ll check around. One of the old dungeons could have been adapted for draining magick. Or perhaps a new one was built since the Tsar took power.” He pulled off his glove, reached across the distance between us, and took my hand. The shock of his touch moved through me. Confidence and care warmed my soul.
Oh, you are dangerous, Rowan.
“If anyone can find them, Elea, you can.”
Rowan gave my hand a gentle squeeze and then released me. My arm went cold without his touch. I hated admitting this, but I dearly missed Rowan. That simply wasn’t right. Necromancers like me shouldn’t form attachments. Still, when it came to Rowan, I couldn’t help myself somehow. I cleared my throat and tried to put on a casual voice. “If nothing comes of this last Lady Amelia, perhaps I could aid you in your diplomacy.”
He gave me another crooked smile. “You might expose me with your spells.”
“A likely story. You just don’t want me involved.”
“That’s right.” His gaze intensified once again. “I want you safe. If this last Amelia doesn’t work out, then I want you to return to Braddock Farm.”
Naming my old farm made my chest ache. The servants who were working on it were good people. They sent me regular missives, and things were going well. Even so, that farm was my only home. Some days I wanted my old rocking chair and fire-lit hearth so badly, I could hardly stand it. And if I failed with the Lady Amelia Masson, then I was sorely out of other options and ideas.