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Book: The Magician's Mistake (The Fay Morgan Chronicles Book 1) by Katherine Sparrow
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Authors: Katherine Sparrow
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reputed to bring the righteous back from the grave. I didn’t want her to have it, for the simple reason of wanting to annoy her and Merlin.
Merlin and I had thrown every spell we had at each other all day long until we came to a flat draw, with neither able to best the other or win the plate from the sarcastic gorgons who called out constant cackling insults to us.
At sunset, I’d slunk away, aching and nursing a rage-headache. I found a small inn nearby and ordered a pint, a plate of lamb, and biscuits. Before my food came, he arrived.
I rose to meet Merlin, my hands shaking from cold and weariness.
“Sit, lass. I have no magic left to fight you, and need my rest. Tomorrow we can battle anew.” He rubbed his eyes.
We ate together, uneasily watching each other. We drank pints. And more pints.
We talked, and once we started, we couldn’t stop talking. For who else could know, truly know, about the intricate trickiness of binding a hawk to one’s will? Or how cleverness could so easily backfire during a hiding spell and make an illumination instead? He warmed me with his tales of battling me, and how many times I’d almost bested him. You are the better magician, he told me.
Witch, I said. And drank more ale. I told him of the times I’d had to go underground to escape his nastiest spells. Of all the times I’d almost given up, but who else would stand against the thuggish knights of the round table?
Heroes, he said.
The inn emptied. The candle stubs grew low. We stumbled upstairs and didn’t discuss what we were doing until we were half-naked and rolling around on a bed together.
“Morgan,” Merlin said, suddenly serious as he propped himself up on his elbows. “I’ve always wanted you. Since my first day at court. I have also, always been scared of you, because,” he held my gaze. “You are you and I am me.”
“Yes,” I said.
I said it again and again that night, as we learned to wage battle together in a new way.
12
Merlin
“Morgan?”
“What?” I muttered.
“Come back, lass.”
I didn’t want to.
“Come back,” he ordered.
“Why isn’t she awake? She wasn’t hurt in the fight, right? She’ll be okay, right? Why is her nose bleeding?” another voice asked.
I took in a deep breath and made my eyes open. “I’m fine.”
I sat up and looked around. We were back in Merlin’s hotel room. Morning light streamed in through the window, and I saw Lila lying in bed beside me: awake and exhausted-looking. Adam was sprawled in his open cage, once-again human and sleeping. I wiped my nose with the back of my sleeve. It came away red.
Merlin walked to my side and offered me a tissue.
Merlin, not Kestrel.
“How much do you remember?” he asked carefully.
I swallowed a couple of times. “The beginning of things,” I said faintly. I dabbed at my nose, hoping I didn’t look like too much of a mess, and searched my body. Now that I knew the forgetting spell was there, on my person, I could find it: a near-invisible blue ring wrapped around my forearm. It was made to look small, but it was anything but. Part of it was damaged, and white light shown through. Someone vastly adept at magic had placed this forgetting spell on me, so well-made that it even made me forget its existence.
I ran a finger over it and watched Merlin.
He handed me a steaming cup of coffee and sat down on the edge of the bed. He still wore the rumpled clothes he’d had on when we battled Guinevere.
He could have done anything to me while I’d slept.
He hadn’t.
But he was the one who’d put the forgetting spell on me, most likely. Friend or foe, I wondered.
“You knew about the forgetting spell,” I said. “Because you knew I would not recognize you, when you showed up at my shop. That’s why you called yourself Kestrel. A small hunting bird, much like a Merlin. Clever. But enough games, Merlin. Tell me what you know.”
“We will talk. When you are better rested and have
Merlin and I had thrown every spell we had at each other all day long until we came to a flat draw, with neither able to best the other or win the plate from the sarcastic gorgons who called out constant cackling insults to us.
At sunset, I’d slunk away, aching and nursing a rage-headache. I found a small inn nearby and ordered a pint, a plate of lamb, and biscuits. Before my food came, he arrived.
I rose to meet Merlin, my hands shaking from cold and weariness.
“Sit, lass. I have no magic left to fight you, and need my rest. Tomorrow we can battle anew.” He rubbed his eyes.
We ate together, uneasily watching each other. We drank pints. And more pints.
We talked, and once we started, we couldn’t stop talking. For who else could know, truly know, about the intricate trickiness of binding a hawk to one’s will? Or how cleverness could so easily backfire during a hiding spell and make an illumination instead? He warmed me with his tales of battling me, and how many times I’d almost bested him. You are the better magician, he told me.
Witch, I said. And drank more ale. I told him of the times I’d had to go underground to escape his nastiest spells. Of all the times I’d almost given up, but who else would stand against the thuggish knights of the round table?
Heroes, he said.
The inn emptied. The candle stubs grew low. We stumbled upstairs and didn’t discuss what we were doing until we were half-naked and rolling around on a bed together.
“Morgan,” Merlin said, suddenly serious as he propped himself up on his elbows. “I’ve always wanted you. Since my first day at court. I have also, always been scared of you, because,” he held my gaze. “You are you and I am me.”
“Yes,” I said.
I said it again and again that night, as we learned to wage battle together in a new way.
12
Merlin
“Morgan?”
“What?” I muttered.
“Come back, lass.”
I didn’t want to.
“Come back,” he ordered.
“Why isn’t she awake? She wasn’t hurt in the fight, right? She’ll be okay, right? Why is her nose bleeding?” another voice asked.
I took in a deep breath and made my eyes open. “I’m fine.”
I sat up and looked around. We were back in Merlin’s hotel room. Morning light streamed in through the window, and I saw Lila lying in bed beside me: awake and exhausted-looking. Adam was sprawled in his open cage, once-again human and sleeping. I wiped my nose with the back of my sleeve. It came away red.
Merlin walked to my side and offered me a tissue.
Merlin, not Kestrel.
“How much do you remember?” he asked carefully.
I swallowed a couple of times. “The beginning of things,” I said faintly. I dabbed at my nose, hoping I didn’t look like too much of a mess, and searched my body. Now that I knew the forgetting spell was there, on my person, I could find it: a near-invisible blue ring wrapped around my forearm. It was made to look small, but it was anything but. Part of it was damaged, and white light shown through. Someone vastly adept at magic had placed this forgetting spell on me, so well-made that it even made me forget its existence.
I ran a finger over it and watched Merlin.
He handed me a steaming cup of coffee and sat down on the edge of the bed. He still wore the rumpled clothes he’d had on when we battled Guinevere.
He could have done anything to me while I’d slept.
He hadn’t.
But he was the one who’d put the forgetting spell on me, most likely. Friend or foe, I wondered.
“You knew about the forgetting spell,” I said. “Because you knew I would not recognize you, when you showed up at my shop. That’s why you called yourself Kestrel. A small hunting bird, much like a Merlin. Clever. But enough games, Merlin. Tell me what you know.”
“We will talk. When you are better rested and have
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