Read Online The Sentinel Mage by Emily Gee - Free Book Online

door, people spoke in hushed voices and hurried about their business with downcast eyes; inside, were the smells of cinnamon and warm milk and a sense of safety.
    She knelt at a low table, parchment spread before her. “There.” Six-year-old Rutgar pointed with a grubby finger. “Draw a horse on top of the hill, Britta. Please!”
    Britta dipped the goose feather in ink and obediently drew a horse. Beside her, Lukas squirmed excitedly. “And an axe, Britta!” he cried. “Give the woodcutter an axe, so he can fight the wolf!”
    Britta drew an axe in the woodcutter’s hand, with a sharp, curving blade. It made her think of Harkeld and the bounty on his head.
    Run, Harkeld. Don’t let them catch you.
    “Where do you want the wolf?” she asked.
    Rutgar leaned over the parchment, examining the scene she’d drawn. “There,” he said, his fingertip leaving a smudge on the parchment. “Under the tree.”
    “No, no!” Lukas cried. “Not there! That’s where the witch is going.”
    Witch . The word seemed to resonate in the room. Britta glanced at her armsman, standing beside the door. Did he hear it ringing in his head the way she did?
    “I don’t want a witch this time,” Rutgar said.
    Neither do I.
    “Why not?” Lukas demanded of his older brother.
    Rutgar looked at her. Britta tried to read his face. Worry? Confusion? Fear?
    “Because of Harkeld?” she asked.
    He nodded.
    Britta looked at the parchment, at the place where Lukas wanted her to draw the witch. Harkeld, are you a witch?
    Of course he’s not , she told herself for what seemed like the hundredth time.
    “Are we witches too?” The words burst from Rutgar, full of anxiety.
    Britta laid down the quill. “No, sweetheart,” she said, reaching out to stroke the blond hair back from his face. “It was Harkeld’s mother who had the witch blood, not your mother or mine.”
    “Or Jaegar’s mother?” Rutgar persisted.
    “Or Jaegar’s mother.”
    “Harkeld’s a witch,” Lukas announced.
    “No, love. He’s not.”
    “But he could be,” Rutgar said, the same mix of confusion and fear and worry on his face.
    Yes, he could.
    “Even if he is a witch, he’s your brother and he would never hurt you.” Britta said the words firmly and smiled at the little boy. “Don’t be scared of Harkeld.” Be scared for him. Father has a bounty on his head.
    She picked up the quill again and dipped it in ink. “Now, where would you like the wolf?”
    A knock on the door made her lift her head. Her armsman, Karel, opened the door. The mood of the palace seemed to leak into the nursery: edgy, fearful.
    Britta heard low voices, then Karel stepped back and a bondservant entered the nursery.
    “Princess.” The man bowed low.
    She recognized him: he served her father. No. Not now. Her hand quivered slightly and a drop of ink fell on the parchment.
    “The king demands your presence, princess.”
    Her throat tightened. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. What shall I do without Harkeld to help me? She placed the quill carefully in its silver holder. “Inform my father that I shall be there shortly.”
    “Yes, highness.” The man bowed again and scurried from the room.
    Britta capped the ink pot.
    “But you haven’t finished,” Rutgar protested.
    “I’ll come back tomorrow.” She forced a smile to her lips. “I promise.”
    “You made a mistake,” Lukas said, pointing.
    Britta looked at the ink blot. “Never mind. We’ll turn it into a rock.”
    She kissed both boys on the cheek, inhaling the scent of the cinnamon buns they’d eaten for lunch and the rosemary the nursemaids washed their hair with.
    “May we start coloring it in?” Rutgar asked as her armsman opened the door for her.
    “Of course.” Britta smiled at them from the doorway. “But let the ink dry first.”
    She hurried back to her rooms. The sound of her armsman’s stride echoed flatly in the marble corridors. Memory came, Harkeld’s voice: You need to understand who our