The Mage's Daughter by Lynn Kurland Page A

Miach, heal him instantly so he would wake to himself, whole. And if she used that knowledge, Weger would know just what she was capable of—and then he would throw her off the walls. But if she didn’t do something for Miach quickly, he would die. She couldn’t let that happen, no matter the cost to her personally.
    She took a deep breath. “I have a little magic,” she said, spitting out the words as quickly as possible. “I never asked for it and I don’t want it.” She paused, then looked up at Weger. No sense in not seeing the extent of his disgust.
    He was, however, merely leaning back against the door with his arms folded over his chest, watching her without expression. His hand was comfortably far from his sword hilt. “Can you heal him with that magic?”
    Morgan felt a little winded. “I think so.”
    He studied her for another moment or two. “I daresay you have quite a tale to tell to the right listener.”
    â€œI suspect, my lord, that the right listener would not be you.”
    â€œYou might be surprised.” He gestured toward Miach. “Do what you can then, woman. I’ll avert my eyes.”
    Morgan couldn’t even manage a smile. For one thing, she wasn’t at all sure that Weger wouldn’t finish her off when he saw her use a spell and find it responsive to the magic in her veins. And secondly, she wasn’t sure Miach would live.
    He burned with a terrible heat, but he didn’t thrash about. Perhaps he had no more strength for thrashing. Perhaps he was closer to death than she feared. She took his hand, then reached out to smooth his hair back from his brow.
    She searched through dreams and words spoken for anything that might help her. She considered the spell of healing that Adhémar had once given her. She could still see the results of that on Miach’s arm: five fingerprints were indelibly burned into his flesh. But that spell had only healed a slice in Miach’s flesh; it had done nothing for infection. How was she to see to that?
    Before she panicked truly, she began to hear words in her head. She couldn’t understand them at first, but once she did, she immediately understood how they might be used in drawing out poisons.
    Had Miach used that spell to heal her? That voice was not his, but she had no time to determine whose it was. It was enough to have the words there in her mind, ready for her use. She put her fingers over Miach’s wound and repeated the spell faithfully.
    She hadn’t but breathed the last word when he suddenly jerked his arm away and sat up with a start.
    â€œOuch, damn you—” he began. Then he apparently realized who was holding on to him. He smiled. “Morgan.”
    Then his smile faded and he went very still.
    Morgan understood. She watched him look at her for several heartbeats, his eyes wide with surprise. Then he slowly turned his head and looked up at Weger, who was still leaning against the door. Weger’s expression was, as usual, inscrutable. He tossed Miach a fresh black tunic and a key.
    â€œThere you are,” he said. “Work begins at dawn. You look fit for it now.”
    Miach leapt to his feet. “Thank you, my lord.”
    Morgan was not so swift to rise. She had to use Miach’s freshly healed arm as a means to get up. “My lord—” she began.
    Weger turned, his hand on the door latch. “We’ll speak later.” He shot Miach a look. “Don’t keep her here all evening. She needs sleep.”
    And with that, he left the chamber, slamming the door behind him.
    Miach looked down at his arm. Morgan looked as well. Five new fingerprints had joined the first set, only the fresh ones were not as angry looking as the others. Miach smiled at her.
    â€œYou’re improving.”
    She ignored that. “Weger brought me here,” she said uneasily. “He knew what I could do.”
    â€œPerhaps I babbled