K. Mills - The Accidental sorcerer

'Others?' Reluctantly he admitted light and the altered world. 'What others?'

'Nobody dreadful.' She pulled a face. 'Well, Reg. But Monk and Rupert, too.' The last damned thing he needed was a conversation about butterflies. Monk, though… 'Don't send them away.' 'You're sure?'

'Yes. Melissande… you will feel better. Eventually'

She folded her arms and raised one eyebrow. 'You mean there'll come a day when I'll wake up and there won't be this great gaping hole in my chest where my heart used to be? When every breath doesn't hurt me and every corner I turn in this wretched mausoleum of a palace doesn't ambush me with a memory? And that soon, dear God, I'll stop talking like some dreadful heroine out of a book I wouldn't be caught dead reading?'

Incredibly that made him smile. 'I promise. Now let the others in before I fall asleep again.'

But instead of going to the door she frowned. 'I'm so sorry about your eye, Gerald. Did you know it's turned silver?' ' What?'

She fetched his hand mirror from the chest of drawers. 'Gerald?' she said, as he stared at it, remembering… 'What's wrong?'

With a convulsive shiver he banished the clawed memory: his naked body butchered and eaten… the glistening snakes… his battered heart, bleeding a river… and pain… such awful pain… 'Nothing.' He took the mirror and made himself look. It was true: his left eye shimmered an opaque silver beneath a strange creamy film… like the scaled underbelly of a full-grown skink. The mark of the dragon. Magic's thumbprint. Payment tendered… And so much less than I truly deserve. He thrust the mirror back at her. 'Thanks.'

Standing there, fidgeting with the mirror, she said.'Gerald. Can I ask you something?'

He owed her so much, she could ask him anything. 'Sure.' 'What was it like… to make a dragon?'

Anything but that. 'Melissande — ' he began, and then stopped. No. She could even ask him that, it was terrible,' he whispered. 'And it was wonderful.'

And how he was going to live with that, he didn't know. She swallowed, hard.'Oh.'

Then she turned away, put the mirror back on the chest of drawers and opened the bedroom door. 'He's awake, but you can't stay long,' she said to whoever was outside.

Markham entered first, grinning like a shark. Reg sat on his shoulder, doing smug as only she could. And Rupert -

He sat up, gaping. What the hell? That was Rupert?

All traces of the butterfly-obsessed buffoon had vanished. His lank fair hair had lost its tarnish, was neatly trimmed and shining. His faded eyes were bright and sharply focused, his lips firm, not foolishly trembling. The loose-jointed shambling was gone, replaced by a taut and muscular discipline. He was dressed in severely cut black velvet, no puce or lace or butterfly dust in sight. 'Your Highness?'

Rupert crossed to the bed.'Dear Gerald. What a relief to see you on the mend. You had us worried you know. If it hadn't been for Shugat — well — ' He smiled. 'Let's give thanks for miracles, shall we?'

He stared into that new-made face. 'You look so — ' Lord, no. He couldn't say normal. '- different.'

Rupert exchanged swiftly amused glances with Melissande. 'I know. Sorry to spring it on you like this. You see — '

Melissande sighed. 'Honestly, Rupert. Don't be a goose. Gerald, he's the king now. Rupert the First. Despite appearances to the contrary, he never was a gormless twit. Turns out he was wearing camouflage as well.' A dark look at her brother suggested the matter was far from being closed for discussion. 'Camouflage?'

'Yes,' she said. 'Don't you remember? Just like me, he was hiding from Lional.'

'Of course I remember. I'm half-blind not senile.' He stared at Rupert. 'So… you knew what he was?' Rupert nodded.'For a long time now' A flicker of rage, building swiftly. 'And you kept silent?'

'It's complicated, Gerald,' said Rupert, his hands coming up. 'Please. You must — '

'Complicated?' he echoed. A terrible pain blossomed in his blind eye. 'Tell that to the children who — '

Reg cleared her throat with an ominous gurgle. 'Good morning, Reg, how lovely to see you again, thanks so much for everything you did to get those useless bureaucrats at the Department hopping!'

As he struggled to control the rage, Melissande turned. 'You? You didn't do anything! That was all me and Rupert! And Monk, a bit. You had nothing to do with it!'

Reg bridled, i beg your pardon? I'll have you know that I looked at those anal-retentive civil servants in a very meaningful way, madam! And how would you know what I did or didn't do? You were too busy impersonating a headless chook and bleating "Save Gerald!'"

Melissande gaped. 'I never did! I never once bleated! And anyway, chickens don't bleat, that's lambs, chicken cackle, just like you, and — '

'Well if I cackle, ducky, I'm not the only girl in here who does!' Reg retorted. 'So I've got you coming and going, haven't I? Hal You'll have to pull off your mismatched flannel pyjamas mighty early in the morning to get the better of me, young lady!'

Monk grabbed Reg from his shoulder and plopped her onto the bed. 'For ether's sake, she's your bird, Gerald! Take her, would you? She's driving me crazy. And anyway…' He pulled a face, i have to go.'

'You can't!' he protested. 'You haven't told me what happened…'

Monk shrugged. 'Sorry. Duty calls. Regil fill you in, she's dying to do it. Anyway, it's your own fault, Gerald, snoring in bed instead of entertaining your guests.'

He knew his friend very well; beneath the disrespectful humour lurked trepidation. 'What duty? Monk, what's going on?'

Another shrug and a sheepish smile. 'Seems I've got an interview with the Department's Thaumaturgical Ethics Committee. I suspect they want to rap my knuckles over the portable portal… and a few other things.'

Gerald threw his blankets aside. 'Then I'm coming with you. Blimey, are they stupid? Don't they realise — '

Monk and Rupert bundled him back into bed. Humiliatingly, he couldn't stop them. His body was weak, his muscles petulant and protesting. 'Back off. Let me up! I'm — '

'Staying put,' Rupert said sharply, but with a smile. 'Aside from sore knuckles, Mister Markham will be fine.'

'Fine? Rupert, you're clueless! You don't know what that damned Department's like! They'll skin him alive and charge him for the labour! They'll — '

'Gerald, it's all right,' Monk said. 'Honest. My Department bosses do have a point.' He glanced at Rupert. 'His Majesty's put in a good word for me. I'll survive.'

He had to lie down again. Falling against his pillows he said, his voice unsteady, 'But your career's cactus because you helped me.'

'Not cactus,' said Monk. 'Compost, maybe.' Another sharkish grin. 'You can grow good stuff with compost, I'm told.'

He had to smile. Typical Markham: lemonade from lemons, every bloody time. 'Even so…'

Melissande patted his shoulder. 'Don't worry, Gerald. I'm going with him.' She flicked a gaze at her brother, i'm still the prime minister around here, for a few more days anyway, and I'll make sure those Department idiots remember what Rupert said. Or else.'

Rupert considered her. 'Melissande… it's a lovely gesture and I'm sure Markham appreciates it immensely, but as much as I love you I couldn't in all conscience call you diplo-'

'Oh, please]' she retorted. 'You're calling my judgement into question? The man who let himself get bitten by vampire butterflies when it said quite clearly on the box Do Not Open In The Presence Of Light? Spare me, I beg you!'

As the king and his sister bickered, Gerald looked at Monk. 'Are you sure you want her defending you? She can be a bit… overwhelming.'

Monk pulled a face. 'Right now I'll take all the help I can get. Besides. You should've seen her talking to Attaby and my Uncle Ralph. She nearly threw their teacups at them. She was magnificent.'