Small Magics Read Online Free

He’s not been himself since the start of the May festival.” She shook her head, sending the tired away and bringing the smile back to her face with the motion. “The sight of you should set him right,” she said. “Though he won’t like that sword at all.”
    Thomas smiled. “Now, that , I knew.”
    “Get on with you,” said Madeleine, giving him a light slap on the back of the head, then ruffling his hair with her hand. “And mind you don’t disturb the guests.”
    Thomas caught her hand, bowed deeply and kissed it. She waved him off, laughing, and gave him another hug. “Now get going!” she said, picking up her basket. “And be ready to tell all when I get back!”
    She headed down the path to the gate. Neal gave Thomas another slap on the back, then followed their mother. Thomas turned to go inside but was stopped by Brian’s hand on his shoulder. “Your father suggested that it would be better for you to use the side door in your present condition,” said Brian. “I believe he is worried your appearance might cause some disturbance among the guests.”
    Thomas had a sudden image of a dozen or so merchants thinking they had been set on by bandits. He laughed. “He may be right.”
    Thomas gave a wave to his mother and brother and another up to his father, then headed to the side of the house. Brian opened the servant’s door and led him up the narrow back stairs and into the hallway on the second floor. The changes in the place were remarkable. When he had left, the floor had still been plain, darkly-stained wood and the plaster on the walls was beginning to yellow with age. Now a thick carpet ran the length of the hall, the walls were smooth and gleaming white, and even the spots behind the candle sconces were clean of dirt or soot. The wood of the doors was newly-oiled and shone. The handles were brightly polished brass.
    Thomas, used to the dust of libraries and the dirt of the city, found himself suddenly uncomfortable in his own home. He wished he’d had time to bathe and change into the clean clothes he had in his bag, but it was too late. They were already before his father’s study.
    Brian knocked firmly on the door, and John Flarety’s deep voice called for Thomas to enter. Brian pushed the door open and stepped aside. Thomas started to go in, but found his feet had stuck themselves to the floor of their own accord.
    Nervous, thought Thomas. Of all the silly things.
    “Your father is waiting,” Brian reminded him, his voice gentle. Thomas guessed his nervousness was showing on his face and felt heartily embarrassed. Brian bowed once more. “Welcome home, Master Thomas. It is good to see you again.”
    “Thank you, Brian,” said Thomas. He straightened himself up, hitched his bag to a more comfortable place on his shoulder, and stepped through the door.
    His father was glaring out the window when Thomas came in. At least, Thomas assumed that he was glaring because the expression on his face was too annoyed to be used for much else. John Flarety was a tall, broad man who had passed his shape onto his eldest son rather than his youngest. Thomas waited a long moment, then said, “Hello, Father.”
    John turned his glare from the window and onto his son, taking in the scuffed and worn boots, the tattered clothes, and the rapier. John’s eyes lingered on the sword for a good length of time before returning to his son’s face.
    “So,” said someone from the corner, “this is your youngest son.”
    Thomas jumped in surprise and spun. He had not even noticed the two men standing beside the door when he’d come in. The first was both taller and heavier than Thomas’s father, and wore his size with an air of authority that made him a very imposing figure. He was dressed in the green robes of a high-ranking priest of the High Father. The man behind him was pale and blond and dressed in black from head to foot. A rapier hung at his side, and Thomas’s eyes went to it of their own