Star of the Morning Read Online Free Page A

still working on that,” Miach said. And he would be, no doubt, for quite some time to come.
    Adhémar scowled, then looked back at the rest of his brothers. “It isn’t permanent,” he said confidently. “So, until I regain my magic, I’m sure our clever brother over there has a solution to our problems.” He looked at Miach expectantly.
    Miach didn’t want to look as if he was gearing up for battle, so he tried a pleasant smile. “I do,” he said pleasantly. “I suggest the Sword of Angesand.”
    â€œThe Sword of Angesand,” Adhémar mouthed. He choked, looked about in vain for something to drink, then pounded himself upon his chest in desperation. Cathar handed him his own cup of ale. He drank deeply. “The what?” he wheezed.
    â€œYou heard me.”
    â€œYou cannot be serious!”
    â€œWhy not?” Miach asked.
    â€œBecause it is a woman’s sword!” Adhémar exclaimed. “You can not expect me to carry a woman’s sword!”
    Miach suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “It isn’t a woman’s sword. It was merely fashioned by a woman—”
    â€œIt has flowers all over it!”
    â€œThink on them as nightshade, dealing a slow and painful death to those upon whom the sword falls,” Miach said. “Many men have carried that sword in battle and been victorious with it, flowers aside.” He paused. “Have you ever held it?”
    Adhémar scowled at him. “I have and nay, it does not call my name. Fortunately,” he muttered, “because I wouldn’t carry it even if it did.”
    â€œI don’t expect you to carry it,” Miach said. “I expect you to find someone else to carry it.”
    Adhémar gaped at him. Miach noted that the rest of his brothers were wearing similar expressions. Except Rigaud, of course, who was calculatingly eyeing the throne.
    â€œWhat kind of someone?” Cathar asked cautiously.
    â€œI imagine it will need to be a mage,” Miach said slowly. “After Queen Mehar last used it, it has only been wielded by those with magic.”
    â€œWhy don’t you take it up?” Adhémar asked. “Or don’t you have the magic necessary to do so?”
    Miach looked at his brother coolly. “I daresay I do, but the sword does not call to me.”
    â€œHave you asked it?”
    â€œAdhémar, I am no longer a lad of eight summers. Even I can reach up far enough to pull the blade off the wall—which I have done a time or two while you were napping.”
    â€œI’ve seen him,” Rigaud put in helpfully. “And more than twice.”
    Miach shot Rigaud a glare before he turned back to his king. “We need a sword to replace yours until we can determine what ails you.”
    Adhémar grunted. “Very well, I can see the sense in it. Where will you go to find this mage?”
    Miach considered. He couldn’t leave Adhémar guarding the borders without his magic. There were times he suspected it was dangerous to leave Adhémar in charge with his magic. But telling him as much was out of the question. This would require diplomacy, tact, and very probably a great deal of unwarranted flattery. Miach cleared his throat and frowned, pretending to give the matter much thought.
    â€œI suppose I could go,” he began, “but I have no way of recognizing who the man will be.” That wasn’t exactly true, but there was no point in telling Adhémar that either. “Unlike you, my liege.”
    â€œBloody hell, Miach, I can’t call enough magelight to keep myself from tripping down the stairs! You go find him.”
    â€œBut no one else sees as clearly as you do,” Miach said smoothly. “And it will take a special sort of vision, an eye that discerns far above what most mortal men can see, a sense of judgment that only a man of superior wit and wisdom possesses.” He paused