Anais and the Broken War (The Blood Mage Chronicles Book 5) by Jamie Wilson

though. The men are with you if you change your mind.”
    Gorman didn’t quite smile as his companion shifted away back to the front room.
    “What did he mean by that?” I asked.
    Gorman sighed. “Fynn said you went back to the Great House. I take it you know about my demotion.”
    After taking the empty seat, I nodded and touched his arm. “Cedric told me. I am sorry for it. There has to be something you can do.”
    A woman in a thin gray dress approached our table, interrupting us.
    “Would you like a drink, sister?” she asked. She touched the shoulder of my dress, pinching the material in her fingers.
    I flinched, not expecting the intrusion.
    “Are you really a sister? We were wondering if the dress was a costume. But it feels real to me.”
    “Yes, I am a sister and I would appreciate a cider if it wouldn’t be an inconvenience.”
    “As you wish,” she said with a curtsy.
    After she was out of earshot, I turned back to Gorman.
    “Perhaps you should have worn a different outfit,” he said.
    “Apparently.”
    “Fynn told me that you were able to bury the furies. He made it sound like quite an impressive feat.”
    Slowly I nodded. “I couldn’t control it, though. The magic ran through me and took over.”
    “But it worked. At least it gives us a real weapon. Next time…”
    “Gorman, there shouldn’t be a next time. While I was in that tree, I came too close to killing Fynn and myself.”
    “Well, perhaps it won’t come to that, but it’s better than having no magic at all.”
    I frowned. Although Gorman had a head for strategy, I did not want him to depend on my erratic abilities as he made his plans.
    “They should not have taken away your position, Gorman. I don’t like Carenhail. You ought to lead the war effort. Not him.”
    Gorman sighed. “The fat man thinks it’s best to let him take the reins. It doesn’t matter what I think.”
    “But Carenhail hates the skins. He sent us to our deaths while we were in the field, and for nothing. There was naught to gain from ordering us deep into the territory of the furies. He did it only out of spite. Why would the fat man support him?”
    “The fat man wants to win and doesn’t care how it happens.” Gorman ran a hand through his closely cropped hair. “Look, I’m not starting a revolution, Anais. We are barely holding the city. This is the way things are going to be.”
    “What do you mean by that?”
    “You should come with me and see the southern gate. We have crossbowmen lining the walls, and they’ve been busy.”
    “Since when? Why didn’t I know?”
    “It only started yesterday.”
    A tankard of ale descended onto the table with a thud and a splash, and Fynn slipped into a seat next to me. “Are you upsetting poor Anais with unpleasant talk?”
    “I’m telling her the truth.”
    “Personally, I would prefer not to know the truth. That’s why I’m drinking. To forget.”
    The girl in the gray dress returned to the table. While she set a mug of cider in front of me, she smiled widely at Fynn. He squeezed her arm and winked at her in return.
    I rolled my eyes at the blatant innuendo and wondered if we would be subjected to their flirting all night. She didn’t linger, though. Perhaps she had other customers in sore need of her attention.
    “Were you successful, Fynn?” Gorman asked.
    “I thought you didn’t care? I thought you had come to terms with our fate.”
    Gorman shrugged. “I am at peace with it. But, I’m still curious.”
    Fynn grimaced. “Horace wouldn’t help me. Either he doesn’t have a drug that will knock me into oblivion for a few weeks or the fat man read my intentions and ordered him not to help me. I can’t tell.”
    “Why would you want a drug to make you unconscious?” I asked. “That type of thing is dangerous.”
    Fynn looked at Gorman. “You haven’t told her yet. Have you?”
    “I’m getting there.” Gorman sighed. “The fat man is going to order the skins to leave the city