But if his spine had made a noise like that, he wouldn't have been able to move. Kellen got to his knees, pulling the object out from beneath him.
A bird's nest. A big one, the size of a soup plate, woven of sticks, and full of… junk?
'A jackdaw's nest,' Kellen said aloud, identifying the item. 'I must have knocked it free when I fell.'
Jackdaws were notorious thieves, attracted to anything that was colorful or shiny. Curious, he began to pick through the jackdaw's trove.
Bits of tinsel and glass. Faded hair ribbons. Pieces of painted tin, relics of the last Festival day. Among the junk, a real treasure—a gold and emerald chain.
'That belongs to Mistress!' the little girl gasped, staring at it. 'She was looking everywhere for it!'
'Here,' Kellen said, tucking it into a pocket in the girl's smock. 'Tell her you found it somewhere. Urn—tell her that you saw the jackdaw carrying it off and you threw stones at the nest until it came down. That will explain this mess, and it should save you and Milady from a few whippings in the future.'
There was one more thing at the bottom of the nest: a key.
Kellen's key.
When he held it in his hand, .all his unease at the Wild Magic and the geas its spell had cast upon him came rushing back. 'All magic has a price,' it had said in The Book of Sun. Kellen had thought his blood was the price of the magick, but he'd been wrong. That was only the price of the spell. Rescuing the kitten had been the price for finding the key, because if he hadn't rescued the kitten, he'd never have found the key.
But I chose to rescue the kitten, didn't I? Kellen wondered uneasily. Magick didn't make me do it.
He'd thought the Wild Magic was just like the High Magick, just with fewer rules: you did the spell and you got the result. But it wasn't. The spell had only brought him here. If he hadn't cared about the girl and her kitten, he'd never have found the key. It was what was in him, what he was, that made the magick work the way it did—as if, when he looked into the Books of the Wild Magic, somehow the Wild Magic was also looking into him, and judging him.
I Don't like this, Kellen thought apprehensively. What if I weren't me? How would the magick work then?
He got to his feet, putting the key into his pocket.
'I've got to go now,' he said, feeling uncomfortable. 'Could you show me where the garden door is?'
He hated to involve the girl in any more trouble, but the way he was feeling right now, another climb over the wall was the last thing he could manage.
'It's right over here. No one will see you. And… thank you, goodsir.'
'Thank you, gentle miss. I learned a lot here today,' Kellen said honestly. More than I wanted to learn, if the truth be told.
She led him across the garden—Kellen limping along behind her— and when the door had closed behind him, he wasn't really surprised to see he was in an alley he recognized, only a few turnings from home.
IT was full dark—first Night Bells had rung—by the time Kellen reached his own garden door once more, for he had been moving rather slowly as he'd left that garden gate. He was lucky not to have any broken bones or bad sprains from his fall, but by tomorrow morning he'd have a rainbow of bruises, and he felt stiff all over. He was thinking longingly of sneaking down to the laundry for a long soak in one of the spell-heated washtubs as he crossed the garden—there'd be nobody there at this time of night, and the water in the washing vats was always hot—and he wished he could soak out the memory of the Wild Magic as easily as he could soak out the stiffness of his bruises.
Why did it work the way it did? How could it work the way it did? If it worked like this for a simple Finding Spell, what would happen if he dared to cast one of the greater spells described in the Books? What sort of price might the Wild Magic ask then?
Kellen was so engrossed in his own thoughts on his way to his room to pick up fresh clothes for after his bath that he failed to see his father on the stairs leading to his suite. And unfortunately, Lycaelon saw him. Apparently Lycaelon had gotten home early for once—and had been looking for him.
'Kellen!'
Kellen froze where he was, stunned. It had never occurred to him that he'd run into his father now—Lycaelon was rarely home before midnight, and sometimes not before dawn, if he was participating in a Greater Working, not just a Council session. Kellen wished suddenly that he was a Mage out of the wondertales—one who could stop time, turn himself invisible, or simply teleport himself away with no more than a thought. But Mages like that only
