Serpent's Bane (Snakesblood Saga Book 3)
Page 13
“What makes you think I don't?” He offered his hand. She pursed her lips and leered down at it. “For a dance,” he clarified.
Sera's brows lifted and the corners of her mouth twitched upward. “And he dances, too! Did Councilor Parthanus teach you that during your language lessons?” She laid her fingers in his grasp and he pulled her toward the sound of the orchestra.
“I doubt he would have made a very good partner. We'd never be able to decide who should lead.” He helped her place her hands and joined those on the floor in a familiar waltz. She stumbled over the steps and he tried not to laugh. “Though perhaps you should ask him for a lesson.”
Her nose crinkled and she stomped at his foot, narrowly missing his clawed toes.
“Hey!” He gripped her shoulders and held her at arm's length. “I was only teasing. Do you want to learn or not?”
“I can dance. I just don't know this one. It's popular in Aldaan, but...” She hesitated. “You think you can teach me?”
Instead of replying, Rune nudged her feet into place with his toes and positioned her hands again before he swept her across the floor.
It was a strange experience to revisit. The memories of the last time he'd danced flooded back as they moved faster, the spinning crowds a blur and Sera's laughter a dim ring in his ears. He recognized the music, a ballad he'd heard before. One they'd played at the solstice, though not the one he'd danced to. He squeezed his eyes closed and pulled her closer. Her hand in his felt almost the same, the rasp of his scales against the silk of her dress just as he remembered, and when he opened his eyes, for just a moment, he saw a flash of amber eyes and ebony hair in Sera's place.
He let go, stepping back and breathing deep, blinking to right his vision and scatter the unwelcome visions. Sera stumbled, laughing so hard she pressed a hand to her stomach and still looked as if she might topple over.
“What are you two doing?”
Rune was relieved to hear Garam, though he took a step back as the man joined them. “Teaching your sister to dance.”
The captain looked between the two of them before he took Sera's arm to keep her from falling. “He dances? No, never mind. Of course he does. I'm starting to think he belongs in the palace as much as we do.”
“Of course he does.” Sera wiped her eyes and gathered her composure. “Don't forget he was invited, too.”
“I didn't forget.” Garam's lips pressed to a thin line. “That's why I came looking for him. The king wishes to speak to him.”
Rune stared at him, unsure he'd understood, though the captain's face showed he must have. What reason would the king have to speak to him? A member of the guard, a former prisoner? The arena flashed through his mind and he grimaced at the recollection of his last opponent.
“My thoughts exactly,” Garam said with a grimace of his own. “Come on. It's best we don't keep him waiting.”
Even had Garam not known where to go, it wouldn't have been hard to find the king. The nobles offered him a wide berth, which Rune could only assume was so none of them could be accused of eavesdropping on whatever conversations the king held. The man didn't seem to notice the empty space around him. He stood with a woman on his arm, the two of them talking and laughing with a pair of men who were as forgettable as the man Rune had spoken to before. Fironan, Sera called him? Finoran? He shook his head and adjusted his borrowed clothing as Garam led him forward.
The king looked just as Rune expected, based on his knowledge of kings and his encounter with the man's son. Fit and youthful in build, if not the rest of his appearance. His blond hair sported gray wings at his temples and fine lines decorated the skin around his eyes and mouth. The king was not quite as tall as Rune or Garam, but stood straight and proud, and the crown he wore resembled mountain peaks.
He turned to greet them with a pleasant expression, though his eyes were hard and impassive, guarding whatever impression he actually had. The woman at his side gave away little more, her dark eyes untouched by her smile as she studied them. She looked familiar, her gentle face and the silver wings in her auburn hair lending her a matronly look, but Rune couldn’t place her.
“Ah, the champion of the arena! I can't say we've ever had one of those before.” The king waved the other men away. They reminded Rune of rats, the way they hunched and scurried off at their dismissal, both of them leering over their shoulders.
“Sire,” Garam said as he bowed in greeting. “Lady Bryndis.”
Rune only inclined his head. “King Vicamros, ruler of the three provinces and the Royal City. I could have recognized you without the crown, your son looks so much like you.”
The king's expression remained unchanged, though Bryndis’s smile faded.
Garam coughed.
“He does,” Vicamros agreed. His eyes narrowed at the corners with the faintest of smiles. “He's a good lad, clever and strong. He's had a great deal of training with a sword, but things are different in a match where the outcome is death. It would seem I'm fortunate to still have the boy, given the way your match ended.” The steel glint never left his blue eyes. “I find it unlikely you knew who he was. Tell me, what stayed your hand?”
Rune lowered his eyes and clasped his hands behind his back. “Had I known later matches would require me to fight children, I'd have thrown a fight much sooner.”
“He is the prince. He knew the consequences of his actions long before he set foot in the arena,” Bryndis said.
Garam shifted forward, but paused when Sera laid a hand on his arm.
“He is a boy,” Rune said, surprising himself with the patience and evenness in his voice. “Too young to understand the consequences, too young to realize he isn't invincible. It wasn't so long ago that I was in the same position. I understand now how fortunate I was to live.”
The king chuckled. “And fortunate to live yet, it seems. My son's pride is bruised and he'll endure some teasing for having lost and been spared, I'm sure, but it is better to be teased and alive than foolish and dead. I was not present for his match, and had I been there and aware it was to happen, it wouldn't have taken place at all.”
“I'd heard rumors the councilors were displeased that Rune was pulled from the arena. It was suggested he be executed for shaming the crown prince, seeing how he was only an inmate.” Sera held tight to Garam as she spoke, though her pale eyes flicked in Rune's direction. “I take it you don't feel the same?”
Vicamros rubbed his brows with a thumb and sighed. “The councilors brought that shame down on him. I've already spoken to them about indulging his fancies. I don't share their opinion, no.” He spread his hands in an earnest gesture as his gaze slid back to Rune. “I thank you for having mercy on the lad.”
“Mercy would have been sparing him from his father's anger,” Rune said, allowing himself a smile when he saw the curve of the king's lips. “I'm sure I have done the boy no services.”
“No, none for the boy.” Vicamros laughed, though his mirth faded quickly as he scanned the room. “Just for me. And not the last service there is to ask, it seems. If you're one of Captain Kaith's men now, you'll be doing me a great service in only a handful of days. I suppose there's no more sense in waiting to announce things.”
Rune's smile died on his lips. Ominous words, made more ominous by the way the king cleared his throat and gestured for attention.
“His majesty speaks!” Garam shouted, bringing the room to silence. Nobles and servants alike turned to face their ruler. The music ended with a few strident notes. Sera pulled Garam back and Rune followed without being told, leaving a wide space around the king again. Even Bryndis stepped away, her face solemn.
“My friends,” Vicamros started, his strong voice reverberating in the hall. “I am grateful to all who were able to attend on such short notice. It is my hope that this evening has served as a pleasant event for you to remember. I fear for some of you, it may be your last visit to the Spiral Palace.”
Rune took another step back. He skimmed the fa
ces of people around him as they shifted from merry to concerned. His mind went to Redoram, to the lessons on the country and its people, to his conversation with Sera just that afternoon about the conflict in the city. He saw Garam straighten as if to brace for bad news, saw Sera take his hand into hers. This was a speech they'd heard before, new only to him. A great service, the king said. Rune cursed.
“Early this afternoon, I received word from the province of Lore. The Grand College has announced its intention to rebel against the Triad. The college moves an army of mages toward Aldaan's border even now.” Vicamros let his gaze drift over the countless people in the ballroom, though his eyes lingered nowhere. The crowd was a sea of solemn and fearful faces. “With the barriers in place to prevent use of magic, the Royal City itself cannot be harmed by their efforts. Our army will move to defend Aldaan against the mages and bring the college in Lore under control. The best men of the guard will be joining them. Between their numbers, I fear that accounts for a good many of you, and many more of your children.”
An unpleasant murmur rolled through the room. “When are we to move?” someone asked from nearby.
The king seemed unruffled. “Our forces will begin to mobilize first thing in the morning. We cannot afford to wait any longer than that. Further orders will be given shortly, as I am about to meet with my council to determine which units are to be stationed where. Please, enjoy the feast and the festivities for tonight. Tomorrow, we are at war.”
The words made Rune's stomach drop, and he cursed again.
10
Ties that bind
Eyrion Tolmarni prided himself on the discipline instilled in his students.
They were not his pupils directly; he really had little to do with their education at all, but considering he had hand-selected every professor still practicing in the Grand College of Lore, it was hard to think of them as anything else. They were trained by teachers of his choosing, raised through the ranks of color by the council, and put in Master white by his own hand.
Knowing this woman had worn white without being raised to it by himself or his predecessor bothered him.
Eryrion never lost his composure, though he raised his chin an inch and squared his shoulders as he moved down the hallway to his private quarters. It was bad enough she'd come to his college dressed in the color reserved for Master mages, worse that she'd brought two others with her. But that he had recognized her—a fact he’d hidden from the rest of the council, pretending not to—was what bothered him most.
He didn't doubt there were factions of mages he didn't know about, groups scattered across the globe that had likely existed for just as long as the Grand College. He'd encountered one or two in his time, but they had their own methods for teaching and sorted their ranks according to their own practices, befitting their own societies. But this woman, with her hair and eyes bleached like his own, claimed the title of Archmage.
The very notion made Eyrion seethe. He was Archmage. Headmaster of the Grand College of Lore, leader of all mages beneath the rule of King Vicamros and beyond. And this woman, standing in the hallway in front of the door to his quarters, was a problem.
Envesi faced him when he approached and dipped in a curtsy he knew was insincere. She wore the rough-spun clothing of a laundry maid, but she carried herself no differently than she had when she'd arrived. “Headmaster Tolmarni.”
“I have no laundry for you to collect this evening.” He tried to ignore her, turning to his door as he drew a ring of keys from his robes. “I will send a mageling with it when I do.”
“Forgive me, headmaster, but I am not here to collect laundry.” There was an edge in her voice, like honed ice. “I have been hoping to speak with you, but it seems the past several days have kept us both busy. With the college mages preparing for the impending war, I thought we should speak of what you are moving against.”
Eyrion couldn't keep from pursing his lips. “I am Archmage of Lore and leader of the Grand College. I know perfectly well what we move against without a laundry maid to tell me.” He stepped into his quarters and was startled when she slipped in after him and positioned herself just inside the door. Annoyance twisted to anger, and he turned with admonishment ready on his tongue.
“Really, Eyrion,” she said before he could deliver it. “Do you mean to send your people to war without first releasing their power?”
Though her presumptuousness made him bristle, her words gave him pause. He didn’t even notice that she’d addressed him by name. Releasing their power? “What under Brant's shaking branches does that mean?”
The corners of her lips quirked upward, a look of amusement drawn on her face. “So there are no free mages in your employ? Curious. With how advanced the college claims to be these days, I'd have thought you would have unbound your Masters by now.”
His eyes narrowed. He was not the only one who knew of her failed experiments, the convolutions and corruption of magic she'd spun on the remote island where she made herself Archmage. The council had not been pleased with his choice to allow her to remain in the college with her companions, but what other choices were there? Bylaws older than the college itself forbade the severance of power, and it was better to keep mages of questionable intent where they could be watched. Envesi's attempts to create a free mage had been the talk of the council for weeks—all the more reason for him to pretend they’d never met. But the concept of unbinding existing magic had never come up. A hint of curiosity pricked at the back of his mind.
She moved farther into his quarters and studied the fine furnishings with an unreadable expression. “The power of a single free mage could flatten an army, if they know how to wield it. How do you plan to keep your army safe?”
Eyrion did not reply right away. Instead, he studied her, his expression unchanging. It was no concern of hers, and yet he found himself drawn to answer, to see what other information might spill free if he humored her. “Even free mages can be barred from touching energy sources. My mages are trained well. If they are fast enough, they can place a barrier between any enemy and the flows.”
“So you mean to take them by surprise?”
“Surprise may not be necessary.” He closed the door and sealed them in privacy. His rooms were always warded against spying eyes and ears, but he found himself probing for the wards nonetheless. “Aldaan's numbers pale in comparison to ours. College-trained mages might even outnumber them one hundred to one.” Whether or not that many college-trained mages would answer his call to arms, however, was yet to be seen. Mages had been trickling in for days, forming new companies to join those already on the move. Eyrion had sent mages not only toward Aldaan, but toward Roberian and the Royal City, as well. The latter were not meant as an attack force, but a defense against possible Aldaanan retaliation. Then there were major outposts to be guarded in Lore itself, and the college, which could not be left untended. Even with war brewing, life went on as usual within the college, classes and council meetings held like clockwork.
Then again, there was a laundry maid in his room, speaking to him of issues the council had raised as part of their protest at least a dozen times. A laundry maid who claimed she had been an Archmage, he reminded himself. A laundry maid who had once been his rival for position of headmaster. Perhaps things were not going on as usual.
“And even with a hundred mages to their one, if they fail to cut the Aldaanan mages off from the flows before they can take hold, they'll be smashed like ants beneath a free mage's foot.” Envesi moved in a regal way, every bit a woman who was used to having power that came from rank, not magecraft. She did not seat herself, but she did stop before the low couches in the sitting room at the front of his suite, as if she expected a long conversation to come. “That's why I've come to speak to you, Eyrion.”
The hair on the back of his neck stood, and he set his jaw. “The council knows of your practices. This isn't your secluded island, where you can expect to indulge in the same perversions of magic.”
Eyrion didn't recall crossing the room, but he found himself sinking into the cushions of a couch. He stared at her in disbelief. “Such a suggestion is madness. If there were a way to unbind affinities, surely one of the college mages would have discovered it by now.”
“Oh, but one has.” She seated herself across from him and clasped her hands in her lap. “My uncle began the research. I had hoped to assist him with it when I studied here, before my family offered me in marriage. I believe it is entirely possible to unravel the bindings and free our own magic and I believe I know the way, but there is a small problem to overcome, first.”
A problem, a price. He should have expected as much. “What manner of problem?”
“The council heard of Lomithrandel's creation, but they were not told the whole truth of what he was. He was a monster, you see,” Envesi said, as nonchalantly as if stating the weather. “Releasing the bindings of his power resulted in physical corruption, some sort of taint. It gave him a form that was part man and part beast.”
Eyrion shuddered. “And unbinding my own magic would have the same result?”
She nodded. “Which is why we are speaking now. I am certain I can find a way to stave off the damage, but like anything else, it requires practice.”
The pieces began to fit together in his head. There was an inflection in her words, a note he didn't like. But the notion of free magic—all the power of the world's energy at his fingertips—was tantalizing. He turned that thought over in his head, considered what it could mean. Eyrion Tolmarni, the first Archmage to practice free magic. He leaned back into the cushions and steepled his fingers together. “Go on.”