by Beth Alvarez
Envesi smiled coldly and in spite of himself, the expression gave him a thrill.
Kytenia leaped to her feet as the door opened, her heart in her throat. Master Edagan slipped out of the Archmage's private quarters and closed the door, her face stern as etched stone. She expected the Master to say something. When she didn't, Kytenia cleared her throat. “The Archmage, is he...?”
“A stroke,” Edagan said with a stiff incline of her head. “He is fortunate you brought his meal when you did.”
Kytenia exhaled and her shoulders sagged, the tremble finally gone from her hands. She'd thought him lost when she discovered him on the floor, unable to rise or speak. There was little magic could do to prevent the issues that came with old age and while a stroke was not entirely unexpected, the fact it had happened was still troubling.
“He's weaker now, his words a bit muddled. He will need time to rest, but I expect he will recover. I've done what I can, but it may be wise for you to remain by his side for the night,” Edagan said. She was stronger in healing than Anaide, perhaps the strongest Master left in the temple after Nondar. If she thought Nondar needed supervision, Kytenia would not disobey.
“Yes, Master. Thank you.” Kytenia bowed her head, touching fingers to her heart in a gesture of sincerity. What would have happened if she'd been late to return from dinner? The thought sent a shudder rolling up her spine.
Edagan sniffed and gave a slight nod as she brushed past and left Kytenia alone. She had always been a woman of few words—or, few words for magelings, Kytenia thought with a wry smile. From what she understood, the Masters all talked Firal's ear off.
Kytenia dashed that thought as soon as it arrived. Thinking about Firal always led to thoughts of Vahnil, and even a year later, those thoughts made her heart wrench. Instead she smoothed her hair and her robes and bolstered her courage before she stepped into the Archmage's rooms.
The temple's central tower was not large enough to offer a luxurious suite, but the modesty of the furnishings inside surprised her. The simple wooden furniture was not all that different from what the magelings were given. A pair of padded benches stood in the near corner with a low table set before them. Full bookshelves were nestled in the corner opposite. A small bowl of fruit and a pair of pitchers stood on a table ringed by three chairs, and a canvas folding screen painted with lilies hid the last corner of the room. Kytenia closed the door behind her and crept forward to peer past the screen, to the bed where Nondar lay.
He rested with his eyes closed. Her heart hammered until she saw the slight rise and fall of his chest. With his pallid expression and his hands folded on his chest, the Archmage looked older and more frail than ever before. She stared at him until one of his bushy white brows lifted and one blue eye opened to look at her.
Kytenia gulped and tucked her chin to her chest. “I apologize, Archmage. I didn't mean to stare. I didn't want to disturb you if you were asleep.”
“No,” Nondar replied with some difficulty. He worked for a moment before he could say anything else. “Rather tired, but not asleep.” He stirred—not much, but enough to move semi-upright against the pillows and open his other eye. He'd regained a great deal of mobility and muscle control in the hours Edagan had spent with him, but one side of his face still sagged, making his frown seem even more unpleasant than usual.
“Master Edagan said I should sit with you tonight.” Kytenia put her hands behind her back, unable to keep from fidgeting. He hadn't known her when she found him in his office. She'd almost feared he wouldn't remember her at all.
Nondar snorted, curling his upper lip in disgust. Half of his upper lip, at least. “Edagan can kiss a goat. A night's rest and I'll be back to work, right as rain.” His words slurred softly, and her brow furrowed as she listened to him. He didn't give her time to dwell on it. “Bring me a drink, girl. My mouth is dry.”
Kytenia hurried to the table and looked into the silver pitchers. There was wine punch and water, as well as something that smelled like cider. She filled a cup halfway with water and took it to the Archmage's bedside.
His grasp was weak, but Nondar took it and lifted the cup to his lips for a long draught. “Ah, better. Fetch a pen and paper, will you?”
“I don't think you're in any condition to be writing, Archmage.”
Again, he snorted. “Archmages don't write. Their apprentices do. Now hurry and fetch it, you've a... a... well, a message to write.”
She bit her lip. “A dictation to take?” Her eyes searched the room again before she decided to check the shelves. They looked much like Nondar's office always had, stuffed full of books and scrolls and messily stacked papers.
“That's what I said,” Nondar snapped.
Kytenia cringed as she hunted through the shelves to find a blank sheet. Then she fished a pen from a jar and found a mostly-full bottle of ink. Beneath another mess of paper, an ink-stained board lay half hidden. She wiggled it free and carried her supplies to the old mage's bedside. “Who am I writing to, Master?”
He stared at the paper in her hands for a long while. Eventually, his eyes lifted to her face as his brow knit. “You know, child, I've forgotten.”
Kytenia lowered her pen. What relief she'd felt after speaking with Edagan faded, replaced with concern for more than just the old Master's health. She couldn't help but wonder what had been important enough to warrant a message sent from his bedside. That he'd forgotten so easily was worrisome. A side effect of a stroke, she knew, but the knowledge only made things worse. With his body so frail, how was he to control the energy flows well enough to wield magic? If his memory was failing, how was he to sit through meetings with the other Masters? How was he to lead the temple? He couldn't even speak clearly.
A knock at the door jarred the thoughts from her head and both she and Nondar turned toward it. There was just enough of a pause to be courteous before the door creaked open and someone stepped inside. Kytenia raised a brow when her sister rounded the privacy screen, her arms laden with pillows and blankets.
Shymin froze in place, clearly not having expected Nondar to be awake. She shuffled from foot to foot for a moment before she hefted the bedding in her arms. “Master Edagan told me to bring these up, Archmage. I apologize for interrupting. She said Kytenia would need them.”
Nondar leaned back into the pillows, grumbling beneath his breath. “I am a grown man, I have no need of a mageling for a babysitter.”
Shymin blinked, startled by his slurring speech. She shot a wary glance to Kytenia, who shook her head.
“I’m not your babysitter, I'm your apprentice.” Kytenia put the writing supplies aside and stood to take the bedding from her sister's arms. “It's perfectly normal for an apprentice to stay close at hand, just in case their Master has need of something.”
Shymin's eyebrows lifted with unspoken questions. Kytenia ignored them.
“And if I have need of something, I shall call for you then,” Nondar protested, but Kytenia piled the blankets and pillows onto one of the couches anyway.
“Archmage, may I borrow Kytenia for a moment?” Shymin asked.
He waved one knobby hand. “Go ahead. Perhaps I'll recall what that message was about while it's quiet enough to think.”
Shymin curtsied and gave Kytenia a shadowed look as she started for the door. With a grimace, Kytenia followed her into the hall. The door of Nondar's quarters was no more than closed behind them before Shymin wheeled on her.
“Apprentice to the Archmage?” Shymin all but cried. “When did this happen? Why didn't you tell me?”
Kytenia made a hushing motion with both hands. “Just this afternoon. I wasn't keeping it from you. I meant to tell you tonight, but that was before he...” she trailed off. She didn't know if the other Masters would mention Nondar's condition to anyone else, now that she thought of it. There were plenty of reasons to keep it quiet, and she was sure they wouldn't appreciate her informing the whole Temple. “Before he fell,” she finished. “He's supposed to have
his cane with him all the time, but he leaves it hanging on his desk. He's to rest for a few days while the other Masters make sure he's fit to be up and about. You know how careful you have to be when healing the elderly. It's so easy to exhaust them.”
Shymin eyed her suspiciously, but to her relief, she didn't press the matter. “So what do you suppose he means by making you his apprentice?”
“I don't think he means anything by it.” Kytenia flushed in spite of herself. “I think I was just fortunate enough to be the mageling closest at hand when he decided he needed one.”
“Aren't apprentices normally schooled for the purpose of—”
“I'm still a mageling, Shymin,” Kytenia interrupted. “And in green, no less. I know his former position still hasn't been filled, but only Masters are qualified. Besides, he's the Archmage now, not Master of healing. Archmages can have whatever sort of assistant they need.”
Shymin frowned, but nodded. “Well, all right. Though I still think it's strange. I suppose this means you'll be staying here for a few nights?”
Kytenia nodded back. “At least until Edagan is certain he doesn't have any more fractured bones. I'll still be attending classes, though, so I'll be down to our room first thing in the morning to change and get my notes.”
“All right,” Shymin sighed. She tugged at the collar of her robes. “It'll be strange not to have you nearby at night, but I'll get enough breakfast for both of us and we can talk about it then. Just try not to strangle the old goat before daybreak.”
Kytenia laughed as her sister turned to leave. “I'll try. Oh, and Shymin? Please don't tell Rikka about all this. It'd be the talk of the temple before nightfall tomorrow, and I'd like to keep it secret until I know exactly what I'm in for.”
Shymin's mouth took a sour twist, but she nodded before she disappeared down the hall.
“I still don't think this is a good idea.”
Firal bit her tongue and struggled to keep from rolling her eyes as she adjusted her necklace one last time. It was a simple piece for a queen, but she preferred the pendant with its relief of Ilmenhith's seven-pointed star to the glittering jewels in which Kifel had draped her. She no longer thought of the necklace as a gift from her mother, but as a symbol of her father's legacy. It seemed a fitting choice for tonight. “You've said as much a dozen times already. It's not going to change anything, Vahn. We need to do this. In fact, we needed to do it a long time ago.” She turned from the mirror and crossed to the bed where he sat, tugging on his boots. His cape lay across the foot of the bed. She picked it up.
Vahn grimaced, but stood to let her drape it over his shoulders. “I think we're overdressed, as well.”
“I am the queen and you are my consort and king-regent. We can't possibly be overdressed. I'm sure your father will be wearing his finest as well.” She adjusted the drape of the rich purple fabric and fastened the chain at the front. “You should be grateful this is just a quiet dinner in your father's home, rather than a palatial affair.”
“That you think a dinner with my father is a quiet affair is the first indication you don't know what we're getting into,” Vahn said.
Firal slapped his shoulder. “Go make sure the carriage is ready. I'll fetch Lumia and will be along right after you.”
Vahn gave her one last disapproving look and turned to leave with a mutter beneath his breath. She paid it no mind, smoothing her hair with both hands as she made her way into the small nursery adjacent to their room. Medreal sat on the floor, fastening the tiny buttons up the back of the baby's dress. The stewardess acted as if she didn't see Firal coming, but a hint of a smile pulled the corners of her mouth.
“You don't have to pretend you didn't hear us.” Firal knelt to take the girl once Medreal was done. “The door wasn't even closed.”
“I apologize, my queen. It isn't my place,” Medreal said, an almost wistful look in her dark eyes as she watched Firal settle Lumia against her shoulder. The baby burbled happily, and the stewardess hurried to fetch a cloth to drape over the shoulder of Firal's dress. “But Vahnil is more like his father than he realizes. They're both bullheaded when it comes to their relationship. No one party is at fault for this meeting being so long overdue.”
“I know.” Firal tucked the cloth in between the infant and her shoulder. “And this meeting couldn't come at a worse time. I've so many other things to worry about. It would have been nice if I'd received more than a day's notice.”
Medreal frowned and clasped her hands in front of her apron. “May I speak as an adviser, my queen?”
“Of course, Medreal. You run the palace practically without supervision, you know your word is valuable to me.”
The old woman inclined her head. “Meeting with Lord Tanrys is of utmost importance. I don't like the man or his ego, but he is a valuable resource to you. You want him on your side, my queen, believe me.”
Firal quirked a brow and lowered her voice. “What more do you have to tell me?”
“That you're going to be late to dinner if you don't hurry along. Shoo, shoo!” Medreal waved her out of the nursery with both hands. “Shall I walk you to the door, or do you think you can find your way on your own?”
Snorting a laugh, Firal turned on her heel and swept out of the nursery. “There are some things I can still do on my own, thank you. We'll speak in the morning over tea.”
“Of course, my queen.” Medreal bowed and began to gather the baby's toys from the floor.
Firal stroked the baby's back as she made her way through the palace. The bustle castle business never changed. Young maids and servants ducked out of Firal's way with murmured apologies, while the older women among the staff always paused to peek at the baby and smile. Firal made her way down the grand, sweeping staircases in the throne room and paused to spare a glance for the dais.
By contrast, the throne room hadn't gone unchanged. Kifel's throne had become hers, but an equally ornate seat now stood beside it for Vahnil. She wasn't sure where the second throne had come from; Medreal had seen to its placement the day after the wedding. Firal couldn't help but wonder if it had been her mother's, stowed away after Envesi distanced herself from the king. She shook her head and hurried on her way. Vahn was unsettled enough as it was. She didn't want to agitate him further by making him wait.
A pair of guardsmen waited by the front doors. They bowed and she acknowledged them with a slight incline of her head as she slipped past, but to her surprise, the two of them fell in step behind her. She rarely ventured outside the palace, and though her few ventures were always accompanied by guards, she had assumed a trip to her father-in-law's house would be different. Perhaps that had been foolish. Silent, she bounced Lumia against her shoulder and made her way toward the waiting carriage.
Vahn stood beside it with his hands clasped behind his back, a half-dozen horsemen from the city guard creating a semi-circle around the back side of the coach. Firal's brows lifted, but she said nothing aside from a murmured thank-you as Vahn helped her into the carriage and slipped in after her. She allowed herself a frown as she settled on one of the velvet cushions and shifted Lumia to her lap.
“What?” Vahn asked.
A footman closed the door and the carriage swayed as he, the driver, and the two guards who had followed her from the palace climbed to their places. Her whole body swayed as the carriage jerked into motion, and she turned her head to avoid Vahn's gaze. “Just thinking on how things have changed, I suppose. It's strange to recall that when I first saw this city, I walked its streets alone.”
“Even Kifel didn't travel alone,” he murmured.
Firal glanced past the curtain in the carriage's rear window. The horsemen followed close behind. “I just think eight men is excessive, that's all. And for the record, Kifel came to the temple alone several times.”
He gave her a reprimanding look. “And was surrounded by mages in his employ. My father keeps an entourage, himself, now that we're married. Even he isn't guaranteed safety in the city. Ei
ght men for the three of us is not many. Three for you, three for Lulu, two for myself.”
She smirked. “Lulu?”
Vahn flushed. “Lumia. Sorry. It's just a pet name that seems to have stuck.”
“No, it's all right.” She smiled down at the infant in her lap, who kicked her legs and cooed when she saw her father. “Lulu. I like it.”
He glanced in her direction, a hint of appreciation in his eyes, but he said no more. Both in front of and behind them, the sound of horseshoes rang against the stone streets, turning the noise of the city to little more than a hum around their carriage. Firal grew quiet, gazing through the fine glass windows.
While Vahn's family had resided within the palace walls during his youth, his family owned a stately home elsewhere. The Tanrys family had gone back to it after Ennil retired from his position as Captain of the Ilmenhith Guard. And while they were a family of wealth even before Ennil had scaled the ranks of the guard, the estate had only grown more resplendent after his decades serving as the king's protective hand over the city.
Most of the wealthy chose to keep manors just outside the city, where they could carve out larger pieces of land. The Tanrys estate, on the other hand, was nestled within the city itself. An acre of land would not have been impressive elsewhere, but in the midst of high, crowded buildings, it stood out as a remarkable oasis. Firal watched it loom ever larger as she gently freed a curl of her ebony hair from Lumia's grasp.
Gardens sprawled across the estate and spilled through the tall iron fences and scrollwork gates that kept the rest of the city at bay. Cool gray slate formed a walkway that led from the gates to the front of the manor house. A narrower path branched off toward the stables at the back of the estate. The house itself seemed similar enough to the rest of the city's buildings, tall and graceful and made of pale stone, though the unusual window boxes that spilled flowers down the front of the house did set it apart.
