by Beth Alvarez
The former Archmage shrugged. “Even if we hadn't been made magelings, we could have easily passed beyond the Grand College's reach. The barrier extends no farther than the edge of the city. One step into the field on the other side and you'd be free to wield your Gift again.”
“Free to be treated as wild mages, you mean,” Melora said. “Better to be a mageling on the bottom of the ladder than a wild mage. At least the uniform commands a bit of respect.”
“It's true.” Alira lifted her chin, allowing herself a taste of defiance. Envesi no longer had real authority over her, but years serving the woman had ingrained deference. “Being recognized as part of the college is a benefit.”
Envesi snorted. “Within Lore and the rest of the Triad, perhaps. But outside these three regions?” She shook her head, a look of disgust on her face. “I trained in the Grand College once, long before I was Archmage of Kirban. Respect for mages was failing even then. Now it’s worse than ever.”
“Mages are a vital part of civilization,” Melora argued.
“Not according to Eyrion.” Envesi's use of the headmaster's first name caught both of them by surprise.
Alira hesitated a long moment before she shrugged and inspected her robes again. “What difference does it make? We're within the Triad, within the Grand College, and now we're magelings. Free to use our power whenever.”
Envesi stood and pushed in her chair at the table. “Which will make our work simpler, to be sure. There is, however, a small problem on our hands.”
“Of course there is,” Melora said. She plucked a loose thread from her robes with a sneer. “You never should have involved the headmaster. He complicates things.”
“Had I not involved him, we'd still be washing laundry,” Envesi snapped. “But he expects results, and expects them soon. We still haven't even tried to perform an unbinding, and he expects unbound mages at his fingertips within a fortnight.”
“What?” Alira cried. “So soon?”
The former Archmage looked grim. “Already he moves mages into Aldaan. What do you suppose will happen when one of Eyrion's armies goes up against a city of free mages?”
“Surely you don't mean for us to start experimenting within the college,” Melora protested. “There are over a thousand mages here to sense what we're doing.”
“Even if they sense it, they won't recognize what we're doing because they've never seen it done. Mages who ask questions are nothing to worry about, since we're working under direct order from the headmaster.” Envesi relaxed her shoulders, as if to illustrate how unconcerned she was. “In fact, the college is the best place for us to work. The mages expect students to test their skills here. Wielding power outside the city might draw unwanted attention, especially with the unified countries moving into civil war.”
It made sense, but Alira still frowned. Whether or not they operated with Headmaster Tolmarni's blessing, she didn't think that would exempt them from punishment if they were discovered by the council. She didn't know what that punishment might be, but it had to be worse than having their rank stripped. All things considered, she thought the punishment they'd already endured had been rather light. The mages of Elenhiise had presented them to the college in the only light they could without casting shadows of blame back on themselves. Lomithrandel and the atrocities of his magic had never been mentioned. Instead, the Elenhiise mages had only accused them of wielding magic to commit treason.
But wasn't that what the college was doing now? Using their mages to strike against their own king? Perhaps that was why they seemed so unruffled by Envesi's efforts against Kifel. Alira didn't think they would have shown the same kind of leniency if Lomithrandel's existence had come up.
“Headmaster's orders or not, what you want us to do is still forbidden,” Alira said at last. She wished she sounded more sure of herself, but speaking against Envesi at all was difficult.
Melora's brows lifted in amusement.
“Excuse me?” Envesi asked.
Alira braced herself. “You want us to practice forbidden magic with street urchins in case something goes wrong, because failure results in alteration of the subject's physical form. That's no better than what you did with Lomithrandel. I don't think the Grand College differentiates between forbidden arts.”
The darkening of Envesi's expression told her she'd overstepped her bounds. The former Archmage drew herself up, shadows welling in the corners of the small room they shared. “You think you may speak out of turn because we both wear gray?” The woman rose until she seemed to tower over the room. The color of her robes shifted lighter; together with her white waves of hair and frigid blue eyes, she resembled a beacon of light in the darkness. Alira shrank back, suddenly afraid.
“Do not forget the reason you wear a mage's robes again!” Envesi thundered, fury brimming in her rigid form. “You stand at a precipice with a difficult decision to make, girl. We can do this without you, but you know too much to simply walk away. Do you dare turn against us now?”
Alira's mouth went dry. A weighty decision to make, with only one option presented. Fear churned in her stomach and weakened her knees. There was only one part in which the woman was wrong.
She'd reached the precipice long ago, the moment she'd sided against Kifel.
“No, Archmage,” Alira managed, the title slipping from her tongue without a thought. “I stand with you.”
Smug satisfaction wreathed itself on Envesi's face, and she sank back into her chair. “Good, because we begin our efforts tonight.”
The words made Alira's stomach heave and she struggled not to retch. I stand with you for now, she told herself. Because I have no other choice.
16
Trust and feelings
Exasperated, Sera stormed across the snowy field. The novelty had worn off long ago. After years of enduring the frosty winters of the northern continent, she couldn't make herself enjoy the season any longer. Winter was nothing but slick ice and chapped lips, not a hint of wonder to it.
The early morning sun cast a rosy golden glow over the camp. The illusion of warmth was the only pleasant part of leaving the tent she shared with her brother. She would have preferred to have her own tent, but Garam insisted she stay close. At first she'd thought it a ridiculous act of chivalry, meant to protect her from the ranks of men. She was the only woman in the army he'd led to Aldaan, and he'd muttered concerns about the way men's judgment could be clouded after months of discouragement and loneliness. She'd thought that reasoning ridiculous. Garam's men would behave themselves; if they couldn't, they wouldn't have been Garam's men. Even so, she almost would have preferred chivalry to the real reason he wanted her close at hand.
At some point during the night before, she came to understand he wanted her close not for her protection, but for his own. With a mage sharing his tent, he thought no one would dare wield magic against him. Lore's mages were nowhere near their encampment, and she hadn't thought the Aldaanan a threat, but he made her sit up half the night to keep watch while he slept. It wasn't until morning, when Garam roused her with orders after only a few hours of sleep, that she realized who he was afraid of.
Sera planted her hands on her hips as she reached her destination and glowered down at her new charge.
Rune met her eye and then looked away, hunkered down in the snow like a sulking child. He held a snowball to his mouth. “I don't wanna hear it.”
She crouched in front of him and shoved the snowball away from his face, grasped his jaw, and forced him to face her. His tongue was swollen, a silver stud through its middle. She thrust the snowball back into his mouth. “You're more stupid than I thought.”
He spat it back out. “It'th a tradithion, they wouldn't teach me wifout it.” He grimaced at his slurred words, licked his lips and touched a claw to the stud. “Filadiel thaid ith thuppothed to—”
“Brant's branches, shut up! I can't stand to listen to that on top of your accent.” She scowled and pressed fresh snow into a new ball f
or him as she stood. “You can tell me the whole story when the swelling goes down and you can speak properly again. For now, just answer some questions. Yes or no. They're going to teach you?”
Rune glared, but nodded.
“And this thing in your mouth is a requirement for their teachings?”
He hesitated, then nodded again.
The hesitance made her pause and she resisted the urge to demand an explanation. Instead, she handed him the fresh snowball and watched as he stuck out his tongue and pressed the snow to the fresh piercing. She had always known the Aldaanan were strange, but this exceeded everything she knew about their practices. “Are the lessons going to interfere with your responsibilities to the army?”
He shook his head.
“And will they affect your loyalties?”
He didn't respond, staring at her in silence. She could see him thinking it over, though his expression never wavered.
“Answer the question,” Sera ordered.
Lowering the snow from his mouth, Rune spoke slowly, forming words as clearly as he could. “You make it sound like Garam had my loyalty to begin with. I am here because of the Aldaanan mages. No other reason.”
She crossed her arms. “Not even to win back that kingsword?”
Eerie light flashed in his eyes.
Unsettled, she dropped her arms and sat in the snow beside him. “Listen, I'm only here because Garam asked me to speak to you. He thinks the Aldaanan are up to something by taking you in and teaching you their ways.”
The way he stared made her uncomfortable, his face as unchanging as carved stone. “What do you think?” he asked.
“I don't know,” she replied honestly. “Sometimes my brother is needlessly concerned about mages. And other times, he's right. I don't know what they want or why they're helping you, but I don't feel at ease about it, either. The Aldaanan are reclusive, rarely visiting the Royal City and never letting people into their cities. That we're here at all is unprecedented.”
Rune seemed to consider that, his expression finally softening.
She shifted in the crunching snow, wishing he would speak, waiting a long moment to see if he would. When he didn't, she leaned close. “I didn't want to ask this, but Garam told me to.” She cast a wary glance around them. The rest of the camp milled in the snow as if they weren't there. “I realize having mentors who can teach you to use your Gift properly is important to you. But if you find out that they mean us ill, be it through conversation, lessons, overhearing or anything else, will you let him know?”
His peculiar snakelike eyes narrowed. “No. But I'll tell you.”
Sera blinked. “Me?”
“The only other mage in the army. Better to stand together, right?” He pushed himself up and started toward his tent.
She rose just as fast. “Where are you going?”
“Bed. The ritual took all night.” He didn't wait to be dismissed, ducking into his tent with a snowball still in hand.
Worrying her lower lip, Sera turned away. A tightness gripped her chest, yet a weight lifted from her shoulders. It was a pleasant surprise to discover he trusted her, but unpleasant to find she was right to suspect he harbored a dislike for her brother. She couldn't fault him, but she couldn't fault Garam either. It was obvious that the men weren't interested in sharing their knowledge or concerns with each other. Were they both mages, she would have made them sit and talk the matter through.
But they weren't mages; they were men of weapons and war. Except mages march against us now. What better are they? The thought was bitter. She'd studied at the Grand College, treasured her days there. In her time, they had taught pacifism. She wondered at how different their teachings must have become for her one-time colleagues to pursue violence.
She'd left the college when Garam was a child, abandoned her education to return home and help their mother after Garam's father finally succumbed to illness. His death wasn't a surprise. He'd struggled with fragile health from the moment they left their homeland. An illness born of humidity, the healers said. Sera thought it an illness born of heartache. They'd fled home to escape war, sacrificing everything they'd ever known to keep their family safe. She had already been a member of the Grand College for some time by then; she'd already said her goodbyes. Garam had been too small to remember. Leaving hadn't impacted them. It had crushed their parents.
Would things be different if she hadn't left the college? If her family had never been driven from their home? She could have easily ended up on the other side of this battle. The thought chilled her, and Sera tried to think of it no more.
“You,” she called, stopping to catch the attention of a soldier nearby. “Is Captain Kaith still in his tent?”
The soldier nodded and Sera hurried across the camp. Garam wouldn't be happy to hear of their conversation, but the sooner she told him, the better.
She pushed past the tent's flaps with a quiet grumble, though she was grateful to be back in the warmth. As much as she wanted to explore the city while things were calm, she was loath to venture into the snow. “Garam, I spoke to—” She stopped short as her eyes adjusted. The gryphon, Ria, stood at her brother's side.
The gryphon sat on her haunches, her upright posture reminding Sera of the dust-colored rodents she'd once seen in the plains. The creature gave a cheery whistle and adjusted the strange goggles atop her head. “Ah, lovely timing! I just came to see if the pair of you wanted anything for breakfast. Captain Kaith was preparing a list for me.”
“Thought that meeting would take longer,” Garam murmured, never looking up from his lap desk.
Sera raised a brow. “That's a long list for breakfast.”
“Adding a few things I'll need to work efficiently. More ink, for one. Someone dropped my box and broke most of the bottles.” He frowned as he dipped his pen in the inkwell and tapped it carefully against the side, mindful of every drop. “What did he say?”
She crossed her arms and snorted a laugh. “Not much. They pierced his tongue.”
The gryphon's ear-tufts rose. “Oh! They've taken him in for training?” Sera and Garam both glared at her and she snorted. “Well there are only two mages in your army, and only one of them is male. It's not much of a mystery who we're speaking of. Still, I'm surprised they'd take him in so quickly.”
Sera frowned. She wanted to be agitated that Ria had spoken uninvited, but the gryphon lived with the Aldaanan. As untrusting as Garam was of the beast, even he had to admit she could serve as a useful point of contact. “Do you know what it's for?” she asked as she settled on the floor. Unlike the other tents, theirs had a thick woolen rug instead of bare earth. One of the comforts of being in a position of leadership, she supposed.
“Didn't he tell you? Oh, I guess he couldn't, if it just happened. He'll probably have trouble speaking for a day or so, but he'll get used to it. All the free mages pierce their tongues. It's an old tradition, held over from when they served as the first clerics,” Ria chirruped happily, dropping to all fours and ruffling her feathers before laying down. “They say the tunnels Brant's roots left behind were lined with silver, a remnant of the Lifetree's purity. The clerics wore it through their tongues to remind them to speak only pure words. Free mages wear it now to remind them to use their magic only for pure reasons. Just old symbolism, really, but important to quite a few of the Aldaanan elders.”
Sera cast Garam a troubled glance. A mask of concern darkened his face and furrowed his brow. She forced herself to look away. “When you say pure reasons, winged one, what do you mean?”
“Well, I don't know the specifics of it,” Ria admitted. “It's not my place, since gryphons aren't mages. There are all sorts of books on the matter up in the aerie, though, if you're interested in that sort of thing. I suppose you would be, being a mage and all.”
Garam pushed back his tray and put his pen aside. “I just want to know if this is going to be a problem. He's part of our army, first and foremost. We need every mage we can get in the
battles we all know are coming.”
The gryphon clicked her beak. “I couldn't say. I'm not a mage. Are you done with your list? I'll just take that and be on about my errands.” She rose to all fours and plucked the paper from Garam's tray with a taloned forepaw. Her claws were nimble, for their size. She rolled the paper neatly and tucked it under the strap on her goggles. As if the gryphon wasn't already odd enough, she looked ridiculous with the paper sticking out beside her tufted ear. “I'll see the two of you another time, my friends. I'll send someone along with the things you need before midday.” Ria turned to leave and Sera held the tent flap open for her. She folded it closed again after the gryphon had gone.
The moment they were alone, Garam's face crumpled into a scowl. “So I'm down to one mage, now.”
“That isn't true.” Sera moved into the middle of the floor and made herself comfortable. “I asked Rune to let us know if he learns anything. He knows the Aldaanan may be planning against us. He said he will tell us if he hears anything concerning—or, he'll tell me, rather.”
He raised a brow. “Only you?”
She batted her eyes in response.
Garam scoffed. “You're getting too comfortable with that man for my liking.”
“And just what is wrong with that, Garam Kaith?” The accusation in his tone made her face crumple into a scowl. “He's a powerful mage and a skilled fighter, and—”
“He's not human!” Garam snapped.
Sera's eyes darkened. “Neither am I.”
He grimaced, clearly regretting his words. “Sera, I don't mean it like—”
“And how do you mean it?” she demanded, thrusting herself from the floor. “You dislike him for something he cannot help! Do you dislike me for my Eldani blood, too?
He started up out of his chair, reaching for her. “Sera—”
She stepped back. Anger warmed her like tongues of flame against her skin and it was all she could do to keep from slapping him. “He's on our side. That should be enough reason for you to like him. And he is a mage much stronger than I. That is enough reason for us to be friends. There's a great deal I can learn from him, Garam, and I'm not going to let you stand in the way.” She whipped the tent flap open before he could speak and bolted back into the snow.
