by R. K. Thorne
“Elder Wunik, this is Miara Floren, mage of Kavanar.” Miara bowed, and he bowed in reply. “Miara, Elder Wunik is an accomplished air mage and one of my former tutors, such as they were.”
“Tutors?” Miara asked. “Is there a school here?”
“Not yet.” Wunik’s eyes twinkled as he smiled. “Perhaps that can change now. I have been teaching privately for most of my life. These two are my pupils at the moment—Apprentice Mage Derk and Journeyman Mage Siliana.”
Miara bowed to his students, and they returned the gesture. “You don’t hide that you’re all mages?” Miara asked.
“We’re not hiding it in support of Prince Aven,” said Wunik.
“But we usually don’t get out much,” muttered Derk.
“My parents were mages as well as landholders in Dramsren and found me training when I was young,” Elise said. “I was lucky in that. Very few do. My parents hadn’t had any education.”
“I think they just wanted to ask me questions themselves.” Wunik grinned.
“Probably true. I was planning to teach myself, discretely of course, until Samul came along. Gave up the practice to marry him.” To marry him. Not to become queen, or take the crown, or some such thing. An interesting choice of words.
“Mostly gave it up, you mean?” Miara pointed out. Was that a terribly impertinent thing to say to a queen? At this point in her life, Miara had spent a lot more time being impertinent to people in positions of power than respectful. How ironic then that she was to become one of them?
Fortunately, Elise smiled graciously and gave a little laugh. “Well, some things you never quite forget, eh? I am hoping Wunik can teach Aven as he taught me.”
“He’s a good student, he’s learned quickly so far,” Miara said.
Wunik cocked his head. “You taught him some already?”
She nodded. “He convinced me to do it. That air-twitching habit he has is not very… discreet. Nearly got us both killed.”
Elise chuckled. “Estun gets blamed for being a lot draftier than it really is when he’s around.”
“He must be quite gifted then, with this damn Stone hanging over his head,” Wunik said, glancing in annoyance at the hulking rock. “I feel like I can hardly breathe. But tell me, this star magic—is it true? Not an old wives’ tale?”
“That I am standing here is testament to its truth.” Miara stood a little straighter at the thought.
Wunik nodded, scratching his salt and pepper beard. “I do not envy Aven right now, or any of the enslaved. But… it is an exciting time. Never in all my days as a mage have we had the chance to leave our hiding, to right the wrongs of the Dark Days, to help the kingdom.”
“Well, looks like we’re getting our chance,” the queen said. “Like it or not. I must check in with our kitchen steward Enrial—I’ll be back in a few minutes. Let me show you to your seats.”
Miara, Wunik, and his students sat at a side table perpendicular to a head table, where two thrones of silvered black stood between other ornately jeweled ebony seats. It seemed that their table was second in importance to the head table, given its positioning.
“Did you leave anyone behind?” the old man asked as they settled in.
“My father and sister.” She swallowed. “I hope we can free them. But the Masters are likely watching them. It may not be possible.”
“We can look tonight, after dinner.” He laid a reassuring hand on her forearm.
“You must be tired after the long journey. And they might not even be outside.” She said it even though of course she wanted to look immediately and skip dinner. But she didn’t want to wear out his good faith already.
“Buildings have windows. And as I said, this is exciting to me. I’ve been alone in my old cabin for far too long.”
Derk, the apprentice, cleared his throat. “Excuse me, what was that? Alone with the two of us. After all these years, and we’re still no more entertainment than a piece of firewood, apparently.” Derk sat on the other side of her. Siliana sat beyond him, completely ignoring them all.
“Oh, goat gonads—you’re always off for days at a time.” Wunik waved him off.
“On quests you give me!” Derk shook his head.
“I’m also curious to see the compound you mentioned,” Wunik said. “It will help us all start making plans.”
“Do you mean Mage Hall?”
“Is that what you call it? Yes. We have much to think through.”
“What kind of plans?”
“To free the enslaved, of course. It is our duty to help them.” A rush of gratitude and relief surprised her at Wunik’s words. The Assembly members had not seemed so sure of any such duty.
Dinner guests drifted in gradually. A flutist and a drummer took up perches in one corner, stirring up a cheerful atmosphere.
“So… I hear you’re some kind of spy?” Derk said.
Oh, hell. He sounded intrigued. How could she make spying sound utterly bland and boring? “No. I mean, yes, but—”
“Oh, I didn’t mean spying right now. Just in general.”
“Stealth is one of my skills,” she said, dodging. But he did not relent in his intent study of her. She kept her eyes trained on the room. “Most of the time, I was a healer. For animals. Horses.” She wished she could say the word with more enthusiasm. Like it was her calling. She could assert that spying was against her will all she wanted, but even the word felt more natural to say. Perhaps it was just the impressions of years of slavery. Perhaps now that she could form her own opinions and shape her own future, the sound of the words leaving her lips would change.
Who was to say she could not be both a spy and a healer? An interesting thought.
He gave her a once-over from head to toe, and she threw him a vicious glare. He was lucky it wasn’t a glass of wine. “You don’t look like a healer to me. Or act like one.”
Her shoulders tensed. His eyes locked with hers briefly, and there was something in them—something unusual. Something she was not used to seeing but had begun to recognize. He was flirting, wasn’t he? Or at least, he was trying to.
“What do I look like then?”
“Like someone who could kick my ass.”
She snorted. “I’m not even armed.” Well, apparently she had captured some kind of warrior look in this ensemble, for better or worse.
“Do you need to be to… ?” His eyes twinkled.
Miara couldn’t keep the mischievous smile from her face, although she had a suspicion that he’d be much too pleased by it. “No.” Actually, maybe he was better at flirting than she’d thought.
A murmur went through the crowd, and the guests stood. Miara and the visiting mages scrambled to follow. A quiet fell, saving her from further conversation. King Samul entered, a woman on his arm who was not the queen and who Miara hadn’t seen in the king’s chambers either. Who could be important enough to be escorted by the king but not be invited to the king’s conferences?
The dvora.
Of course. The suitor the queen had referred to. Her… competition?
The dvora looked every bit a member of the nobility, minor though she might be, and her soft gold hair fell all the way down her back in twisting, elegant curls. A cobalt-blue gown ten times more expensive than anything Miara had ever worn fit her perfectly. Miara glanced down again at her own choice for the evening, the mossy green strikingly different. Around the dvora’s throat, silver and sapphires the size of cherries glittered. King Samul led her to a seat at the head table, the second seat away from the throne.
The only seat between her and the throne was likely for Aven. The dvora was being seated next to Aven. While Miara sat down here.
She gritted her teeth, struggling to ignore a sudden and unexpected wave of emotion. What even was that feeling—panic, suspicion, jealousy, fear? All of them? Was this whole idea to keep their relationship secret an elaborate ruse to buy time for Aven to rethink his fixation on Miara? Miara groped for a reason why this was not the ca
se but came up with nothing. Indeed, if she were in their shoes, it seemed like a reasonable plan. What could Miara offer the realm that this dvora could not?
This was all a mistake. She would pack her few things and leave tomorrow. He would be better off without her, and she… well, she would have her freedom. Certainly the steward could loan her a horse—
But she knew she would not ask the steward for a horse. Selfishly, she didn’t care how little or how much she had to offer the realm. Aven loved her, and she loved him back, and that was rare enough to find in this world. How could she give him up after all they’d been through?
She would not.
She took a steadying breath. She knew nothing about this woman except that she wore the fine mantel of the upper class. The fact that she wore the costume of a queen did not make her a better potential queen than Miara. In fact, the opposite could be true. She was not being rational; it was only fear talking. Another deep breath.
Aven had given her no reason to doubt him. He’d willingly gone into hell and back for her. And if anyone had rescued anyone, he had rescued her. She tried to put the worry out of her mind.
She studied the crowd as more people paraded in. Aven’s brothers, Thel and Dom, entered together. Like Aven, Dom was stocky and muscular but shorter and with the dark hair of the king. Thel was indeed was quite different from Aven, with a lanky frame, a bit of a crooked nose a little too long for his face, and longish blond hair. He did share Aven’s disposition, though, as he gave her a friendly wave.
He mustn’t be too upset about what she’d told him. While the others had crowded around the table for the meeting, the middle prince had pulled Miara from the room by the arm, though still close enough to watch as some kind of argument broke out.
“I need to—” She had yanked her arm from his grasp.
“It’ll just take a second,” he said hastily. He lowered his voice. “Quickly. You’re the mage, right? The one who’s stolen my brother’s heart? Can you tell me if I’m a mage too?”
“Your—what?” That wasn’t what she’d been expecting.
“Can you tell if I am a mage too?”
“Yes, but—”
“It will be easier for him if I just know.”
“What will be easier?”
Thel glanced nervously at the chamber. “Some of them are sure to call for me to take his place as heir. But how do they know I’m not a mage too? I’d rather know before they do.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. What would the answer mean to him? Could this be a trick?
“Look, I don’t want to be king. I’m nothing like Aven. I would hate to deal with these kinds of machinations day in and day out. I much prefer books to men.”
“Why don’t you ask your mother?”
He made a face. “I asked years ago. She won’t tell me. Said it’s better for me not to know, if it’s not obvious like it is with Aven. Well, look how that turned out. Can you tell me or not?”
“Fine,” she said, giving him a sharp nod. She reached out, and there it was—the taste of earth, nitrous and calm, deep and still.
She glanced back at him but then kept her eyes on the crowd, watching for any signs that they might be overheard. “Aven told me you’re an academic. You’re drawn to books. But you don’t just like the books, do you? You like the libraries, the deep libraries of Estun. The underground, the darkness feeds you. The mountain is like your lifeblood. Locks open for you that were stuck or closed to others. Your hearths stay warmer than they should in the night and need less tending. You never feel cold here anyway. Others think the mountain is dead, but you know better.” She turned to meet his wide eyes, as though she’d stolen thoughts from his head. She didn’t need to, though. “I think you have your answer,” she said. “You’ve always known.”
In the dinner procession, one of the tall, dark-skinned lords from the king’s chambers caught her eye and brought her out of her reverie. Aven had introduced him as Lord Beneral, but she’d thought she’d seen his face before. Wasn’t he one of the mages who’d accompanied the queen to confront Miara while she still held Aven captive? Did he know their secret? Or, perhaps she was the one who knew his secret.
She felt eyes watching her again—this time, Aven’s, as he entered arm and arm with his mother. He’d shaved and wore a midnight-colored doublet, a black cloak with a mantle of black and silvered fur around his shoulders, and a simple silver ring for a crown.
By the gods, she was staring. Was she revealing something by staring? No, no—everyone was staring simply because they were being attentive, although perhaps not as wide-eyed as she.
This was the man who wanted her? It was one thing to kiss the tousled, battle-torn warrior she’d come to know over the last few weeks. This man seemed like quite another thing altogether.
His gray-green eyes lit up when they caught hers. Did his eyebrows rise slightly as his gaze slid across her, or was that her imagination? If they had, was that a flicker of approval or concern? He flashed her a grin. She bowed her head in what seemed like an appropriate acknowledgment.
“That the prince?” Derk asked. “The one all this ruckus is about?”
“Yes,” she replied. “That’s the one.” Damn, her voice was husky. Get it together, Miara. At least he hadn’t escorted the dvora himself. Perhaps she could convince herself that meant something.
“So you say you’re a healer. Creature mage then?” Derk asked her.
She nodded, glancing at him as briefly as possible before returning her eyes to Aven. He’d sat down by the dvora and was no longer returning her gaze. Finally, everyone was seated. Every noble on the dais wore some shade of blue, from a bright vibrant hue to Aven’s dark midnight shade. Even the Dvora. Miara frowned. Through her deft choice in wardrobe, the Esengard noble easily blended in as one of them. She looked as if she belonged there, in that seat. The gown was an artful, clever selection and a move that hadn’t even occurred to Miara. Damn.
She watched him covertly while they ate and tried to think of other things. She was rather good at watching people without letting on. Perhaps she had some skills suited to court life after all.
And come to think of it… she needed to figure out something for that damned demonstration. “Wunik, do you think you can help me with a magic lesson for the king and his Assembly?”
“I’ll help you,” Derk’s overeager voice chimed in. Beyond him, Siliana snorted.
Miara opened her mouth to reject the offer, but Wunik spoke first. “I think he’d be a great help to you. Show these men what a young, strapping boy can do.”
“Boy! Please—”
“You’re more experienced, sir.”
“I’d also rather save my energy for the real work of finding and freeing mages, if you don’t mind,” Wunik muttered.
Derk’s sidelong glare said he had heard that slight but chose to ignore it. “What do you need to do?”
“Well, I’ll need a range of mages to show off certain abilities, although we don’t seem to have any earth mages at all. Ironic, with everyone living in this damn cave.”
“It is oppressive, isn’t it?” Siliana finally chimed in for a moment, and everyone nodded.
“And I could use advice on what we should show them.”
“We should show them healing.” Siliana leaned around Derk.
“Hey, I thought you were ignoring all of us,” Derk said.
Siliana ignored him. “All Akarians are warriors, deep down, or they care about one. And part of that is getting thumped. Struck. Stabbed. Sometimes, killed. We show them how much we can do on that front, it should be a powerful motivator.”
Miara nodded. “That’s good. And that means we’re going to need injuries to heal, won’t we?”
“Lucky us.” Siliana smiled defiantly. “We can take it.”
“I’d suggest you don’t use any spell specifically to injure,” Wunik mused.
“That’s not our strength anyway, right?” Derk leaned back farther as it seemed lik
e Siliana was not leaving the conversation anytime soon.
“Maybe Aven can help us find someone to wield a traditional weapon for our injuries.” Miara bit her lip, thinking. “Or… we can wield it ourselves.”
“Not sure I’m up for that,” Siliana said, “but you’re welcome to.”
Miara only half listened to the other woman as she chewed over an idea. How many of those Assembly members were seasoned veterans? How many of them would have the fortitude to stab themselves and then heal themselves again? If they even could. If she had to look dangerous, perhaps she could make a different kind of good impression on them. A fierce one. Miara glanced at Aven and the dvora, who were politely talking and not looking in her direction. Neither of them looked particularly rapt. The ability, both mental and physical, to wound herself just to show she could heal the wound… Well, that was one thing Miara offered that the damn dvora couldn’t. At least, she hoped. Guts. Bravery. Possibly a certain kind of stupidity. She shrugged to herself.
“What about air? What should we do with air?”
Derk and Wunik threw ideas out, from the too mild to the too destructive, and the creature mages provided critique. Setting the stables on fire was probably too much, and they had little magic to rebuild buildings anyway. Snuffing out a candle was far too practical and mundane. Turning a bit of beach into glass—where did they think they were, the Gulf of Panar?
Still, Miara was glad to plan with them. It gave her something to take her mind off the fact that Aven talked only to the dvora for the entire meal.
Once or twice, he would feel her gaze and toss her a smile. She would nod back, and she made an effort to look very engaged in the conversation with Derk and Wunik and not at all miserable.
Stop worrying about this. Nothing could be done to change the situation in the short term anyway, except maybe employing one of those dresses that reminded her of the Mistress and seeing what effect it might have. Damn that woman, why should the Mistress ruin an entire category of clothing for the rest of Miara’s life anyway? But no. Miara was not going to earn the respect and acceptance of these people based on what she looked like. This dvora had a head start on her anyway in that arena, and since when did looks alone win loyalty?
