“Yes,” Gavin nodded. “I am now the Archmagister of Tel. What can I say…Bellos made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. I would ask, though, that you keep this to yourself until such time as a general announcement can be made.”
The Cavalier snapped to attention, the formal pose they all were trained to assume at the passage of the king or princess. “Of course, Milord!”
A small, faintly sad smile escaped Gavin’s control, and he nodded. “Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m meeting some associates at the entrance to the throne room. I have a gift for the king.”
By the time Declan and Gavin arrived at the vestibule to the throne room, the doors were already closed, signaling court was now in session. It was rare for the king to look favorably upon any arrivals or interruptions.
Three people occupied the vestibule. Varne, the Royal Herald, stood resplendent in his courtly attire, and two Cavaliers stood sentinel, one to the right of the door and the other across the corridor from the left side of the door. All three gaped at Gavin as he approached.
“Gavin,” Varne said, his voice almost a scandalized hiss, “what are you doing in those robes? His Majesty will have no choice but to order your execution if he sees you like this.”
Declan chuckled. “He’d better not. Bellos might not be too happy.”
It took a heartbeat or two for Varne to truly process Declan’s words. Gavin saw the moment the herald comprehended their meaning. Varne’s jaw dropped, and any hint of color vanished from his face. In the blink of an eye, Varne dropped to one knee, his head bowed deeply, and the Cavaliers snapped to attention.
“Milord,” Varne said, “please, forgive my shocking lack of courtesy and respect. I assure you the fault was all mine and should not reflect upon His Majesty or Vushaar in any way.”
Gavin bit back a sigh. This wasn’t something that had been discussed when Bellos offered him the position, and Gavin was quickly becoming fed up with obeisance being everyone’s new default reaction to him. In some ways, he preferred the fear and unease over being House Kirloth instead.
“Varne,” Gavin said, exercising effort to keep his voice even, “get on your feet, and face me like a man worthy of respect. I never wanted you to kneel to me before, and I definitely do not now.”
“But…but, Milord…the Archmagister is the last of the Divine Emissaries,” Varne replied. “You outrank kings.”
Gavin cast a questioning look at Declan, his brow furrowed. Declan replied with a shrug and a nod. Gavin rolled his eyes and wished he’d asked Bellos for more explanation of the offer’s ‘fine print.’ Wait…fine print?
When Gavin focused on what he was sure to be an expression from his past, the gray mists at the edges of his consciousness swirled through his mind, allowing no recall of the phrase’s meaning. Gavin wanted to sigh at the latest expression of his hidden memories, but he knew neither the Cavaliers nor Varne would understand.
Having spent what little patience he had, Gavin leaned forward, grasped Varne by his shoulders, and hauled the man bodily to his feet.
Once he could look Varne in the eye, Gavin gave him a flat smile with no hint of any mirth or warmth, saying, “Well, if I do indeed outrank kings now, you may consider it an order that you will not kneel to me unless I command it. Good enough?”
Varne swallowed hard and jerked a choppy nod.
Gavin looked over Varne’s shoulder to make eye contact with each Cavalier in turn before he said, “Stand easy.”
The Cavaliers relaxed into their normal stance for watch standing. The Cavalier on the opposite side of the corridor from the throne-room doors looked at Gavin, his expression speculative.
“You look like you have a question,” Gavin said, stepping around Varne to allow the herald to compose himself.
The Cavalier nodded. “Sir…er, Milord. There have been all kinds of wild rumors about what happened and why, regarding the slave marks. Is it true that you removed them and killed anyone who had used a slave brand?”
Gavin nodded. “Killing anyone who had used a slave brand was an unintentional side effect because of how I removed the marks. In all truth, though, I can’t say I’ll miss anyone who would support such a ghastly institution.”
“So that was why you did it, then? You wanted to end slavery?”
Gavin allowed his mind to drift back to one of his earliest memories in this world. Kiri sitting in muck at the end of a grimy cul de sac in Tel Mivar’s warrens, an expression of sheer unmitigated terror on her face as she saw the slavers arrive. He was so absorbed in the memory, he didn’t see the Cavaliers’ reactions as his expression shifted to one of distaste and sheer unadulterated contempt. But the expression vanished far more quickly than it appeared as Gavin’s memories carried him forward in time to one where Kiri was laughing and dancing around the suite they had shared with Marcus.
Gavin pulled himself out of his thoughts and focused on the Cavalier once more. “Yes, it is true that I wanted to end slavery, and I suppose I should say that I wanted to end it because it harms anyone it touches. That’s not the real reason, though.” A soft, warm smile curled Gavin’s lips as another memory of Kiri came unbidden to the forefront of his mind. “I wanted to end slavery so Kiri would be safe. So she could go home.”
The two Cavaliers looked to one another at his answer and held it for several moments. Finally, they broke eye contact with each other, shifting their attention.
“Tell him, Varne,” said the Cavalier standing beside the door. “He’s the best chance we have of stopping it.”
Gavin pivoted on his left heel to face the royal herald. “Is something wrong? Something in the throne room?”
Varne wet his lips and grimaced, swallowing hard once again. “Well, you see…there’s a small matter involving Kiri—”
Gavin’s expression shifted almost immediately into a hard glare, and his right hand curled as if holding an apple. A slight tightening around his eyes was the only warning before a gold-colored, iridescent mass of seething, roiling power the size of a honeydew melon appeared over his right palm. Gavin shifted his attention to the double doors controlling entrance to the throne room, and everyone present knew it was a matter of heartbeats before those doors no longer existed, quite probably in a very violent, very destructive manner.
“No! Gavin, no! She’s safe! Her Highness is safe and well!” Varne said, his hands up in a stopping gesture. “Just give me a moment to explain.”
Gavin shifted his attention to herald, and when he spoke, his voice held the cold, unforgiving tone so many had come to associate with ‘Kirloth.’ “Don’t waste your words, Varne. Explain. Now.”
Varne took a deep breath and released it as a sigh. “Baron Torgunson—he’s the first petitioner today.” He glanced at the clock on the wall over the doors. “In fact, he’ll be announced and called forth very soon. His petition seeks the hand of the Crown Princess in marriage. But…but Gavin…y-y-you can’t go in there like…like that.” Varne’s eyes flicked to the golden iridescence hovering above Gavin’s palm before returning to his face.
Gavin took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The orb was only a minor manifestation of the sheer volume of power Gavin held inside him, and it was neither easy nor pleasant to push it back. It was almost like the power wanted to be invoked through a Word to reshape reality. Certainly, invoking a Word would be shortest and easiest path to divesting himself of it, but control and discipline were the true hallmarks of a master wizard. Over the course of several heartbeats, Gavin willed the power to recede back from whence it came. Gavin released his held breath as a slow sigh and opened his eyes. He flexed his right hand, now devoid of the seething mass of raw power, and let his arm hang at his side.
“Well?” Gavin asked, his voice now closer to ‘Gavin’ than ‘Kirloth.’ “How are we going to do this?”
Varne blinked. “We need a reason to interrupt His Majesty’s court. Something that would be completely understandable and easily forgiven.”
Jus
t then, a group of Declan’s associates rounded the far corner of the corridor, leading a man in chains with a hood over his head. Out of his peripheral vision, Gavin saw the Cavalier at his left shoulder tense.
Gavin waved to the two elite soldiers to remain standing easy, saying, “They’re with me. The hooded fellow is a gift from me to His Majesty.”
“With all due respect, Milord,” the Cavalier at Gavin’s left shoulder said, “how is a hooded captive an appropriate gift for His Majesty?”
Gavin smiled as he pointed at the hood and gestured as if removing it. The man at the captive’s right elbow nodded once and whisked the hood away. Gavin turned to face the Cavalier who had spoken and grinned at seeing the man gape at the sight of a gagged and chained Sclaros Ivarson.
Varne turned to see what was behind him. The only outward sign of his reaction was his right hand taking a firm grip of the table at his side.
“Yes,” Varne said, “I think that qualifies.”
Chapter 4
The throne room was ancient, dating back to the Godswar at the very least. Colored slabs of marble in one-foot squares lined the floor, arranged so they formed the Muran family crest if one looked at the floor from the overhead galleries. Chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceilings, and combined with the windows, they lit the room well.
Along the right wall from the perspective of the public entrance and close to that entrance, one found the horns that played appropriate fanfares if visitors warranted such. The Royal Herald normally arranged those receptions in advance with the Master of Horns.
Further along the wall, there was a gallery where honored guests of the monarch could sit and observe court or even present petitions if they wished. Lillian, Mariana, Wynn, Braden, Telanna, Elayna, and Sarres—as guests of Kiri and her father—currently occupied seats in that gallery.
A raised dais lay centered against the wall at the opposite end of the throne room from the large entrance. A magnificent throne occupied the center of the dais, and a slightly less ornate throne stood to its right about a hand-span farther back. The thrones were once positioned equal with each other, years ago when the king and queen held court. Now, the reigning monarch occupied the center throne and his heir the other.
The first petitioner stood before the thrones. An older gentleman, the representative of the salt merchants’ guild presented his associates’ concerns over delivering their contracted amounts to the government, especially given the civil unrest gripping the country just then.
Putting forth a valiant effort to pay attention to the salt merchant, Kiri fought the black mood that threatened to overtake her. Yes, she was home. Yes, Lillian and Mariana and Wynn and Braden visited her often. Yes, her father had welcomed her with open arms and openly shed tears, even before Gavin removed the slave marks.
Gavin. It always came back to Gavin.
Grief clawed at her heart and soul, and Kiri calmly slipped her hands off the armrests to hide how she was clenching her left hand into a fist. She had the occasional good day now, at least when self-loathing for having the good day didn’t swoop in and perch where her grief had vacated. But thinking of Gavin always brought her feelings to the forefront.
It was silly, she knew. She was the Crown Princess of Vushaar, the next in an uninterrupted line of monarchs that stretched back to before the Godswar, over six thousand years. She should be able to put one man out of her mind. Gods knew she never felt this kind of heartache over losing the young man she’d favored before the Sprite. But then, he had never given his life to return her to the life she knew, and she’d never truly loved him. That had been a heart-wrenching realization when combined with the knowledge that Gavin would probably never wake up.
The salt merchant concluded his remarks and received King Terris’s assurance that he would not activate the penalty clauses of their contract. The merchant bowed his thanks and returned to the crowd.
Q’Orval deBentak stepped forward. Besides being her father’s majordomo, Q’Orval also held the prestige of being the longest serving member of her father’s personal retainers. He cleared his throat and said, “Your Majesty, Your Highness, I have the honor to present Joric Torgunson, Baron of Torstead, as the next petitioner.”
Q’Orval stepped aside to allow a young man to approach the throne. He was slightly taller than Kiri but possessed a thin and wiry build like Wynn. His rather pointed, prominent nose and his preference for keeping his hair slicked back against his head with a glossy gel completed his resemblance to a rat or weasel.
Kiri tried to keep her face neutral. She wasn’t sure she was supposed to have read the family journals and the various archives she’d read, but those archives and journals painted the Torgunson line as a perennial threat to the Muran family. Numerous times down through the centuries, the then-current Torgunson attempted to overthrow the king or queen, and each time, the perpetrator insulated the family so the line would continue. They played on the Murans’ mercy and sense of justice time and time again. Baron Torstead was the last of his line. Unmarried and an orphan, he was all that remained of the Torgunson family. Kiri had a bad feeling about his petition.
Baron Torstead bowed at the waist, straightened, and began, “Your Majesty, I come before you today to discuss a matter near and dear to my heart. I have come to formally petition for the Crown Princess’s hand in marriage.”
A chorus of gasps moved throughout the audience like a wave. Kiri fought to maintain a neutral expression, all the while wanting nothing more than to burn Baron Torstead to ash where he stood. Reflecting on that thought, Kiri couldn’t help but wonder if she’d spent too much time around Gavin.
“And what would such a betrothal provide the kingdom?” Terris asked.
“Your Majesty, forgive me for being frank,” Baron Torstead answered, “but your family doesn’t have that many allies left. A rather impressive army lays siege to the city, and were you to see your way clear to grant my petition, I would feel it incumbent upon me to call in several debts owed my family by General Ivarson and require him to surrender.”
A silence so complete one could almost hear another breathe settled on the throne room. Most expressions Kiri saw displayed varying degrees of shock sprinkled with outrage, and as her eyes flicked to the gallery…oh, my. Lillian could barely contain her reaction; hints of contempt and fury chased each other across her countenance from moment to moment.
Just as the silence was drawing out into awkwardness, one of the doors of the public entrance opened just enough for a person to squeeze through, drawing both the king’s and Kiri’s attention. Varne, the Royal Herald, scurried through the small opening and approached the Master of Horns. They engaged in a whispered exchange for a heartbeat or two before Varne strode with hurried purpose to the dais.
“Varne, why have you disturbed our court?” Terris asked.
Varne bowed deeply and said, “Your Majesty, may I approach?”
Terris nodded, and Varne approached his left side—the side away from Kiri—and whispered in his king’s ear. Kiri couldn’t believe it when she saw her father’s jaw slacken just enough for her to catch it, before he regained his composure and nodded once.
Varne nodded in response and hurried back to the position where he stood to announce prestigious guests. On his approach, he nodded to the Master of Horns and pivoted on his heel to face the court.
The Master of Horns gestured…and they played the fanfare for a visiting head of state. A visiting head of state. Kiri couldn’t remember the last time there was a state visit anywhere, let alone in a realm choked by civil war. And how had they entered the city without anyone knowing?
The fanfare ended. Varne drew himself up to his court posture and called out in his booming voice, “Your Majesty, Your Highness, my lords and ladies, and people of Vushaar, it is my distinct honor to announce…the Archmagister of Tel!”
Every head in the room turned to the entrance faster than a finger-snap. Varne took the two steps necessary to reach the door and swung
it wide. Kiri’s eyes focused on the gold-robed figure who entered the throne room, and as she processed what—or perhaps who—she was seeing, the rest of the world ceased to exist.
It was only the fact that everyone was staring at Gavin Cross striding down the length of the throne room in the gold robes of the Archmagister that kept people from seeing the death grip Kiri now had on the armrests of her throne. She stared at the man who’d saved her and given her back her life, and her breath caught in her throat. Her heart thumped against her sternum like a condemned prisoner banging against the cell door, begging to be released.
Gavin stopped a respectful distance from the dais and nodded his greeting to Terris, saying, “Thank you, Your Majesty, for receiving me after court had already begun. I have no desire to interrupt proceedings or jump the line, but I would ask to be added to the list of petitioners today. I have a gift I believe you will find to be of some value.”
Terris stood, and it was only her training ingrained across many years that drove Kiri to her feet as well. Terris led Kiri to step off the dais, whereupon he knelt with Kiri following suit. In short order, the entire crowd in the throne room was kneeling, including Gavin’s former apprentices in the gallery. Only Baron Torstead remained standing.
Terris lifted his head just enough to glare at the baron, his voice almost a hiss as he said, “You will kneel before the last of the Divine Emissaries, or I will offer him your head as an apology.”
Baron Torstead’s descent to one knee was a bit choppy, as if he hadn’t practiced much, but it was possible the threat on his life affected his composure.
“Please, stand,” Gavin said. “If you had seats, please return to them. I don’t need people to kneel to me.”
No one was even going to think of standing until the king and princess did so first.
Terris pushed himself to his feet and extended a hand to Kiri, which she accepted. They returned to their thrones, and Terris shifted his attention to a Cavalier standing against the wall to the side of the dais.
Archmagister Page 2
