by Beth Alvarez
“You truly wish for us to merely sit on our hands?” Edagan asked. “Our mages remain in the temple! If there’s anything we can do to free them from that woman’s grasp, it’s our duty as heads of our affinities to aid them.”
“She never said we wouldn’t aid them,” Balen said. “We will. But there’s little we can do tonight, either way. We need more information, and we must wait for the queen’s orders.”
Anaide scoffed. “Are you so cowed that you must agree with whatever your sweetheart nods along to?”
Kytenia’s brows shot up. “That is out of line, Anaide.”
The Master of Water gestured across the table at Balen and Rikka. “It doesn’t benefit anyone to pretend we don’t see it. Fraternization in the temple is discouraged for a reason. As two Masters in leadership positions, they should be able to make independent choices.”
Spots of red bloomed in Rikka’s cheeks and she opened her mouth to speak, but Balen spoke before she could.
“All mages are allowed to have friends, Master Anaide. The fact you think it’s impossible to be companionable without romantic interest may go a long way toward explaining your reputation of being sour.”
Anaide’s mouth dropped open.
“That is enough,” Kytenia declared, though she struggled to keep amusement off her face. She wiped a hand over her mouth and hoped she looked exasperated. “Master Rikka has been a friend of mine since we were girls. Her presence has no bearing on my reasoning, and we have no reason to think it would have bearing on his, either. If you cannot refrain from such petty and absurd accusations, you will sit out our next meeting.”
The Master of Water gaped further. Neve covered her mouth and turned away, but not before Kytenia caught a hint of a smile.
She pretended not to notice. “Now that we understand how all of us have come to be here, do we agree the best thing we can do is await further orders?”
All around the table, mages nodded.
“Yes, though I admit some frustration that we’ve had a formal meeting and the only conclusion was that we have to wait,” Temar said.
“That’s not the only conclusion,” Kella put in from Temar’s side.
Everyone’s heads turned her way.
A coy sparkle lit her eyes. “We’ve also concluded that some of us have no friends.”
Kytenia buried her face in her hands.
17
A Time for War
The call came at the crack of dawn, when Rune’s head was pounding and his whole body ached in silent protest of the night before.
He squeezed his eyes closed and prayed whatever messenger hammered at the door would go away.
They didn’t relent, hammering away until the sound of every knuckle on the wood rattled like dice inside his head. Groaning, Rune dragged himself from the pillows to answer the summons, though he already knew what it was. Two pages waited in the hallway, as usual. One to answer questions and help him prepare, and one to carry an immediate response to the nobles to ensure they knew he was coming.
Why so many nobles insisted on early morning meetings, Rune would never know. If ever he had the chance to call council meetings of his own, they’d be held at noon and meals would be served. Meals and liquor, he decided as an afterthought, cradling his head in both hands.
He insisted on selecting his own clothes and dressing by himself, but he did allow one of the young men to stay and help him shave. Sparse as his beard was, a short stubble that barely lined his jaw, it was enough to draw the king’s ire in formal court.
“His lordship may regret the drink today,” the youth said, his tone patronizing enough that Rune cracked open one dim-glowing eye to look at him. “I have it on good authority you’re to go to war today.”
As if Rune himself didn’t know. He snorted and closed his eye again. “All the more reason to want a drink. I’ve been to war, boy. If I don’t have my liquor now, I might not have a chance again.”
The young man quieted and finished his work without another word. Rune struggled not to grumble, even after he left. If he thought he could get away with it, he’d have another drink now. It would have been nice to bolster himself with liquid courage, but he did need his wits about him when they left.
Despite his aching head, Rune was among the first to take his place at the table. Garam was there, as were Stal and Vicamros, but the others were later to arrive.
Sera made her appearance with aid from Redoram. Alira arrived with Kytenia and Rikka, though Rikka stood beside the wall while the others sat. Then came councilors representing Lore, Roberian, and even one from Aldaan. Self-managing as the provinces were, they changed councilors often and Rune didn’t know any of them well. A small weasel of a man slid in among them, sniffing as if he didn’t approve of their presence. Rune rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He had no fond memories of Lord Survas. Often, he found himself wondering why the man wouldn’t just die.
One by one, the visitors paid respect to Vicamros and took their seats as directed. A woman representing the Royal City’s mages joined them next, then an unfamiliar man in white robes. He had a clear sense of power about him, hidden under a cheerful smile. Rune leaned forward, his brow furrowed. The Triad’s mages wore low-collared robes with sleeves that flared at the wrist, but this stranger wore the high collared, narrow-sleeved cut more popular on Elenhiise. A temple mage who’d escaped, or an emissary sent to speak on Envesi’s behalf?
A handful of other nobles slid in after him and arranged themselves around the outer edges of the room. They preened as they perused the faces of those at the table. Their stances and expressions made it clear they thought their position in the Royal City gave them the right to decide how war was handled. In another time, perhaps it would have. But Vicamros II was more strict than his father, and the games the politicians played were tolerated less and less each year.
Rune almost ignored them, but a woman in white among their number stood out.
The last time he’d seen Edagan had been the morning after his father’s blood had stained his claws. She’d stood with the other mages, hovering over Ilmenhith’s throne like vultures when Anaide passed his sentence.
His jaw tightened and his eyes lingered on her face. “Has the king’s council become an attraction for spectators? I thought the arena was entertainment enough.”
Edagan raised a brow. “The streets are filled with armies preparing for deployment. What you’re about to discuss is no secret.” Then her eyes narrowed. “I’d heard you were here. I can’t say I was surprised. You always had a penchant for ingratiating yourself with those who held power. So desperate to make up for what you could never have.”
Rune snorted. “I have held and lost more power of every sort than you could ever aspire to know.”
“Enough,” Vicamros snapped.
Sullen, Rune slouched in his seat.
A mage slipped through the door and cleared her throat. “Presenting,” she began, her voice bringing the room to silence, “Queen Firal and King Vahnil of Elenhiise.”
All around the table, councilors shifted in uncertainty. Aside from Elenhiise, Vicamros did not keep allies. If a country looked favorably upon him, it would be taken into the empire. The surrounding countries monitored their borders closely; with the legion at his command, it would be impossible to turn him away. This had to be the first time the Spiral Palace had hosted visiting royalty. Without any experience, how were the councilors supposed to react when another monarch entered the room?
Rune stifled a smirk as they exchanged glances and moved in their seats. Unable to decide what to do, some started to rise, then thought better of it and sank into their chairs again.
“It’s not often I get to see a whole room of councilors flustered,” Sera murmured at his elbow, clearly as amused as he was.
“And people criticize my manners,” he whispered back. He braced his hands against the arms of his chair and pushed himself to stand at the exact moment Vicamros rose. In a rush, all
the councilors followed.
Sera covered her mouth with one hand and giggled.
They entered side by side, Firal’s fingertips resting lightly on Vahn’s upturned palm. Strange as it was, he looked every bit a king, from the tips of his polished black boots to the gleaming silver crown on his brow. He wore Ilmenhith’s colors, blue and silver, his cape a rich navy and the inside studded with gems to resemble stars.
Beside him, Firal looked no less regal. Her ebony curls were pinned atop her head and embellished with jewels to make up for her lack of crown. But instead of Ilmenhith’s colors, she was a better match for the gray-embroidered black Rune wore, again clad in the fine black silk gown he had given her the night before.
She ignored him, but Vahn met his eye. His fair brows rose and his gaze flickered between Rune and the king to his left. Council? You? his expression said.
Rune answered with the faintest of rueful smiles and a slight tilt of his head. What can I say?
“Welcome, cousins.” Vicamros’s voice boomed in the silence. He spread his arms in greeting and left his throne to clasp Vahn’s arm with the friendliness and respect such an alliance warranted. “Your presence was unexpected, both of you, but you are always welcome here.”
“We thank you,” Vahn replied, equally polite. “We owe you a debt of gratitude, but when all is settled, it shall be repaid.”
Vicamros kissed Firal’s hand, then led them to the only chairs still empty, directly across from his throne.
Guards settled in around the room as the king returned to his place at the far side of the circular table.
The kings and queen sat and the councilors followed.
“This is who she chose after you left?” Sera whispered, emitting a tiny squeak when Stal poked her ribs.
Rune gave the Archmage a sidewise glance and mouthed a silent thank-you.
“You have my deepest thanks for offering Firal sanctuary in her time of need.” Vahn remained formal, diplomatic. More interesting was Firal, who remained solemn and stared ahead without seeing who was before her.
Rune watched her and frowned.
“As allies, you are always welcome within my borders,” Vicamros said. “However, it seems we are now caught in a difficult situation.”
Vahn’s polite smile faltered. “With all due respect, I fear it may be best if Ilmenhith avoids direct involvement in this matter. As I’m sure you know, most of our strength came from our mages. Our armies can contribute little to a mainland war, and sending the mages would leave us unprotected.”
“Few of our mages are here,” Kytenia said, “but as Archmage of Kirban Temple, I feel we may be better served to remain in the Triad until our services here are rendered complete. As you may have heard, Your Majesty, King Vicamros has requested our assistance in a matter of magic. I fear we would be ill-mannered to withdraw before it is complete.”
A tactful refusal to submit to an order she disagreed with. Rune hadn’t doubted her, but her capability as a leader still impressed him. He inclined his head slightly when Kytenia looked his way. She averted her eyes, though a touch of pink shaded her cheeks.
“Of course,” Vahn said. “You have acted under Firal’s orders since your arrival. I would not dream of changing them now. If Firal felt it best you assist, then you have leave to keep your mages here for as long as it takes to fulfill your obligations to Vicamros.”
Stal whispered something to his wife. He caught Rune’s eye as he straightened and Sera leaned close to pass on the question. “Firal is monarch, is she not? Vahnil is her consort, not truly a king?”
Rune waited to reply until Kytenia offered her thanks, letting her voice mask his whispers. “According to the gossiping maids in Ilmenhith, Elenhiise rebelled when Firal took the throne. Vahn is heir to House Tanrys, the most prestigious noble family in Ilmenhith. After they wed, Firal declared him her equal and used his family’s influence to quell the uprising.”
Sera grunted in displeasure. “This does not appear equal. He speaks for her. Look, she is unhappy.”
Rune didn’t have to look. He felt the dissatisfaction in the air, as well as the tension it created. Though Vahn and Firal sat close together, they did not touch, nor did they look at one another. It seemed their reunion hadn’t been as joyful as Firal might have hoped.
Vahn spoke again. “Ilmenhith cannot be without its rulers. Though our alliance stands and we are happy to assist in whatever means possible, we must return to the island.”
Rune blinked, jarred back to the conversation. “Returning to Elenhiise when Envesi has declared it her base of operations is madness. We barely escaped alive. What makes you think Firal would be so lucky a second time?”
Vahn’s face darkened.
“Still your tongue,” Vicamros growled. “The council has not been given leave to speak.”
Anger surged in Rune before he could quell it. He stayed silent, but from the way the others looked at him, he knew his eyes betrayed it. He’d tried to learn the Alda’anan trick for controlling the glow of his eyes, the soft, constant light that fluctuated with colors to mirror his feelings. His first teacher, Filadiel, had told him he couldn’t control it until he controlled his emotions. All these years later, he knew he was still a long way off.
Rune bit his tongue and lowered his eyes. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I hold great fear for the queen’s safety, that’s all.”
Vicamros went on as if nothing had happened. “If you wish to depart, I cannot stop you. However, I question the wisdom in returning to Ilmenhith before the problem has been dealt with.”
“And how would you deal with a mage whose means you disagree with?” Vahn’s eyes narrowed. “If it were so easy to solve, it would have been solved by now. In the meantime, our country will not continue to function as it is. Trade is weeks behind. Elenhiise is already impacted by this obstruction in the clockwork. The Triad will be affected before long. With winter coming, I don’t expect that’s a risk you can afford.”
“We managed before our alliance. We can manage again if need be, until peace is regained on the island.” Vicamros spoke slowly, choosing his words with care. Elenhiise had always needed the Triad more than the Triad needed Elenhiise, but both parties would suffer if their alliance were to dissolve. The accelerated trade that came with the island’s location was too good to pass up, regardless of who ruled.
The next part of the conversation would be more tricky.
Vicamros laced his fingers together and rested his hands atop the table as he spoke. “I expect you will need your mages to assist you in returning to Ilmenhith. My own mages will lend them strength in whatever needs they have. Is there anything else you require of me?”
“No,” Vahn said. “That should suffice.”
“Very well. I shall have them prepare. Now I must ask something of you.”
A number of councilors frowned. Vicamros could not act against the temple without the crown’s leave. To send soldiers or mages to battle their rogue charges without approval from Ilmenhith could only be seen as hostile.
Vahn shrugged. “You may ask.”
“I request that you release my champion.”
Rune’s head jerked up and myriad colors whirled through his eyes before he caught himself. Murmurs stirred through the spectators, though those at the table remained silent, their attention equally distributed between their king, Vahn and Firal, and Rune himself. That the king asked such a concession first, before even dealing with the placement of soldiers, marked Rune’s survival as a high priority. Higher even than the continued alliance between Elenhiise and the Triad.
Whispered speculations flew in the watching crowd as a number of nobles reassessed the situation. When he’d been sent to Elenhiise in chains, Rune had been discounted. Now it seemed he was a more powerful piece on the board than any of them had realized.
Rune’s eyes fell to the scar in his hand, the one that gave his name and connected him to the rune-stone game piece he always carried in his pocket. Resent
ment stirred in his heart. That was what he’d been his entire life. Nothing more than a marked piece for kings and queens to move about in their games.
Vicamros continued. “Rune Kaim-Ennen is a valuable part of my council and my military force. Given that he sits at this table with his head still connected to his shoulders, I assume his misdeeds in your kingdom have been dealt with.”
Vahn hesitated too long, drawing more speculation. “Yes,” he managed eventually, meeting Rune’s eye with a cold mask of an expression. “He has served his purpose. He may return to exile.”
Exile. Anger flooded Rune anew and searing crimson lit his eyes. After they’d dragged him about, shamed him and threatened him, demanded compliance and driven him to risk his life to preserve the crown, Vahn—his lifelong friend!—condemned him to renewed exile?
“No.” Firal straightened as she spoke for the first time. “His service is penance enough. Your champion may return to you, Vicamros. But he is no longer an exile. If he wishes to return to Elenhiise for any reason, he will be welcome there.”
Vahn’s jaw tightened, a shadow in his eyes.
“A relief, to be sure,” Vicamros said. “I am sure he’ll be visiting your lands again soon.”
The shadow escaped. “What?” Vahn blinked at the king across the circle. “For what purpose?”
Instead of replying, Vicamros turned. “Archmage Kaith, you are the one who most recently spoke with Envesi. She told you where she could be found, did she not?”
Stal’s mouth twisted with displeasure. “Our conversation was brief, but she indicated she has taken Kirban Temple as her headquarters.”
“So it is safe to assume that is where she could be captured.”
Rune gave his head a twitch. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, I don’t think she can be captured.”
His words earned him an acid glare. Vicamros drew a breath to admonish him, but Firal spoke first.
