by Beth Alvarez
Rocking gently, Firal rained kisses on the girl’s face and head and chubby hands. She was only half aware of the Gate closing behind the last mage.
Vahn rested a hand on Firal’s back and kissed the top of Lulu’s head before he looked up. “Is he...?”
“They are speaking,” Kytenia replied softly. “But I expect it won’t be long.”
Even as her heart soared, Firal felt her stomach turn sick with grief. Joy and sorrow mingled in her tears. Threading her fingers through her daughter’s hair, she rested her forehead against the girl’s and tried to make herself breathe.
Lulu’s soft hands rested on her cheeks. The girl mumbled happy nonsense and hugged Firal again.
“What do we do now?” Vahn asked.
The whole room sobered.
“The only thing we can do,” a sweet voice sighed. Its owner slid past the mages to squat beside Firal. “Wait and see if Elenhiise announces a new ruler.” There was an edge of contempt in her tone.
Firal lifted her head and blinked. “Vivenne? What are you doing here?”
The plump older woman offered a strained smile. “Vahnil asked me to stay with the little one. So I will. With everything happening back home, it seems she might need friendly faces around to help her adjust here.”
Vahn frowned. “Whatever he said, you shouldn’t believe it.”
Surprised, Vivenne looked up. “I beg your pardon?”
“We sent him,” Firal said. “Someone had to get Lulu away from her. Now Envesi must be stopped. He volunteered to... to...”
No sooner than they’d stopped, the tears began anew. This time, Vahn hugged Lulu and Firal both as she cried.
“We will retire to our rooms for now,” Vahn said to the mages. “Notify us the moment you hear something. Mother, please accompany us.”
“Of course,” Vivenne murmured.
Firal tried to pull herself together. She gulped back tears and stood with Vahn’s help. She still hugged Lulu tight and the girl clung to her neck, satisfied to go anywhere her mother carried her.
The mages returned to their stations. Kytenia spoke to the leaders among them in low tones as Vahn led his small family away.
As they slipped from the mage quarters, Firal chanced a look back at the empty archway they’d come through. She prayed in silence, but her heart already sank.
Against a foe like Envesi, how long could he last?
“News has come from our informants in the Grand College.” Vicamros stood gazing out the window with his back toward his councilors. Rhyllyn suspected he’d chosen a private parlor instead of the council chamber for that reason. So long as there was a window to look through, he didn’t have to face them.
“So soon?” Garam sounded no more hopeful than the king.
“We knew it would be swift, no matter the outcome,” Vicamros said. “Envesi lives. And she is angry.”
Rhyllyn bowed his head.
They’d all known it was a risk. It was one of the reasons Vicamros demanded Rhyllyn stay put. He might have bettered Rune’s chances for survival, but the council had agreed with the king. Keeping Rhyllyn in reserve for defensive measures was better for everyone. If he could expand the mage-barrier to encompass the majority of the Triad—or the majority of Roberian and the most inhabited fringes of Lore, at least—they could live indefinitely within its safety.
Judging by his efforts thus far, it seemed a rather large if.
“What are we to do?” Soft as it was, Alira’s voice seemed loud in the stillness.
Had the whole council been called, someone would have asked sooner. Rhyllyn suspected Lord Survas would have been the first to try to sweep Rune’s efforts under the rug and propose some self-aggrandizing plan.
Instead, only the king’s closest advisors—Garam, Alira, and Redoram—were present. As near as Rhyllyn could figure, he’d only been included so he could hear the news.
“We stay the current course,” Vicamros said. “We remain defensive. Continue to try to push the barrier outward to shield the rest of the Triad, and send mages to protect our people if necessary.”
Redoram nodded in agreement. “The best thing we can do now is wait.”
Garam sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. “And what of Elenhiise?”
Vicamros clasped his hands behind his back. “I’m afraid they’re on their own for now.”
“Someone should tell them.” Rhyllyn stared at his brother’s sword laid across his knees. He’d carried it around since it was handed to him, unsure what to do with it. He wasn’t a fighter and it was more of a family heirloom, besides. It should have gone to Rune’s daughter. Not him.
“We will,” Vicamros promised. “You may, if you wish. But before you go, we must discuss the state of the barrier.”
Rhyllyn swallowed back a sigh. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
Alira moved close enough to rest a hand on his shoulder. “Tell us what you’ve learned. We’ll start there. We wish to help you as much as possible, Rhyllyn.”
He wasn’t sure they could help him. “I haven’t made much progress. I’ve tried, but it’s... complicated. Rune was able to redirect the energy flows from the anchor to himself, but it took a lot of time and effort. I haven’t even been able to get that far. When I try to do it, it’s like trying to hold onto an eel, or... or catching a plume of smoke. Whenever I grab it, there’s nothing there.”
Redoram made a thoughtful sound. “That’s Alda’anan magic for you. He may have known some technique he learned from them and merely didn’t think to pass it on. Keep at it, young man. I’m certain you’ll determine what he did differently.”
“And if I don’t?” The words spilled out before Rhyllyn could stop them, so much heat in his voice that even Vicamros turned to look at him. “You kept me here because I was supposed to be able to do this. What if I can’t? I should have gone with him. I should have done something.”
“It wouldn’t change anything, Rhyllyn.” Alira rubbed his shoulders, trying to soothe him. “You’ve done what you were told. Feel no remorse for it.”
Easy for her to say. He was always the good, obedient boy. Respectful to elders, prompt to do as they bid him. But never before had the alternative been so drastic.
If Rhyllyn had refused to comply, had insisted on going to Elenhiise with his brother, would Rune have been able to escape alive?
Though he wasn’t trying to be quiet, Rune still winced when his chains clinked and rattled. The dungeons were filled with sounds of misery, but he was of special interest. Drawing too much notice could only make things more difficult.
In all the years between his escape and his return, the jailer hadn’t learned any new tricks. Rune hadn’t been coherent enough to notice when they chained him in his cell, his head still muddled from the pain, but he noticed now. A different cell, ages later, but they’d chained him the same way. Little chain at his ankles, meaning he couldn’t move far. The chains at his wrists were anchored in the ceiling, and just short enough that when he sank toward the floor, his knees couldn’t touch the ground. He hung by his wrists for a moment, testing to see how badly the manacles bit into his hands. Then he stood.
It was designed to exhaust him, keep him too tired and distracted by pain to reach magic. It had worked before, but he’d been younger. He’d also been in poor shape when he was arrested, exhausted after combat in Core, a frantic ride across the country, action on the battlefield, and the grief that came with his father’s death.
This time, he’d arrived at full strength—or as close to it as he got, these days. His go-round with Envesi had been quick, but the only taxing part had been the pain that came from straining against the seal.
Rune wrapped his hands around the upper chains and held tight. He hung in place for a second before he lifted himself. His breath deepened and his focus shifted. The movement brought warmth to his muscles, combating the dank chill of prison.
They’d taken his finery and put him in rags. From the way they’d
gloated about it, Rune figured it was meant to humiliate him. That and remove whatever comfort might have come from warm, good-quality clothing. The latter was a shame, but he’d lived through worse. As unpleasant as Ilmenhith’s dungeons were, they couldn’t compare to the prison in the Royal City.
Both experiences had been misery, though of very different sorts. Ilmenhith’s dungeon had been for torture, meant to inflict as much punishment as possible before he went to the gallows. The Royal City’s prison had been somewhere to stuff him and forget him—and then beat him within an inch of his life when he refused to be forgotten.
Both had tempered him like steel. If anyone thought the threat of torture would frighten him now, they were sorely mistaken.
Rune lifted himself again and pulled up until his chin passed the point where his fists bunched in the chain. The effort brought a thin sheen of sweat to his bronze skin after the fifth repetition. He slowed down, then stopped and stood with his feet wide and his eyes closed. If he alternated between periods of mindful exercise and semi-suspended rest, he’d fare best. If his last stay was anything to judge by, the jailer would be by to beat or whip him before the night was over. When that time came, he’d be ready.
He drew his hands together before his chest in one of the meditative positions the Alda’anan had taught him and breathed deep.
“Are you a religious man?”
Rune opened his eyes.
He hadn’t heard anyone approach. Focused on his own body as he was, he hadn’t sensed anything, either.
A mage in white stood outside his cell’s bars, gazing at him like a curious child.
“I suppose that depends on what you mean by religious,” he replied, amused. “I’ve heard people say I must be soul-blighted to look the way I do.”
“Are you?” She raised a brow.
“Perhaps. Everyone’s got a little bit of rot inside them. Some of us do a better job of pruning it than others.”
The mage nodded and leaned back against the empty cell opposite his. “I thought I’d ask if you were in need of healing, but you appear to be feeling well.”
Rune snorted. “As well as a man in chains can. I’d much prefer to sleep in my bed upstairs, but I don’t think your Archmage would take kindly to that idea.”
“You could always ask to sleep in her bed,” she remarked sarcastically. “She seemed fond of that notion.”
He shuddered. “Don’t remind me.” The vile feeling of her tongue against his would haunt him until his dying day. Which, he supposed, could be tomorrow. The sooner the better, if it meant forgetting that.
The mage shrugged.
“Did someone send you to heal me?” He held the chains, unable to do much else. He thought it unlikely she had orders, though if Envesi meant to torture him, he assumed she’d prefer a clean canvas to work on. Maybe she thought the jailer had already been to see him.
She glanced over her shoulder and then spun a ward over the two of them.
He braced himself for an attack. The jailer didn’t take kindly to anyone handling his prisoners. If she meant to strike him, the ward would spare her hide.
Instead the woman moved closer to the bars. “I came of my own accord. I will follow orders to protect my life, but not all of us are so eager to follow Envesi’s lead.”
Rune’s brow furrowed. “I know you.”
“And I know you. That’s why I came.” She smiled. “I don’t think we spoke, though. My name is Hetia. I was the last Master raised to court mage before you, you know.”
He straightened. She did know him. Not just for the name he’d made for himself, but the life he’d had before exile. “Who told you?”
“Nobody. You weren’t exactly subtle in the things you said to the queen. Some of the courtiers suspect it, but I don’t think any of them have taken a close enough look at you to be sure.” Hetia ducked her head. “I think your limbs put most of them off from the idea. Of you being you, I mean,” she added hastily. “Not of looking. I don’t mean to imply it’s unpleasant.”
He chuckled mirthlessly. “I’m sure looking is unpleasant.” It was unpleasant enough for him to see himself.
She studied his physique and shrugged. “Not particularly. I’m rather curious, to be honest. Were the situation different, I would ask for the chance to study you. Your magic, I mean,” she corrected herself, “and what it’s done to you. I am sure there’s a great deal to learn from examining how it works.”
“You might ask Envesi,” he suggested. “If you’re able to work out a study time that involves a chair or somewhere decent to sleep, I’m sure I’d be glad to be studied.”
Hetia laughed, then caught herself and lifted a hand to cover her mouth. “You’re in good spirits for a man in your position.”
Rune smirked. “Knowing one of Firal’s mages is still here and alive, it feels like my chances just got a little better.”
“Ah.” Her face fell. “I wish I could let you out. Given the state of Envesi’s temper, I think it’s too early for that. She had you imprisoned because she was too injured to kill you on the spot. She’s feeling better now. But give her a day or so, wait for her to be distracted and forget you’re down here, and your chances of escape would be better.”
“So you came to make sure I’m alive enough to make it a few more days.”
She nodded. “I apologize. I wish I could do more.”
“There is something you can do.” He dropped his hands and let them hang. The chained manacles kept them near his shoulders, but that was still better than holding them overhead. He’d have to move more. Already the blood flow to his fingertips was poor and the uncomfortable chill of the dungeon seeped into his hands.
Hetia spread her hands and shrugged. “If it’s in my power.”
“Send word to the mainland. There are bound to be mages all around the capital who are still loyal to Firal and willing to help. King Vicamros would appreciate knowing I’m not dead yet. And if I die shortly, let him know that, too.” It was a simple message, but important. As long as he lived, it was a message of hope. Until he died, there was still a chance he could finish his mission.
“I will do what I can.” She started to release the ward, then hesitated. “I trust my assistance will not be mentioned to the jailer?”
Rune twisted in place to show his scarred back. “I’ve already seen what Ilmenhith’s jailer can do. He got nothing he wanted out of me then and he’ll get less now.”
Hetia blanched, but nodded. “A handful of court mages are still alive. Most are hidden in the city, for fear of being recognized. I was new enough she wouldn’t know me without the blue trim on my robes, which is why they chose me to come back to the palace. We will do what we can for you, but if the things you said to Envesi are true...”
He resisted a frown. “You heard us?”
“She told us what was said, expecting you might use some of it to try to sway us.” Her face hardened. “I am sworn to serve Ilmenhith and the temple both, but my first priority is protecting the city and my fellow mages from the usurper. After my oath to protect them comes my oath to the queen. If you stand in the way of her returning to the throne, we will oppose you.”
Rune tried not to laugh. “I’m no threat, believe me. We’re on the same side.” His amusement faded and a wistful smile curved his lips. “I swore an oath to Firal as well.”
Hetia’s eyes narrowed. “What did you swear to her?”
“Everything.”
Her brows lifted and she regarded him thoughtfully. “So they’re true, then? The rumors about you and Queen Firal?”
Rumors he’d started, when he thought she meant to kill him. If he made it out of Ilmenhith alive, he’d have to apologize for that. As he’d have to apologize for answering the question. “Yes,” he said, voice low. “They are.”
To his surprise, Hetia gave him a wry smile. “Hmm. Her Majesty always was a scholar. It seems she beat me to the chance to study you. And quite thoroughly, at that.” She looked him over
again, then released the ward. “The jailer will be along to deal with you soon and the Archmage will wish to have a turn with you after. I shall return tomorrow morning to mend your wounds and prepare you for a second round of their ministrations.”
It sounded like a grim promise, but he understood. Make it through tonight, and she’d let him know tomorrow if she was able to get word to the Triad.
Rune flexed his arms to keep blood flowing. Endure one night, then he could present a plan for escape. He drew a deep breath and closed his eyes. For Firal, he could endure a hundred.
20
Guilt
The messenger arrived at the crack of dawn. Vicamros had grilled the man, demanded to know exactly how word from Ilmenhith had reached the Grand College.
Vahn didn’t care. The fact that a message escaped at all showed a large number of mages who didn’t answer to Envesi still lived, and nothing could compare to the message they’d brought.
Alive.
His friend was alive.
Vahn didn’t know whether to laugh or weep. He could have kissed the messenger, but for the sake of everyone present when the meeting was called, he didn’t.
The elation he felt was a combination of joy at knowing Rune still lived and the rekindling of hope that came with it.
Guilt had wrenched his insides since this whole affair began, since he first touched pen to paper to write the missive that dragged his once closest friend into this whirlwind of events. No; he gave his head a twitch. It had clung to him longer than that, a quiet shadow that had lurked behind some of the happiest moments of his life. Somehow, it had never struck him before now how terribly unfair it all was.
In the wake of that clear understanding, the message felt like a second chance.
The rest of the message hadn’t been so inspiring. Alive but imprisoned, held under mage guard with execution believed impending.
Six pents prior, Vahn had helped save Rune from those exact circumstances. Funny how fate seemed determined he should die that way.
