“You bent your arm and let the wound close.” Natayl spoke as if personally offended.
“But it will heal.” With an effort, she made her voice louder and stronger, but she still had her head turned. “I did not need to do anything. I just—I wanted to stop the bleeding.”
“So this time you wanted to stop the bleeding?”
Tabitha said nothing. The king’s death had not been her fault.
“Answer me,” Natayl growled.
“Yes, I wanted to stop the bleeding.”
“But you did nothing but bend your arm to do it. Which you likely did while curled up in a ball on the floor.”
He made her sound so pathetic. She wished she could deny it. “They were trying to kill me. Kill us.”
“Yet you allowed them to escape.”
“We did not allow them,” she murmured, her eyes fixed to the square patterns on the carpet. “They ran. I wanted to stay and help find them, but Lord Contare would not let me.”
“No,” Natayl corrected her. “I would not let you. He would not come between a master and his apprentice.”
Lady Josselin would have. She was not brave enough to say that aloud.
Natayl’s chair creaked as he settled back into it. He said, “What else did you learn today?”
“I learned—”
“Look at me when you speak.”
Tabitha did not want to look at him any more than she wanted to look at the blood on her arm. But she would. I am a sorceress. The memory of Graegor’s confidence in her put more steel in her spine, and she breathed and stood tall before meeting Natayl’s eyes.
His stare, his sneer, his stillness, all belonged on a wolf. The grey of his hair and beard, and the faded woolen robe he wore, were all the same color as thunderclouds. Tabitha waited for the predator to lunge, for the storm to break, as the blood welled from her arm. But he only repeated softly, “What else did you learn today?”
“I learned to make a shield.” She was proud of that.
“When the blades fell from the ceiling.”
“Yes.”
“You did not learn that. Your power protected you.”
Tabitha did not let herself look away. “No. This was different.” She had not summoned a shield when the rogues had attacked at the Hippodrome. Both times, at the Hippodrome and in the fox-den, an overwhelming sense of danger had thrown her to the floor. But this time, in the fox-den, she had done something real. “I did it on my own. When I was going back up the stairs, I heard footsteps, and I held the shield of magic out in front of me, again. I did it.”
“Show me.”
Again, why was she surprised? Of course he would ask her to prove it.
I can do this. I can. I already did.
She dropped her gaze to the floor, because looking away from Natayl made it easier for her to concentrate. She remembered how it had felt to push a layer of the itching heat away from her body, to hold it taut, just as she had instinctively pushed it and held it taut when the saw-blades had fallen toward her and Graegor. It had felt like stretching a sheet of burlap between her arms.
Slowly she imitated what she had done before, and her skin began to tingle like it did when she pushed things with telekinesis. Like it had in the fox-den. She was doing it. She was doing it. It was working. She had a shield. Here in the brightly lit parlor, she could not see the faint silver glow that had illuminated the fox-den’s dark stairwell, but she could sense it. Natayl should be able to sense it too.
How could he doubt her or fault her now? She had summoned a shield made from nothing but magic.
I am a sorceress. I can do anything.
Then pain crushed her head, and she screamed as she fell to her knees, mindlessly wrapping both arms over her face. She barely felt the wound in her arm, because larger, fiercer pain as solid as iron drilled her to the floor. She shrieked as blackness rushed for her through bursting, blinding stars.
It stopped. Not entirely. It left behind an exhausting ache, where each of her gasps for breath hurt her throat and chest. Her eyes stung and her arm throbbed. He had struck her, he had hit her with his magic, he had never done that before, no matter how angry she had made him.
“That’s a pain amplifier,” Natayl said. “A twist on telepathy and kinetic force. The more power you draw into your shield, the worse the effect.”
Pain amplifier. A memory was attached to those words, but she could not reach it. She opened her eyes. She could see the floor, feel the rough nap of the carpet where her cheek pressed against it. Her arm felt pinched, but she did not dare unbend it.
Natayl’s voice seemed to come from a long distance above her. “Never fail to ask my permission again.”
She flinched. She could not help it. Terror was eating her alive, crawling over her skin like a thousand bees, itching, stinging.
But through it, she could sense Isabelle. Her cousin stood behind her, and the coin-thin edge of her mind was stretching toward Tabitha, into a line, into a rope, Isabelle’s fear with her own, Isabelle’s magic with her own, rough and burning against her. But it was there, Tabitha could pull it, pull strength, pull power, to harden the walls around her mind—
Then Natayl’s power shot through her again, a flash from her head to her stomach, and she screamed. It hurt so much. Fields of flowers, fields of flowers, fields of flowers, it’s not working, it still hurts! She tried to hold onto Isabelle’s magic but it lashed against her and whipped away.
“You draw her strength?” Natayl’s words broke over her like crumbling rocks. “One maga? I have dozens here, dozens more all over the world! Thousands of our people here, millions in our homeland! You have nothing!”
She had twenty-three. Twenty-three magi had pledged to her, but she could sense none of them, not even Isabelle. She was alone. She had nothing. There were thousands of Thendals in the city, but she had never sensed the streams of magic that she was supposed to be able to feel from her people. Beneath her feet, the island contained a wealth of earth magic, power beyond imagination, but she had only ever felt it when Graegor had lifted it to the surface. Natayl had never taught her how to reach it, and he never would.
Graegor. She tried to send to him, but his pain only made hers worse.
Natayl waited until she could breathe again, waited until the terrible burning had faded. Then he repeated, “Never fail to ask my permission again.”
Tabitha nodded.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“You don’t know the dangers. You don’t know the world. Always ask me before doing anything stupid. Anything wrong.”
Tabitha nodded again. Let me go. She wanted Graegor, but he was far away. Anyone who could help her was far away.
What would her father say if he saw her cringing like this?
Shame burned her cheeks, and then pride stiffened her shoulders. Not enough to make her rise, or even lift her gaze, but enough to keep her voice from trembling. “My lord, may I be excused?”
Natayl blew out his breath in disgust and got up from his chair. “Such perfect manners. I’m sure you think they count for something.”
It hurt. Every moment with him hurt. The bloody scraps of her sleeve that he had torn lay on the floor in front of her.
“Forgive me,” she begged in a whisper.
Natayl hissed a fierce, wordless rejection. She squeezed her eyes shut as he stooped over her until his head was almost touching hers. She felt his voice in her mind like ripping claws. “You are my death.”
The Hall was silent but for the shuffling footsteps of the ministers and scribes leaving the cavernous chamber. Tabitha watched the giant doors swing closed with a soft scrape. The curving walls shimmered, like the air above a fire, and Tabitha’s neck prickled. Hamid of Aedseli spoke the ritual words in his deep, rich voice: “The Hall is sealed.”
The white glow of the nine-pointed star in the center of the Table brightened, but its diffuse light did little to dispel the overall gloom.
Winter clouds covered the sun today, so Nuru’s Diamond at the ceiling did not cast rainbows across the walls as it usually did. The huge crystals that surmounted each of the nine throne-like chairs did not shine or sparkle, but instead looked dull white and opaque.
Natayl shifted in his seat, and Tabitha saw several of the other elder sorcerers do the same, settling. She did not move, and she would not move, at all. For this special, closed session, the first such she had ever attended, she was not sitting on a stool near the wall with all the scribes, taking notes that Natayl would later criticize. Instead, she was standing just one step back from the Table itself. She could see the tree-rings in its polished surface, and all nine races’ symbols laid in mosaic tile. On her left rose Natayl’s massive chair, and on her right was Contare’s. Her back was straight and her hands were clasped in front of her. She was going to show Natayl, show everyone, the perfect poise of a Betaul lady, exactly as she had at the king’s coronation. No one would be able to read a single thing from her face, from her manner, or from her mind. No one would even suspect how frightened she had been last night. At this moment, she was sealed as tightly as the Hall.
The council robe she wore was as perfect as her posture. Hidden buttons ran from the short collar down to the hem, and she wore all of them fastened so that the folds of the robe draped properly over her dress. Mistress Agnes had found a fabric with a sheen that lifted the grey robe from utilitarian to elegant. Similarly, her hair was set in a neat bun elevated by sapphire-tipped pins all around it. The badge of Thendalia, a silver raindrop on a dark blue circle the size of her palm, was embroidered in silken thread by her right shoulder. It was identical to the mosaic symbol on the Table in front of Natayl.
The spear wound in her arm had healed. The blood and the pain from last night were only memories. Vivid memories, but fading. She had to stand next to Natayl, and that was difficult, but Graegor was standing on the other side of Contare, and his presence in her mind was soft and strong, warm blankets and summer grass. On her left wrist, under the fold of the long sleeve covering her arm, she wore the bracelet Graegor had given her, the lustrous dark purple teardrop pearls thoroughly cleaned and cool against her skin. She had always loved the feel of pearls. She wanted bracelets in all colors of Telgard pearls, from icy white through all the blues to deepest matte black.
With ritual precision, Hamid placed the presider’s baton onto the Table in front of him and said, “We are assembled in special session this morning to discuss last night’s attack and the form our retaliation will take. Contare, you ordered the city gates closed, so you should be the first to present a request. Please proceed.”
“Thank you,” Contare said, his voice coming from over Tabitha’s right shoulder. “In order to find the men who attacked Graegor and Tabitha last night, I request that the gates remain closed and that the Circle as a body give the assistance of all its magi to the city watch. We tried to track down the attackers all night, without results. Pascin has a search method in mind that is minimally disruptive, but we need time, and we need magi.”
Tabitha knew that neither Contare nor Graegor had slept at all, but the elder sorcerer did not sound the least bit tired or frustrated. As always, his words were delivered in a calm, dry voice, perhaps even more calm and dry than usual. But Graegor had once told Tabitha that the more emotionless Contare seemed, the angrier he actually was.
Had she known that the same was true of Natayl, she would have been much more wary last night when he had not shouted. The old man might be pretending now that nothing had happened, but she could not forget that terrible pain.
Hamid now gestured toward the Medean sorceress. “Serafina, please present your request.”
“Thank you.” Serafina had a deep voice for a woman, with the barest hint of a rolling accent. She wore a headband of linked gold rings that looked like a crown in her snow-white hair, and an identical chain of gold rings hung from both her earlobes and swung under her chin. “I request that the gates be opened immediately so that the business of the city may continue. Contare, and anyone who wishes to help him, may continue the search without involving the Circle as a body. I request this in the certainty that finding these attackers will not stop future attacks and that a different strategy is needed.”
Now Hamid nodded at Natayl. “Natayl, please present your request.”
Natayl’s gravelly voice came from over Tabitha’s left shoulder, and again Tabitha had to hide a flinch. “Thank you. I request that full lockdown be immediately imposed, and that all available magi assistance be given, until these rogue magi are found.”
Hamid now addressed the entire Table. “Three requests have been presented. Contare’s request maintains current conditions, under which the city gates are closed, but all residents have freedom of movement within the walls, and all Circle-pledged magi are needed to assist the city watch in searching for the rogues until they are found. Serafina’s request returns the city to yesterday’s conditions, under which the city gates were open in accordance with normal practice, and individual sorcerers could choose to assign their magi as they saw fit. Natayl’s request is for full Circle Law conditions, under which the entire population would be required to remain in their homes for the duration, and all Circle-pledged magi would be required to assist the city watch in its search. Each request needs a simple majority to carry, and we will remain in session until one of the three requests gains five votes.”
That sounded like it could be a long time. Tabitha flexed the muscles of her knees, discreetly enough that not a single fold of her skirt moved.
“The debate is open,” Hamid went on. “You must speak aloud, for the benefit of the Ninth. The Ninth themselves may not speak. The normal rules of floor precedence are suspended unless they prove necessary.” With that, he leaned back into his seat, and because his skin was so dark, his face seemed to vanish into shadow.
Lady Malaya spoke immediately. “By his actions, Contare has given us no choice but a full lockdown.” She had a high voice, which might once have been musical but now just sounded shrill. Her face looked like a withered apple, and Tabitha could barely see her eyes, as the lines of them were only slightly thicker than the wrinkles across her forehead. Her silver-threaded black hair was as long and straight as arrows.
“No choice?” Contare asked her, as if making sure he had heard correctly.
“There are only two valid answers to this attack,” Malaya said, holding up two bone-thin fingers. “One, ignore it as beneath our notice, which would have been my answer, and which was our public answer after the Hippodrome fireworks. Or, two, put the city under Circle Law to repay the insult. The city gates should have opened three hours ago, but they are still closed. That means we have already acknowledged the attack. Therefore we must impose Circle Law.”
Serafina opened her mouth to speak, but Contare was quicker. “All or nothing? Both are too extreme. My request takes a middle road.”
“It must be all or nothing,” Malaya snapped. “Halfway measures send the wrong message.” She was angry. She was always angry. Tabitha had not yet attended a Circle session where the Tolander sorceress had acted agreeable, and it was always especially bad when Daxod was with her. He stood now between her chair and Lasfe’s, and he was nearly as good as Tabitha was at playing statue. The other thing they had in common was both of their predecessors hated having them around.
Had Malaya ever told Daxod that he was her death?
“We don’t need to ‘send a message’,” Josselin said. The Khenroxan sorceress was clearly annoyed. Other Circle sessions had shown Tabitha that almost anything Malaya said annoyed Josselin. “We’re searching for murderers, not punishing the city.”
“We have already acknowledged the attack,” Malaya repeated. “To attack us carries consequences.”
Tabitha did not want to agree with Malaya, since the woman was so unpleasant. And of course she did not want to agree with Natayl about anything. But she remembered her father imposing martial
law on Betaul Town for ten days specifically to punish some merchants for smuggling, and she knew that he had not had a problem with smuggling since then.
Furthermore, closing the city gates here was even less consequential than it sounded. Unlike other cities, there were no towns or villages surrounding and supplying the city on Maze Island. Hundreds of acres of citrus orchards did lie south of the city wall, but they could survive without tending right now. Since Natayl was in charge of the Ministry of Farms, Tabitha had seen the huge underground storerooms, filled with food and layered with preservation spells, that could keep the entire population fed for months. She had seen barges from the fief islands lining up at the water gate every day in the summer and fall, but now, in the winter, they were fewer and farther between. If the Circle wanted to discourage the people of the city from hiding the rogues, simply keeping the gates closed was unlikely to do that.
She would not let Graegor know how she felt about it, though. They had had a discussion once about the responsibilities of a lord, and he had shown himself to be quite naïve. Fortunately, their Circle would not be voting.
“We don’t rule by fear,” Josselin was saying, but much less sternly than Tabitha would have expected from her. The words almost sounded rote.
“Oh, yes, we do,” Malaya insisted. “And we can’t look weak.”
Natayl’s loud, rough voice startled Tabitha again. “Who cares if we look weak? Anyone who actually thinks we are is an idiot. A lockdown will clear the streets while we search.”
Tabitha distinctly heard Contare sigh. Natayl went on, “I’ll quote you. You said that this attack was ‘the most finely tuned effort we’ve ever seen by any group of rogue magi’.”
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