1. Magic is draining away and not being replenished.
2. The worlds are diverging, and taking the magic with them.
3. Magic is spreading out to a concentration too thin to be used.
4. Th’an and pouvrin are less effective because of some characteristic of the new world.
What we’re working on now, though, is determining whether the effect is a result of the magic not being fully combined—and we’re also working harder than ever on finding out how to make that happen.
I say “working harder” but the truth is, I’m afraid to push us to our limits because those limits seem to be closer than they used to be, and we can’t afford to have anyone collapse. I’m guessing it will be as hard to recover from that as it is to work pouvrin and scribe th’an now. So I’ve moved our little group from the camp into the palace, which is a better environment for research, and make sure we take frequent rests and eat regularly.
I’m worried for Audryn in particular, who’s already tired from her pregnancy—her stomach is visibly rounded, and she let me feel the baby kick the other day! I don’t know what we’ll do when spring comes and we go to war. She seems to take it for granted she’ll be part of the attack, but she’ll be at least seven months pregnant and the idea of risking her unborn child bothers me. It’s something I’ve put off discussing with her, because she gets very touchy when anyone suggests she get special treatment because of her condition, like they’re blaming her for her accidental pregnancy interfering with our work. But we’ll have to talk about it sometime, and soon.
Things aren’t going well in Pfulerre. We had dinner with Radryntor this evening, and she seemed cranky. It didn’t occur to me that it might have something to do with us until she said, “You met with the leader of that Balaenic city today, yes?”
“We did,” Cederic said. “I think we have resolved the issue of your towns being raided. It seems to have been a misunderstanding.”
“It was a misunderstanding that left some Castavirans dead,” Radryntor said. “I hope you will see justice is done.”
“Balaenics were killed in those conflicts as well, Lady Radryntor,” I said. “We think it’s better that both sides acknowledge the mistakes they made and move forward.”
“We were the ones aggressed on,” Radryntor said, her tone of voice growing less friendly.
“My investigation says in two of the five instances, Castavirans attacked Balaenics,” Cederic said. “I hope you are not saying you are dissatisfied with my handling of the situation.”
“Of course not, your Majesty,” Radryntor said, but she didn’t sound any friendlier. “It’s my duty to ensure the safety of Pfulerrians in these troubled times.”
“That would probably be best achieved by reaching out to Lethess in friendship,” I said. “I’m sure you have a lot of things you can offer each other. There are so many things Castavir has that Balaen doesn’t.” I caught Cederic glancing at me and hoped I wasn’t laying it on too thick. Balaen has just as many things to offer Castavir, but with as prickly as Radryntor is, I figured stroking her ego wouldn’t hurt.
“I’m sure you’re right, your Majesty,” Radryntor said, but in a way that told me she would rather chew glass than make friendly overtures to the foreigners. “We are certainly conscious of our oaths to this new country and the duty we owe our Emperor.” Which was code for We are more valuable to you than this little Balaenic city, and you’d better not forget it. She definitely wants us to acknowledge her importance.
I’m afraid she may get angry enough to withdraw her support entirely, but Cederic says not to worry, she just needs to feel as if she matters. Which she does. I just wish she weren’t so bigoted. She treats me with barely enough politeness not to give me any reason to object. If I could figure out a way to win her over, I would, even though I dislike her personally.
29 Jennitar
Three days of experimenting with magic, both trying to work out if it’s diminishing and finding out what will has to do with bringing magic together. The current theory is that we should be exercising will the same way, either by bending our will, or exerting it, or something in between, and something in between seems most likely. It’s also the hardest thing to figure out, because you’d think either you’re trying to make something happen, or you’re letting it happen, and there’s no middle ground. But since we already know we can’t work each other’s magic the other way, it’s all we have left.
I’m so tired all the time. Cederic keeps looking at me as if he wants to order me to stop, but he knows how important this is. Also, he runs himself to the edge of his endurance so often he’d be a hypocrite to object when I do. We’re all being careful not to exhaust ourselves, to eat well and nap if and when we can. A few more mages have joined our little group, which is good except we have to take time to show them what we’ve done, and that feels so—not really a waste of time, but it makes everything go more slowly, and those of us who were part of the convergence kathana are starting to feel the same urgency we did back then. We need to make progress, and soon.
Chapter Twelve
30 Jennitar
It’s definitely diminishing. Slowly, barely a trickle, if magic were water or sand, but every day it’s getting harder to make magic work. We’re certain it’s because magic isn’t unified. Still no progress on figuring out how to make will work correctly. Radryntor increasingly rude to me and abrasive to Cederic. So very discouraged.
1 Teretar
Audryn collapsed yesterday and she finally, finally woke up an hour ago. The baby’s fine, thank the true God, the healers said she didn’t act as if anything were wrong with her mother, kept on moving and all that. But that’s it for Audryn participating in active magic from now on. Even she had to admit I was right, though I think it was the look on Terrael’s face that convinced her. I told her she could go on helping Terrael devise experiments, but that was all. It’s a huge blow, losing her, but it was also a warning that we have to be even more careful about overexerting, even though she was almost certainly more at risk than the rest of us.
I asked the Pfulerrian mages if any of them wanted to join in our research, and discovered something unexpected: they tell Radryntor everything they do. I found this out at dinner (just the two of us, Cederic busy elsewhere) when Radryntor said, “What exactly is it you’re calling on my mages to do?”
Since I hadn’t said word one to her about talking to the mages, let alone that magic is diminishing, it caught me off guard. “I—we’re studying the nature of magic,” I said.
“And how it’s diminishing,” she said.
“That too,” I said.
She got the pinched look I see so often when she’s talking to me. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” she said.
“I’ve been preoccupied, Lady Radryntor,” I said, “and it’s not as if I prepare daily reports, even for Cederic.” This is not true. I write down what we learn, which isn’t much, so he’ll see it even if we don’t get a chance to talk. I can’t remember the last time we really talked about anything.
“I think I deserve to know what my mages do,” she said. The pinched look was turning into an actual scowl.
“No offense intended, but isn’t that up to your mages?” I said. “And since I only asked them this morning, it seems they told you what they were doing almost immediately.”
She looked as if she wanted to snap at me but was afraid to so directly challenge the Empress-Consort. “I…hope they will be of use,” she said.
“I think they will,” I said. “They’re extremely competent—that is, Terrael Peressten says they are, and I think you’d agree he’s a decent judge of magical ability.”
“It’s a real pity he lost his magic,” Radryntor said. “Such a shame that magical talent should hinge on such a ridiculous quality. It’s not as if, for example, brown eyes make you an exceptional general.”
“I agree completely,” I said with some fervor, because it still makes me mad to think of all tha
t talent wasted. Though I probably should be grateful for all the Balaenic mages who never would have gained their abilities if not for the convergence.
“I don’t suppose you can do anything about that, in your…research?” Radryntor said.
“Unfortunately, no,” I said, “because trying to do that is what caused the worlds to split in the first place. The best we can do is find ways for those mages to continue to serve our combined country.”
I probably shouldn’t have mentioned the combined country. Radryntor’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t say anything more, just turned the conversation elsewhere. I’m definitely going to conceal the fact I asked the Lethessian mages to join our efforts too. We can’t afford to lose her as an ally, even if she doesn’t have the military force we need the way Teliarne does. But it bothers me that I’m almost pandering to her and her smugness about Castaviran magic being superior, which it isn’t. She looks more like a liability every day.
I don’t know if we can let her continue as a consul if she can’t treat everyone equally. Come to think of it, Pfulerre and Lethess are too close together to justify both being the centers of whatever governing districts we come up with after the God-Empress is defeated. I don’t know if it’s a good idea to put Granea in charge of both cities, given that Pfulerre is about three times the size of Lethess. But we also can’t cater to the bigotries of Castavirans any more than we can coddle the egos of Balaenics.
That’s not to disparage Granea’s abilities. She’s a competent and fair-minded Lord Governor, and I have no doubt she’d be capable of ruling a larger district containing Pfulerre. Despite the difference in our ages, we’ve become friends, and although we haven’t had our official welcome to Lethess, I’ve gone into the city a couple of times, mostly to talk to the mages, but once to walk on the beach. It’s every bit as beautiful as I remember.
Orenna and Jaemis have developed a similar relationship, and the two of them are dogged in their quest to discover what’s happening with magic. Listening to them argue (because they seem to enjoy arguing for its own sake as well as for the results it produces) is reassuring, or was right up until Audryn went pure white and collapsed like a folding chair. I haven’t been that terrified in years.
3 Teretar
We made our processional into Lethess, and I realized that as friendly as Pfulerre had been, we haven’t truly and wholeheartedly been made welcome until today. Granea and Cederic made speeches, and I said some things about how much I liked the city that I think everyone could tell were sincere. As nice as our room in the consul’s palace is, I wish we were staying here instead. And not because I’m Balaenic.
Today was the first day I’ve seen Cederic in
I can’t remember how long it was since we’ve had time to talk, other than with Radryntor’s sullen presence casting a very long shadow over our dinners. We didn’t have time today either, because there’s been trouble north of Pfulerre again, more clashes between the cities, and Cederic had to oversee the situation because neither city is willing to let the other pass judgment. Granea wasn’t happy about it either.
Today we had dinner with her, after we all returned from investigating the problem, and she said, “I can’t help feeling Radryntor is opposed to a Balaenic passing judgment on cases like this because she knows she’d be partial to her own people if she were in that position.”
“That has to be true,” I said. “She’s convinced Castavir is superior and ought to be given jurisdiction over Balaen, like a conquered country. And that’s what we’re trying to avoid.”
“I surmise Lady Radryntor’s overtures of peace aren’t that,” Cederic said.
Granea snorted with amusement. “They’re more like demands Lethess capitulate on property ownership, or that Pfulerre be allowed to collect tolls for use of the coast road that passes within its borders,” she said. “I’ll bow to your decrees, your Majesty, but I expect you to keep your word that Balaen is not going to become a subject state to Castavir.”
“It may come to a point where I have to make it explicit that Lady Radryntor is not the supreme ruler here, which might mean threatening her with the Balaenic Army,” Cederic said.
“Because that will end well,” I said.
“Which is why it will be our tactic of last resort,” Cederic said. “And that is all I will say on the subject.”
“You probably shouldn’t have said that much in front of me,” Granea said with a grin, “me being equal with Radryntor in the eyes of the government, Lord Governor and consul.”
“Precisely,” Cederic said, “and I trust you will not mention my slip of the tongue.”
“As far as I’m concerned, we talked only of whether the King is still planning to marry your deposed Empress,” Granea said, “and how long he’ll survive once he has.”
So we talked gossip for a while, then I went back to the mages and Cederic went to see the quartermasters about the supply situation. I’m not sure that’s really his job, and I wish I’d proposed we go back to our room together instead. I can’t wait until things are less busy and we can be together. I’d love to walk on the beach with him.
4 Teretar
Once again I’ve sat, pencil in hand, not even knowing where to begin. It seems so utterly ridiculous, the worst possible kind of coincidence, and yet—why not? My sister had to end up somewhere, and she always liked the sea. And there I was, parading happily through Lethess with thousands of people cheering me, so why shouldn’t Roda have seen me? It’s been sixteen years, yes, but Sesskia’s not a common name, and I recognized her immediately too. I wish I didn’t. I wish I’d thought to tell the messenger who came for me I didn’t know anyone named Roda. That I don’t have a sister. Because for all those sixteen years I felt as if I really, truly didn’t.
The messenger arrived as I was finishing my breakfast (alone) and preparing for another long, tedious day with the mages. Everyone’s trying different things and it’s my job to look at everything they try and see if it’s worth pursuing as a group. How I’m qualified to do that is one of those mysteries life comes up with sometimes. (That sounds so bitter. Well, I feel bitter right now.) The messenger was from the Army, from Mattiak actually, and he had a folded note with just a few lines on it: There’s a woman named Roda here who claims she’s your sister. Her story matches what you told me. I think you should verify her claim.
I know I read those lines several times, but I only understood them the first time. The rest was my eyes running over the characters, seeing Roda in memory—teaching me to swim, to pick the least rotten fruit from the barrow, helping me clean Bridie up after one of her seizures. And Roda telling me It’s for the best and walking away for the last time.
I set the paper aside on the table and left the room without a word to the messenger. Mattiak knew something of my history, enough that he would know whether someone claiming to be related to me actually was. I guess there was a chance Roda had told her life story to a friend, or a lover, and that woman decided to get close to me by pretending to be Roda, but what would be the point other than maybe to try to assassinate me? No impostor would be able to fool me face to face. I might not have thought of Roda much in the last sixteen years—all right, the last ten, because I cursed her name every day for the first six—but I sure as hell would recognize her face.
I’m supposed to have a bodyguard wherever I go, four of Mattiak’s hand-picked men, and I think they were following me when I left Pfulerre, but I wasn’t paying attention to anything but the well-trodden path we’d made between the city and the camp, and I wasn’t paying much attention to that. I was barely aware of startled soldiers jumping up to salute me as I passed through the camp to Mattiak’s command tent and pushed the door flap aside instead of waiting for the sentries to hold it for me.
And it was her. I’d forgotten how small she is, or maybe I grew a few inches after she left, but I’m not very tall and she’s truly petite. She looks like Dad and Bridie, dark-haired and blue-eyed—Dad wasn’t very tal
l either—with that round face she and I got from Mam, only her lashes are pale and stubby and mine are thick and long. She wore her hair cut short and shaped to her head so it framed her face, and she was wearing a nice shirt and trousers and good shoes that weren’t suited to walking anywhere but on a paved road.
She was facing Mattiak, but turned her head when I entered, then took a few steps so she was facing me instead. She didn’t look happy, or sad, or guilty, or anything but impassive, like she was waiting for me to react so she could pick the right response. I said, “Outside. All of you. Right now.”
I don’t think I’ve ever sounded more like an Empress-Consort. Everyone left, even Mattiak, who didn’t even say anything, just clasped my shoulder and squeezed as if in support. Then it was just me and Roda. I honestly couldn’t think of anything to say. Roda said, “Hello, Sesskia.”
“Have you been living in Lethess?” I said. I don’t know why I didn’t shout at her. It wasn’t as if I wasn’t angry, because I was, it’s just that sixteen years is a long time to hold on to a white-hot anger, and it felt as if it had dulled into something more like a toothache: painful, always there, but sometimes it stops throbbing and you forget about it until the right jab starts it up again.
“I’m here on business,” Roda said. “It’s good to see you.”
The ache throbbed again. “Since I’m sure you never expected it, I guess you would feel that way,” I said.
Her impassivity cracked. “I went back ten years ago,” she said. “I looked for you.”
“How generous of you,” I said. “Was Mam still alive?”
“Yes,” Roda said. “She didn’t recognize me. Didn’t recognize much of anything. Some of the neighbors were caring for her, said she didn’t have much longer. I stayed long enough to bury her.”
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