by Beth Alvarez
Ran stepped away from the desk. “Actually, I'd hoped to speak to Father about that. Or find information on it.” He waved a hand at the scattered papers. Had they been in the locked boxes or drawers, they would have been off-limits. His father never left important documents where they could be seen. Were it not for Medreal's presence, he might have retrieved the set of keys hidden elsewhere in the office. But he wasn't supposed to know the king's secrets, and while he was certain Medreal was fond of him, it wouldn't spare him her wrath—or his father's—if they learned he knew where the keys were kept.
“What sort of information?” Medreal asked.
“What I'm supposed to do. I assume the court mages are away to aid him with Gates? Or else they defected.” The word left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. Though he was no stranger to diplomacy, there were times bluntness worked in his favor. There were appearances to keep up, and as far as his former nursemaid was concerned, he was still an inexperienced child. “It doesn't seem they've left anything for Father, or for me. I had hoped to find some indicator of who should be giving me orders, and who I could trust.”
Medreal raised a brow and he shifted in discomfort. Surely she hadn't thought he would join the mages in their rebellion against his father. She paced across the soft carpeting with her hands clasped at her waist. “Given the circumstances, I think the mages are being particularly careful with correspondence. I'm sure if Kifel wanted you to do something, he would send word directly.”
Ran fought not to grimace. Where could word be sent? Kifel certainly wouldn't send anything to the temple, where his orders and plans could be intercepted with ease. If he had orders for Ran, they would have been left somewhere in the palace.
Well, not necessarily left for him. Court mage or not, Ran was a Master trained in Kirban, and Kifel had more reasons than that to doubt his allegiance. But a message to or from any of the mages would have sufficed. All he needed was an idea of what was going on, what he'd missed, and where he needed to be to avoid the growing strife. A list of loyal contacts in the temple would have been useful, as well. He had no intention of allying with the temple mages, but as a newly-appointed Master, he still had responsibilities and needed direction.
When he did not speak, Medreal turned her gaze to the mess of papers on the desk. She bent at the waist to pick up one that had fallen to the floor. “Will you be returning to the temple soon?”
Ran shifted to face the tall windows and pretended he wasn't interested in the letters and notes his father's adviser shuffled into order. “I've a few errands to attend to in the city before I go anywhere.”
“No need to be so cold and formal, boy.” She chuckled. “I was your nursemaid once, you remember. There was a time I rocked you to sleep on my bosom.”
He moved away when she rounded the desk. “There was a time I was not involved with the temple, as well.”
That drew a hearty laugh. “My dear child, you've been involved with the temple from the moment you were born.”
His ears grew hot, though whether from anger at the reminder or embarrassment over the correction, he didn't know. Medreal raised a brow and a hint of a smile played at the corners of her mouth. But she did not comment on the faint flush that colored his cheeks. She tapped the thick stack of papers against the desk's edge to align them, checked the dates and headings that were still legible, and tucked them into the carved wooden box Ran had stolen them from in the first place.
He righted his white robes. “See that you tell my father I came to visit, would you?”
“Of course,” Medreal replied, only half interested. She studied the last handful of pages with a thoughtful frown.
Ran stalked toward the door, but felt his spine itch under the weight of her dark eyes as they settled on his back. He closed the office behind him and freed himself of her scrutiny.
What he'd spread across his father's desk were reports, but not on correspondence between mages. Reports on the whereabouts of the soldiers he'd dismissed from the temple were something else entirely. He didn't want to stay put long enough for her to ask questions. He could only manage redirection for so long, and he feared he was about to run out of time.
9
Fracture
“Do you think they find it suspicious, the way the rains have washed out every crop this year?” Envesi chuckled as she turned away from the window. She left the shutters open and ignored the rain that spilled in to leave wide puddles on her office floor.
Anaide's nose wrinkled, but she said nothing, though she lifted her feet so the growing pool of water would not saturate her shoes. The meeting had been unpleasant enough without wet socks.
The Archmage's office had been the first space cleared. Wagons full of books and relics were well on their way to Alwhen by now. All that remained was the great desk in the center of the room and a handful of chairs in a half-circle before it. Anaide disliked the arrangement. The Masters sat before the Archmage as if they were children to be disciplined, instead of some of the most powerful mages in the temple—if not the world.
Anaide pursed her lips and looked to the sky beyond the window. It was clever, really. The sensations that came with the flow of magic were so common around the temple that none of the younger Masters thought anything out of place. The rivulets of energy the Archmage had cast into the sky were almost imperceptible now, riding on the wind and bending the weather across the island to her will.
“They have no reason to assume it's anything but ill luck.” Edagan gave Anaide a sidewise glance. “Outside the Masters of the five Houses, no one knows that weather can be manipulated so easily.”
Envesi sniffed as she regarded the four women gathered before her. “Yes, well. I'm sure it will stay that way. Regardless of how smoothly the shift of power goes, we don't want Relythes to be privy to such information, either.”
The whole situation still gave Anaide chills, but she kept her thoughts to herself and held her expression carefully neutral as she glanced over the other women. Alira, with her half-bleached hair, made no effort to hide she was eager to move from Eldani lands. Arrogant child; she'd learn better soon enough.
Melora, sour-faced and sharp-eyed as ever, was harder to read. The Master of Wind had little love for the royal family. She'd been passed over as court mage before she rose to lead an affinity, and she still complained about it from time to time. But she also had little love for the Giftless people of the east. Perhaps she could still tilt either way.
Edagan, Master of the House of Earth, was the only one Anaide was sure she would win over. Edagan was level-headed and would hear them out without immediately reporting their intentions to the Archmage.
Unsure of her next move, Alira returned her eyes to the Archmage. The situation was frustrating, to say the least. Nondar had started the effort and Anaide had been the first he'd approached. Futile as the effort seemed, she was all too happy to aid the old half-blood. Gathering the mages loyal to King Kifelethelas would be no small feat, but one of Nondar's magelings had already received some correspondence on the matter. If the messages were to be believed, a number of the chapter houses spread across Elenhiise were ready to stand with the king.
“There have already been reports of hunger in the more remote parts of the island.” Alira folded her arms over her chest as she spoke. She'd looked smug enough already, but now Alira wanted to slap her. “Relythes verified that the weather in his region has remained unaltered. We can assimilate the borderlands almost immediately. Relythes is equipped to feed the hungry, so once the food supply in Ilmenhith begins to run low, it will be easy to remove Kifel from power.”
“Good.” Envesi settled behind her desk and clasped her hands together against its edge. “Send word to Relythes about the impending famine. The sooner he gains favor in the eyes of the western cities, the better. We shall paint him as a hero for their benefit.”
Anaide couldn't help her frown. That Envesi spoke so casually of starving her own people made her blood run cold. She
shouldn't have been surprised to learn the Archmage had manipulated the weather, yet she cursed herself for not thinking of it sooner. Had she known, she could have tried to unravel it. Melora was better equipped for altering weather, what with her wind affinity, but as Master of the House of Water, the wellbeing of Anaide's students demanded she try.
Unlike Melora, Anaide had once been offered a place as a court mage—and she had turned it down. It had been an honor that King Kifelethelas trusted her so, but her heart was with her students. Now was her opportunity to repay that trust.
“Is everything organized for the Gate to Alwhen?” Melora asked.
Alira spoke before the Archmage could open her mouth. “Nondar has seen to the organization of the magelings. They stand prepared, though most of our belongings and supplies will not reach Alwhen until well after we've settled. I regret it wasn't possible to Gate them, too.”
“I understand our new headquarters is to be quite nice.” Edagan gazed absently at the water spreading across the floor. “Not that I'm fond of eastern architecture, but it is a definite improvement over having to rebuild.”
Those words put a grim smile on Envesi's face. “Destruction of the temple was not part of my original plan, but it has worked out well enough. I didn't anticipate any trouble from that meager band of ruffians out in the ruins, but now that they've entangled themselves in matters, we shall have a few more pieces to play on the board.”
“They do make a very convenient target for the king's ire.” Melora's smirk was none too flattering to her withered face. “And a perfect distraction. It couldn't have worked out better if you'd planned it.”
“Do we mean to abandon the child to them?” Anaide folded her hands in her lap.
Envesi snorted. “The entire group has no further use. Allowing the emerging war to consume them will solve several problems.”
“Very well.” Anaide pushed herself from her chair and offered as deep a bow as her aging bones allowed. “With your leave, Archmage, I'll begin preparations for the opening of the Gate.”
“Of course.” Envesi gave a careless flick of her fingers to grant dismissal.
Anaide did not miss the glance Edagan threw her way as she departed. It was hard to be certain, but Anaide took it as a good omen. Edagan had said little during the course of the meeting, but she was a woman of few words. Having her on their side would mean the divide was equal. Anaide would not hold her breath on turning Melora to their side.
The few magelings who remained in the lower levels of the tower were uninterested in yet another Master in their midst, and so Anaide's descent through the tower was unhindered. That, too, was beneficial. As long as no one cared to watch her, no one would notice how often she approached Nondar.
Anaide gave her head an irritated twitch at thought of the man. He was a strong mage and a valuable asset to the king, but he was utterly incapable of hiding his opinions. Through his stark silence in previous meetings, he conveyed his disapproval more loudly than he could with words. It was a wonder the Archmage hadn't scheduled any convenient accidents to remove the man from his seat of power. But Nondar's loyalty to the crown was unwavering, even when such loyalty could threaten his life. For that, Anaide had to give him respect.
Nondar had chosen to organize affairs for the move from his old office, and it didn't take long for Anaide to reach the mostly-ruined building. A few magelings crowded his desk, but a single glance from her mage-blue eyes made them scatter. Nondar met her eyes and a barrier sprang up around them to keep their words from prying ears. Sometimes Anaide forgot that not all mages favored flamboyant gestures to guide the energy flows they manipulated.
“The meeting went well, I take it?” Nondar's voice held a sardonic edge.
“I believe Edagan will join us. Her level-headedness is a good counterbalance to Alira's impulsiveness. The Archmage will have a rash council remaining.” Anaide drew out a chair and sank into it with a sigh. A rash council that would retain control over the majority of the temple, she reminded herself. “Are we really doing the right thing?”
“We are doing the only thing we can. Whether it's right or wrong is something we have yet to see.” He shrugged. “Are you having second thoughts?”
Anaide shook her head. “My family has stood behind the throne since long before the temple was founded. To turn against Kifelethelas now would be to spit on my mother's grave.”
“Then is it loyalty to the crown, or to your family that sets you on this path?”
She didn't like the way he looked at her. “Can it not be both?”
The old healer chuckled and bowed his head, though he swayed a hand in a placating gesture. “We shall see, Anaide. With fortune, we shall see.”
A desire to recite her reasons for loyalty rose within her, but Anaide forced herself to return her thoughts to her orders. “The Archmage wishes for us to prepare the Gate.”
“Then it shall be prepared,” Nondar said, reaching for his cane. “I shall see to the magelings.”
“And our plans?”
Nondar stood and shrugged. “They continue, unchanged. It makes no difference whether we are here or in Alwhen. When the time comes, it will come. But the time is not now.” He dropped the ward.
Anaide understood and fell silent. There would be no more discussion on the matter until then. Not in the ruins of Kirban, and not in Alwhen. All she could do was wait.
The air sizzled with such energy that Kytenia's hair stood on end. She never liked the sensation of Gates. The opening was the worst—so much raw power manipulated by so many hands. She shuddered and then flinched when her sister laid a hand on her shoulder.
“It'll be okay,” Shymin said.
“I know it will be, but that doesn't mean I have to like it while it's happening,” Kytenia whispered back. She knew her sister meant well, but the Gate was only half of what unsettled her. She did not want to return to Alwhen.
Mageling robes of every color swirled around them as they moved into ranks. The Masters had tried to sort them at first, but had given up after only a few minutes. Students crowded the courtyard and sorted themselves into groups. Shrill voices called for friends and classmates over the noise of the crowd.
Kytenia's group had formed early. Marreli clung to her arm and watched the crowd with wide eyes. Now and then, Rikka reached out to pat the smaller girl's head and smooth her braids. The group felt incomplete without Firal, but there was no helping that now. Kytenia could only pray her friend had made it to safety.
Streaks of energy sparked from nothing and arced across the sky in crackling bolts. A tremor of fear rolled down Kytenia's spine as the lines of pure magic intersected and merged to form an arch half as tall as the Archmage's tower. Most Gates of that size required anchor points to open, but with the scores of Masters that stood in the courtyard, there were enough hands to bring it under control. Kytenia shuddered and hugged Marreli close.
The border of the arched Gate buzzed with energy, white-hot and blinding. The sky within seemed to split, falling away in shards that dissolved into shimmering lights before they could hit the ground.
On the other side, the image of a building stabilized into sharp focus. The structure was impressive; its windows revealed four floors, though it did not soar like the Archmage's tower or the palace in Ilmenhith. Banners of the same rich vermillion and bronze Kytenia recalled from Alwhen's palace waved from pointed, copper-roofed gables.
A hot wind flowed through from the other side of the Gate and the Masters moved to either side, until only the Archmage remained before it. Her white robes and snowy hair rippled in the wind. She started forward with a confident stride and behind her, rank by rank, the magelings in their colorful robes followed.
Kytenia reached for her friends’ hands and caught hold of Shymin and Marreli. She spared a glance for Rikka, who met her eyes over the top of Marreli's head and nodded back.
They crossed the Gate.
Electric tingles lanced through Kytenia's body. Her s
kin rose in gooseflesh and her hair stood on end, her heart thumping harder until she thought it might break free of her chest.
And then they were through.
The air that gusted through the Gate had been warm, but this side of the Gate, it hit her like a sweltering wave. The temple was sheltered by the forests near the center of the island; the wind there was gentle, humid. But the trees had been cleared from the land around Alwhen, the earth left bare to the beating sun. Only after Kytenia drew a breath of the warm air did she notice the people.
Onlookers lined the streets. Rows of soldiers dressed in Alwhen's colors held them at bay. Shouts and clamor filled the air, though it was hard to tell if it was jeering or applause that met their arrival.
“See? That wasn't so bad.” Shymin moved their group toward the massive building in front of them, step by slow step.
“Children,” the Archmage cried as she scaled the stairs and stopped at the building's grand doors. She flung the doors wide, and light spilled into the whitewashed great hall of their new headquarters.
Kytenia’s stomach sank, even before the Archmage finished her declaration.
“We are home!”
10
Roles
What began as a drizzle soon grew into a deluge that lasted for days. Torrents of rain cascaded down the open column in the center of the inverted tower. No one tried to scale the spiral to the gardens above, the upper walkways slick and the weather too violent for anything to be done outdoors.
Without the gardens to distract her, Firal tried to settle into her little cavern-house. She had no belongings to decorate with, but the time to clean and rearrange things was welcome. Clippings of herbs she'd gathered made cheerful bundles, which she tied with colorful string and hung around the room to dry. The room's previous occupant had bored holes into the wall beside the fireplace. Firal peeled the bark from twigs in the tinder box to make little wooden pegs, which she pressed into the holes to mount her cookware on the walls.
