by Beth Alvarez
And there was the thought of pulling Rune from the dungeons. Letting him masquerade as the former king's fostered child again. She wasn’t eager to let him walk free, but she didn’t want him to die, either. Her life would be easier if she could just sweep him under the rug, maybe send him off with the mages so she wouldn’t have to look at him again. He had been a Master, after all; it wouldn’t be unreasonable for him to resume living beneath that guise. But that was unfair, forcing him to spend the rest of his life hiding, and there was the matter of finding some criminal in the dungeons to disguise as Kifel's murderer and hang to pacify the crowds—deceit that didn't sit well with her.
Dealing with Lomithrandel's disappearance was another matter. If she was to marry Relythes and mend the rift between the factions of mages, she couldn't pretend he'd fled to the eastern lands. Groaning at the thought of the Giftless king, she turned to bury her face in her pillow.
Her head ached, and not just from lack of sleep. She'd cried herself dry more than once during the night and her eyes still felt swollen. She'd not bothered to rise and check the mirror. Rising would mean beginning a day she didn't want to face. Rising meant receiving the eastern king and the mages that would accompany him, and seeing the hastily-built gallows in the wide avenue just outside the palace gates.
“Still abed, are we? Well, you'd best get up. I've brought a gown and a drink to wake you.” Medreal's quiet entrance was no surprise; Firal had felt the woman's energies from a good distance down the hall. She carried a tray, as she always did, but the drink it held was not tea. It had a rich aroma, pleasant and eye-opening. Firal lifted her head from the pillows.
“Shall I brush your hair for you this morning?” Medreal put the tray on the small table in the corner. She turned toward the bed as she lifted the gown from her arm and shook it out for Firal to see. It was the same inky blue as the night sky, and tiny crystals and white pearls nestled among silver and pale blue embroidery gave the impression of stars.
“Is that what I'm to wear for my coronation?” Firal threw back the covers and pushed herself upright with a sigh.
Medreal blinked at the dress. “Why, do you not like it? I thought it nice, considering it has the kingdom's colors in it. Shall I fetch something else?”
“No, no.” Firal waved a hand and smoothed her thin nightgown. “It will do fine, I just thought I might wear something else for breakfast. Imagine me getting jam on the front, then standing before the whole city to formally receive my crown.”
The stewardess chuckled and shook her head. “I'm certain I could find you another dress before your coronation, were that to happen. But there are other events due to happen first.”
Firal tried to push those other events out of her head. She got to her feet and made her way to the table to pour herself a cup of the dark, steaming liquid before Medreal could beat her to it. It certainly smelled good, though the first taste was exceedingly bitter. Grimacing, Firal put down the cup and reached for the sugar and cream.
“It is a bit strong, isn't it?” The old woman laughed. She drew Firal's unruly black hair back over her shoulders and set to working out the tangles with a brush retrieved from the top of the dresser. “Coffee, they call it. It's quite popular on the mainland, I understand. Your father liked it for difficult mornings.”
“I can see why. It would be hard to think of anything more bitter than the taste of that.” Firal scraped her tongue against her teeth and stirred a liberal dose of sugar into her drink.
“That could be why he drank it straight, yes,” Medreal agreed.
The rest of the morning's preparations passed in silence. Medreal worked gems and pearls into Firal's hair and buttoned her into the dark blue dress without the need for her to suck in her stomach. Tailored dresses instead of ill-fitting hand-me-downs were another thing she'd have to grow used to.
Anaide waited for her in the hallway, nattering about how Firal was to behave from the moment she opened the door. Firal did her best to nod and say little, tucking away all the instructions in the back of her mind. She understood what she was expected to do, understood why they expected her to do it, but nothing said she had to enjoy it.
A small group of maidservants had collected at her heels by the time she stood at the palace doors to await the entourage from Alwhen. She gazed into the courtyard and tried not to look at the gallows on the far side of the gate. Already people gathered around it, impossible to ignore even if she didn't look at them. The noise they created was thunderous, though whether it was anger or eagerness that stirred their voices, Firal couldn't tell.
“Are you even listening to me, girl?” Anaide asked, lip curled back in a snarl.
“I hear you, yes,” Firal replied. Edagan and Nondar were somewhere behind them, but where, she couldn't care less. She wished Anaide would join them and leave her be. When the crackling light of a Gate came into view, she found herself relieved, if only because the sheer power of its spiderwebbing energies silenced the Master. The air split, allowing a view of the courtyard on the other end of the portal.
“How many mages does it take to create a Gate that can be seen and used from both sides?” Firal asked absently.
“Many,” Nondar murmured at her back. “A great many.”
Two by two, mages in Master white with bands of vermillion on their sleeves moved through the Gate. Their ranks parted to allow Relythes into view, the Archmage close at his heels. Firal offered a warm smile as the Gate flickered out behind them, its shimmering energy remnants dancing on the wind.
“Fair morning to you, Relythes of Alwhen.” She gave her head the slightest incline, acknowledgment of an equal and nothing more.
“And to you, Firal of Ilmenhith,” Relythes replied, though his tone was as guarded as his expression.
“I am honored to receive you on such short notice, though I regret we are not meeting under better circumstances. Please, come. Break your fast with me.” Firal turned and gestured into the palace with the sweeping grace Medreal had spent part of the morning drilling into her. She did not look to see if he followed, the footsteps of his dozen-plus mages close behind her serving as indication enough.
The breakfast laid out in the formal dining hall was decadent, to say the least. She waited to sit until Relythes reached his chair. The Masters had chosen his place carefully, putting him across from Firal at the center of the table. He motioned the Archmage to his side. Then queen, king, and the whole gathering of white-clad mages sank to their seats in unison.
Relythes took a long draw from his goblet before he turned toward her. “You are familiar to me. Have we met before?”
“We have.” Firal did not look at him as she spread butter over a slice of bread with a careful hand. “I served as mage to Daemon of the Underlings then. I hoped to act as his mentor during my time with his people, but it seems he and I ultimately did not share the same ideals.”
“And so you've gone from court mage to queen, fancy that.” His eyes narrowed.
She did not rise to the bait. “It is quite common in our culture for the children of nobles to study magecraft. Better that we understand their practices, so that we may understand their importance and move them about the island appropriately. My parents, of course, thought it best that my name not be widely known during my studies.” Her eyes flickered to the Archmage's face. Envesi's expression was as cold as ever.
“And is it common, too, for nobles to use their magecraft to aid enemies?” Relythes challenged.
Firal hesitated. This was something the Masters had not prepared her for, but aside from Nondar, she didn't think the Masters knew she had been to Alwhen. She should have assumed Relythes would recognize her. “On the contrary,” she started, choosing her words carefully, knowing the heated stares she received from the Masters would be the least of her concerns if she phrased herself poorly. “Though they sought to claim independence from my father's rule, the Underlings have always called the ruins their home, and the ruins fell under my father's juri
sdiction. They are my people, whether they like it or not. They struck out against both of us, but it seems that matter has already been dealt with.” She raised an eyebrow at him, as if to ask if he knew she'd been aware of what his army had done.
The king grimaced and leaned back in his chair. “Ah, yes. I apologize for the matter of crossing your borders. My men merely thought to stamp out the stragglers after we flattened the lot that attacked us.”
“No need for that.” Firal smiled, though his lie made her want to scream. She was sure the expression looked as fake as it felt, but if anyone recognized it as forced, they didn't show it. “Though I must admit the state of the borders is something I hoped to discuss with you.”
Now Relythes shifted forward, uncomfortable. “How so?”
She maintained her false front of sweetness as she raised her cup to her lips. “I'd like to eliminate them.”
The visiting mages stiffened at her words. The Archmage's eyes widened, if only for an instant, and her mouth puckered as if she'd tasted something sour. Stepped on someone's toes, had she? For a moment, Firal's smile was a bit more genuine.
The Giftless king eyed her as if he hadn't heard correctly. “And how would you propose something like that?”
Firal's brows rose. “I understand you are unmarried, is that correct?”
Understanding lit his face, but Relythes said nothing, considering in silence.
She licked her lips before going on. “I believe the merging of our two kingdoms would be of great benefit to the island. The land itself is better suited to unification. Even our coastlines complement one another, and I dream of what our ports could do if we were able to expand and work together. We'd waste no resources on battles between us. Trade could flourish between our cities.”
“It could,” Relythes conceded, eyeing her thoughtfully. Perhaps more than thoughtfully. The way his eyes raked over her form reminded her of a hungry animal.
“I trust you will consider it?” she asked.
“Consider, yes. But I'm not here for you, girl.”
Consideration was better than nothing, perhaps even the best she could hope for. The Masters had made it clear this was the best option, but Firal hoped he would decline. She thumbed her finger beneath the table, startled by her ring's absence. She couldn't remember where she'd left it. “I understand, and I realize you are eager to see justice dealt. I can imagine it stung to allow a group of people to remove land from your holdings, only for them to strike out at you before the ink on your treaty could dry.”
“A group of people you claim responsibility for,” the Archmage added. Firal eyed her. It was strange that Envesi had kept quiet until now. She couldn't tell if the woman thought to play her like the other mages tried, or if she was feigning ignorance.
“I take responsibility for their wellbeing,” Firal said as she returned her silver goblet to her lips. The spiced cider inside smelled good, but she didn't drink. Her stomach gave an unpleasant flutter. “But if we're speaking of their behavior, we both know you're the one responsible for that, Archmage.”
Envesi's ice-blue eyes widened as if she'd been struck. Relythes turned his head slowly. Somewhere farther down the table, Firal heard Nondar cough.
“Is this so?” Relythes asked. The Archmage drew herself up and opened her mouth, but Firal spoke before she could.
“I'll not insult your intelligence by pretending we don't all know the name Daemon was raised under. It was because of his identity you decided to chance giving the Underlings land, was it not? Hoping he would use it to rise against my father?” Her amber eyes narrowed as she addressed the king, though she gave him no chance to respond. “No, I don't blame you. It was safe to assume he would, given the bitterness he held over having no chance to inherit the throne. You had no way of knowing he harbored just as much anger toward the Archmage for making him what he is.”
Envesi leaped from her chair and slammed her hands flat against the table. “How dare you? I am the Archmage of Elenhiise, not one to sit here and suffer these baseless accusations!”
Anaide snapped to her feet and glared up the table at the Archmage. “The queen has been under the counsel of mages who know firsthand of your treachery. If not for your manipulations, the boy might have had a chance to be normal!”
“Normal!” Edagan barked a laugh. “He is an affront to all Lifetree's creation! Only Brant is meant to give life. Who was she to twist the flows into such an abomination?”
“Enough!” Relythes roared, bringing the room to silence. Only Firal remained cool and calm, sipping her cider and managing to look unruffled. She did not even flinch when the king turned toward her with a glare.
“Explain this!” the king demanded.
Firal bowed her head. “As was mentioned before, Relythes, I am a mage.” She stood her goblet beside her plate and turned it by its base. “I learned the laws governing proper use of magic at a very young age, so you can imagine my dismay at learning what vile things the Archmage has done with her power. You see, the three Masters that sit on my council were present at Daemon's creation.”
He looked to the white-robed mages for verification. Anaide and Edagan avoided meeting his eyes.
Nondar cleared his throat. “All we were told was that she needed assistance,” he said. “A circle of mages to lend strength and control to some astounding discovery she'd made. We knew not what she attempted until it was too late. A child with no parents, birthed of magic, of the very energy of the world around us. Power given physical form, created in mimicry of the mages of old. Those who were not bound by affinity or element. What the queen says is true. By attempting to imitate the life-giving strength of the Lifetree, the Archmage violated ancient law.”
“If Brant did not mean us to do it, he would not have made us capable!” Envesi snarled.
Relythes shook his head in disgust. “We're capable of countless things we know better than to do. You shame yourself with such feeble excuses.” He turned to Firal with a grim glint in his eye. “My lady, I have no desire to be entangled in such wickedness. Had I known, I never would have granted the Archmage refuge when she fled your lands.”
“There is no need for apology,” Firal said, though her expression grew hard and cold when her eyes fell to Envesi. “But if we are to speak of justice today, I would see the Archmage punished accordingly.”
“You would hang her?” Edagan questioned, aghast. Even the Archmage seemed taken aback, recoiling from the table with a look of horror on her face.
“I'll see no mage hanged.” Relythes scowled. “Let us not forget our own culture. Exile her. Cast her out from our island and retrieve your mages from my city. I want nothing more to do with Eldani or magefolk.” He brushed his hands together as if dusting away his involvement, his breakfast abandoned on the table.
Firal dared not wet her lips, though they felt dry. “And what of my proposal?”
“You keep your borders, girl, I'll keep mine. Once I'm back in Alwhen and you've taken the rest of your kind from my keeping, we shall speak no more.”
Relief washed over her like a wave, soothing the raw nerves she only concealed because she must. “Very well,” she agreed, turning her eyes to the Masters on her council. “Seize the Archmage. She will be dealt with as soon as King Relythes is returned to his own kingdom.”
“You have no power to do this!” Envesi shrieked. She stumbled backwards even as Firal felt the other mages wrest energy flows from her hold. The Archmage clawed after them, clearly certain she was strong enough to overcome them. Individually, perhaps she was, but Nondar, Edagan, and Anaide worked in unison, their magic entwining to paralyze the white-haired woman before she could flee.
Firal rose from her place at the head of the table and dabbed a napkin to her lips. “If you would follow me,” she said to Relythes with a gesture toward the door, “I will escort you back to the courtyard and have you returned to Alwhen at once.”
“Of course,” Relythes agreed, obviously unsettled but unw
illing to appear weak.
As Firal led the king from the dining hall, she felt a strange tingle of satisfaction at the Archmage's furious screams.
Jingling keys echoed down the hall with the finality of a death knell. Rune had expected the sound for hours; the jailer had told him the executioner would come for him at sunrise. There'd be some show and some fuss, and then he'd be walked to the gallows. He didn't see why they bothered to tell him—sunrise was an abstract concept in the dungeons buried beneath the palace—unless it brought them pleasure to see a doomed man's face. He'd taken care to show nothing.
Voices quieted when those keys jingled. No doubt the petty thieves and criminals locked away with him believed the jailer was coming for them. He wondered how many others had been told of the gallows, or told it was for them.
“Ran!” a voice whispered on the other side of the bars.
Rune's head jerked. Exhaustion blurred his vision and he squinted against the feeble light, unsure if he could believe his eyes. The keys rattled against the cell door and the lock clanked. A small grumble of frustration reached his ears. Finally, the hinges groaned as the door swung open.
Two figures rushed into his cell, little more than shadowed outlines in the dark. One reached for the manacles that trapped his wrists and kept him half-suspended. Cold iron brushed his arm and the manacles snapped open, one after the other. Rune fell hard, and the unforgiving stone of the floor knocked the air from his lungs.
“They've done a number on him, haven't they?” a woman murmured at his side. Soft as it was, her voice was familiar. Rune struggled to push himself up, but gentle hands on his arm stopped him. “Shh, not yet.”
