The Sorcerer's Equal (The Telepath and the Sorcerer Book 3)

by Jaclyn Dolamore

  Messing around? Velsa thought. How not-reassuring. She barely saw the boy in the darkness; all the Miralem boys were wearing caps and looked pretty similar at a glance anyway.

  “It’s fine,” Sorla said. “Really.”

  Ruven hustled over. “I’m sorry, Miss Velsa. We didn’t mean to be rough.”

  Their immediate earnestness made her soften a little, but she still said, “Sorla, I’ve hardly seen you. Why don’t we hang around the bonfire a minute?”

  Sorla approached Velsa with hesitance. “I’ll be right back,” she told the others.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Sorla said, when they were out of earshot of her friends. “Although I don’t know why you were just sitting there watching me.”

  “I wasn’t! I was having a moment to myself. You just came along in the middle of it.”

  “I knew you’d be weird if you came.”

  “I’m not weird. I just—I heard them call you ‘doll girl’.”

  “It’s not meant as an insult. It’s affectionate. I am a doll girl.”

  “That’s exactly what Madam Blazar says.”

  Sorla looked exasperated. “They’re not Madam Blazar.”

  “But how will it be when you’re truly an adult, and you want to get married or find a better job? It’s no good to be treated as a child. You already have your adult body. In their eyes, you know, you’re not going to grow up.”

  “I don’t know. It’ll work out. They like me. They act pretty much the same to the other girls.”

  “I just wouldn’t encourage them,” Velsa said.

  “I don’t ‘encourage’ them, whatever that means.” Sorla glanced at her crowd, obviously itching to leave this conversation. Her eyes returned to Velsa, and then she patted her arm. “You’re worrying over nothing.”

  “Maybe,” Velsa said, realizing that she was just ruining Sorla’s night and doing nothing to change her mind. The last thing she wanted to do was damage her fragile “motherhood”. “But if it ever bothers you, Sorla, please say something. I just don’t want you to think you have to accept being treated differently.”

  “I know,” Sorla said, already starting to walk away.

  Sorla thought she was overreacting. Maybe she was.

  Maybe Velsa was the only Fanarlem in the world cursed with this unpleasant awareness of her place in the world, this feeling that she ought to fight her fate.

  Chapter 10

  In the middle of the week, Velsa and Grau came home to find a letter on the floor, pushed under the door.

  It was from Preya. Grau tore it open, starting to read even as he groped for a chair.

  “Oh no,” he said, so she could immediately guess the contents.

  “She married Morilan?” Velsa asked with dismay.

  He slumped into a chair and put his head in his hand a moment, then kicked the chair opposite him, then resumed reading.

  “She went to Nalim Ima.”

  “After you told her what happened to us? About Kessily and Dennis?”

  “I told her all of that,” he said solemnly. “But—she never has liked to do what she’s told.”

  “Grau…I’m sorry. I would’ve liked her to be here.”

  “I poured my heart into the last letter I sent. I told her it’s the only place you could be a free woman, and for all the problems, it’s a damn sight better here. And sure, I don’t expect her to follow me just because it’s the only place I can marry you, but it’s also the only place she can be free of all those expectations she hated. She could love who she wants.”

  Velsa stroked his hair. Grau didn’t talk about his home and family that much, but she knew it killed him more than he’d admit to cut himself off from them.

  He slipped an arm around her waist and leaned into her touch. “She’s being a coward,” he said. “That’s all. She’ll be sorry she didn’t listen to me.”

  “Maybe,” Velsa said. “Some people are happy enough in Nalim Ima. Maybe she’ll be one of them.”

  “If they hurt her…” Grau’s hand tightened around her. “I’m hundreds of miles away. We always had each other’s back when we were kids. Always.”

  “It would be very special to have a sister,” Velsa said softly.

  There was not much more to be said. Velsa let him urge her onto his lap, where he held her in sad silence for a few minutes, and she read the letter.

  I can’t leave my own world, Grau. Dor-Temerna is so far away, I can’t even imagine. I understand why you had to do it, for Velsa, but…what if the war does come? My only valuable skill is archery. I can’t join the Miralem army and kill my own people, as if they would take a girl without telepathy anyway. I want to trust you, but it’s just too big of a leap for you to ask me to make.

  If we never see each other again, you’ll still always be my favorite brother.

  Madam Blazar came to the back at the end of another week. Velsa tried her best to look very involved with the collar she was sewing.

  “Good evening, my sweet dollkins. I want to thank you for all of your hard work. We’re not at the end of it yet, but you should have something to think of for motivation. The mayor has asked me to be a part of the procession to greet Prince Seldon. I know that offering asylum to Fanarlem slaves is a cause dear to the Prince’s heart, and I’m sure he would like to see that you are treated well here, so you will be bearing the flowers for this shop—instead of my assistants.”

  “Oh my!” Alsamir cried, her sorrowful face lighting up. “Oh my!”

  Eldisa tilted her head girlishly. “Oh, thank you, Madam,” she breathed.

  “Except—I’m afraid—for Velsa.”

  Sudden heat trickled down Velsa’s spine. Everyone blinked at her.

  “Those clothes will not do and there is no time to make you better ones.”

  “That’s fine,” Velsa said. “I don’t care. I told you, I don’t need your clothes.”

  “At least show Madam Blazar a little respect!” Madam Peroneel snapped.

  “I don’t want to be in your procession. I don’t want to be shown off to the prince like a slave who has been granted the gift of your charity. Dollkins? It’s too much. I can’t stand that my—my daughter is growing up in a world where she starts to think she is an actual doll. We have souls. We’re not toys.”

  She said it softly, but she said it. It was everything she had dreamed of saying.

  Velsa couldn’t look at their faces but she could hear the way the two flesh and blood woman dragged in their breath.

  It needs to be said. Not just for my sake, but for Sorla. Even if she doesn’t realize it.

  “Velsa, I think you are not a good fit for this establishment,” Madam Blazar said. “I’m sorry to say.”

  “You’re not sorry!” Velsa’s head whipped up.

  “I am, dear. I wish you could see how much I care for all of you.” Madam Blazar spoke with sickening sweetness. “Maybe, after you see the festival and how everyone in the city will be looking their best, you’ll realize you’ve been stubborn. Please—pack up your things.”

  “I don’t have things,” Velsa said. “What would I have—lunch?”

  “Goodbye, Velsa,” Madam Peroneel said, with a hint of superiority.

  Velsa moved to the door, forcing her head high. She glanced back, seeing all the other Fanarlem still there with their own heads hung.

  “Deep down, they all feel it,” Velsa said—and she knew it was true, in that moment. Maybe she didn’t sense it in them, because they buried their shame. “They all feel the way you speak to them. They act like your underlings and pets because they’re afraid they won’t find any better place to work. They have no choice.”

  She rushed out the door before anyone else could get the last word.

  What have I done?

  Who will hire me now?

  What’s wrong with me? Why am I so stubborn? Did Grau do this to me somehow? Why does no one else seem to care!

  She ran down the street, just wanting to get out
of sight. She passed the faces of so many strangers. A few people asked if she was all right as she ran by, and she ignored them. She wanted to hate everyone right now.

  When she calmed down a bit, she circled around to Dalaran’s shop and found Grau. He was holding a stone while Dalaran was grinding something with a mortar and pestle. When Grau saw her face, he immediately shut his hand around the stone, closing his eyes briefly like he was shutting down a channel, and then rose. “I’ll be back,” he said.

  “Feel free to talk in the courtyard,” Dalaran said, motioning to the back of the shop. Many of the houses and buildings in town had a small courtyard garden either between or behind structures. Grau led her there and she immediately took some comfort in the shelter of high stone walls and green growing things.

  “What happened?” Grau asked gently.

  “I lost my job. I know how terrible it is to find a job anywhere; I know I should just endure it,” she sobbed. “I don’t know why I can’t keep my mouth shut. I spent my whole childhood keeping all my rebellious thoughts buried so deep that I was never punished.”

  “That’s probably why,” he said. “You can only take it for so long.” He paused. “I’m proud of us both, if I do say so myself. I’m proud of you for trusting your own worth.”

  “What does it matter if I trust my own worth if no one else thinks so? And we still need money to live.”

  He shook his head. “You should never have had to work like this. I don’t want you to spend your days so miserable. Don’t worry about the job for now. Go home and rest and we’ll talk when I get home.”

  She went home, said hello to Kessily, and then excused herself to the loft. She took off her boots but instead of sleeping, her stocking feet paced.

  When Grau came home, he called her down to the garden.

  “I think it’s time you got back to learning sorcery,” he said.

  “But—I’m not as good at it as you are. And Flower stole my crystal.”

  “It’s not a contest. We just need to develop this garden. Growing food is a better use of your time than that job.”

  “Growing food won’t pay the rent.” Velsa was already uncomfortable aware that they weren’t saving as they should; quite a bit of money had been spent on clothes and little necessaries that the house lacked.

  “Kessily is working now. We’ll manage.”

  “You sound so confident. Like when you said you could help Kessily change out of her bird form.”

  He scowled. “I order you to grow some turnips, little concubine.”

  “Turnips? Grau, let’s at least ask this garden for something good.”

  At the beginning of June, a week out from the festival, Velsa was bringing Grau some lunch when a group of riders came galloping onto the narrow lane, their hooves making a clatter on the paved street of the magical district. As they drew closer, the sound of shrieks and shut doors followed in their wake, although the riders themselves were silent. Velsa ducked behind a large pot of flowers, crouching so she wouldn’t be seen.

  She extended out her senses and counted six of them. They came to a halt in front of Dalaran’s place and two of them dismounted.

  Velsa tried to shield herself from telepathic probing, although it probably didn’t matter. Their attention was obviously focused on the shop. One of them whacked a stick against the sign, making it swing and creak. Through the flowers, she pieced together a view.

  Are these the bandits?

  They certainly looked bandit-y, she thought.

  All six of them wore leather masks over their eyes. Their black brimmed hats blocked the sun from their eyes but were tilted roguishly, with a gold tassel hanging from the back of each. Two were women, with painted lips—otherwise, they dressed the same, in colorful but faded coats with loose sleeves, knives in their sashes, weathered boots, and necklaces and bracelets made of bright circles of tin. Just like the river folk. Indeed, they reminded her very much of the river traders, but they were Miralem.

  “Oi, Dalaran!” the man at the front of the pack shouted, loud enough for all to hear.

  The rest of the crew glanced around, hands on their blades. The air was sharp with their telepathic probing.

  Dalaran came out. “Blessed bones, what a racket,” he said.

  “Well, well. Look at you now, the friendly neighborhood necromancer. ‘Ohh, blessed bones’!” The man held out a gloved hand. “Don’t look so surprised to see me. You stole from me. Good work, too. I never guessed a scrappy little sorcerer from Dor-Temerna would even dare. ‘course, if I’d guessed, none of us would’ve let our guard down. Won’t make that mistake twice.”

  Dalaran chuckled, a bit nervously. “You came all this way? I should think that’s a waste of your time.”

  “Revenge is never a waste of time.”

  “The town guard won’t take kindly to you attacking me,” Dalaran said.

  “Town guard,” one of the women scoffed. She seemed to be older, and had her hair in elaborate stiff loops that stood up like bows behind her ears. “Where are they? Goodness knows, they’ve always protected this town in the past.”

  All the bandits guffawed.

  The man spread his arms. “C’mon, guards! The Kalora family is here! Don’t be shy! Six of us to, what, ten of you?”

  The woman with the hair, in one smooth motion, brought a bow and arrow into her hands from her back and shot an arrow at Dalaran. He obviously didn’t expect it—in fact, Velsa wasn’t even sure he saw her, as his focus seemed to be on the man—and it struck him in the gut.

  The man laughed. “Now we’re talking,” he said, walking up to Dalaran and grabbing the arrow, using it like a handle to yank Dalaran’s body against his. He brought Dalaran’s face close enough to his own that they were almost embracing. Dalaran’s brow had broken into a sweat, and he gritted his teeth not to make a sound.

  Grau stepped out now, briefly touching his own stomach with sympathy, but his expression was mostly just aggravated. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  The bandit’s attention whipped toward Grau. “We’re busy here, if you don’t mind.”

  Dalaran pulled a glinting object from his pocket and put it in the bandit’s hand. “That’s worth more than your dust. A ten-rated air magic stone.”

  The bandit let go of the arrow and held the stone up to the light.

  “That’s the one I made for Dormongara,” Grau said. “I do mind.”

  The bandit put a hand on his hip, a slowly spreading grin projecting the confidence of someone who did this all the time. “You don’t want to get involved in this.”

  “That’s my stone,” Grau said. “It isn’t Dalaran’s to give.”

  “Please, just let him have it,” Dalaran said. “I’ll tell Dormongara what happened.”

  The bandit tossed the stone in the air and caught it. What a showoff, Velsa thought. It was obvious he was the sort of guy who didn’t get taken down a peg nearly often enough. “I’m just not sure this will do it for me,” he said, holding the stone up to the light. “It’s got some power to it, but…who are you? You’re new in town.”

  “My name is Grau. I’m working with Dalaran.” He added, “Temporarily.”

  “Mmhm. Well, Grau, since you’re new, let me introduce myself. I’m Three-Tongues Kalora, and this is my wife and cousins. You don’t want to mess with us like Dalaran did. He came upon us having a good time in the Queen’s Tit and decided he’d nick a bag of new moon dust off us. It’s been a long time since I’ve had reason to come up this way. Guess I’ll be making a habit of it now. Pretty country. I’ll see how I like your stone, Grau, and come back for more.”

  “That stone is not yours.”

  “You can make more.”

  “I owe them to the Keeper of the Dead.”

  “I’ll let you two work it out amongst yourselves,” Three-Tongues said. “But I expect more than one little trinket. You can’t steal from the Kaloras without expecting to pay interest.” He rubbed the stone rapidly between two finge
rs, activating a gust of wild wind that stirred up around him and spun out toward Grau, Velsa and Dalaran in a swirl. This was Grau’s own magic, so of course he knew it well. Grau held up his hands and diffused it, so it blew back at the bandits. It had lost some of its teeth by then, but it still whipped their hair out of place and knocked off a couple of their hats. They caught them up with telekinesis.

  “You’re asking for pain, aren’t you?” Three-Tongues snapped at Grau. He mounted his horse and spurred it on with a shout, drawing out one of the twin swords at his waist. The bandits and their weapons moved together, like they were extensions of their own limbs, and as he rode by Grau, he flicked out his sword. The blade sliced Grau’s braid off the back of his head, and Three-Tongues snapped that up with telekinesis too. He held it aloft as a prize. “Next time, it will be your head!” he crowed.

  Grau clapped his hand to the back of his neck, his eyes narrowing with anger, and he held out a hand. The rocks beneath Three-Tongues jutted up, making his horse stumble. While Three-Tongues tried to straighten out his horse, Grau summoned a wind. The bandit was knocked sideways, almost falling off. His elemental sorcery grew more confident every time Velsa saw him do it. She swelled with pride—and backed him up with a telepathic attack on the other bandits, so they couldn’t retaliate without shaking her off first.

  Grau grabbed Three-Tongues and pulled him down from the saddle, still stirring the wind to keep the bandit struggling to orient himself.

  “There’s someone hiding,” the woman with the hair loops croaked, clutching her head. “A telepath around—there!” She pointed at the bush where Velsa was hiding.

  Velsa stepped out, trying to look confident, because she and Grau were in this now, although it wasn’t even their fight.

  Grau looked at her, and she caught his thought: Get the horse.

  She nodded.

  He kept working the air the whole time, making use of his easiest offense spell to suck the breath from their lungs. They were trying to gather their telepathy and fight back. Velsa sensed this; she couldn’t hold them much longer. Most of their power seemed to come from the woman with the hair loops, but she shuddered to think what they could do to Grau if they were skilled at combined telepathic attacks. They needed to take out the leader.