The Fire Mages' Daughter

by Pauline M. Ross

  She grimaced, and I couldn’t help smiling. My scheme to prove my incompetence hadn’t quite worked out, but now I had another idea. Zandara wasn’t the only one who could plan.

  7: Seduction

  For a while, I felt very strange. The warmth deep inside me slowly faded away, but it also seeped through my whole body, leaving me tingling and sensitive, as if every pore of my skin and every hair were alive. And I felt amazingly well. It was not just the absence of weakness, I positively glowed with health. For a sun or two, I even wondered if I were pregnant, despite the herbs, but then my bleeding time arrived as usual to set that idea to rest.

  Was it normal to react to sex in that way? I’d read many books covering the topic, from oblique references to fanciful poetry to scientific detail, but none described the fire I’d felt, or the strange sensation of falling, or the way Ly-haam and I had been drawn together, almost against our wills. I determined to find the answer, although I wasn’t sure how.

  ~~~~~~

  Millan and Tisha still lived in the mages’ house. They’d only planned to stay for a few months, but when the new baby arrived, they’d decided to stay on in Kingswell. To be honest, I think they’d found Zendronia too dull for words, and they were glad to escape from it.

  It was such a small town, so confined and limiting it was hard to breathe, sometimes. Yet for me it was the centre of my universe, the sun around which I revolved, because it contained my mother. Some nights I woke in terror that I would never see her again, and then I would prowl around my room restlessly until the early bells sounded.

  But I had a plan again, and perhaps this time it would work.

  I liked going to see Millan and Tisha. They were a little bubble of normality in the refined air of the Drashona’s court. For a short time I could step away from the receptions and ceremonies, the feasts and formality. I would sit on the floor and play with the baby and pretend I was just a regular Bennamorian again, with no possibility of ever becoming Drashona.

  “There’s another grand ball coming up, I hear,” Tisha said to me, not long after I’d come back from the visit to the Blood Clans. “Who is it for this time? Another noble wedding?”

  “No, it’s the Speaker from the Port Holdings. There’s a new trade agreement, so she’s bringing quite a big group with her this time. Did you see them last time they were here? They’re quite civilised, although they dress oddly. It’s all elaborate hair for the women and strangely shaped beards for the men.”

  “No, I’d just had Asharla. But you saw them, Lathran, didn’t you? You went to see the procession, if I remember rightly. And Millan was on duty for one or two of the events.”

  Lathran still lived in the mages’ house with his parents, but he had grown up better than anyone had expected. Certainly better than I had expected, at any rate. When he’d turned thirteen and become an adult, he’d gone for training in the guards. Not the mage guards, either. It was his ambition to join the Elite guards who attended the Drashona and the senior nobles, and defended Kingswell itself.

  The guards had been good for him, absorbing all that energy that had so irritated me when he was a boy, teaching him how to mix in society and filling out the scrawny child’s body with manly muscles. He wasn’t exactly handsome, and he would never be terribly bright, but he would do for my purposes.

  His chief advantage was that, rather sweetly, he had fallen spectacularly in love with me. This had seemed like nothing more than an embarrassment, especially the poetry-reciting stage, but now it was very convenient.

  “I went down to the western gate to watch them arrive,” Lathran said with a shrug, his cheeks reddening. He always blushed when he had to talk to me. “Couldn’t see a thing. I’d have seen more by looking out of the window here.”

  “Would you like to see them a bit more closely this time?” I said. “I can take a friend along to the ceremonies.”

  His eyes goggled at me, and he flushed as red as a blood apple. “Oh… I… That would be… Which ceremony?”

  “Which would you like to go to?”

  “Oh, the grand ball. I have a formal uniform for that type of thing. It’s quite splendid. I should like to be able to wear it.”

  “The grand ball it is, then.”

  Tisha threw me a surprised look. “Thank you, Drina. You’re very kind. It’ll be so good for him to see all the nobles in their finery, and how they behave. You make sure you watch and learn, Lathran.”

  He was terrified, of course. Even when we sat to eat or to watch the entertainments, his back was spear-straight. When we wandered through the crowds greeting this one or that, he stood precisely one pace behind, giving me due precedence. It was quite amusing to watch him staring, wide-eyed, at the milling crowds in their silks and jewels and lace. My own simple azai was very plain in comparison. I was so used to all the display, I barely noticed it any more. I saw, not the froth on the surface, but the currents far below: who was talking to whom, how long they spent together before moving on, the subtle shifts in expression, the gestures and eye movements. I could read it all as easily as a book. Yannassia had trained me too well.

  Lathran was a restful companion. He said not a word all evening, except to answer, “Yes, thank you, Highness,” whenever I asked if he was enjoying himself. And there was a benefit to his company that I hadn’t anticipated. Usually I was with Vhar-zhin on these occasions, and her pretty features and demure manner attracted clouds of suitors, like irritating flies. No matter how many times we waved them away, we were always surrounded. Even when she was elsewhere, they still buzzed around me. But Lathran’s very presence deterred all but the most persistent.

  We walked home through the endless corridors of the Keep. There was a main route, the Queen’s Way, which circled in ornately decorated style through all eight towers. I preferred the quieter and less ostentatious King’s Way on the floor above, the route, so it was said, by which the first King to live here had visited his many concubines.

  As we walked, Lathran became chatty, rattling on about the many sights he’d seen. I let him talk. It was as much to fix it all in his mind as for my benefit.

  But then something odd happened. For one instant, I was somewhere else altogether. The corridor with its deep carpet and brightly lit night lamps and Lathran’s chatter vanished, and I was in darkness, a profound blackness without any light at all. Yet I could see, in a way. I was aware of walls around me, close in, like a tunnel. And smells – a vast array of smells that I could identify individually. There were snuffling sounds, and a warmth above me.

  Then I was back, standing as if turned to stone, my mouth hanging open, my bodyguard stopped beside me, curious.

  Lathran had walked on without me, still happily chatting away. Now he noticed that I had not kept pace with him. He turned, puzzled.

  “Drina? Are you all right?”

  A hard question to answer. What had happened there? But whatever it was, it had gone as quickly as it arrived, and I was myself again, if somewhat shaken.

  “Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” I said.

  We walked on, my bodyguard dropping back a few paces. Lathran escorted me to the door of my apartment. He punctiliously kissed my hand and thanked me for a pleasant evening. He even called me ‘Highness’, for all the world as if we hadn’t known each other our entire lives. As we made our farewells, my bodyguard stood stiffly to one side, looking at nothing, as if she was pretending to be invisible. It was a difficult job, being personal guard to the nobility.

  I didn’t invite him in, even though he’d been in my apartment many times. There was no need for haste, not with Lathran. He was slow on the uptake, and I wanted this to be his idea.

  Vhar-zhin was already in bed. She sat, arms wrapped around her knees, watching as I undressed. When I climbed in beside her, she said, “What was that about?”

  My mind was still on my strange experience, so I was only half attending. “Hmm? What was what about?”

  “Him. The guard. Why did you do that? Do you
not enjoy my company any more?”

  “Of course, but… it’s different, Vhar.”

  “Is it?”

  I had no idea what she meant.

  ~~~~~

  Two suns later, I invited Lathran to accompany me to an outdoor reception for the southerners. The protocol of the treaty-signing and the stuffy formalities were over, and all of us were glad to escape the oppressive grandeur of the Keep’s official chambers. It was not the best weather for an outdoor function, cool and wet, but then the splendid glass-walled pavilion in the gardens was not exactly out of doors. With a wrap, the temperature was tolerable and the coastal people were a hardy breed.

  The Drashona and her current drusse accompanied the Speaker and her principal attendants, but it was my turn to loiter nearby to watch who they spoke to and for how long. Lathran was almost incoherent with nerves at being so close to such important people. His eyes, wide with fear, flicked back and forth between the two women, and drew unwelcome attention to me. I could hardly lurk inconspicuously with such a companion.

  In the end I sent him off to talk to the Speaker’s husband, a great tall fellow who had been a guard himself before marriage improved his rank. He was a Bennamorian, but you would never know it from his clothes or the peculiar beard he wore. Only the accent gave him away. Lathran seemed more at ease in male company, and the two of them settled into conversation and left me to pursue my task unhindered.

  The event dragged on all evening, the coastal people having endless stamina for idle chatter and sweet pastries. It was dark before we got away, but again Lathran walked me back to my apartment. Coming directly from the gardens in the centre of the Keep, we had no need to use the Queen’s Way, and there was no repetition of my strange experience. We stopped outside the apartment door.

  “Thank you, Highness…” Lathran began, but I waved a hand to silence him.

  “No formality between us. Will you come in for a glass of wine?”

  His face brightened. Poor Lathran! I was raising such hopes in him, and some of them would be fulfilled, if he played his part as I hoped, but he was so trusting. Far too trusting, where I was concerned.

  I took him into my private sitting room, and the servants brought wine and tiny cakes, although my stomach revolted at the thought of any more sweet things. Then they withdrew, leaving only my bodyguard, standing as still as a statue near the door, her eyes fixed on the middle distance.

  Half an hour was all I allowed him. For that brief time, he had my full attention and I used all the tricks I’d learned from Yannassia to make him feel that he was the most important person in the world. The only person in the world. I wasn’t flirting, simply drawing him out and listening intently to everything he said. Then I sent him away, and he was too dazed even to kiss my hand as he left.

  “That will be all for this evening, Cryalla,” I said, making for the bedroom.

  “Highness…” she said.

  I turned in surprise.

  “It’s not my place to advise you, Highness…”

  “Indeed it is not.”

  “But I shall anyway,” she rushed on, her cheeks flaming. “He’s a nice boy, Lathran, and I wouldn’t like to see him hurt. I have no idea what this is about, but unless it’s sanctioned by the Most Powerful, I… I think it’s cruel, to play with him like this.”

  I could have professed anger, or even dismissed her for such presumption. But of course she was absolutely right. She knew me well enough to realise that this was not a romantic inclination, so I chose not to be offended.

  “Thank you, Cryalla. Your opinion is noted.”

  “If you want a man…” she began hesitantly, then stopped, chewing her lip.

  “Go on. We might as well have all your advice.”

  She blushed again, but pressed on. “If all you want is a man in your bed, there are any number of the young noblemen who’d be more than happy to oblige, without any commitment. Or… if you want something… a bit rougher, I can find someone—”

  “No,” I said. “Thank you, but no.”

  “Well… You know your own business best, I daresay. Good night, Highness, and if I’ve offended, I apologise.”

  “No offence.”

  I went to my room, but not to bed. A nobleman, or… something rougher. I’d thought about the possibilities, of course. But a nobleman would expect to become my drusse, or at least, his family would expect it, and that was very much not what I wanted. Quite the opposite. Something rougher? Allow an unmannered stranger into my bedchamber? I was not brave enough to take that risk.

  But Lathran was a known quantity. Not a friend, exactly, but someone I could trust. He was perfect for my purposes. It was sweet of Cryalla to worry about him, but he was an adult, old enough to look out for himself. If he was in love with me, he would learn soon enough that I was not worth loving.

  Then Vhar-zhin came in and we went to bed.

  ~~~~~

  For almost an entire moon, Lathran and I danced. After a few evenings, Cryalla decided he was not about to murder me and discreetly left us alone. Even so, for the first ten-sun, it was nothing but friendliness, gradually increasing the time alone. When he finally plucked up the courage to move in a little, sitting beside me on the sofa, we had a ten-sun of holding hands and increasingly fervent if oblique declarations. Finally he kissed me, and I put up with almost another ten-sun of endless passionate kisses, and ever more open talk of ‘the future’.

  Frustratingly, he made no move to get my clothes off, even though I gave him every opportunity and I was hardly pushing him away. In the end, I got him roundly drunk, put his hand on my breast and let his own desire take its inevitable course. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it wasn’t particularly enjoyable, either. It was just two sweaty bodies writhing on a sofa, one of them making a great deal of noise, and the other wishing it to be over soon. It was nothing at all like the firestorm that Ly-haam and I had generated. But at least it was done, and now that he’d got the idea, I was hopeful I would soon be pregnant and Yannassia would send me home at last.

  And then the idiot boy ran straight back to his parents and told them everything.

  8: A Visitor

  I had never seen Yannassia angry before. No matter what happened – my previous bad behaviour, political reversals, even when her brother’s little boy had died – she was always perfectly controlled, calm. Or so she appeared, anyway.

  But now she paced up and down, fists clenched, her face white. “What by all the Gods were you thinking? How could you be so foolish, Axandrina? Please tell me you are not in love with this boy.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then what possessed you? Have you no pride? He is nothing, this boy. The son of two mage guards. Absolutely nobody.”

  I lifted my chin. “I am nobody, too. My mother was a village rat. My father was the drusse-born son of a low-ranking Kellon.”

  “And my husband! Never forget who I am, you ungrateful child. Remember what is due to me.” Her eyes narrowed. “Was this all to spite me? Is that it?”

  “No. Not really.”

  “Not really?”

  “Not to spite you. I just…” Now that the moment had come, I hadn’t the words to explain it. It had seemed so easy as I lay in my bed at night, plotting. Faced with Yannassia’s blazing anger, my neat explanations dribbled into the sand.

  “You just what?”

  Tears pricked at my eyelids, and despair leapt into my throat. “I just want to go home!” I yelled.

  Her lips compressed into a thin line. With a swirl of skirts, she crossed the room in a few strides to stand in front of me, her nose a finger’s width from mine. Then she hissed in my face.

  “Be very sure of this, Axandrina. While I live, you will never go home.”

  Grief shot through me, making me howl in anguish like a dog. My legs refused to hold me, and I fell to my knees, sobbing.

  Yannassia clicked her fingers at the shocked onlookers – guards, waiting women, scribes, Vhar-zhin and Zanda
ra – then, “Go, all of you. Get out, get out! Yes, you too. Out!”

  Feet thumped, sword-belts rattled, skirts swished. The door opened and closed. The room fell quiet, except for my heaving sobs.

  Yannassia’s light feet pattered across the room, then there were scraping sounds as she dragged a footstool to where I crouched, crumpled in despair.

  “Oh, Drina,” she said, sitting down in a rush, and she sounded as grief-stricken as I was. “Are you so unhappy here?”

  “No!” I sobbed again, and scrabbled for a handkerchief to blow my nose. “Not unhappy. But I don’t belong here. Can’t be your heir. Can’t face it.”

  A heavy sigh. “Oh dear. I had thought we were past all that. But why would it be so terrible?”

  I looked at her through my tears, and now her face was all sympathy. How could I explain? I could only tell her the truth. “I don’t feel whole here. It’s as if there is something missing. I only feel right at home.”

  “Zendronia?” she said, her voice heavy with scepticism. “Such a trivial little town. What is so special about it?”

  “No, no. Not Zendronia. It’s my mother. That is home. She is the only one who can take away the emptiness.”

  “Your mother.” Her voice was flat. “You know, Drina, most people are fond of their mothers, but this – it is not normal.”

  “I know,” I said tiredly. “Vhar-zhin’s mother is dead, but she doesn’t miss her the way I miss mine. I can’t explain it, exactly, but I think it’s to do with the magic.”

  “Hmm. It is true that Kyra is very special in that way. I think perhaps I shall send for her – no, only for a visit, do not look so hopeful. Perhaps she can explain all this, and find a way to break the knot.”

  My spirits soared at her words. Even a short visit – it was what I’d craved, but never dared to ask for. Mother would never leave Zendronia unless the Drashona summoned her. It was better than nothing. At least I would see her again. I smiled.