The Fire Mages' Daughter

by Pauline M. Ross

  Zandara made the tiniest of nods, her face blank, before turning to me. “Drina, you are eating nothing. Are you unwell?”

  “She is too much in love with her guard drusse to eat,” Axandor said, then snorted at his own joke.

  I rolled my eyes. “These are too sweet for my liking, that is all.”

  Yannassia raised her eyebrows. “I think they are no sweeter than usual.”

  But I could not explain how much I missed Ly-haam’s simple food and way of life. Those few suns on his island had been idyllic, in a strange way. After the perpetual rush of my life at Kingswell, the rich foods and endless meetings and the need to be always on the alert, it had been such a pleasure to have no one wanting anything from me, nothing I had to do, no place I had to be. I could sit and watch his delicate fingers chopping and trimming, or shaping dough, and think my own thoughts. If I could take Arran there, and a good supply of books, it would be perfect.

  ~~~~~

  “You are very quiet,” I said to Arran, as we lay on the bed that evening. It was still hot, and we had generated some of our own heat, too, so we were stretched out naked on top of the bed. I liked the musky smell of his skin, warm under my fingers, while beneath us the silk cover was cool. “Are you concerned about this proposed marriage? You need not be. It will not affect you very much. You will still be my drusse.”

  He shifted position so he could see my face. “It is not quite as simple as that, Drina. For a man with a wife and a drusse… there is no problem. But this man will want you to have his children. We cannot be together while… well, while you are working on that aspect with him.”

  It was stupid of me, but I hadn’t worked that out. “Oh. So we won’t be able to…? Oh. Of course.”

  “He will want to be sure of his own children. Are the Icthari strange about having sons, like the Ghar’annish?”

  “No, if anything they prefer female children. But it will only be a moon or two, won’t it? When I am pregnant, we can be together again, can’t we?”

  “Of course.”

  But he pulled me closer and held me very tight.

  ~~~~~

  My interview with House Gurshmonta was part of the endless series of meetings to determine my suitability as heir. Every noble House, from the grandest to the lowest, was entitled to see me privately, to raise any issue they wished. This was the third meeting with the Gurshmontas, and although the other attendees varied, I knew that Shallack Gurshmonta would be there. I knew, too, that the meeting would be formal, and the atmosphere prickly. The Gurshmontas did not like me.

  This sun, however, Shallack was all affability.

  “Do come in, Highness. We are in the green room this sun – a little cooler, you know, in this stifling air. But it may break soon, the sky-watchers say. Then we shall have storms, I daresay.” He chuckled amiably. “A little wine? I have two kinds of Vilkorani red, or a Trellian, if that is your fancy, or you may care for a green wine, from the eastern hills. Quite an Icthari delicacy, you know. We keep it cool in the cellars, with ice from the ice-house. It is very refreshing. Will you try a little, Highness?”

  It amused me, to see him attempt to be friendly. I liked him better when he was overtly hostile towards me.

  We got to the Icthari marriage very speedily. “The Drashona has apprised you of the situation, I believe? It would be an excellent match, not just for you but for Bennamore too. Sealing the alliance, you know.”

  “Does the alliance need to be sealed?” I asked mildly, sipping the green wine and trying not to pull a face. It was strangely sweet and yet sour at the same time. Quite nasty.

  “Alliances tend to drift, unless reinforced,” he said.

  “I thought we were reinforcing our alliance with the Icthari quite well through trade. House Gurshmonta has been most assiduous in that direction, and deserving of our unending gratitude.”

  He threw me a sharp glance, and for the first time the jovial mask slipped a little. “Quite true, but that is… a lower level of alliance, if you follow me. A marriage agreement between two such great nations – that would ensure the alliance continues smoothly for many years to come.”

  “And he is such a pleasant young man,” one of the others said, a plump, middle-aged lady so over-painted she looked like a brothel woman.

  “Yes, indeed,” Shallack said, smiling benignly on the woman. His sister, perhaps. Or aunt. It was hard to tell. “Very handsome, very charming, very intelligent. A perfect match for you, Highness.”

  “Your thoughtfulness astounds me,” I said. “I cannot express my gratitude.”

  “Your happiness is the only thanks I require, Highness. And you will adore the Icthari culture, I am certain. You will be returning to your roots, you know. Your father would be proud of you.”

  “Oh, do you think so? My father was born and raised here. He was Bennamorian to his core. I am not certain he had much attachment to Icthari culture.”

  “Ah, your father!” He laughed, a harsh sound after so many unctuous sentiments. “Your father was one of a kind. Yes, he was very special, your father.”

  And again he laughed raucously. To my ears, he sounded just like a crow.

  ~~~~~

  The Icthari arrived in a flurry of delays, altered arrangements and mis-communications. As a result, they turned up unannounced at the Keep gates, and had to be kept waiting while the gate guards scurried round for authority to admit them. Meanwhile, the formal receiving party sent to greet them on the outskirts of Kingswell missed them entirely, and was unable to escort them with the proper ceremony. My suspicious side wondered if that was a deliberate tactic to throw us off. Could an official delegation really be so disorganised?

  But when I saw them, I decided that they could. They were an unprepossessing group, just six men on horseback, with a couple of pack horses. Their clothes were the same sort of ragged affair I’d seen on other Icthari, with little sign of wealth or status, the only decoration painted leather, silver buckles and buttons, and slender dangling chains.

  Since we had no warning of their arrival, and Yannassia was holding an assembly at the time, they were simply brought into the gallery. Not the way we’d intended to receive them, but the alternative was to make them wait. Yannassia was not one to disrupt a prior engagement because a visitor descended on her unannounced.

  The Icthari had no sense of formal behaviour or respect for the Drashona, so they entered in a milling group, chatting amongst themselves, drifting down the room and stopping to discuss a wall hanging along the way. Yannassia waited without impatience.

  The steward slammed his staff against the marble floor, and announced loudly, “Honoured visitors from the Icthari nation to pay court to the Most Powerful Lady Yannassia, the wise and enlightened Drashona of all Bennamore and its dominions.”

  “You are welcome to Bennamore,” Yannassia said, a little louder than politeness dictated to be heard above their chatter.

  They gathered around her in a loose group and made their bows. Which one was mine? Three of the men were too old, and the others were too similar to distinguish.

  One of the older men stepped forward.

  “Greetings, Highness. I am Hal Torghesh, son of Hal Frimast dushat Marranfashat. I had the opportunity to attend this court as ambassador some years ago.”

  “I remember you, Prince Torghesh,” Yannassia said, with an inclination of the head. “It is a pleasure to see you here again.”

  It was a courtesy to translate the honorific as ‘Prince’, but in truth Hal was a modest title, perhaps equivalent to Master or, at a stretch, Lord. The Icthari had no single ruler, as we did. Their decisions were taken by lengthy discussion at a large gathering every winter. It was not even as organised as the Nobles’ Council, being more like a village, where the point was carried by whoever shouted loudest. Or so our books described it, anyway.

  “May I present to you my son, Hal Ghat. I regret that he has no command of your language.”

  The son bowed with commendable p
recision. To my relief, he was indeed handsome, in the thin-faced Icthari way, his hair falling in tight curls beyond his shoulders, his face a little softer than the others. There was an intelligence in his eye that was promising. And when I was introduced, he looked at me with smiling interest.

  It was an encouraging start.

  ~~~~~

  That evening there was an informal reception for the Icthari, hastily put together by the Keep’s stewards. It was held in the pavilion in the gardens, the air heavy with the scent of summer blossoms. Moths fizzed into the many lanterns, and in the distance a storm grumbled.

  Prince Ghat sought me out very early, and steered me to a blossom-draped arbour. It was not in the least romantic, however, for his father sat beside me to interpret, and Arran stood not ten paces away, trying very hard to keep his expression neutral. As always, my bodyguard was close by, too.

  “Tell her I am very happy to meet her at last,” Ghat said, and his expression confirmed the truth of it. There was real pleasure in his eyes.

  “My son is very pleased to meet you,” Torghesh said.

  I smiled at them both. “I am pleased to meet him, too. But I should like to be assured that he enters into these negotiations willingly – that he has not been pressured. For it is a big step to take, for both of us.”

  “Indeed,” Torghesh said. “You need not be concerned about that, Highness.”

  “Thank you, but I should like to hear the Prince’s answer.”

  A single raised eyebrow, but he turned to Ghat without comment. “She wants to know that you have not been forced into this against your will.”

  “Tell her absolutely not! Tell her – tell her it delights me to have this opportunity. I hope very much that our two countries can reach agreement on the details. I cannot wait to make her my wife. She is quite charming, beyond my expectations. Tell her all that, Father. Leave nothing out.”

  His father translated it very faithfully. So useful to be able to understand all that was said. The slightest change in a word, a single omission, would have put me on the alert for some trickery. But they were quite sincere, that much was clear.

  And even had I not known the words, I would have understood the meaning from the glow in Ghat’s eyes. There could be no mistaking his admiration.

  But Arran’s face was taut with dismay.

  22: A Feast

  “He likes you,” Mother said flatly, after the Icthari had been led away to their chambers.

  We were drifting back towards the Keep after the reception. Arran held my hand very tightly, and Mother was on my other side, while Cal strode in front, his long legs swifter than the rest of us. Cryalla walked behind me, her gear clunking and chinking, and off to one side, with the casualness common to mage guards, Millan and Tisha chatted together.

  “Of course he likes her,” Cal said, spinning round. “He’d be a fool not to. The question is whether she likes him.”

  “Well, it hardly matters,” Mother said with a lift of one shoulder. “It’s a political marriage, they don’t need to like each other.”

  Cal exhaled sharply, half laugh and half exasperation. “Of course it matters! Would you want to share a bed with someone you don’t like?”

  Another shrug. “I’ve done it before.” To my surprise, Cal flushed and lowered his eyes. Mother went on in softer tones, “But then, it was not actual dislike, I suppose. He was just… not a man I would have chosen.”

  “Oh.” Cal’s face lightened. “You mean…? Oh, I suppose…”

  I wondered who they were talking about. Not Cal, obviously. Could they mean my father? Surely not.

  “Drina’s always been practical about such matters,” Mother went on, oblivious of Cal’s discomfiture. “Look how well she’s coped with this boy from the Blood Clans. That can’t have been pleasant. Thank the Moon God she has Arran.”

  “Yes, but…” Cal sighed, and gave it up. Mother was nothing if not logical. “But that reminds me. Drina, do you want to tell us more about this Ly-haam fellow? We’ve hardly seen you since your return, and I think there is much more to it than the official version. But only if you want to talk about it,” he added hastily.

  For a moment I hesitated. I had always tried to keep discussion of Ly-haam to the political issues, steering away from the personal. Partly because I didn’t know what to make of it myself. I’d kept a great many secrets, and perhaps that was a mistake.

  But now everyone knew that I had been kidnapped because I had the habit of flying around at night aback a giant eagle. Perhaps it was time to be open, at least with my own family.

  “Come back to the apartment, then,” I said.

  “Do you have some decent wine?” Cal said. “For I would dearly like to get rid of the taste of that nasty green stuff.”

  “But it is an Icthari delicacy,” I murmured.

  “It’s nasty,” he said firmly.

  ~~~~~

  We sat on the wide balcony off the main sitting room. Arran and Cal dragged out a couple of sofas and a small table, I found some decent purple wine and Mother unearthed some boxes of cakes and sweetmeats from one of the pantries. Down below us, late evening revellers laughed and clinked beakers as they drank. Someone played a crincheon in the distance. Inside the apartment, the murmur of voices as Cryalla, Millan and Tisha traded guard stories.

  The apartment was several storeys up, the highest trees from the gardens far below just visible, dry leaves rattling. Across the Keep interior, lights twinkled at windows as the sky darkened, storm clouds hastening the dusk.

  We sat, drank wine and nibbled cakes, and I told them everything. It poured out of me, all the strange events which had overtaken me, so many of them connected with Ly-haam: his attraction to me and my response, the changes in me afterwards, so that I was aware of animal minds, learning to fly on the eagle’s back, and communicating with Ly-haam through the bird. I confessed my weakness in returning to the Imperial City over and over, greedy for the infusion of magic.

  As I talked, tears trickled down my cheeks. I hadn’t realised until that moment just how overwhelmed I was by it all. I’d thought I was coping quite well, but there had been too many traumatic events in too short a time. Less than a year ago, I had been happily settled at the scribery, learning to be a law scribe and ultimately a mage. My life then was placid, my future assured. I had my escape route away from Yannassia and the prospect of becoming her heir had receded. In a very short time, I would be free.

  Yet here I was, just three seasons later, and my life had been turned inside out. Everything had changed, I was more tied than ever and I had the turmoil of Ly-haam to deal with. I couldn’t deal with it, that was the problem. I didn’t understand what I was faced with. Hours and hours trawling the library had produced nothing, not the slightest clue to what was happening to me, or why.

  But somehow I felt better telling them about it. With Arran holding my hand tightly and stroking my back, Mother listening wide-eyed, hands covering her mouth, and Cal serious, thoughtful, I felt more at ease than I had in an age. I knew they would believe me. All mages have some ability to distinguish truth from lies, but Mother could detect even the smallest untruth.

  Cal was most interested in my new ability to detect magic elsewhere, and how I’d learned to withdraw it.

  “You can just take magic?” Cal said, startled. I nodded. “Without touching? Show me. Take some of mine.”

  I hadn’t been to the Imperial City since my return, so the power was weakened, but even so, I could detect the six vessels in the belt he wore beneath his clothes. I stretched out my mind and removed a little of the magic from one of them.

  “Can you tell?” I said.

  “You’ve done it? No, it feels exactly the same… Can you take some more? Ah! I can feel that. You took a lot that time. But then you must be able to use it. Can you make fire?” He held out his hand and filled it with rippling flames. “Can you do that?”

  “No. I was tested when I first came here. I have no magical abil
ity at all. I can suck in magic, and it enhances my other abilities, but I can’t do anything with it. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

  “Maybe it just needs more magic, eh? Take some more.”

  “Do you think this is wise?” Mother said. “Filling her with magic like this – we shouldn’t encourage her.”

  “It’s the way she is,” Cal said gently. “She’s always had this need for magic, to fill the void inside her. This is surely a better way than by draining it from you.”

  “I never let her drain me,” she retorted. “I couldn’t stop it from seeping into her when she touched me, but I could make sure it was never more than a tiny trickle.”

  “You denied me the magic I needed?” I whispered. My strongest memory of my childhood was my desperate need for my mother, and her constantly pushing me away. And that was intentional, it seemed. I wasn’t even shocked, knowing the way she’d given me away as a baby. My mother was not the maternal type.

  “I thought it would encourage you to manage without,” she said, with a wry grimace. “I always believed you would outgrow the need, in time. I still think— Well, no matter. Everything I did, Drina, was for your benefit, or so I thought at the time.”

  “We argued about it a great deal,” Cal said sadly.

  “You argued? About me?”

  He nodded. “I didn’t like you being ill all the time. I thought… but I’m not your father. I had no right to interfere.”

  I was too astonished to speak. All those years, Cal had been my champion, and I’d never known.

  But he went on as if nothing untoward had happened. “So take some more of my magic. A lot, this time.”

  Now that I already had a little extra magic in me, it was easier to withdraw more. I emptied one vessel completely.

  His eyes were wide, his vivid blue eyes alight with excitement. “Oh! I can feel that! Amazing, quite amazing. And that is just the power of your mind. How far away does it work? Where would I need to go to be out of reach?”