The Fire Mages' Daughter

by Pauline M. Ross

  But there was business talk as well. “You must not be afraid of the Council,” she said one morning. “This is the final stage, and it is very much a formality. They have all decided how they will vote long since. We just have to be patient.”

  “Will they accept Drina, do you think, Highness?” Arran asked.

  “I cannot say. I have done all I can, but it is out of my hands now. It is not necessarily forever, whatever they decide. It is just a part of a long process, which will go on until I die, and the matter absolutely has to be resolved.” She reached across the table and patted my hand. “There will be a formal presentation. I have to produce all the eligible heirs for inspection. But not Yordryn.” She sighed. “He really is not well. He was such an intelligent man, it is such a tragedy. But there it is.”

  “What is it that ails him?” I said. “Perhaps my mother could cure him?”

  “It has been tried,” Yannassia said. “The illness that killed his wife and baby affected him, too. He recovered in body, but his mind was beyond help. He has deteriorated year by year. All the mages tried – including Kyra – but none of them could find anything amiss that could be fixed.”

  “Was it poison, do you think?” Torthran said. “There were rumours in the barracks, I recall. The whole family struck down so suddenly…”

  Yannassia shook her head. “It was suspected, of course. I was suspected, since our father was failing and died shortly afterwards. And then Vhar-zhin was away, and she was fine. Many questions were asked, and the mages investigated thoroughly but no one found any trace of poison. Of course, it was terribly suspicious, especially when I was made Drashona, since Yordryn was so ill and not expected to live, at that time. But I had no hand in it, and I could not think who else might have done such a thing. Who else would benefit?”

  “Your heirs, rather than his,” Torthran said at once, his pleasant face unusually serious.

  “They were all children! It was almost ten years ago, before I sent for Drina, even. Not one of my possible heirs, or Yordryn’s, had reached adulthood. And, I assure you, none of the nobles wanted me as Drashona, not when Yordryn was himself. He was confirmed, that was how much they preferred him. Only death or disaster could change that. There was no movement to have me declared heir, none at all.”

  Torthran grunted, and the subject changed. It seemed unlikely to me that anyone would poison Yordryn if he was so popular, but whatever had happened then, it was a tragedy. I allowed myself only a brief moment of regret that Yordryn had not become Drashon, and left Yannassia and her heirs out of things. It was impossible to change the past, and I had accepted my destiny. There was no point wishing events had turned out otherwise.

  ~~~~~

  The Nobles’ Council chamber was the twin to Yannassia’s assembly chamber in size and shape, but there the resemblance ended. Where the assembly chamber was cool marble, starkly plain, and decorated only with wall hangings, the council chamber was a roiling mass of over-decorated plasterwork, glittering with gold and jewel-encrusted ornamentation. It made my eyes hurt.

  Tiers of seats around the perimeter accommodated the spreading bottoms of the well-fed nobles, so tightly squeezed together that their carefully frilled and flounced garments were at great risk of creasing. Extra benches at the front were also filled, and more perched on the stairs and packed the walkway behind the upper tier. Up above, the galleries were as full as they could hold.

  Yannassia had a great many cousins, nephews and nieces who were also eligible as heirs, so the presentation took a long time. Each one was introduced by the most senior steward, giving their name, full rank and details of parentage, starting with the babies and working upwards in age. The children were removed promptly, for no one below the age of thirteen could be considered, but the rest of us stood motionless until the last elderly cousin had been named and made her bow.

  Then Yannassia presented her choices for Drashonor and Bai-Drashonor, the primary and secondary heirs. She gave no reasons, simply giving the names. Zandara and I stood forward, and all the rest filed out.

  At this point, the nobles could have asked for more time to consider, if Yannassia had produced someone unknown to them. I half hoped they would. It would give me a little more of my precious freedom. But no, I had never been free, not in any meaningful way. Yannassia had drawn me into her schemes, moon by moon, year by year, allowing me the illusion of freedom while quietly forcing me down her chosen path. I had never had any prospect of escape.

  The nobles instead invited Yannassia to explain the reasons for her choice. She took her seat at one end of the room, and Zandara and I were led away to a withdrawing chamber while the discussions went on. Arran waited there for me, and Axandor, and Zandara’s current drusse. We sat on opposite sides of the room, avoiding looking at each other, as servants laid out food and drink on side tables.

  Several of Zandara’s waiting women came and went. They were all noble, so they brought news from the chamber, whispering into Zandara’s ear before creeping out again. Then Zandara and Axandor would put their heads together, and mutter behind their hands. It amused me to watch them.

  Late in the morning, Zandara was called into the chamber to answer questions. That was curious, for what could be asked now that had not already been asked a hundred times?

  Both Axandor and Zandara’s drusse were also elsewhere when a servant slipped in wearing Zandara’s livery. I hardly noticed her at first, for she went straight to the chair draped with Zandara’s wrap. But then she came across to me, bowing deeply, offering me a wooden box.

  “Greetings, Highness. I bring you a gift. Highness Zandara asked for some sweetmeats and instructed me to bring some for you also. These are your favourite, she said.”

  Her accent was almost flawless Bennamorian, but her appearance was not. The dark skin and sharp nose proclaimed her to be Icthari. I remembered seeing her at Zandara’s apartment. There, it had merely seemed odd to have an Icthari servant. But here, in the nobles’ section of the Keep, where even the servants are nobility, her presence struck me as most peculiar. Why this servant, of all the servants at Zandara’s disposal?

  But I betrayed no surprise as I accepted the box. “Thank you. That was thoughtful of her. I am sure I shall enjoy them. It pleases me, too, to see someone from my father’s homeland here in Bennamore. There are not many Icthari here, I think.”

  There was a wariness in her face. “No, Highness.”

  “You have worked for Highness Zandara for a long time?”

  “Ten years next moon, Highness.”

  “You have served her well, then.”

  A flash of pride in her eyes. “I believe I have, Highness. Enjoy the sweets.”

  Then with a bow she was gone.

  “You will not eat those,” Arran said, whisking the box from my hands. “Not before the food taster has tried them.”

  “Certainly not. She is Icthari after all, and—”

  Arran turned to look at me fully. “And?”

  “And the Icthari know about poisons. And—” My hands were shaking. “And she was here ten years ago.”

  “Yordryn? You are not serious?”

  But there was no opportunity to discuss it further, for just then Zandara returned, with Axandor and her drusse, all of them smiling and relaxed.

  “Oh, what is this?” Zandara said, picking up the box. “Ah, almond paste fruits, I remember now. I thought we might be in need of something sweet to cheer us up. Did she remember a box for you, too, sister?”

  “She did. Thank you. You are too kind.”

  Zandara opened her box, and peered into it, hand hovering. But I couldn’t allow her to eat any without warning her.

  “Sister…” I said.

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t you think the food taster should check these first?” I blurted. “Just in case.”

  She laughed, an artificial tinkling that always set my teeth on edge. “Really, Drina, you are too ridiculous. These were prepared by my maid with
her own hands. They are hardly likely to be poisoned. See?” She popped a small sweet into her mouth. “Mmm, delicious. Just what I needed. Will you not try one?”

  “My… my stomach is all in knots. I will save them for later.”

  “As you wish.” She reached for another sweet.

  The hours wore away with painful slowness. Twice more Zandara was called into the chamber. I wasn’t called at all. I couldn’t decide whether that was good news or bad.

  But just after the final work bell, we were both summoned to hear the nobles’ decision. It was the one I had dreaded for years.

  I was to be Drashonor, with Zandara as Bai-Drashonor.

  ~~~~~

  “Drina, you really must stop crying,” Mother said crossly. “It’s not helping.”

  I had responded to that tone of voice all my life. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just… I can’t…” The words dribbled away to nothing. I wiped the tears from my cheeks, even as more welled up to follow them.

  We were back in the withdrawing room. Zandara and her entourage had accepted her defeat with surprising equanimity, and disappeared. Arran had led me, stunned, from the council chamber, Yannassia following. Mother was Yannassia’s shadow at the moment, so she had followed too. In front of the nobles, I had betrayed no emotion, I hope, but here unexpected grief overwhelmed me.

  Yannassia paced up and down, twisting her hands together. “I had no idea you still felt so strongly about this, child. I believed you had accepted it.”

  “I had! I do. I was… am content to do whatever Bennamore needs of me,” I sniffled. “It’s just a shock. I truly thought they would go for Zandara. She always had more support than I did.”

  “I was surprised myself,” Yannassia said. “She has some very vocal supporters, it is true. But she is not well liked, not at all. It was quite illuminating how many nobles pointed out her coldness, and told me that, while ambition is very worthy, they would not like to have someone ruling Bennamore with so little warmth. Several of them pointed out how different you are, how much more… human. How much more likable.”

  “Really? Does the heir have to be likable?”

  “Strength of mind is more important, naturally. Determination. Impartial justice. But it helps if they like you. That was always Yordryn’s great strength – it was impossible to dislike him. And despite all your efforts, Drina, the same is true of you.”

  I couldn’t think of any response to that. I was too shocked for words. But at least it had dried my tears.

  “I will tell you something that was mentioned more than once,” Yannassia went on. “Zandara chose her drusse by rank and house, nothing else. She is aiming to have a child by each of the five great houses, in time. You chose your drusse for love, and when he made a mistake, you forgave him. That was something that many of the nobles mentioned with approval.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “Of course not. You were following your own instincts, and I thought you were wrong, at the time. But there we are. Your instincts are sounder than mine.”

  “I just felt that if I were happy, I could fulfil my duties better,” I said. “Having Arran by my side makes it easier to do all the things I don’t much enjoy.”

  Yannassia smiled. “A contented ruler is a good ruler. Yes, there is wisdom in that. You see? You will make a great Drashona in time.”

  “A very long time,” Mother said. “Yannassia is good for another thirty years, at least.”

  Yannassia pulled a face. “If this baby isn’t the death of me.”

  “And if the Icthari don’t get us all first,” I said darkly. But I was cheered, all the same, for a lot could happen in thirty years.

  ~~~~~

  I would have loved a quiet evening alone with Arran, but there was a formal presentation, when every noble in Kingswell came to pay their respects to the newly appointed heirs. This began a quarter moon of celebrations, to culminate in a grand banquet for the worthies of the city. The nobles would hold another banquet for the end of their council. I had not a moment to myself until the bedroom door closed at the end of each evening’s festivities. By then I was too exhausted to do anything but fall asleep, only to wake to another sun packed with activities.

  Zandara was remarkably good-humoured, giving me precedence with a smile that almost seemed genuine. She knew that this was only a single step in the process, and the nobles could change their minds at any time. Well, I wouldn’t object to that. There was still a sliver of hope.

  The box of almond paste sweetmeats had been handed over to the food tasters, with instructions to look for a slow-acting poison. They could tell a great deal just from the smell and texture, but if that revealed nothing, they would test small amounts on mice and rats.

  Arran was wonderful to me during this time. He never left me, not for a moment, and whenever he could, he held my hand. He gave me so much strength, and he asked for nothing, his only concern my welfare. At night, he held me until I fell asleep. In the morning, he would wake me with a mug of hot brew and perch on the side of the bed, chatting about nothing very much until I was awake enough to drag myself from under the covers.

  But the third night after the council meeting, I woke abruptly in darkness. It was my eagle, her mind overflowing with urgent agitation, probing for mine. I was out of bed in a moment.

  “What is it, my lovely?” I whispered. “Hush, there’s nothing wrong.”

  But there was. She would not be soothed. She was wheeling over the Keep, circling, circling, lower and lower. I looked through her eyes, but in the moonless dark I could see nothing. All was black. But gradually my eyes adjusted to the eagle’s much sharper ones, and the roof came into dim focus.

  Something moving. A dark shape creeping about, hugging the walls and deepest shadows. It stopped beside a low wall which encircled an atrium. A bag was set down, and out came – what? I couldn’t make it out. But then—

  A grappling hook! He was going over the edge, down into an atrium, attacking from within the Keep. And I recognised the treetops below him. My treetops. My atrium.

  He was coming for me.

  29: Questions

  The figure was already clambering over the low wall.

  “Get him!” I shrieked. “Stop him!”

  The eagle plunged, then screeched with anger when her claws clutched only air. The figure was gone, over the edge and climbing downwards.

  “Pull the rope away!” I yelled.

  Arran was beside me, a sword in his hand. “What is it? What rope?”

  “Someone climbing down the inner walls. An atrium. I think it’s this one.”

  Even as I spoke, a shape darkened the window.

  “Guards! Guards! To me!” Arran shouted, pushing me aside and striding forwards.

  The window shattered and a black shape hurtled through it. Knives flashed, and Arran’s sword swung. The room was filled with the ringing of steel and the grunts of men in combat. As I watched, frozen in terror, they clashed, exchanged blows, spun round, sprang apart. Then again. The intruder was dark in the night-gloom, hard to see. Arran’s nightshirt was vivid white. Too easy a target. Once more they met, with a great crash of steel on steel.

  Then a cry, and Arran fell. I screamed.

  But the night guards were already boiling through the door, swords out, and in a heartbeat the intruder was dead, a sword through his chest. Then more guards, and shouted orders, and heavy boots stamping everywhere.

  I saw only Arran, sprawled on the floor where he’d fallen, eyes closed. His nightshirt was gashed red where his blood had spilled over the Vilkorani rug he was so proud of.

  “Mage!” I shrieked. “Fetch a mage! Now!”

  Long before a mage could be found, some of the guards had fetched linens and water, gently cleaned the wound, and bound it.

  “It is nothing much,” one of the guards said, as she carefully turned him onto his side. “There! He will do very well now. See his eyelids fluttering? He is already coming round.”

  “And l
ook,” said another. “He got in a couple of good strikes before he went down.” He pointed to the intruder’s arm, which was marred by two deep gashes.

  I looked at the man who would have murdered me in my bed. The scarf hiding his face had fallen off, and in the light of the brighter lamps the guards had brought in, his origins were clear. That nose could not be anything but Icthari.

  “My sister and brother!” I said, in sudden panic. “They may be attacked as well.”

  “We have already sent word,” the guard said. “That was the first thing we thought of, also.”

  “Thank all the gods!” I said, and for once, I truly meant it.

  ~~~~~

  “I will not have it!” Yannassia stormed back and forth, anger pouring off her. “I will not have assassins breaking into the Keep to murder us as we sleep. It is too much! These people must be stopped.”

  “Yes, Most Powerful,” the night commander said, as he had said already a dozen times. His face was pinched with fear.

  My assassin was dead, but two others at least had escaped. Axandor had had the good fortune to be bedding down elsewhere for the night and found a knife in his pillow when he returned. Zandara’s intended killer had missed his target, dispatching two hapless waiting women on the floor above, instead.

  Yannassia had summoned all of us to her apartment. Torthran and Mother watched her anxiously. Zandara and Axandor, unusually for them, stood on opposite sides of the room. Vhar-zhin was white-faced, hands twisting, her eyes fixed on me. I was more concerned with Arran, who had been unconscious and bleeding barely an hour before. Arran, who had been so concerned for me that he had slept with a sword beneath his bed, who would have died to protect me. Now, apart from a modest sling, he looked perfectly normal, if a little more dishevelled than usual.

  “Highness…”