He tried to stand, but fell back on sore legs. He caught his breath, pulled his blanket tight, and ran as fast as his aching feet could carry him.
"Wait!" Sandu shouted. His voice was too hoarse to penetrate the swamp. "Please!"
He stumbled and fell, his hands going into a puddle. His fingers splayed in the mud, and he stared at them. Pale hands in the dark earth. He smiled, his fatigued mind enjoying the simple contrast. He began to laugh, first a chuckle, then a giggle, then a screeching guffaw. It hurt his ribs and chest, but he couldn't stop himself.
His vision wavered, and he coughed in between bouts of laughter. I'm going as mad as Jagger, he thought. From the corner of his eye, he saw the bobbing lights growing brighter and closer. Just end it. Pull me under and be done with it.
The lights drew near. "Sandu! Is that you?"
The mud made a squishing sound as Sandu withdrew his hands. He sat back on his haunches, the laughter finally dying down. It was too good to be true. The mist-folk have only invented a new game to draw me in.
"I'm ready," he whispered. In a shout he said, "Come get me, then!"
"Sandu!" Cara's face materialized in the gloom, illuminated by a glowing lantern. She smiled in relief. "You're alive."
"Just kill me," Sandu said, unconvinced that this wasn't another trick by the mist-folk. "Don't make it last."
Alex rode up beside Cara, holding a lantern at the end of a stick. "Why would we kill you?"
"You drowned Galen, just drown me, too."
"Sandu, it's us," Cara said as she slid off her horse. She knelt in front of him, worry clouding her relief. "We're real."
"No you're not," he said. Neither were Tambrey and the children. They led me astray.
She looked up at Alex. "What do we do?"
Alex dismounted and joined them. He tentatively reached out a hand and touched Sandu's face. Sandu flinched back, but the scholar's touch was merely cold, not the chill life-ending fingers of the mist-folk. Alex said slowly, "We're real. We're here. The mist-folk are gone for now."
Something about the scholar's peaceful voice penetrated Sandu's fear.
Sandu grasped at Alex's hand, then reached out to grab Cara's. He held them for a moment, savoring their tangibility. I'm safe, he thought. Tears came to his eyes, and he flung himself into Cara's arms.
"Gods, I thought I would die," he said. "Galen's dead. They took her."
"Shh, Sandu. We're here." Cara held him close. "You'll survive another day."
All the grief and terror built up inside him leaked to his cheeks. He clung to her, as he hadn't held anyone since he was a child. Somewhere, he thought he heard the mist-folk call in his family's voices. He shuddered and held her tighter until the voices died away.
They'll always haunt me, he thought. And Cara will, too, when she learns the truth.
Suddenly, he no longer felt safe in her arms. Would her beast come out if she knew? Would she force him away, as Tambrey had? Sandu met Alex's eyes, and prayed that the scholar kept his promise.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Gwen
"HOW LONG will you be staying in Riverfen?" Gwen asked. Her hands shook as she poured the wine for Mavian. Just ask him, she thought. He'll accept. Still, she stalled the conversation, keeping it as light and trite as she could until she regained her courage. Her eyes flicked occasionally toward the silent maids standing against the wall. She would rather they not know of her magic, but she couldn't be alone with Mavian. Not after the queen's accusations. Even this was a risk, but she didn't know who else to turn to.
Mavian took the goblet and said, "I shall be heading back to Far-eyes shortly after the Masque. I generally winter there and spend the rest of the year here. You'll find, I think, that many courtiers prefer doing the same; they can't abide missing any tournaments or festivals."
"How do they tend to their vassals' needs if they're hardly ever home?"
"They let the stewards handle all that. Our duty as nobles is to secure our place in our hierarchy, make alliances, and deter our enemies from doing the same. Isn't that why you sought me out? You found yourself placed on a low, low rung, and need an ally."
"I need a friend. Don't any of you ever spend time with each other because you actually enjoy it? And in my country, a noble's duty is to protect and serve his vassals. My brother only ever brings ten or fifteen nobles and their families to court at a time, and only allows them to stay for two months. He expects them to care for and listen to the rustics they have been trusted to protect."
"Your customs are different from ours," Mavian pointed out.
"And therefore worse," Gwen said. "If ever I discuss Demarren's way of life or traditions, those are seen as somehow inferior or barbaric. Yet I'm expected to adapt to Dotsch politics with ease."
"I didn't intend–"
"You may not have intended to cause offense, but you still dismissed my heritage as easily as the rest. Sometimes I feel that even Druam simply humors me whenever I discuss my homeland." Gwen's cheeks flushed, and she chided herself for her rash anger. Remember, you're trying to befriend him.
"Well...never mind."
"No, please go on."
Mavian hesitated, then said, "Demarren is enduring the Trials right now. Dotschar hasn't experienced any sort of internal power struggle or war for a century. Of course courtiers here aren't going to trust what you say. You're a refugee, a former princess, and therefore a reminder that bad things happen even to those with status. They convince themselves that the Trials are only happening there because it's a barbaric place with barbaric customs. You're an other, and if you stay like that, you can't threaten their way of life."
"That's ridiculous. Why would I want to bring the Trials here?"
"That's not what I said. It won't be the Trials, exactly, but something similar to upset the status quo, perhaps put some of them out of power. Despite your youth, you could put new ideas into Druam's head that – in their eyes – would bring about chaos. The queen only voiced what others feared. And, you're quite lucky that Druam never pays heed to rumors. He hasn't asked you about any affairs, has he?"
"No." Gwen had feared it after her public humiliation. She had thought that Druam would be enraged, but he wasn't. He had only come to bed and complained about the king's stubbornness. "I don't know if he would believe them, either."
"Good. But be wary of the queen; she still has his ear."
"You don't think she'd tell him anything, do you? She's already made the entire court hate me; isn't that enough revenge for her?"
"Revenge for what?"
"Nothing." Gwen's cheeks burned.
Mavian raised his eyebrows, but didn't question her. "Even so: as long as you stay out of her path, I'm sure she won't come between you and your husband." He gave her a curious look as he sipped from his goblet. "Finding a friend isn't the only reason you've come to me, is it? There's something on your mind...speak it."
Gwen licked her suddenly dry lips., "You know of magic, do you not?"
"I do."
"I...well, I...it's a shameful thing, and I am not proud of its consequences in Demarren, but...you see, I..." Gwen stammered, still unable to get the words out. Mavian inched toward her with evident excitement.
"Do you possess such gifts?" he asked. When she nodded, he let out his breath, then stood, shaking out his hands. "I knew it! I suspected it when I first saw you – I read once that violet eyes were one marker of power. This is absolutely incredible, Gwen. Have you any experience casting spells? Any training?"
"Some," she said. "My brother's councilor told me what he knew before Wullum caught us. But you mustn't tell anyone, Mavian. What would they think of me?"
"They would think you a great coward, and guilty of all charges the Inquisition brought against you," Mavian said, sinking back onto the couch. "I will keep your secret. But why come to me instead of Avallune or Shepherd Marin?"
"As I said, I want a friend, not just a teacher. Show me what you know, and maybe we can practice
together. You said you have some magic."
"Not truly, or in the way of most wizards. I stashed some old spell books and workings in my rooms. Wait here." He stood, gave her a quick bow, then dashed away. While he was gone, Gwen swore her maids to silence. After that, she had only to wait a half candle before he returned, arms laden with dusty tomes.
"Before we begin, you must understand how magic and Gaiar work," Mavian explained, pulling out one of the tomes. Gwen peered at the words, but none of them made sense to her. She could barely read Demar, let alone the Dotsch tongue. Mavian continued, "Most scholars believe magic to be the source of life here on Earda, although its presence has dwindled over the vast millennia. While we are still studying its uses, source, and limits, there are some things that are commonly accepted as the truth."
Gwen nodded, remembering bits and pieces of what Ebarren had told her. It was so long ago, though, that she sat and listened without interruption as Mavian spoke.
"Gaiar is a person's inner magic. Some possess great amounts, while others possess very little. I am one of the second, as are many that have magic. Cantrips – or workings of a simple nature – need only Gaiar to cast, while more complex workings require materials, precise wording, and so on."
"What happens if you can't cast a more complex working?"
"Every spell takes energy. Materials are sources of energy, so are animals or plants, and pieces of metal imbued with Gaiar. Moving elements such as fire and running water can be used, though only by the most talented wizards. A working that requires substantial energy can drain the caster if he's not careful, making him fatigued, giving him chills or a fever, or killing him. Many inexperienced casters have died from trying a spell that takes too much energy and Gaiar."
Gwen sat back, shivering. "How do you know if it's too much?"
"You'll feel it, or so I'm told. I've never attempted anything beyond a cantrip...my Gaiar is simply too weak." Pointing out a line on the page, he said, "These are the Principles of Magic. Every Gifted should know them before they cast even the simplest working. Read them."
"I can't," Gwen said stupidly. "I can't read."
Mavian frowned. "I had hoped Demarren would educate its ladies better than Dotschar does. Still, there may be something here that can help you." He flipped through a different book, then exclaimed, "Aha! I knew I'd seen this cantrip before. It's a spell for reading other languages; one of the most useful I've ever seen. I cast it myself to read a book written in High Rengu. While looking at the words on the page, whisper under your breath the words Fumult eri klimen eri polom, and repeat them as you go. It'll give you a headache, but it's well worth it."
Nervously taking the tome he handed her, Gwen concentrated on the line at the top of the page. In a hushed voice, she repeated the words he'd said. Her temples pounded, and she felt the pool of magic in her chest flickering with warmth. Nothing happened. She shook her head and tried again, still whispering. Though she could feel the words tugging at her Gaiar, her magic didn't respond the way she thought it should.
Gwen set the book down, then held up a hand as Mavian opened his mouth. Tasting the spell's words on her tongue, Gwen experimented with their rhythm and sound. She repeated them, over and over, until she settled on an old Demar melody that elongated the words' vowels, making them somewhat slurred. Leaning back over the tome, Gwen sang rather than chanted the spell. This time, she felt the working draw up her Gaiar. The back of her eyes tingled, and she realized that she was reading the words on the page.
Humming the working, soreness gathering at her temples, Gwen kept reading, every word easier than the last. With every sentence, the pressure built behind her eyes until they felt as if they would burst.
Somewhat reluctantly, Gwen ended her working by humming the final note and releasing her flow of Gaiar. She sank into the cushions behind her, her heart racing. She took deep breaths, waiting for the pain to stop and her Gaiar to settle. Mavian hovered nearby, his hands twitching.
"Look at the page again," he said.
To Gwen's astonishment, she found that, even without the cantrip, she still understood the words written upon the page. She looked up at Mavian, her eyes shining. "I can read it!"
He laughed, lines wrinkling his smooth face. Taking her hand, he said, "You've much potential in your Gaiar, I know you do. How do you feel?"
"Tired," she said, "but I could do more."
"I'm sure you could. You should rest for today, though."
Though some small part of her reminded Gwen that her gift was the cause of strife in Demarren, she ignored it and gave in to the joy that shot through her. After so many years of guilt, after so long of denying herself, she at last had access to not only the secrets of her magic, but to reading. Who knew what else she could do with time and practice? Her mind spun with possibilities.
Still, a small fear tickled the back of her mind. She turned to Mavian and asked, "Are you sure this is alright? That I won't be in trouble?"
"Of course you won't," he said. "Your magic isn't wicked here. It's a shame you had to hide it for so long."
"Should I tell Druam?" Gwen asked. She didn't want to keep it hidden from her husband, but would his opinion of her change? He knew the circumstances of her exile...how harshly would he judge her choice now?
Mavian sighed and looked away from her. "I don't think you should. Not yet, at any rate. For all his fine qualities, Druam can be rather old-fashioned. I don't know what he'd make of his wife practicing magic, much less the wife of an earl." He hesitated, shuffling his feet, and said, "And...I suppose there's the matter of the Skallish ambassador. The more people that know this secret, the more you'll be a target."
Gwen nodded and gave Mavian a quick hug goodbye. After he left, she wandered her room, feeling both high-spirited and afraid. She had never directly lied to Druam before, but Mavian was right. It would be far better to wait, and show him all she could do, than to ask his permission to pursue magic. But I must always make sure to keep at least one maid in the room with us to prove that I'm not straying from him.
Though Mavian had told her to rest, Gwen felt too excited to sit back and embroider. Using the reading cantrip, she sang her way through an entire chapter in the tome, though it took much of the evening and she had to rest frequently. By the time supper came, though, her Gaiar felt stronger and more capable, and her headache lessened until she barely noticed it.
I'll learn the most beautiful spells, she thought giddily, and Druam will be proud of me. I may not be the social wife he wanted, but I will be useful to him as a talented mage.
Despite her rediscovered joy in her magic, Gwen's contentment did not last. She woke in the early hour of dawn to an empty bed. Druam had disappeared sometime in the night, again. Shivering in the cold, she wondered if Seanna was right after all: perhaps her husband preferred to sleep with another woman. Perhaps she was not enough for him, no matter her talents or her potential.
Curled against the pillow, Gwen tried not to think of it and instead forced herself to dwell on recalling all her happiest memories: boating on a lake with Wullum, her father's voice as he read to her, her wedding day...eventually, she fell back into slumber, and when morning's warmth woke her, her youthful mind thought only of the spells in her chamber that waited to be cast. Druam had returned, and snored softly beside her. As she cuddled up to him, she hoped that his absence had been but a bad dream.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Gwen
"HAVE YOU tried any of the cantrips?" Mavian asked as he strode into the sitting room.
Gwen replied, "I've read the book you left me and tried out a few of the workings. Some of them were easy, but others took a couple of tries to get them to do what I wanted. I had always been under the impression that magic required only the right words, but they were more complicated than that."
"If they weren't, anyone could cast any simple workings."
"I wanted to try something from Dunalan's Compendium, but it all seemed a bit much. I fel
t my head swimming just reading the first working."
"That one should be put away for now; you're months, if not years from casting any workings from it. Not to mention some of the more dangerous spells – and even curses – it contains." In a brighter tone, he asked, "How is Druam?"
"His councils have been worsening his humors. Sometimes when he talks to me, it's as if he were seeing something far off. And then he'll resume the conversation as if nothing had occurred." Before taking a sip of her wine, Gwen uttered a cantrip that cooled the liquid in her chalice.
"My cousin, I admit, is an altogether unique man. You would not be the first I have heard belabor the point." Mavian frowned into his cup. "Even though I've known him my whole life, there are still so many secrets he holds close."
"Sometimes," Gwen said, speaking slowly, "in the dead of night, I wake in our bed and find him missing. He always returns before dawn, and there are nights on which I am positive he never leaves, but..."
"Druam would not stray from you," Mavian said, "but these disappearances are concerning. I have never heard of him hosting late-night councils, though perhaps he's more secretive than I thought. Have you ever tried following him?"
"Of course not!"
"Perhaps you should. Discover for yourself what he has failed to tell you."
"What if I'm caught?" Would Druam send me back to the Trials if I displease him?
"He may become angry with you, but he is a fair man. Short of treason, there are no laws allowing divorce between two nobles. At the most he may restrict your movement and your socializations, but that's already been done to you by the queen. You can only gain from this endeavor." Mavian's green eyes lit as he spoke. For a moment, Gwen wondered if he had any other motives to encourage her in this. No, she decided, he is a concerned friend, that's all.
"I'm too easily recognizable," Gwen said.
"Use your magic. There are a thousand ways to remain concealed without resorting to base sneaking."
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