The Lantern-Lit City

by Vista McDowall

  "I thought that was tomorrow!" Gwen said, mortified. She said to Mavian, "We'll have to practice more at a later time."

  "Tomorrow, then," Mavian started, but Druam said over him, "We have yet more engagements for the next quinn, my love. You must postpone your practices for a few days."

  "No!" Mavian exclaimed. Gwen and Druam paused, confused. His fingers clenching at his sides, Mavian said, "A quinn will turn into a deshe, and then a month. Who knows what could happen in that time? We need to stay focused."

  "Just a few days," Gwen said, though she felt sorry for the stricken look on his face. "Then I'll be back, and we can continue as we were."

  "Remember what I said?" Mavian's frustration bled into his words. "About the dam that will burst?"

  "Trust me," Gwen implored. "Nothing will go wrong."

  Before Mavian could protest more, Druam took Gwen's hand and led her away. She glanced back at her friend, alarmed. He's concerned for me, is all, she thought. His earlier doubt of Druam crept into her head, but she pushed it aside. I know Mavian lacks for company as much as I do, but I promised Druam I would attend to my duties.

  "What did he mean by 'the dam that will burst'?" Druam asked as Gwen dressed for the party.

  "Nothing," Gwen said too quickly. She felt Druam's questioning eyes on her back, but she didn't want to cause strife between them. The small lie weighed on her, but she turned and smiled. "Mavian worries too much sometimes."

  Lady Stonetree's party passed quickly. Still fairly shy – and still garnering glares from the other ladies – Gwen stayed with Druam. People crowded around them to listen to Druam's stories, and Gwen reveled in her husband's talent for engaging them.

  When they returned to her rooms, they found a bottle of wine with an apology note from Mavian. Gwen and Druam cheered to reconciliation. The sweet liquor washed down any guilt Gwen had felt for his anger, and she resolved to write to him the next day.

  In the morning her head felt fuzzy from the evening's festivities, and Gwen completely forgot to write. She spent the entire day in a whirlwind activity: first breakfast with the earls, followed by games in the gardens, then tea, and finally an evening dance that left her thoroughly tired of seeing people.

  Though she wanted nothing more than to return to quiet rooms to practice magic, Gwen attended parties at Druam's side and on her own. Her days became a never-ending cycle of eating, dressing, attempting conversation, and drinking. The evenings often went on until past midnight, and she returned to her bed almost too tired to remove her gown and jewels. As the days went on, her appetite waned. She picked at her food, feeling queasy every time she looked at something too rich. Too many grand feasts, she thought. And too much wine.

  On the fifth day, Earl Stillmeadow – the queen's father – invited them to a grand supper. Her face painted with gold, her legs swathed in finest silk and her arms bedecked with jewelry, Gwen should have felt finer than all other women. Yet, as she walked the mosaic corridors, she felt nothing but the churning of her stomach. An ache had developed in her temples, which grew to an incessant beating by evening.

  The earl's feast was held in a small banquet hall. Druam found Gwen as soon as she arrived and walked her to their table. Queen Seanna was there, too, resplendent in blue silks and proudly bearing her growing pregnancy. The queen spared only a paltry glance for Gwen before returning her attention to the nobles crowded around her. Each of their faces lifted up to her beaming beauty. She said something, and all laughed at whatever joke she told. Then, Seanna leaned in conspiratorially, glanced pointedly at Gwen, and tittered. The rest whispered to each other, their jewelry flashing as they, too, peeked at Gwen. Her cheeks burning – I did nothing wrong, she reminded herself – Gwen stared away from them. The colors and movement in front of her blurred as she retreated into herself.

  She found no solace, though, in her internal world. A roiling burst of Gaiar spasmed through her, and she tasted something foul in her mouth. The tempo in her skull heightened, pounding and pounding against every part of her head. Her cheeks flushed, her fingers trembling, Gwen grabbed at the table to stop herself from falling out of her seat. Each limb shook.

  "I need to go," Gwen gritted, barely loud enough for Druam to hear.

  "Are you well? Gwen?"

  She only shook her head, her teeth clenched as she fought to keep down the paltry pieces of food she'd eaten that day. Clutching at Druam's arm, Gwen used him to stand, then leaned against him as they made their way around the sides of the room to the door.

  But they didn't quite make it before Gwen shuddered, her throat tight. Her Gaiar pushed against the walls of her body, and she leaned forward. Vomit spewed from her mouth – she could hold back either it or her Gaiar – and coated the sleeve of a nearby nobleman. He shouted in disgust, stepping back as Gwen's stomach emptied itself onto the floor. Desperately, Gwen held back the tides of Gaiar that wanted to burst from her. Her head felt as if it would split in two.

  She fell into Druam as his arms encircled her. Her skin was hot and flushed, veins of Gaiar running alongside her blood. Druam carried her from the crowd, the nobles' muffled laughter fading behind them. Soon all Gwen heard were Druam's boots on the floor and the beating of her own heart. She still felt sick, and it was all she could do to not let her magic consume her.

  Mavian was right, she thought. Damn him, he was right. She would have to apologize to him at some point. Now, though, she must focus on retaining herself, on not letting the tides within overpower her.

  The journey to her rooms was horribly long, but at last Druam deposited her on her bed. He dampened a washcloth and pressed it to her forehead, murmuring calming words. Soon after, a curate hurried into the room. He felt Gwen's pulse, pressed cool hands along her arms and neck, and looked in her throat while Druam explained what had happened.

  "I don't know what to do for her," Shepherd Marin whispered. "It's not something I've seen before."

  "Then don't blather about like an idiot," Druam snapped. "Fetch Avallune. I don't care what he's doing, just bring him at once."

  Marin nodded and disappeared. Gwen groaned and tried not to cough. Avallune Martill was a wizard and talented alchemist, though not much of a healer. What Druam thought he could do...Gwen tried not to think about it.

  She attempted a smile, but it came out as a grimace instead. When she tried to speak, Druam pressed a finger to her lips and shook his head. "Just rest, my love. Avallune would not dare refuse my summons."

  A half-candle passed before Avallune came to Gwen's side. He was a tall man, with a groomed mustache and beard and long hair tied neatly back. His fingertips were warm where he touched Gwen's wrist. Though his lips barely moved, she felt a rush of magic drift through her. Her Gaiar calmed a moment, then pushed at her skin with greater vigor.

  "You didn't tell me your wife had magic," Avallune muttered.

  "We couldn't risk the knowledge spreading," Druam said.

  "Fool," said Avallune. "Something has distressed her Gaiar. How long has it been since she cast a working?"

  Druam squeezed Gwen's hand. "A few days, as far as I know."

  "Her last spell?"

  Gwen tried to respond, but her Gaiar surged again. It took everything inside her not to let it explode from her body.

  The wizard moved his fingers up and down Gwen's body. Everywhere his firm hands touched, magic spread out into her skin with a bubbling sensation. Gwen's Gaiar recoiled from the magic, but didn't stop its assault on her. Make it stop, she wanted to say. Please, I just want it to end. Magic popped under her skin as white blisters spread up her arms and neck.

  "Aha!" Avallune exclaimed. He had stopped above Gwen's right side. "Your liver. Whatever it is, it's in there."

  "Can you get it out?" Druam's composed expression slipped, showing a fear Gwen had never seen in him before. Her heart hammered, her tongue feeling large in her mouth. Tell me it will be alright. Tell me it will be over soon.

  "Hold her steady," the wizard said. His sharp e
yes met Gwen's. "I'm afraid this will hurt, my lady." Magic crackled at his fingertips as he bent over her once more, his shoulders hunched in concentration.

  Avallune's magic seared into Gwen's body. Her back arched, nails digging into the sheets. A cry escaped her lips, and with it a stream of Gaiar. Her magic spun around the room, drawing all the candlelight to it. The room grew dark as the ball of light shot out the balcony doors.

  "Hold her mouth shut!" Avallune grunted. With a regretful look, Druam clamped a hand over Gwen's lips.

  A battle of magic raged inside Gwen. Her own traitorous Gaiar fought against the wizard's magic even as it was pushed further and further inside her. First her skin burned from the inside, then her veins. Each organ made its own sensation of pain as Gaiar scorched its way past, Avallune's chasing hers to the liver. Gwen convulsed, her eyes fixed on Druam, her only solace in the agony.

  Gwen wanted to scream. Her cheeks glistened with tears. Each passing moment brought such new torture that she wished to die and have it over with. All cohesive thought vanished. She twisted and groaned like an animal, desperate to escape.

  "Hold on," Druam whispered as Avallune pressed down on her abdomen.

  All Gwen's Gaiar condensed in her liver, churning like a hive of wasps that stung her insides. She shivered, her body wracked with torment. Avallune took a deep breath, then curled his fingers against her skin. He spoke quickly, his breath harsh.

  The wasps slowed and slowed until they were still. For a brief, wondrous moment, the pain lapsed, and Gwen sobbed in relief. Then Avallune's nails bit into her, and another wave of magic blew through her, far hotter than the one before. Her skin glowed red with the heat. The Gaiar tried to flee, but was trapped within her. Gwen screamed against Druam's hand, and she saw true panic growing in his eyes.

  Avallune's chanting grew louder until it was feverish in pitch. His forehead dripped with sweat. Gwen's organs scalded, as if magma was burning through her Gaiar. A dazzlingly bright tear slid down her cheek, then another, as if infused with a star's brilliance.

  "Avallune..." Druam said, his skin sparking as her tears touched it.

  The wizard didn't respond. He loomed over Gwen, his voice hoarse as he continued his chant. More starlight leaked from her eyes, at first so intense that they lit the room. After a minute, the shining lights diminished, until only Gwen cried with ordinary moisture.

  Avallune swallowed hard, his eyes darting to Gwen with an apologetic look. His voice nearly broke as he started a new spell. Cooling magic ran through Gwen's veins, a balm to the blisters inside and out. In moments, she felt wonderfully numb. Druam gently removed his hand from her mouth and stroked her cheek.

  Gwen sobbed with relief. Her Gaiar flowed back to its resting place, calm and serene once more. She grabbed at Druam's hand, though she didn't trust herself to speak yet. The wizard rocked back on his heels and wiped his forehead. His hands shook.

  Without the candlelight, the room had grown very dark. Druam stood and began lighting candles. Soft flames soon chased away the shadows. Though each part of her ached, Gwen slowly sat up. The sheets beneath her had been soaked with sweat.

  "What...what did you do?" Gwen asked. It came out in a rasp.

  Avallune examined his pale hands, as if surprised to have exerted such an effort. "I burned out the impurity."

  "Impurity?" Druam returned to the bed and hovered protectively over Gwen.

  "A...a poison of some sort which latched onto her magic. I've never seen anything like it before." Avallune settled heavily in a chair. "That's not something I can say every day."

  "How did it happen?" Druam demanded. Gwen shivered again, though this time at the thought of a magical poison. Did someone give it to her deliberately?

  Avallune shrugged. "It could have been passed through magic or ingested. Maybe put on her clothing and absorbed into her skin. Without seeing the initial contaminant, there's no way to know for certain."

  "Surely others would show symptoms, then?"

  The wizard shook his head. "Only those with Gaiar would be affected. Even then, I wonder if she's been exposed to it for longer than we know. For safety, all her wardrobe should be purified, her food and drink tested, and her jewels cleaned, but only by curates."

  As Druam nodded, Gwen felt her sense of safety diminishing. She had thought nothing could touch her in the Cascade Palace.

  Avallune continued, "She must have rest for a deshe, at the least. I will bring a potion to keep her Gaiar subdued until she feels ready to cast again." He stood on trembling legs. "And...I must rest. I'm afraid that spell has drained me."

  Druam dismissed him, and the wizard gave a shaky bow before leaving. When they were alone, Druam asked, "How are you feeling?"

  Gwen didn't know how to answer that. She felt sore, hot, and cold, all at once. Fear had clouded her secure confidence, and her own Gaiar had nearly destroyed her. The dampness on the sheets made her shudder, and she wanted nothing more than to sleep and never wake up again.

  But she didn't know how to say all that, so Gwen said, "I'm very tired."

  "I'm here." Druam kissed her hand. "I'm so sorry, Gwen. Nothing has scared me more than seeing you like this."

  But I needed you to be strong for me.

  "Thank you," Gwen murmured as she gave in to her fatigue.

  Gwen dreamt that she was in her bedroom, sluggish and wan. She stirred and looked to see Mavian perched beside her with a yellow rose. He placed the flower on her bedside, then took her hand. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

  "Terrible," Gwen whispered.

  "I did warn you," he said without hurt or anger. "Here, I've brought you something sweet as well."

  "I'm not thirsty..."

  "This is just to warm your belly and help you dream good dreams."

  "Isn't this a dream?"

  "Of course," he said. "Soon you shall fly across the city. Drink this." Assured, Gwen sipped from the vial he handed her. It tasted of mulberries and crushed herbs. Almost instantly, Gwen felt her eyelids droop, her body relaxing. She smiled at Mavian. "Thank you."

  "Tell me what you saw when you followed Druam," Mavian said, his tone coaxing.

  Gwen murmured, nearly in a doze, "He went to a tavern...Bertha's Bosun. He fought another man for coin and won. They took him to back rooms with poppin powders and...and..." She trailed off, her thoughts muddled.

  Before she fell asleep, Mavian asked, "What was Druam's father's name that he invoked at your wedding?"

  A name floated up, out of her subconscious, something her waking mind had blocked from memory. Gwen slurred, "His father's name was Ephraine."

  "Good. Now rest, dear friend. We have much work ahead of us."

  Gwen slipped into sleep. When she woke the following morning to see Druam snoring in a chair at her bedside, she did not recall her dream with Mavian, and thought nothing of the yellow rose on her bedside table.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Seanna

  "TELL ME of Rask," Seanna said. Ralston stood just over her shoulder, his peaked brow reflected in her mirror as she styled her hair.

  "He is difficult to grasp, Your Grace. All of his servants were brought with him from D'Clet, and they are unwilling to disclose his affairs to strangers. None outside his household are allowed into his chambers. However," he said quickly when Seanna glared at him, "I have nonetheless obtained some useful information. One of his maids has an addiction to poppin powders, and said quite a bit when under their influence. She told me that Rask has been writing and receiving letters from an unknown source. He has also corresponded with the Lord Rivers, apparently to broker a deal to bring a third candidate to the fore as Exalt. The pair has skimmed their owed taxes and used the money to pay multiple predicants to support their candidate. This money has also gone toward paying the king's advisers to support a new law that would grant more sovereignty to the earls."

  "Hm," Seanna mused. She smeared her lips with a thin red paste and admired the effect. She asked, "What of Druam Str
ilu and his wife? Any news?"

  "The earl and his wife have made amends despite the accusations against her. However, the lady has become quite ill, but no curates have given her treatments. There has been some talk of her going often to the abandoned wing, but no one knows what she does there. I will do everything in my power to learn it, Your Grace."

  "Good. And my allies...how many have turned to me?"

  "You have pledges from two-score lords and ladies, and the attention of more. But your husband the king still has the backing of the majority of courtiers."

  "Damn him." Seanna's fingers longed to grasp her idiot husband's neck. "Why? Haven't they seen my generosity and love for those who support me?"

  "Your alliance with Earl Seastone is a concern, as his marriage to a foreign girl offended many of the courtiers. The nobles not yet allied with you or the king have abandoned Strilu's camp, but they hesitate to come to you when you still dine so easily with him."

  "Enough." Seanna dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

  After he departed, Seanna contemplated her reflection. Druam Strilu had been good to her, but, as Ralston said, he was becoming unpopular. After the Masque, how many courtiers would remain loyal to him?

  Seanna startled at a knock on the door before Henrik swept into the room. He paused a few feet from her and said gruffly, "We were to breakfast together this morning, wife. Or did you forget?"

  Seanna had, indeed, forgotten, but Henrik wasn't to know that. Rising as gracefully as she could, she said, "I was simply engrossed by the presents left in my drawing room from the party last night. We did so miss your stern presence."

  Henrik grunted, but said nothing as she led him to her private dining room. After they both settled and filled their plates, Seanna said, "I have been making quite the mark on society here. Lady Petrica has invited me to spend my confinement at her castle in Fanmir, and the Restas have offered their summer manor for a tourney in my honor."

  Metal scraped against porcelain as Henrik chopped his pastry with a bit too much vigor. He stuffed it in his mouth and chewed loudly, staring anywhere but at Seanna. He's annoyed, Seanna thought with glee. She pushed him further. "I am sorry to hear that you have had to cancel your festivities so often while we are here in Riverfen. Your friends have reached out to me instead, and I have quite enjoyed getting to know them."