by Aaron Pogue
She meant to go on, but I raised my chin. "Then I would have fought beside the other men of this fortress. I have trained as much as any man among them."
My mother clucked, disapproving. "You could have been hurt, Taryn."
Something began to burn deep in my stomach. I took a slow step closer to her, turning my face to present the swollen bruise Caleb had made of the left side of my face. "Would that have troubled you so much?"
Her breath caught. Her eyes crinkled around the edges, and she almost turned away. But then I saw her steel herself. I saw the queen take over, and she straightened her neck again. "You had your orders, and Caleb had his. You forced his hand by your disobedience."
"Disobedience? I am not a child, Mother. It's important for you to understand that."
"Oh, Taryn. You are such a fine young man. I can see that. But—"
"No." I made my voice hard, like Caleb's. "No, Mother. I'm going to be lord of this place someday."
"Perhaps," she said. "Perhaps, but you have so much still to learn. You know so little of the world outside these walls."
"Then let me see!" I shouted. "I have obeyed for too many years. I have studied everything you asked me to. I have worked so hard, but you never let me leave the walls. And now the outside world comes here, the FirstKing's heir comes here, and you forbid me to even see him?"
"It's not that simple," Mother said.
"I have responsibilities," I said. "Father left a legacy—"
She was not listening. Instead she glided forward, closing the little space between us, and I had to turn my face up to her. "Be still," she said softly, speaking right over me. "Your father's legacy is strong in you. Dear Taryn. You see the whole world as a puzzle you can solve. You have no concept of scale."
Her voice was rich with a tenderness I had longed for, but her condescending words cut me like a knife. I frowned up at her—and then flinched at the flash of pain it drew beneath my left eye.
"Oh, Taryn," she said again. She touched my cheek with a delicate hand and used her other to turn me. She guided me to the wash-stand where she dampened a rag in the cool water and touched it feather-soft against my face.
I couldn't find my argument. I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to plead my case. But more than anything else I wanted her to stay right where she was, soft and real and close enough to touch, eyes full of nothing but me. I held very still and fought to catch my breath.
She sounded far away the next time she spoke. "Your father spent his life fighting against the chaos. You have to understand that. All your life you've seen the power he put together. But I don't know if you've ever understood the purpose."
I frowned. "He fought the dragons—"
"No." She shook her head slowly. "Before any of the rest of us had even seen a dragon, he was fighting the chaos. He risked everything to break a rebellion, to protect the king."
"I know," I said. "I have heard the story."
She pushed back to arm's length, and for a long time she only looked at me. Then she smiled. "You've heard the pieces. You need to grasp the whole. He fought—he laid down his life—to protect another man's kingdom. Not...." Her voice faltered, and for a moment she looked away. "Not a better man, Taryn. But a man who was king. A man whose authority represented order and stability and peace for many, many people."
I held my tongue, trying to search out some hidden significance in her words, but I could find nothing. "I know," I said at last. "And now that man has come here to meet with us."
"We do not know exactly why he's come," she said. "You spoke of taking up your father's legacy, and Daven's legacy was preserving this man's authority. We must respect that."
"I would," I said, earnest. And a little angry. "I would pay every honor to this king, but you will not even let me meet him."
"The time for that will come," she said. "But this visit is a delicate matter."
"I should be there," I said. "You know that. I will not embarrass us, Mother."
She sighed. She looked exhausted. "Taryn—"
"You cannot keep this from me! I may never see another king. I may never see another wizard. I may never see anything but these dirty walls. I...I...."
Her fingertips rose lightly to my bruise again, and I flinched away before she ever touched me. "You fight so hard and see so little," she said.
"I'm fighting for the chance to see more." My voice stayed steady, serious, and after a moment she nodded.
"I am proud of you." She took half a step closer, and I think she almost hugged me. She gave me a smile that made me warm. Then she caught my shoulders and turned me slowly until I caught my own reflection in the mirror.
She stood behind my shoulder, and together we looked almost like an artist's portrait. Then she raised a hand to my face again, though she did not touch it, and I saw what she intended. My face was stained with the tracks of my tears. My right eye burned angry red, and my left was swollen almost shut. The purpling bruise reached from my jaw to my brow. Looking at my own reflection, I shuddered.
My mother nodded. "You need rest. You are in no state to see the king this afternoon. Read your lessons. I'll send up food and something for the pain. Perhaps tomorrow—"
"Tomorrow?" It wasn't quite a wail. "But there will be a feast. There will be stories. Tonight—"
"Tonight you'll rest," she said. "We will not discuss this further. If I must, I will place a guard—"
"And what do you call Jen? And Toman?"
"I call them your friends. If you want to see yourself as a lord, call them your bodyguards. They're certainly not jailers."
"It's easy to forget. You did send Caleb to hunt me down like a city thief. You know he's the one who did this to me, don't you?"
It took a moment before she answered. She stepped back from me, then turned away even from my reflection. "I will speak with him about it, but he was doing as I'd asked of him. You were not."
The frustration she voiced in those final words hit me harder than Caleb's backhand. I squeezed my eyes shut. I had no answer.
She sighed. "I think it would be best if you stayed here, in your rooms, until you're feeling better."
My teeth ground together. "I feel fine, Mother."
She ignored me. "I will be in counsel with the king for much of the day. When I am free, I will come speak with you some more. I promise."
I didn't answer. She didn't seem surprised. After a moment my door opened and she stepped out into the hall. Before the door closed behind her, I heard a voice greet her with a question. It was too low for me to hear the words, but I knew Caleb's rumbling growl. Whatever he asked of her, I could hear his exasperation and contempt.
The door shut so I didn't have to hear the same emotions in my mother's response. But they would be there. I knew they would. I was just another difficulty she had to sort out.
I slammed a fist on the basin table, and the empty pitcher tottered once before it smashed to pieces on the cold stone floor. I barely even noticed.
Late that afternoon I stood at my window, looking out over the south courtyard. I could see nothing of the gate, of the army stretching to the horizon, but beneath my window sprawled the town that had sprung up around the tower.
It was laid out in orderly rows, carefully controlled and coordinated, and I knew every shop and stall. Now I saw the grocers and herbalists and leatherworkers all scurrying. They'd be busy, hurrying to serve the needs of the thousands gathered outside the gate. I imagined the butchers and bakers were just as busy here in the tower. It would take all our resources to feed that many men.
I saw more activity among the shops, though. I saw forges firing up against the far wall—and not just the two or three we'd come to rely on for the last few years. As I watched, our men rushed from smithy to smithy, stoking long-dormant fires. A four-horse cart followed more slowly behind them, loaded with men delivering ore.
I wondered how many smiths we would need to tend all the broken horseshoes in an army the size of the king's
. I was still playing with the math when I saw the truth of it. The smiths were not firing up to serve the king. No, this would be Caleb's work. I remembered the show of force in the courtyard below. I remembered his quiet words with my mother. He'd been prepared to assassinate the king. And he had ordered Jen and Toman into battle dress already. I suspected those reawakened forge fires were destined to cast new blades. The man wanted a war.
Thick black smoke began to gather above the forges. I couldn't yet smell its stink, but I could taste it in my memory. It had been long years since we'd worked our forges at full force, but I would not soon forget the war. I remembered well the bitter stench of war.
And then at last I understood what Mother had been trying to tell me. She hadn't used as many words—perhaps she didn't dare speak openly against Caleb, even in the privacy of my rooms—but she had spoken of my father's loyalty to the king. Of his legacy of peace. And there below me I saw evidence of Caleb's disastrous plan. The smoke spread in the hot, still air, until it hung like a stain over the town my father had built.
I had to stop it. Perhaps Mother had not seen, or perhaps she lacked the nerve to defy Caleb. But I would not stand idly by and let him destroy everything. I rushed to my door and yanked it open.
He was there. Big as a tree, black as a shadow, and totally unsurprised to see me. He was leaning against the far wall. He flicked his gaze up to my face for half a second, then dropped it again. Bored.
I could have argued with him. I could have fought him or tried to sprint past him. But he had been my combat trainer all my life, so I knew how fast he could move. And I wore on my face a reminder how he would settle the argument.
So I only gave a great sigh, stepped back, and closed my door with a slam. I stood for a long moment, staring at the wall and thinking. I should have known she would really post a guard, but still it caught me by surprise. I couldn't believe Caleb had agreed—not if it meant missing out on the meeting with the king.
A grin crept across my face. Let him stand watch. It only served my ends. He could wait right there in the corridor and miss everything. Meanwhile, I could thwart his plan and show Mother just how clever her son was, all at once. I had another way out of the room.
I'd never actually tried it, but I'd been building the plan for years. I went to the desk by my bed and withdrew a battered old court textbook on swordplay. I flipped to the center and retrieved a tarnished copper key, then put the book back where I'd gotten it.
From my wardrobe I selected my finest outfit. It seemed plain compared to the dress Mother had worn, but I had never had need of anything so fine. Still, I pulled on doeskin breeches pale as snow and a long shirt of cotton stained a deep crimson. I wore only one ring, a twisted bit of obsidian that had been my father's, but it went well with the new belt I buckled around my waist.
I went to my mirror again and winced at the ugly bruise on my face. There was nothing I could do for it; I would just have to wear it proudly. I had certainly survived worse blows than that. Otherwise, I cut a fine figure. I wished briefly for a sword to hang on my hip, to complete the picture, but it was a fleeting thought. I had long since given up the hope of ever owning one.
I was ready then. I went to my window, and a sudden chill fear chased down my spine. I threw a glance back at the door, then I climbed up into the window ledge. It wasn't really large enough to hold me anymore, but I leaned close against the window's pane and looked down the face of the tower.
The window's pane was not of glass. It was too clear and too strong by far. I fought an impulse to check the door again, to put off what I intended. Instead I leaned against the window's pane, and whispered, "Windspun glass, open."
It moved, just as the outer gate had responded to commands. Too clear to see even from this close, I could feel the paper-thin pane of elemental air lift up and away, letting in a puff of the dry summer breeze.
I twisted in my confines until my legs dangled over the drop. From nearly twenty paces up, the people bustling in the shops below looked small and indistinct, but I knew I would stand out clearly against the unbroken edges of the tower. I had to be swift.
But as I scooted forward, as I cast my gaze down the sheer wall, a deep terror suddenly gripped me. I had a plan—I had a good plan—but I had never tested it. I fought for calming breaths, scooted another half inch toward the ledge, and looked down again.
Directly below me was another window, one that let into a storage room on the fourth floor. I took in a slow breath. Then I pulled the tarnished key from my pocket, stretched out my arm over the drop, and let it go.
It fell four paces and landed with a quiet little plink on empty air, just above that window. My breath escaped in a moment's relief. The window pane below was still extended. I scooted forward another inch, until I was only halfway seated on the stone of my window, and a new terror stabbed up through my gut.
I tried to turn in place, to dive across the open windowsill and get a grip on the ledge inside my room. Instead I slipped. The fine, smooth doeskin of my breeches slid against the seamless stone, and my legs shot down toward the abyss. My fingers bruised clutching at the smooth stone of the windowsill. They caught against the very edge. I jerked to a stop. My stomach rose up, and I thought I might pass out from blind panic.
Then my fingers slipped, and I fell.
I landed hard on a pane of empty air. It was no more than three paces by four, and my left foot missed the edge. I slammed down hard, my right leg twisting and folding painfully under me while my left tried to drag me the rest of the way down to earth.
I twisted frantically to get a grip with my hands. In the process I slapped the key I'd dropped before, and it went tinkling and skittering toward the far edge. I grabbed for it. I got it. In the same motion, I threw my trapped leg free, and it went over the side.
I would have screamed if I could have breathed. Terror flashed black and red behind my eyes, but as I slipped over the pane of air, I closed one hand tight around the key and caught the edge with the other. Once more I held myself suspended for a heartbeat. This time, it was enough. I kicked my knees up into the empty window and sat for some time panting. Then I inched farther in, until my ankles were dangling inside the dark room.
Then at last I relaxed my grip on the open window. I leaned my head against the cool stone wall and whispered calming words. I waited until my heartbeat no longer thundered in my ears, then I said quietly, "Windspun glass, close." I felt the window snick shut behind me.
The room was dark. I could have spoken the word to light it with Father's imprisoned fire, but I had no need. I knew this room as well as my own. I maneuvered past piles of mildewed linens and furniture crumbling in rot. Six years of exposure to the elements had taken their toll, but nothing in here held real value. In six years, no one had cared enough to summon a locksmith.
I sank down and pressed my head against the door. My arms were still shaking, and my heart was trying to bruise itself against my breastbone, so I knelt there for a while, breathing and listening. I turned the key over and over on my fingertips.
Caleb once told me that Father could not trust his own people enough to build locks into the doors of the tower. In the earliest days there hadn't been doors at all. But in the long years of peace, things had changed, and there were craftsmen enough within the fortress to make such amenities. My father's special magic had built windows of windspun glass that opened at a word, but it had taken a boring old copper lock to make this escape route for me. Six years ago I'd stolen the key, just to preserve this opportunity—to ensure no one ever closed the window pane directly beneath my own—and in all that time I had dreamed of trying it out. I had never imagined it would be so scary.
But now I needed to move. Someone might have seen me, after all. Or Caleb might check in on me. Or Mother might send someone with food. If they searched, they would find the open window. I needed to move.
I fit the key in the lock, and it turned as easily as always. I cracked the door and pee
ked out into the hall, but it was empty now. I slipped on through, closed the door behind me, and locked it again. I pocketed the key and took two steps toward the stairs before I heard one heavy footfall right behind me.
"I always wondered if that was your doing," Toman said.
I froze in panic, but he went on utterly at ease. "It fits your style. Now Jen thought you'd—Hey!"
I never turned to face him. The moment I recovered from the shock, I bolted down the empty corridor, away from the stairway landing. Behind me, Toman cursed once then shouted Caleb's name. I didn't look back.
A quarter of the way around the tower, I reached one of the broad crossways that cut toward the heart of the tower. As always, that was a busier hall. I threw myself into the mix of servants, weaving as deftly as I could among them. If there were any slapping footsteps behind me, they were lost in the chatter around me. The same noisy bustle could hide me just as well. I focused on that; I fixed my eyes ahead of me and tried to measure my pace so I wouldn't stand out so much. I followed two women in heavy white aprons some way down the hall, then stepped with them into a wide room off to one side.
The room was cold and dimly lit, and it stank faintly of life and death. I looked down the wall and saw the butchers hard at work, carving up sides of pork and beef. I shrank away and backed into another servant coming in the door.
I spun away from him just as he started yelling, but I spared no attention for him. My mind was all on the armored figure of Jen just stalking past in the corridor. Her face was twisted in fury, and she gusted down the hall like a thundercloud. Beside me, the apprentice butcher flew into a fury as I ignored him. He clapped a hand on my shoulder, and that alone would have been enough to draw all my indignation.
But two paces farther into the room, the two girls I'd been following turned back. The commotion had caught their attention. Panicking, I threw one more glance toward Jen, then tried to jerk free of the butcher's grip. He gave me a little shake that clicked my teeth together, and didn't let go.
