The Heir Chronicles: Books I-III

by Cinda Williams Chima

  “Then you won’t join me for that drink?” Leicester seemed to notice Seph for the first time. “Hello, Joseph. Warren tells me he ran into you at the park the other day.”

  Seph extracted himself from Maddie’s embrace and stood. “You stay away from me, and tell Barber and the others to do the same. Or no one walks away next time.”

  “And yet, here you are, lurking outside my door.” Leicester glanced at Hastings, as if expecting him to intervene. “Perhaps you’ve finally realized that you belong with us.”

  “I’m never going back.”

  “We’ll see.” The wizard looked over Seph’s shoulder at Madison. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

  Reverberating with anger, Madison tried to push forward, but Seph stuck out his arm to prevent her.

  “You stay away from her,” Seph said.

  “Never mind. I know how to find her. Madison, isn’t it? Such an unusual name.” Leicester turned away, shifting the bucket into the crook of his arm and fitting his key into the lock.

  Seph groped for his knife, slid it free, and lunged toward Leicester. Hastings reached around from behind and gripped his wrist, dragging him back, wrapping the other arm around his body, increasing the pressure and power until Seph’s hand went numb and the knife thudded on the carpet. Hastings covered it with his foot.

  Hastings held Seph immobile until the oblivious Leicester entered his room and shut the door. Hastings scooped up the knife and, gripping the back of Seph’s neck, propelled him down the hall to Room 206. He unlocked the door and pushed him inside. Madison followed them in and pulled the door shut behind her.

  The room seemed an odd setting for Hastings: fussy with fabrics and Victorian touches, furnished with antiques of mixed heritage. The window opened to a view of the lake. A suitcase lay open on one of the beds. A small table was drawn up by the window, littered with the debris of a meeting: cups, saucers, glasses, and papers.

  Hastings looked at Madison, as if wishing he could make her disappear. Her expression and body language said she had no intention of leaving. Seph would have liked to have seen Hastings try and evict her after what she’d done to him in the hallway.

  Instead, Hastings leaned against the door, his arms folded across his chest. “What shall we do with you, Seph?”

  “This is none of your business. Why don’t you just leave me alone?” Seph stood, feet braced apart, breathing hard. He jerked his head toward Madison. “You should go.”

  “I’m not leaving this time.” Madison sat down on the bed, looking mulish.

  Hastings ignored this exchange. “I told Linda it was too risky to let you stay here. It seems I was right. When Jack called me, I knew exactly where to look for you.”

  “If it’s a problem, just drive me to the city limits. The alumni will be happy to take me off your hands.”

  Hastings’s head came up. “The alumni?”

  “Leicester’s wizard slaves. I’m wanted back at school, it seems.”

  Hastings squinted at him as if puzzled. Then sat down in one of the chairs next to the table. “Tell me about school.”

  “The Havens? They have five hundred spectacular acres on the Atlantic Ocean. They win the sailing cup every year.” Seph was being a smartass, and he knew it. “Do you have a specific question?”

  “As it happens, I know something about the Havens,” Hastings said. “Can you explain to me how you survived a year in that place? Can you tell me why you’re not with them?”

  Seph had a sudden strong desire to win the wizard over. He was tired of worrying about the alumni; tired of keeping secrets; tired of trying to solve his problems on his own; tired of sparring with a powerful wizard who should be his ally. If he couldn’t find the Dragon, maybe Hastings would do. “I used the heartstone. The dyrne sefa.”

  Hastings pulled the talisman out of his pocket and handed it back to Seph. “Where did you get it?”

  “Another student gave it to me and taught me how to use it. His name was Jason Haley.” Seph shoved the piece into the pocket of his shorts. “He was my friend. He was helping me. So they killed him.” He began pacing back and forth. “A week ago, Leicester sent some of the alumni to kidnap me. I left the sanctuary, and they attacked me.” He nodded at Madison. “If not for Madison, here, and Ellen, they would have taken me.” He rubbed his temples. “I can’t stand it anymore. They tortured me for months. They murdered my friends. Why won’t they leave me alone?”

  He walked to the window and rested his hands on the sill, looking out at the water. A chair scraped on the wood floor, and then Hastings was beside him. He grabbed Seph’s chin and forced his face around so he could look him in the eyes. It reminded him of Jason, the night he’d explained to Seph about the Weir. After a moment, Hastings let him go and turned away.

  Something had changed, but Seph wasn’t sure what or how. He went and sat down on the bed next to Madison and picked up her hand, enclosing it between his two. “I’m sorry, Madison. I’ve been a jerk. It’s just . . . they threatened to . . . I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “There’s more than one way to hurt a person, Witch Boy,” she said, looking down at their joined hands. “And different kinds of risks.” She looked up at Hastings. “What was that you called me in the hallway?”

  The wizard turned and leaned against the window seat. “An elicitor.”

  She made a face. “What’s that? It sounds, you know, like something you’d get arrested for.”

  “It’s not nearly common enough to be illegal.” Hastings studied her with frank interest. “In fact, although I’ve heard of elicitors, I’ve never encountered one before.”

  “Jason never mentioned elicitors when he described the guilds,” Seph said.

  Hastings nodded. “Elicitors are not Weir, since they have no Weirstones. But they have the ability to elicit magic, to draw it away from others. And, of course, they’re resistant to charms. As you’ve probably guessed by now,” he added.

  “Are they just resistant to wizards, or to the Anawizard Weir?”

  Hastings toyed with the ring on his right hand. “My understanding is that they draw magic of all kinds.”

  “What happens to the power?” Seph asked. “Does it just dissipate, or could an elicitor use it herself?”

  Hastings shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Madison was looking from Seph to Hastings as if they’d suddenly lapsed into French. “I have no idea what you two are talking about. Can someone help me out here?”

  Seph traced the lines on her palm. “The Weir are people born with magical gifts. Wizards like us have the broadest range of powers. Others are specialists; for instance, they can see the future, or make magical tools and remedies. The witches you knew at home are probably either wizards or enchanters.”

  “How do you two know each other?” Hastings asked.

  Madison kicked off her sandals and dug her bare toes into the rug. “Seph picked me up on the beach one morning.”

  “She works here at the inn,” Seph added.

  At that she looked at her watch, and groaned. “My supervisor’s going to kill me. I’m on duty.” She slipped her feet back into her shoes and stood. “I have to go.”

  “I’ll call you,” Seph said.

  “Right.” And she was out the door.

  Hastings looked after her thoughtfully. “There’s another term for elicitors,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Eviscerators.” He smiled wryly. “Coined by wizards, no doubt. Although they have no magic of their own, they’re very dangerous creatures. Are you sure you can trust her? Unfortunately, there’s no way to determine if she’s telling the truth.”

  Meaning by a wizard’s touch, no doubt. “So I guess we just have to rely on our judgment, don’t we? Like the Anaweir,” Seph retorted, looking Hastings in the eyes.

  The wizard raised his hand. “All right. You’re the best judge, I suppose.” He paused, as if debating what to say next. “Look. It
doesn’t matter who you’re after or how strong the justification. You cannot attack anyone at the conference. This wasn’t a good day for Gregory Leicester. He would seize any excuse to undo what’s been done.”

  “What happened?”

  “The council agreed to convene an Interguild Conference to consider a new constitution based on the revised rules. If Leicester and D’Orsay can’t get their own way within a council of their peers, it’s even less likely where there are warriors and enchanters represented.”

  “Seph, you have to promise me you won’t do anything to disrupt the conference. It would play right into Leicester’s hands.”

  “Killing Leicester is the best thing that could happen, it seems to me.” He looked up into Hastings’s scowl. Reluctantly, he said, “Okay, I promise.”

  “You’ll need to stick with Jack all day tomorrow, or I’ll know about it. And you’re not to come near the inn. If you violate either of those conditions, it doesn’t matter what Linda says. I’ll put you away where you can’t cause any more mischief.”

  Seph nodded. He didn’t have much choice. “Okay.”

  “I’ll take you home, then,” said Leander Hastings.

  The next day, Jack and Seph left at four a.m. to go fishing in the western basin. Seph learned to bait hooks, cast a line, and clean fish. By the time they returned, the meetings at the Legends were over, and the council had dispersed. Most left the Sanctuary as quickly as possible. That evening, Leander Hastings, Ellen Stephenson, and Madison Moss came to dinner. Becka was attending a concert at the Institute. It was one of the warm nights at the end of summer that make promises that won’t be kept. Seph and Madison rolled lake perch in cracker crumbs and fried them while Linda and Jack made salads and roasted the corn. Although everyone was eager to hear what had transpired at the Legends, Linda would allow no discussion of events at the conference until dessert was served.

  “So how’d it go?” Jack demanded, when the ban was finally lifted. They were eating ice cream on the screened porch. Seph and Madison had claimed the wicker swing and were pleasantly crowded in together.

  “I’d say the outcome was mixed today,” Hastings replied. “Leicester and D’Orsay introduced an alternative constitution and put it on the agenda for consideration at the joint meeting.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how it could possibly pass. It’s a nasty document. Worse than the original rules.” He looked over at Linda, as if to get her reaction, but she seemed to be deep in thought.

  “One concern is the location of the conference. They were unable to change the composition of the Interguild Council, but they argued against holding the next meeting in the Sanctuary. They say that this is a hostile environment, that the whole concept was forced on the Wizard Council at the tournament last summer. Which it was.”

  Hastings shrugged. “Leicester and his group had already lost on many of the important issues. I think there was some desire on the part of the Wizard Council to appease them somehow.”

  “Where will the meeting be held?” Seph asked.

  “Second Sister. It’s an island in Lake Erie, in the western basin, actually Canadian.” Hastings explained. “Privately owned.”

  “Second Sister?” Jack raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think there was anything there.”

  “There’s an old winery, rather like a great stone castle. It’s been renovated into a guesthouse. The feeling was that this would be a good compromise. Close to the Sanctuary, convenient for everyone.”

  “They didn’t want to have it in Raven’s Ghyll?” Jack asked. That had been the site of the tournament the summer before, in England. It was Claude D’Orsay’s ancestral home, a stronghold of wizards. D’Orsay was the hereditary Gamemaster for the tournaments. Seph knew all this from Jack and Ellen.

  Hastings shook his head. “Frankly, none of the other Weir would set foot in the Ghyll. It will be hard enough to convince them to sit down in the same room with members of the Wizard Council.

  “They also insisted that members of the Wizard Council be present as observers. That notion was popular with wizards, of course, those on both sides of the issue who want to keep an eye on the process. I just hope we haven’t given up something important. The location was suggested by Adam Sedgwick. He’s an ally of D’Orsay’s. And D’Orsay and Leicester seconded it right away.”

  “Have you found out who owns it?” Linda asked. “A group of investors from Detroit. Friends of Sedgwick’s.” He shrugged.

  “When will the meeting be?” Seph asked.

  “In two weeks,” said Hastings. “Invitations will go out in a week. A subcommittee is going to decide who gets invited. That’s me, Ravenstock, Leicester, and D’Orsay.”

  Seph became alert at the name Ravenstock. “I hope Ravenstock is on our side,” he said.

  “He’s with us now. So the subcommittee is evenly divided. It won’t be easy coming to an agreement on the membership.”

  “I don’t think wizards should pick the attendees,” Linda said, as if coming out of her trance. “Seems like the other guilds should choose their own representatives.”

  “Seems like,” Hastings agreed. “Only, they’re not well organized. Until this year, they were either hiding out or in service to wizards.” He turned to Jack and Ellen. “Don’t be surprised if you are named to the Interguild Council.”

  Ellen sat up straighter, looking dismayed. “Can’t you find someone else? How am I supposed to negotiate with a bunch of wizards?”

  “Don’t worry.” Hastings smiled at her. “There will be a whole team there. Besides, I think you underestimate yourself.”

  Seph heard this exchange as if from a distance, distracted by Madison’s hip pressing against his and her long hair brushing his arm, her bare back with its scattering of freckles. He knew he didn’t have to worry about being invited to the council meeting. He was small change in the wizard world.

  He wondered if the results of the proceedings would make any difference in his own personal situation. Perhaps a new constitution would get Leicester off his back, give him something else to keep him occupied, since the current rules had done nothing to discourage him. It was something to hope for, but Seph was not optimistic.

  There was one other card to play. He looked across at Linda Downey. Every day his wizardry skills were growing. One day soon, he would ask his questions, and she would answer him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Storm

  The day after the conference, Hastings left for New York, where the subcommittee was convening. Matters were moving fast. The invitees would not have much time to make their decisions. Perhaps that was part of the strategy.

  School was scheduled to start in a few weeks, but it was hard to focus on that with so much going on in the parallel universe of the Weir. Seph had already registered at the high school and signed up for his classes. He had never gone to a public school, but he was looking forward to it, especially now that he might actually stay and graduate.

  Linda’s house was scheduled to be finished by Halloween. She and Seph visited daily to monitor its progress. His room had its own bathroom and a turret with a winding staircase, another special touch the contractor had suggested.

  Madison worked a heavy schedule at the Legends, but Seph often met her for breakfast before she started her shift. They sometimes walked on the beach early in the morning or on muggy summer nights after her shift ended. They attended openings at Trinity’s Chapel Gallery. When she worked a double shift, they would go to afternoon matinees in the air-conditioned downtown theater, blinking like nocturnal animals when they emerged into the brilliant sunshine.

  She set limits that suggested that she just wanted to be friends. Seph was hoping for something more. She seemed to look on Seph as a window into another world.

  There was a wistful urgency to summer pastimes in the last days before school started. Jack made plans to take the sailboat out of the water, since it was unlikely there would be time to go sailing once school was in session. So a
week after the end of the Wizard Council, Jack invited Ellen, Seph, and Madison to go sailing one last time.

  It was a beautiful late-summer day, not too hot, with high clouds and a brisk breeze coming out of the west. There were whitecaps out beyond the cut from the har-bor. The spray hit their faces as they headed into the wind, toward Sandusky. Madison had never been sailing; she couldn’t swim, in fact. Seph had strapped her into a bright orange life jacket before they left the dock. She’d been pale and snappish, but determined to go.

  Now her apprehension seemed to have faded. She sat in the right rear corner of the boat, one hand trailing in the water, her face turned up to catch the spray. She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail, anchoring a Cincinnati Reds baseball cap.

  Ellen’s sailing skills were on par with Seph’s. She’d never sailed before coming to Trinity, having spent all her time training to kill people. But she was strong and willing, and soon Seph and Ellen were making the boat fly over the waves, while Jack supervised from a seat on the side of the boat.

  Seph loved this business of capturing the wind, of having his way with it. The breeze made him feel like he was flying. He suddenly realized that he was very much at home on the water after a summer in Trinity. The contrast with his season at the Havens was breathtaking.

  It was after two when they started out, and by four, they were already several miles west of Trinity. The weather seemed to be turning. Great towers of clouds had piled up off to the west, and the sky that had been blue was rapidly darkening.

  “I don’t remember hearing anything about thunderstorms,” Jack said, puzzled. “We’d better head back.” Seph and Ellen brought the boat about, expecting the sails to fill with the freshening wind, but it died away suddenly, then changed direction, now blowing strongly from the east. They continued to have to tack back and forth, finding it just as hard to head back as it had been to head out, against the wind.

  “That’s weird,” Jack said. “Especially with what’s coming out of the west.” He looked apprehensively over his shoulder. The ragged edges of the cloud bank were overtaking them. The surface winds were blowing one way, and the winds aloft another. “We’d better use the engine or we’ll never outrun it. I’ll bring her in a little closer to shore.” He sat down in the captain’s chair and tried to start up the engine. There was no response— no sound, save the slap of water against the hull of the boat.