by Karen Miller
“Of course I have, Mage Lindin. I expect their arrival within a day.”
“Good.”
Alone again, not needing to dissemble, she sat back in her chair and stared at the ceiling.
Morgan… Morgan… what are you doing up there?
The catalysts arrived.
“And I am to tell you, my lord,” Rumm said, frowning at the wrapped and warded boxes on the workbench, “that this is the last of them. No amount of money you could offer will compensate for—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Morgan snapped. “I have what I need.”
“My lord…” Rumm cleared his throat. “Mage Lindin and I were wondering—”
“If you value your life, Rumm, do not finish that sentence! This work comes before all. Now get out. And tell Barl to stop her nagging. She will have me between her legs again when I am done here, and not before.”
A shocked silence.
Shamed, Morgan pressed a hand across his eyes. Justice save him, he was so tired.
“Of course you can’t tell her that. Rumm, tell her—tell her—” He shuddered his way through a yawn. “Tell her something. Just—not that.”
“My lord,” Rumm said quietly, and withdrew.
His hands not quite steady, Morgan unwrapped his precious supplies. Last of all, unwrapped the four smallest boxes, worth more than all his other catalysts combined. Worth a future. Worth every sacrifice he must make.
Heart pounding, blood racing, anticipation washing away fatigue, he assembled the other catalysts for this, the greatest magework ever attempted. Lined up his crucibles. Pushed aside the sheets of notes, save one, the single piece of paper on which he’d recorded the syllables and sigils that would save Dorana from its enemies. Remake the world.
Prove me the greatest mage who ever lived.
No time for doubt. No room for it. He must be magework made man. Fleetingly, he thought of his father. What a shame Greve Danfey had died before learning the truth of the son he’d accused of betrayal. Of failure. Of sullying the Danfey name.
You were wrong, my lord. I do not sully us. I glorify us. I will be remembered for this until the last star burns to death.
Smiling, invincible, he set about proving his dead father a liar.
Azafris. Tinctured susquinel. Powered vilys root. Crushed crulin leaf. Tilatantin. Domish and gribb, ground into a paste. A pinch. A dribble. A touch. A drop. The balance exquisite, like Barl’s lips on his skin.
Binding them together… his own hot, red blood.
The sigils bloomed like wildflowers in the heat of the summer sun. Immaculate and indestructible, they formed above their crucibles. Each matrix held with a shimmering solidity, as though they’d been painted on the air. Remembering his struggles with those first reworked sigils, he laughed. Then he wept. With a single word and burst of power he confirmed them.
And then he whispered the syllables of the transmutation incant.
“You should be alive, Father,” he said, as the sigils and syllables merged, seamless, like the workings of Barl’s clocks. “Were you alive I’d have you apologise to me.”
The incant was a success. All it needed now was to be spoken. But that could wait. Would have to wait, because he was swaying on his feet. The attic was blurring, spinning madly around him. He was tired. He was so tired. The strangest roaring in his head.
Before he saved Dorana, he needed to rest.
A tentative knocking on the attic door roused him.
“My lord? I’ve brought you some supper.”
Cross-legged on his makeshift mattress, spine pressed to the attic wall, Morgan opened his eyes. Supper? He glanced at the window, and the night sky beyond it. Well, then. Yes. Supper.
He watched Rumm set the tray on an empty corner of the workbench. Chicken soup and hot buttered bread. Not very exciting.
“Your meals have been so irregular, my lord, and your work habits so excessive, I thought it best not to assault your belly with anything rich,” Rumm said, turning. “And I shall stand here until you finish this. After that you may dismiss me from your service, if you like.”
A sick, sad roiling through him. Some sacrifices were so hard. “No, Rumm. I’ll not do that.”
Vaguely aware of hunger, he ate the soup and the bread. Dabbed his lips clean on the napkin Rumm had so thoughtfully provided. He was a thoughtful man. A good servant. He would be missed.
“Wait,” he said, as Rumm moved to collect the tray. “There is something I’d ask you, Rumm.”
“My lord?”
Say it. Just say it. “You said once that you served the Danfey family in all things. You remember?”
Rumm nodded. “I do, my lord.”
“You spoke the truth?”
“Always, my lord.”
“In all things?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And do you love me?”
“As a man loves his brother? Yes, my lord. I do.” Rumm swallowed. “An impertinence, perhaps. But there you have it.”
An impertinence, yes. But also a relief. For when a man loved his brother, there was nothing he wouldn’t do.
“Reb’nes tev, Rumm,” he whispered, and froze the servant where he stood.
And then he closed his eyes… and began the transmutation.
Taking a turn about the mansion’s transformed gardens, needing cool, fresh air and a respite from thought, Barl felt the staggering punch of twisted power like a thunderclap in her blood. Shocked breathless, she spun round to stare up at the attic. Saw through its uncovered window a terrible scarlet glow. Even as she watched, the glow faded, leaving behind it a dreadful, plunging darkness. Every hint of glimfire in the mansion had burned out.
“Morgan!” she screamed. “Morgan!” Summoned more glimfire, and ran.
The attic door was warded. Stupid, stupid man. She smashed through his magic, not even needing to think. Summoned more glimfire and flung the door wide.
“Morgan!”
Chalk white and silent, adrift on his feet in the middle of the floor, he didn’t look up. Just kept staring at—at—
“Justice save me, Morgan,” she said, doused ice-cold with horror. “What have you—what is that?”
“I don’t understand,” he murmured, sounding plaintive. Like a small and disappointed boy. “It was right. The incant was right. The sigils held. The syllables balanced. So why did it fail?”
Her heart was beating so hard and fast she thought she’d be sick. “Why did what fail, Morgan? What were you trying to do?”
He didn’t answer.
Arms folded tight to her ribs, she made herself look again at the thing on the gore-splattered attic floor. It was unlike any creature she’d ever seen outside the pages of a children’s darkly fanciful storybook. There were flaps of leathery skin, like enormous bat wings. There were long teeth, like fangs. Long, strong fingers ending in talons. Thin strands of pale hair straggled across a blood-smeared, leathery scalp.
Hair? But only people have hair.
She stepped back. Saw, properly saw, the supper tray on the bench. Looked around the glimlit attic. Looked at Morgan, still so stunned.
“My love?” She had to wet her lips, her mouth had gone so dry. “My love, where is Rumm?”
Morgan spat a vile curse and leapt to his workbench. “This is ridiculous. I know I reworked the incant correctly. Barl, don’t just stand there.” He snapped his fingers at her, familiarly impatient. “Come, come. We have to get this right. Dorana’s safety depends on it.”
“Depends on what, Morgan? Before I help you, you’ll have to explain yourself.”
“There’s no time!” he said, turning on her. “Will you wait until this mansion is overrun with Feenish warriors?”
“Morgan…” She raised her hands. “Please. You’re frightening me.”
His eyes were terrible. “My love, don’t be silly. What in this world can frighten us?”
“That!” she said, pointing at the monstrosity on the floor. “Morgan—is that
Rumm?”
“Yes.” Tears spilled to his cheeks. “I don’t understand why the incant failed.”
Appalled, she pressed her fingers to her lips, holding back an anguished cry. What she’d done to the chickens and the hounds and calf had been terrible. For the greater good, but terrible. Still, they were animals. Only animals.
But that was Rumm. Oh, Morgan.
“I think we should go down to the library, my love,” she said carefully. “It will be easier to work our way through what went wrong if we—” Don’t have to look at that hideous thing on the floor. “Can sit comfortably and perhaps seek for guidance from one of your books.”
“Aren’t you listening?” he snapped. “Barl, there’s no time.”
“We needn’t take long. And I’ll make us some tea. Hot tea with plenty of sugar is restorative when you’ve had a nasty shock.”
He stared at her, glassy-eyed. Haggard and pallid and so clearly wallowing in the dregs of his strength. To do such a terrible thing…
This is my fault. I shouldn’t have let him lock himself away up here alone. I shouldn’t have let him use those catalysts. Oh, Rumm. I’m so sorry.
Resentful, but in the end unresisting, Morgan let her take him downstairs. She left him settled in the library, on the sofa, then retreated to the kitchen and made the tea. Dosed his cup with the powerful, leftover sleeping herbs Rumm had used on Greve Danfey, at Pother Ranmer’s insistence.
“Here, my love,” she said, returned to the library. “Drink this. You’ll feel better soon, I promise.”
He took the cup and drained it. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” she said, soothing, and perched on the sofa’s edge beside him. “Now, my love, can you tell me what you were trying to do?”
His eyelids were already drooping. “Armoured beasts won’t be enough to protect us. We need true warriors, that can stand against the warriors of Feen and Trindek and the rest.”
“Warriors.” She shifted a little beside him, cold again. Couldn’t help glancing at the ceiling, seeing again that ruined man on the floor. “Morgan… do you mean people? You think we should be transmuting people?”
“We have to,” he said, his voice slurring. “But not mages, of course. The magickless. They serve little other purpose. And we have enough cripples in Dorana that the few we’d take won’t be missed.”
Cripples. Turning away from that word, for she couldn’t bear to look at it, not now, Barl smoothed Morgan’s tangled hair. It felt like straw, not spun silk.
“Morgan, we don’t need to do that. All we need do is destroy the mage-mist. Restore Dorana’s balance. Then the other nations will leave us alone. You and I, we are Dorana’s greatest mages. We can do that. Let’s do that. All right?”
Morgan smiled at her, slowly. Even exhausted, he was beautiful. Even so dreadfully misguided, she loved him.
“My love… it’s too late.”
She felt the tears come. Felt them spill to her cheeks. “Don’t say that. You could be mistaken. It might not be too late.”
But it was, and she knew it.
“Oh, Morgan,” she whispered. “What are we going to do?”
His hand fumbled, trying to stroke her face. The herbs were working on him now, swiftly. “We’re going to make Dorana safe, my love. We’re going to give it an army. Rumm did not die in vain. He was but the first to give his life for the country he loved.”
She could argue, but she knew he’d not listen. He wasn’t ready to hear that he was wrong. Heartbroken, she sat beside him and watched him slide into sleep. When she was sure he wouldn’t stir she settled him on the sofa, with a pillow and a blanket. The herbs and his own exhaustion would keep him unstirring here for hours. Enough time for her to do what she had to, though the thought of his hurt and anger made her weep anew.
To make certain of him she warded the library’s windows and door. Felt a wrenching flood of gratitude that he’d never learned to break her magework. Then she changed into fresh clothing and went to find the only person she could trust.
Chapter Thirty-two
A sleep in his room at Elvado’s modest Shooting Star inn, Remmie startled awake to find himself no longer alone. Tangled in his nightshirt, he struggled to sit up.
“Barl?” The fitful glimfire she’d conjured showed him her unexpected, distraught face. “How did you—”
“Don’t be stupid, Remmie,” she said. “Why are you still here if you didn’t know that I knew you never meant to go back to Batava without me.”
He dragged a hand down his face, feeling the scrape of stubble. “But I did mean it. I was going to leave days ago, only there’s word of a great working meant to banish the mage-mist once and for all. Elvado’s crowded to bursting with mages. I stayed to help.”
“Oh. So you really were going to—” Her lips trembled. “Oh.”
Seeing her standing there, he wasn’t sure how he felt. Every morning he woke, thinking this would be the morning he’d go back to the Hall of Knowledge and find someone who’d listen to what he had to say. And every morning he shrank from doing it. The first time, when they sent him away unheard, he’d been so angry with Barl he could barely think straight. Condemning her then had felt easy. Had felt just.
It wasn’t easy any more. His blood had cooled, and instead of anger he felt guilt and grief.
“Remmie…”
Never in his life had he heard her sound so small. So frightened. Never had he seen such a dreadful look in her eyes. He kicked the thin blankets aside and slid out of bed.
“What’s wrong, Barl?”
She gave an odd little hiccup. “Everything. Remmie, I know I was horrible. I know I’ve been arrogant. But you can’t let that matter. Not now. You have to help me.”
She was his sister and even when he was furious he loved her, but hurt was muddled with disappointment and an old, stale resentment. She never changed. She did what she wanted then afterwards said sorry. It was a familiar dance and he was tired of it.
“Barl—”
With a sparking splutter the ball of glimfire died.
“No, don’t try to reignite it,” he said, reaching for the sparker and bedside candle. “This isn’t your cleverly protected Danfey estate.”
“Sorry,” she said, as the candle flame created meagre light and deep shadows. “I forgot.”
Dropping to the end of the bed, resigned to at least hearing her out, he patted the blankets beside him. “Tell me.”
Sitting, she released a shuddering breath. Then she started to talk, her voice low and shaking. As her dreadful tale unfolded, her hand crept toward him and he took it, even though she’d stirred him to anger again. Her trembling fingers were cold. He ought to feel more pity for her, but his anger burned too hot.
“Rumm’s death was an accident,” she said at last, exhausted. “Morgan never meant to murder him.”
“For pity’s sake, Barl!” Letting go of her, Remmie leapt up. “The incant is murder. And don’t you dare pretend he didn’t know it!”
“I don’t know what Morgan knew,” she said, hands in her lap now, twisting her fine silk tunic. “He was exhausted. He wasn’t himself. I’m telling you, Remmie, he’s not evil. Could I love an evil man? Do you believe that of me?”
Staring at her, he shook his head. “Barl, I don’t know what to believe. Before I saw what I saw at the estate, I’d have said no without hesitation. But now? Now if you told me the incant had been your idea, I—”
“No, no, no,” she said, her eyes wide. “Don’t say it. Don’t.” She sobbed, once. “Remmie, please. It was never meant to be like this. All the good we meant to do and it’s all gone so wrong. I never—”
“You never thought,” he said, brutal. “You just rushed ahead, blindly, because you felt slighted and wanted to prove the Council wrong. Just like you wanted to prove Arndel wrong before that. You haven’t changed, Barl. You just stumbled across someone stupid enough to encourage you. You call it love? I call it madness. You found the one man w
ho could be trusted to bring out the worst in you. Not the best.”
Hands sheltering her face, she fought a silent battle. When at last she lowered them he saw that her eyes were dry.
“When this is over, Remmie, if you want to disown me, I won’t argue. But for this to be over, I will need your help.”
“And what is it you expect me to do?” He folded his arms. “I won’t kill him for you.”
“I don’t want you to,” she said, shocked. “Remmie, I don’t want Morgan dead. Like it or not, I do love him. He needs help.”
“He needs stopping, Barl. That’s all the help he’ll get from me.”
“Fine. Then help me stop him, please, and afterwards we can go our separate ways.”
She sounded so defeated it hurt. And though he’d wanted her defeated, wanted her humbled, made painfully aware of every bad choice she’d made, every flaw…
She’s my sister. I can’t destroy her.
Looking at him, knowing what he’d decided, knowing him, she tried to smile. “You’ll need to get dressed. There’s someone we have to see… and then we need to talk to the Council.”
“There’s no point in that. I tried, the day I saw you. The Council turned me away.”
She blinked at him. “You went to the Council? Knowing what they did to me before?”
He didn’t answer. After the dead calf, and ruined Dorana, he owed her no apology for that.
“Never mind,” she muttered. “Remmie, they might have turned you away but they will see me. Especially after I’ve seen Venette Martain first. Now, please, get dressed. We haven’t much time.”
“Fine,” he said, standing. “But either close your eyes or turn your back, because I’m about to be naked and we’re not little children any more.”
“I can wait outside.”
“No. You can wait here.”
Hurt, she looked up at him. “Does that mean you don’t trust me?”
“It means you’re Barl Lindin,” he said, after a moment. “And whether I can trust her, well, that remains to be seen.”
Faced with yet another pair of duty mages, these ones guarding the Council chamber’s closed, imposing doors, Barl took hold of her fraying temper and for the fourth time repeated her claim.
