Court of Shadows

by Miranda Honfleur

  That was just fine. It had been two days since they’d last been together, and she could hold out longer than he could.

  Probably.

  She’d spent the last two days poring over her books, looking for anything that could help with the first trial. It was at the castle, so that was something, at least. It would likely be in the arena, or maybe in the great hall or the courtyard, depending on what would be required. Somewhere that could showcase the spectacle—

  “How much longer will this go on?” he murmured, with a slow, bored blink.

  “Until you see reason.” She made a show of looking out the carriage window as thunder rumbled.

  He huffed an amused breath. “I could say the same.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “In a few short months, I’m going to vow to protect you as long as I live,” he said evenly. “Sometimes that’ll mean withholding things.”

  She grunted.

  “Actually, by telling you what I did, I’ve made you a principal to high treason,” he said. “If you’re revealed, the king could have you executed just for knowing what you do and not immediately confessing.”

  “Then maybe I should tell him,” she bit out.

  “And condemn our family?” Brennan crossed his arms, biceps bulging against his overcoat’s sleeves. “Besides, somehow I doubt Jon will execute you.”

  She sighed. “Then why bring it up?”

  “Because if he were anyone else, I would have been signing your death warrant. All in the name of ‘truth.’ I’d rather you be safe.”

  “And blissfully ignorant?” she blurted, scowling. “Brennan, I don’t want to be some possession for you to keep safe. I want to be your partner, and share in everything you do, good and bad.”

  “What I do is dangerous.”

  She held out her arms. Did he not know her life? She didn't spend it petting kittens and picking wildflowers. “All right, then. Suppose the tables are turned, and I want to keep you safe. Should I hide things from you and lie to you?”

  He scoffed, shaking his head as he looked away. “I’m indestructible, bride.”

  Indestructible. Of course.

  How could he even say those words when she’d lain for hours in the desert next to his dead body?

  He let out a breath. “Can we just… start over?”

  Starting over, putting all of this behind them—yes, it would be wonderful. “But nothing’s changed.”

  Closing his eyes a moment, he said, “I’ll… try.”

  The carriage hurtled over a rough patch of road, and she jostled along with it. Try. That was change, wasn’t it? “No more secrets, no more omissions, no more lies or manipulations—”

  “I said I’d try,” he repeated. “What else do you want from me, Rielle?” He scrubbed a hand over his face.

  They were on their way to Divinity Castle, where he was about to search for the Archives and attempt to infiltrate them, a deadly transgression that could get him killed.

  Where she was about to compete in a trial that could claim her life.

  The last thing she wanted was for either of them to go on tonight still at odds with each other.

  She rubbed her sweaty palms on her knees. “I don’t want us to fight anymore.”

  He reached across the carriage and covered her hand with his. “Neither do I.”

  * * *

  As the rain came down, Brennan walked Rielle across the causeway to the castle, eyeing the members of the Divine Guard stationed in key locations. In all of Magehold, they numbered about a small company, with the majority—some hundred or so—concentrated inside the castle, of course.

  Tonight, while Rielle competed in whatever trial the Grand Divinus had devised, he would locate the Archives of Magehold. The primary entrance was through the tightly guarded Hensar, the headquarters of the Divinity’s elite agents, but there had to be another way in.

  The castle was rumored to have all manner of hidden doors and passages—and while all eyes were fixed on the trial, he would find his route.

  Better that Mother and Caitlyn were staying home, taking care of the boys. Nora had made her excuses and left the mansion in style. Una was arriving separately. At least there would be fewer questions about where he was disappearing to.

  Holding his hand, Rielle was impeccable in her white mage coat, her hair braided tight. Her pulse and breathing were even, and she stared down the entrance with a glare that could kill. Good. Perhaps tonight, she’d have to.

  No matter what Jon said to her, she saw this as fighting for Laurentine, and all of Emaurria, and she’d never been one to step away from a challenge.

  As they entered, he swept the shadowy corners with a careful gaze, scented the air for changes indicating concealed doors and passages. Nothing yet.

  In the great hall, a number of master mages, marked by the four-bar chevron on their double-breasted overcoats, already awaited, some with small chattering entourages or sullen partners and friends, others wholly alone. Jon and Olivia stood off to the side, enshrined among members of Jon’s Royal Guard, impossible to miss.

  Although no crown graced his head, Jon’s finery was unmistakably royal—a timelier tailor than Libretti, then. He wore a fitted crimson velvet overcoat trimmed in gold, and beneath it, a shirt of the brightest white, over white trousers tucked into gleaming black riding boots. Like his Royal Guard, Jon wore his weapons belt tonight, bearing both his arcanir long sword and a dagger, a privilege the Grand Divinus must have afforded him as a monarch. The trials would be dangerous, then.

  Next to him, Olivia was an emerald jewel, dressed in a fine brocade gown with long, fluttering sleeves edged in silver, her shining hair coiled intricately about her head. If anyone wondered whether she belonged to the king, the pair they made here would remove all doubt.

  As soon as Olivia’s gaze met his, she glanced at Rielle, and set off at a brisk pace across the marble floor, her slippered feet clicking an echoing staccato.

  Rielle turned her head to the sound. “Olivia,” she breathed, and rushed to meet her. They embraced. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “As if I’d miss this?” Olivia grinned. “These other mages won’t know what hit them.”

  “I wonder if this is all of them,” Rielle said, her narrowed gaze meandering from one master mage to the next. “I count eight.”

  As Jon walked up, Rielle bowed, her heartbeat quickening—just for a moment. So he still had that effect on her.

  “A pleasure to see you again so soon, Your Majesty,” he said, as cordially as he could muster, bowing. Even across the Shining Sea, Jon was inescapable.

  With an uneasy smile, Jon inclined his head to them. “Good evening to you both,” he greeted, his gaze sliding to Rielle. “I think we have yet to see the final candidate here—actually, he arrived on Captain Verib’s ship.”

  So her brother had shown up after all.

  Rielle’s pulse raced as the blood drained from her face. He took her hand.

  “Verib is here?” she asked. “Where is he staying?”

  Jon arched a brow, eyeing her. “How do you know him?”

  She blinked. “He—Brennan and I sailed home aboard his ship from Sonbahar.”

  “Who’s the candidate?” Brennan asked.

  Olivia shrugged. “I’m not sure. But he set out from Gazgan, so maybe a Sonbaharan mage.”

  Rielle stiffened.

  “I doubt it’s anyone who’d recognize you,” he whispered in her ear, and kissed her cheek. “And if it is, he’ll be leaving here in pieces.”

  It was no easy thing letting her compete here, alone, while he infiltrated the Archives. But each of these other mages knew to whom she belonged, and knew that a Marcel’s vengeance was never done. That would offer her some measure of protection.

  And if it didn’t, she had but to pull on the bond, and Archives or not, Divine Guard or not, he’d be at her side, ripping apart anyone who so much as looked at her wrong.

  Breathing deeply, she
nodded. “No rules,” she murmured icily. “If anyone recognizes me and starts trouble, I’m not in arcanir chains here. It’ll be the last thing he does.”

  Jon watched them gravely, and when Olivia took his arm, he visibly relaxed, although he turned over a small, smooth blue stone in his hand.

  “I see no Sonbaharan master here,” Olivia said, “but I recognize many of these by reputation.” She nodded to a short, dark-haired Sileni young woman with silvery eyes. “That’s Ariana Orsa, a gifted lucent. She’s become well known recently for beginning work on a translation and update of a compendium of Immortal peoples—a highly anticipated work. Yesterday, Jon and I picked up the original she’s working from.”

  Picked up? She spoke as though they spent their evenings on the town.

  Olivia glanced at a tall, lanky man with shoulder-length wavy black hair pulled back well above his nape. “That’s Luca Iagar, the famous healer. I’ll have to catch him sometime.”

  She looked over the crowd. “And there”—the copper-haired giant who’d accosted Rielle—“that’s Riordan Mac Carra, probably your biggest competition. There are rumors he can conjure not just inanimate magical constructs, but beings.”

  Animate magical constructs? That was magic the likes of which only one other mage in existence was known to perform. A magister, no less.

  Had he known Rielle was competing? Was that why he’d accosted her? And next to him stood a dark-haired rail-thin man, also in a master’s coat, faded black, his green gaze scanning the great hall. Picking apart scents, he recognized this one—from the day Rielle had gone to the temple garden. He might have been lurking in the shadows, following her, but why?

  “It’s him,” she snarled. She looked Mac Carra’s way with hard eyes, and the Morwenian copperhead actually had the audacity to wink at her and broaden his grin. She blew him a kiss, then swiped a finger across her throat while winking back.

  That’s my snarling little she-wolf. He grinned smugly, drawing her in a little closer.

  Jon stiffened next to him. “You know him?” An edge rode his voice, suspicious, alert.

  “We met. Briefly,” Rielle answered for him, icy eyes narrowed. She shrugged a shoulder. “So he can conjure animate magical constructs,” she said evenly. “I’ve defeated Flame, Phantom, and Shadow. I’ll defeat anything he sends my way.”

  Jon’s eyes gleamed as he crossed his arms, watching her with unmistakable pride. “Any candidate that underestimates your resolve is in for a surprise. You’re in your element.”

  She met his gaze with a wry grin. “Luckily there are no turtles here.”

  Jon dipped his head, grinning wryly as he lowered his gaze.

  Turtles? What were they on about?

  Olivia’s eyebrows knitted together, then her mouth fell open. Did she know something about it?

  A tall, dark man walked in through the doors to the great hall, with his long, sable hair in a bun at the nape of his neck, flanked by a woman covered in a teal thiyawb and halla. He wore the master mage’s four-bar chevron on his black overcoat.

  “Tariq al-Rhamani,” Olivia whispered. “So that’s who arrived aboard the Liberté.”

  Rielle glanced her way, but it was Jon who leaned in. “He’s the bastard son of Prince Raadi El-Amin abd Hassan abd Ahmad of Sonbahar, Princess Sandrine’s husband.”

  Princess Sandrine, who rallied factions against Jon, who mobilized forces to invade Emaurria and install herself as its ruler.

  The Magister Trials were tangled enough without regional politics knotting them up further.

  Another late arrival—Una, by her scent. She walked in, wearing a golden overcoat sashed with red, along with two friends. With a quick look about the hall, her eyes settled on him, and he cocked his head toward Rielle.

  “You made it,” Rielle said with a smile as Una approached.

  “No way I’d miss this,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back. “It’s not every day a Marcel trounces mages of international renown.”

  Rielle met her grin with a blush, and Una shot him a knowing smile. She didn’t have to say it—she was pleased they’d made up.

  So was he.

  A turn of footsteps echoed from the raised dais, and the entire hall quieted.

  At the front, the Grand Divinus stood in glittering, golden regalia, her face dusted with a shimmery powder that softened her harsh lines.

  She raised her arms. “Welcome to the first of the Magister Trials,” the Grand Divinus declared, gesturing to the entire hall. “Tonight’s survivors will move on to the second trial three days from now.”

  Survivors? He pulled Rielle closer, and she leaned in to him.

  The Grand Divinus looked out at the crowd with a smug smile. “But first, I’ll introduce to you the best of the best, who have been chosen to take part in this year’s trials.

  A mage next to her gestured above him, and a massive translucent plane hovered above him, like a mirror, and showed a young woman’s heart-shaped face.

  “From Silen, Master Ariana Orsa.”

  Orsa stepped forward among the crowd, the same woman as in the illusion.

  The face in the illusion changed to a man’s.

  “From Pryndon, Master Cadan Bexley.” A slight man with spectacles and short, brown curls bowed. Bexley? His ability to transmute anything into anything was world renowned.

  Faces in the spell shifted from each to the next. “From Kamerai, Master Sen Taneie. From the Kezan Isles, Master Luca Iagar. From Ferrante, Master Telva Cerdán. From Morwen, Master Riordan Mac Carra. From Sonbahar, Master Tariq al-Rhamani. From Hongo, Master Nandi Sinethemba.”

  Each candidate stepped forward at their name.

  “And from Emaurria, Master Favrielle Amadour Lothaire.”

  And so did Rielle, eyeing the massive display of her nervous face, and schooling it to a lukewarm smile.

  “From among these nine, only one will become a magister after this year’s third trial, proving him or herself capable of excellence in these new, harsh times.”

  With a gesture, the Grand Divinus spelled aside a banner, where a sconce was hidden, unlit. She gestured again, and the sconce clicked, lowering.

  The center of the great hall rumbled.

  Beneath the floor, a barely audible whirring and clinking passed.

  All those gathered receded as the marble-tiled floor split in quarters and opened to a descending stair.

  “Not the arena,” Rielle murmured under her breath.

  “Below, a labyrinth awaits, and it is designed to test for the perceptiveness all magisters must possess. At its end are the keys to your next trial. Be the first, and choose your key.” The Grand Divinus motioned to the stairs.

  Rielle squeezed his hand and turned to him with a resolute nod.

  This was her choice. If it were up to him, he’d have her loaded up in a carriage right now and safely at home.

  But here they were. He’d be sneaking out of the great hall shortly to infiltrate the never-before-infiltrated Archives, and she’d be going underground with eight other mages who’d gladly see her fail, or worse.

  She’d emerge safely. She had to.

  He cupped her cheek, and she covered his hand, closed her eyes, and kissed it. “If you need me, you know what to do,” he whispered. Just a pull of the bond, and he’d be there.

  She nodded. “I know.”

  A moment of her warmth, her love, then she leaned in and pressed her lips to his, before looking upon him one last time, releasing his hand, and descending into the dark.

  Chapter 26

  Rielle followed the steps with the other eight candidates, leaving Brennan, Jon, Olivia, and Una behind. She looked back over her shoulder once more to see their faces.

  Survivors, the Grand Divinus had said.

  She clenched a fist. If the Grand Divinus planned to kill her, she wouldn’t go quietly. Or without burning a raging inferno right in the middle of this castle.

  The stairwell leading below was sparsely lit w
ith torches, but a candlelight spell preceded them downward through the tight, dusty stone corridor. A look beside her, and it was al-Rhamani who’d cast it.

  A pyromancer, then, unless he was a binary, ternary, or quaternary elementalist. Any elemental magic, and she’d know who to watch for.

  The Grand Divinus brought up the rear with her Divine Guard, her presence driving them to a fork in the path, where it split in three. Each carved-stone tunnel led into blackness, mysterious and deep. “You may choose any path and begin at any time—there are no rules.”

  Just like that.

  The rightmost path felt best, and as she moved toward its entrance, al-Rhamani and the Ferrante master, Telva Cerdán, a middle-aged woman with a thick bun of black hair and dense, dark lashes rimming her keen brown eyes, moved with her. They all stopped, glancing at one another.

  Bexley, Orsa, and Sinethemba took the center, and Mac Carra, Iagar, and Taneie took the left.

  There was no telling what awaited down the corridors. Being the first to go could either be an advantage or an assured death.

  No thanks.

  She’d been invited to the Magister Trials and was participating—she had nothing more to prove. There was no reason to charge ahead and bear the brunt of the risk.

  Al-Rhamani unbuttoned his black master mage coat, swept it back, and proceeded first down the rightmost passage.

  This was it. The first step of the first trial.

  I hope you’re safe, Brennan. He had his own trial ahead of him, as dangerous as this, if not more.

  Rielle exchanged a look with Telva, whose brown eyes searched hers, and they followed as the other two groups proceeded.

  The others’ footsteps, audible at first, slowly faded the deeper she and Telva progressed down the corridor, behind al-Rhamani’s sure-footed strides.

  She kept her hand ready to cast, a second away from a flame cloak, in case al-Rhamani, Telva, or anyone else decided to cut the competition by one elementalist.

  Here, corralled with two other mages, Rielle removed the pouch containing Jon’s Sodalis ring from her coat. Tonight she had eight rivals, all of whom used magic as their weapon, with no rules to bind them but their honor.