by Sarah Wynde
“My darling Fen,” Gaelith said, pressing her hands together. “I must beg your indulgence and ask that you not speak of your Elfie to anyone. The combination of my artistry—which, though I should not speak of it myself, is acclaimed as significant throughout the world of the Sia Mara—and my laxness, which shall be equally spoken of, I have no doubt—added to your imagination and ability to communicate with the magic has wrought wonders. You would do me a great kindness—indeed, it could be a service to us both—to not share the knowledge of that beyond this room.”
God damn it, why didn’t anyone in the place speak English? “I shouldn’t mention Elfie?”
“Exactly.”
“But Luke knows about her.” Fen shrugged. “We’ve been asking her questions for days. And Kaio saw my tattoo.”
“I shall revise beyond this room, then, to beyond the House of Del Mar.” Something about the slightly higher-than-usual pitch of Gaelith’s voice made Fen feel stubborn.
“I don’t get it.”
“Fen. Darling Fen.” Gaelith took a deep breath. “At the moment, we have somewhat larger problems, but please trust me when I say that sharing knowledge of a data access pattern—a Library Level One data access pattern—engaged in higher-order processing would not be to our benefit.”
Fen’s lips parted before she closed them again. Gaelith’s voice had definitely reached a higher pitch.
“Larger problems?” Fen inquired in a voice as polite as she could muster. What did that mean?
“Indeed.” Gaelith closed her eyes for a long second and then, as if resigning herself to the inevitable, said, “The patterns I gave you serve you well. Your data access pattern—”
“Elfie,” Fen interrupted her.
“Elfie,” Gaelith said, accepting the interruption without comment, “goes well beyond the usefulness of most data access patterns. Your ivy, as I understand, allowed you to become invisible to an entire crowd of people, which is illusion of the very highest order. And your phoenix…” She paused.
Fen remembered. “Hurt me, but hurt Baldric, too?” she guessed.
“Yes. Baldric of House Nik Phore, Val Kyr, is no more. His remains have been returned to the sea.”
Fen stared at her. “He’s dead, you mean?”
Gaelith dipped her head in a brief nod.
Fen leaned back on the pillows. Huh. She ought to feel bad. Did she? “How did that happen? I told my pattern to defend us.”
“Every crystal receiver in Syl Var heard,” Gaelith acknowledged. “His death is not your fault. No one can blame you. Indeed, no one does.”
“I thought I was talking to my ivy. I did say go, though,” Fen added. “I was talking to Kaio, but my phoenix must have heard me, too.”
“Perhaps.” Gaelith seemed to be waiting for some kind of stronger reaction from her.
“What was my phoenix supposed to do?” Fen asked, keeping her voice calm. Why did she have a deadly weapon riding around on her back?
Gaelith spread her hands. “I suppose I envisioned renewal, regeneration, some healing potential—the use of magic that most often occurs to me, compatible with my understanding of the symbol. But I set no limits.”
A corner of Fen’s mouth turned up. Sure, renewal was nice—but defending yourself with fire, that was okay, too. She didn’t feel bad, she decided. Maybe she should, but he’d been threatening a little old lady—if bad shit happened to him, well, yo, actions, consequences. No good deed goes unrewarded and all that shit.
“A pattern is a tool,” Gaelith continued. “A set of guided instructions. I failed to effectively structure your art. The fault is mine.”
“What happened to the others?” Fen asked abruptly.
Gaelith shook her head as if to say she didn’t know who Fen meant.
“The other Val Kyr,” Fen said. “Malik and whoever else was here.”
Gaelith smiled faintly. “Baldric’s second-in-command, Malik, has taken his seat on the Great Council.”
“What?” Fen stared in disbelief.
Gaelith spread her hands. “The Council must proceed. And the Val Kyr must be represented. I dare say that none would choose it, but so it happens. But now, having shared this grievous news, I am afraid I must leave you.”
“Wait, why?”
“The Great Council awaits.”
“Why?” Fen demanded again.
Gaelith paused, as if searching for the words, and finally said, keeping her voice light, “The death of a council member requires adjudication by the Council.”
Fen scowled. “Does that mean you’re in trouble? That asshole killed Remy. He would have murdered Luke. He attacked your queen, for God’s sake.”
Gaelith smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “None of which negates the fact that his House deserves justice for his untimely death.”
“That’s bullshit,” Fen said. She threw back the covers. “I’m coming with you.” Hopping out of the bed, she looked around for a closet or a dresser, anywhere they might have stored clothes. “What is this place? And where’s my stuff?”
“This is a—but Fen, darling girl, you don’t need to do that.” Gaelith said, standing. “You are not responsible. You’re a child.”
“Honestly, I’m not.” Fen sighed. “Why aren’t there any clothes here? What is this place?”
“It’s a nursery,” Gaelith replied.
“Like for babies? Or plants?”
Gaelith paused, looking doubtful. “No, a room for nursing. Do you use another word?” Her eyes seemed to go unfocused for a moment, and she offered, “Hospital? But no, we have nothing like that. It’s a room where healers attend those who need healing.”
“Cool,” Fen responded. “I don’t need any more healing. I’m good to go. So…”
She glanced down at the comfortable pajamas someone must have put her in and then remembered. With a smile that felt more like a smirk, she whispered to the cloth, “Suitable for the Great Council, please.”
With fluid ease, the fabric covering her transformed. It felt as if the magic around her were dancing with delight, completely self-satisfied to go over the top on gorgeous formal wear with robes of purple satin embroidered with gold, tight sleeves, a wide-cinched waist, a skirt that reached her knees and leggings of a deep blue shading into purple.
Next to her, Gaelith pressed her lips together, her smile hidden but not invisible.
“Too much?” Fen asked.
Gaelith spread her hands. “You shall put me to shame. The Voice of Lan Tis will think you nothing but proper, the Voice of Ys Ker will be composing poetry in her head between speeches, and the Voice of Lu Mer will be tragically disappointed to discover that you are too young for propositions of pleasure. The Voice of Ku Mari will disapprove, but that is inevitable.”
“How about your mom?” Fen asked. She wasn’t sure she cared what all those other people thought, but she’d rather be invisible to Cyntha Del Mar. If that wasn’t possible, proper would be just fine.
She refused to consider why she cared about Cyntha Del Mar’s opinion of her. The why wasn’t important.
“My mother. Ah.” Gaelith turned away from Fen. She picked up a bag sitting next to the chair. She set the bag down on the chair. Then she picked it up again. Finally, she turned back and looked Fen directly in the eyes. “My mother bore four children. Three yet survive. This fact shapes her experience and understanding. In the past days, one of her children twice suffered life-threatening injuries. Another risked much to save him—a risk entirely unacceptable by our social norms. Her third faced great danger. And her mother—her beloved mother—was grievously threatened.”
“Uh-oh,” Fen muttered.
“You could come naked to the Great Council and my mother would not notice. Clothes are of no import to her at the moment.”
The Trial Begins
Fen followed Gaelith into the hall.
It wasn’t what she expected. Her footsteps faltered at the doorway. She didn’t know what she’d been picturin
g. A courtroom? The Senate Chamber she’d seen while flipping past C-SPAN? The dining hall at Hogwarts?
She should have known better.
A railed bridge led over a circular moat of gently drifting water and onto a raised platform. The floor was soft underfoot, the walls iridescent. A spiral walkway circled the room, reaching level after level of balconies railed with intricate copper and silver designs. People sat in rows, or stood, leaning on the railings. Fen could see them talking to one another, lips moving, but the sounds were muted.
In the center of the platform, the members of the Great Council sat in a semi-circle of comfortable chairs, each unique. Other people were gathered in small clusters, standing behind members of the Council, or sitting in chairs of their own at the edge of the moat. The queen sat with the council, but separate, an extension to the semi-circle, her chair a comfortable armchair printed with colorful fish.
And behind his mother, leaning over as if to whisper something in her ear, was Kaio. He straightened and Fen’s eyes met his.
His nod was an inclination of his head so slight that someone watching less closely than Fen would have missed it entirely, but the lift to the corner of his mouth sent heat rushing through her veins.
What did that smile mean? Her heart raced, but he looked away, stepping back from his mother, without giving her any other hint of a signal.
“Gaelith of House Del Mar?” asked the woman at the center of the council. Her chair was an ornate green monstrosity that looked as if it wanted to be a throne, but wasn’t quite.
Fen tried to remember who she was. Green. That was Lan Tis, right? Huh, so this lady was the actual Atlantean in the room. She looked damn cranky and pretty old for a mythical being.
“Wait on this side of the bridge,” Gaelith said to Fen in a hushed voice. “Although all may observe and listen, only the Council, advisors and those whose names are called are permitted on the inner chamber.”
Fen scowled, but didn’t argue as Gaelith walked gracefully across the bridge and paused in the middle of the circle.
“I am Gaelith of House Del Mar,” she said, her voice even.
The woman’s lips pursed. “After much debate, the Great Council has determined that your responsibility for the opening ceremony’s unfortunate events must be attributed to professional misconduct and is therefore not criminal. As such, it is no responsibility of the council. Should House Nik Phore require further investigation or reparations, they may plead their case to the Council and Queen of Syl Var.”
Fen, standing by the edge of the moat, rocked back on her heels. That sounded promising.
Gaelith opened her hands in a wide sweep. “I await the judgment of my city.”
The woman from Lan Tis—Selene, that was her name, Fen remembered—raised her hand, palm open, in a gesture to her left, as if handing over the proceedings to Queen Ellinora.
The old woman gazed at Gaelith, unblinking, as she spoke. “As the queen of Syl Var, it is my responsibility to determine the appropriate punishment for your negligence, negligence resulting in the death of the Voice of Val Kyr.”
Fen’s eyes narrowed. The queen’s voice was firm, her gaze stern, but something about the way she held her mouth looked defiant.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Gaelith said.
“Baldric of House Nik Phore, the Voice of Val Kyr, burned to death under the wings and claws of a phoenix,” the queen said.
Gaelith drew her hands in to her waist and spoke, bowing her head.
Fen ignored her.
Holy shit.
Her nerves had finally calmed down enough for her to see what was in front of her. Malik, fucking Malik, gorgeous murderer guy, sat on a plain wooden chair, an empty chair next to him, his eyes intent on her.
She glared at him.
Why the hell wasn’t he in jail? They were going to punish Gaelith while they gave Malik a seat at their table? Those fucking losers.
“It grieves me to impose this upon you, but we all must learn,” the queen was saying, her voice gentle. “You are suspended from healing for the remainder of your fourteenth score.”
“Your majesty?”
Fen glanced at Gaelith. She sounded more shocked than worried.
“Except in the event of emergencies,” the queen added hastily. “You may work as a healer when a life depends upon it. But not else. You must fill your time in some other fashion.”
Gaelith bowed her head in acquiescence and said something polite. As she turned away and back to Fen, though, the corners of her mouth were twitching in what looked like amusement. Although Fen couldn’t hear their words, the crowds on the balconies seemed to be reacting the same way.
“Elfie?” Fen whispered. “What happened?”
“The sentence her majesty has imposed on Lady Gaelith Del Mar for her involvement in the death of Baldric of Val Kyr is not harsh. Indeed, it could be interpreted as reward. A vacation, rather than a punishment.”
“There, you see?” Gaelith murmured, coming to a stop next to Fen. “I told you all would be well.”
Fen shot her a mocking look—she’d never said anything of the sort—before grinning. “Do you get to do crafts now?”
Gaelith lifted her shoulders. “Indeed, I hardly know. I shall have to consider how to allocate my days. Perhaps some time spent on magic lessons for you?”
“Or reading lessons for you,” Fen suggested. “You could learn to read in a few months, easy, and magic and reading are sort of the same thing.”
“Let us move on,” the cranky lady said, her words carrying across the water. “We must next discuss the disposition of Felicia Elizabeth of House Naylor, from Wai Pa.”
Fen stiffened, putting her chin up, her smile disappearing. But it was only right that they place the blame where it was due. She was the one who’d killed Baldric. Maybe Gaelith enabled her, but her will had done the deed.
Gaelith turned to stand next to her, putting a comforting hand on her upper arm. “All will be well, I swear to you.”
“I submit that Lan Tis is the appropriate destination for the minor child,” Selene continued. “We are the oldest city. We maintain the traditions of the Sia Mara. She will be well trained amongst us. There could be no better domicile.”
“Nonsense.” The speaker was the woman who’d worn the patchwork quilt at the binding ceremony, now seated on an austere chair of metal and orange fabric. Fen tried to remember her name. Dineth? “Ku Mari is obviously where she must go. We were the closest city to Wai Pa. If the child has family, they will be found in Ku Mari.”
“Ys Ker wishes to stake a claim,” Riana, the dramatic woman from the ceremony, said. “We found her. One of our Watchers discovered her existence in the human city of Chicago. We deserve the opportunity to provide her refuge.”
“Indeed, and you allowed her to be attacked by the Val Kyr.” The scoffing tone from the woman of Lan Tis made Fen’s hackles rise.
What the hell? What was this?
“A demonstrated ability to keep her safe should be the very least of the mandatory requirements for her future home,” the woman continued. “She will be in no danger in Lan Tis.”
“She is in Syl Var,” Cyntha Del Mar said, voice calm. “She may remain here in safety.”
The protests rose up from around the table, multiple voices objecting at once.
Fen, lips cold, said, “What’s happening here? Isn’t this a murder trial?”
“Of course not,” Gaelith replied. “You have murdered no one, child.”
Elfie replied as well, her tone matter-of-fact. “I believe your interpretation pattern would call this a custody battle.”
“What the hell? I’m an adult.”
“Not in Sia Mara,” Elfie said. “The age of majority is forty, the time at which one chooses her first score’s work. At twenty-one years of age, you’re an adolescent.”
“The unfortunate circumstances of your life have demanded much of you, true, but no one would hold a child responsible for such unintenti
onal misfortune,” Gaelith said.
Maybe her words were meant to be reassuring, but Fen’s mouth felt dry and the room didn’t hold enough air anymore.
Being tried for murder? Okay.
Being sent back to foster care? For almost twenty more years?
No.
No.
No fucking way.
“You are also a demonstrably talented adolescent,” Elfie continued. “Given the current precarious circumstances of the Sia Mara, a powerful child might affect the probability of the long-term survival of their homes. It is possible the Voices might get tense about this.”
“She belongs at Lan Tis,” snapped Selene.
“Ys Ker has a valid claim,” said Riana.
“Ku Mari is the natural destination for those of Wai Pa. We will allow no less.”
“She is safe in Syl Var,” Cyntha Del Mar offered. “Surface travel is hazardous, as we all know. There is no reason to risk the child.”
“Because your son brought her here,” said the Voice of Ku Mari. “An entirely unreasonable decision, one which must also be closely examined. What evidence did he have of her ancestry before allowing her across Sia Maran borders? Bringing surface dwellers into our cities is a violation of one of our most fundamental laws.”
Oh, hell, now Luke was in trouble, too?
Her eyes flew to Kaio. He was frowning, brows drawn down, shoulders tense, not looking at her, but his body language lacked the relaxed confidence she was used to seeing from him.
“Elfie, what’s the penalty for bringing surface dwellers into a refuge?” Fen whispered.
“Exile.”
Shit. They thought they were going to keep her prisoner and exile Luke?
This had to be a bad dream. A really bad dream.
Malik leaned forward in his chair. Fen’s eyes were drawn to him by the motion and for the first time she realized that his hands and legs were bound as he raised his tied hands and drawled, “Point of order.”
Heads turned in his direction, faces showing shock and surprise. “After refusing to respond to all of our queries, you speak now, Val Kyr?” the woman from Lan Tis spluttered.
“Custody of a minor child traditionally belongs to her nearest kin,” Malik said, ignoring her question. “Do you intend to violate tradition yet again?”
