She expected her father to scold her, but Torin sighed and lowered his head. Madori was surprised to glimpse a tear in his eye.
"Father . . ." she whispered, her anger leaving her.
He pulled her into an embrace, and she let her dagger fall into the mud.
"Yes, my daughter, I fought in battles. I still fight them every night in my dreams. And I don't want this life for you." He placed a finger under her chin, raised her face toward his, and stared into her eyes. "I want you to follow your dream of becoming a mage—not a warrior like I was. We'll keep traveling to Teel University and forget about those men. You will achieve greatness on your terms, not letting others drag you into the mud."
She gestured down at their filthy clothes. "We're already in the mud." She laughed softly and hugged her father. "All right, Papa. We keep going."
They climbed back onto the cart, and Hayseed resumed walking, taking them down the road. Madori had spent the past few turns dreaming about Mageria, this kingdom of magic and enlightenment, the home of the great University. She spent the rest of the turn in silence, staring ahead, a cold pit in her stomach.
Mongrel.
Beast.
A creature for a cage.
She lowered her head, clutched her hands together, and missed home.
CHAPTER TWO:
THE TOWERS OF TEEL
After traveling by cart for almost a month, Madori saw the splendor of Teel University ahead. She gasped and tears stung her eyes.
"It's beautiful, Father," she whispered, clutching the hem of her shirt. "It's so beautiful."
He nodded thoughtfully, bottom lip thrust out. "The gardens aren't bad."
She punched his arm. "I don't care about the gardens!" She had to wipe tears from her eyes. "I've never seen anything like this."
When Madori had been a child, her mother would read her fairy tales of castles, their white spires touching the sky, their banners bright. Madori had always thought the stories just that—stories. Yet here before her was a fairy tale come to life.
She didn't know where to look first; her eyes wanted to drink it all in at once. She forced herself to move her eyes from the bottom up, admiring every bit in turn. Down the road, past green fields and a pond, sprawled a town of a hundred-odd buildings, their roofs tiled red, their walls built of timber foundations and white clay. Beyond the town, dwarfing even the tallest of its roofs, rose ivy-coated walls topped with merlons and turrets. Behind the walls rose four great towers, taller than any temple or castle Madori had ever seen; they seemed to scrape the sky itself. Between the towers rose a great, round building ringed with columns. A dome topped the building, looking large enough to easily contain all of Fairwool-by-Night with room to spare.
"Teel University," Madori whispered, her fists trembling around folds of her shirt.
A place of knowledge. A place of acceptance. Perhaps back in her village she was a mere creature to scorn. Perhaps ruffians along the road mocked her mixed blood. But here, finally, was the place Madori had always dreamed of, a center of enlightenment.
Torin pointed. "The dome is the Library of Teel. I've seen it illustrated in books. They say it's the largest library in the world." He pointed at the towers next. "Each of the four towers contains its own faculties of magic."
Others were traveling the road around them, heading toward the university. Madori saw thoroughbreds with braided manes pulling fine carriages, and behind their glass windows—real glass, a material as expensive as gold!—Madori saw youths dressed in finery, jewels adorning them. Parents spoke animatedly, and they too wore costly, embroidered fabrics.
"Ah, when I was a lad, I studied in Agrotis Tower," said one man, riding by upon a destrier. A samite cloak hung across his shoulders, and he patted his ample belly with a pudgy hand heavy with rings. "Of course, back in those days, I weighed a few stones less. Climbing all those stairs would be harder now."
The man's son, a scrawny youth of about sixteen years, nodded silently and nervously coiled his fingers together. Golden chains hung around his neck, and his sleeves alone—puffy things inlaid with rubies and amethysts—probably cost more than Madori's house back home.
She suddenly felt very plain, what with her humble woolen leggings and shirt—garments she had sewn herself—and muddy boots heavy with buckles. She owned no jewelry, and her prized possession was her dagger with the antler hilt, hardly the weapon of nobility. Her father looked just as humble, clad in a simple tunic and breeches. Madori had known that only noble children could attend Teel University, and officially she was highborn; her father had been knighted after the war. But riding here upon her cart, she realized that—despite the technicality of her highborn blood—she was as far removed from true nobility as lizards were from dragons.
Twisting her fingers in her lap, she looked at her father.
"They're probably just as nervous as you are," he said.
Madori bit her lip. "Their clothes are nicer than mine."
"Everyone's clothes are nicer than yours, Billygoat. That's what happens when you don't listen to your mother."
She snorted. "Mother wants me to dress in Elorian silk. Then I'd really stick out like a frog in a fruit bowl." She sighed. "Papa, when you went to the war years ago, were you ever scared? I mean . . . suddenly just so scared you didn't think you could do it?"
His eyes softened and he patted her shoulder. "All the time."
She looked around at the other youths with their rich clothes and jewels, then up at the university towers. "How did you go on? How didn't you run home?"
He mussed the cropped hair on the top of her head. "You're not going to war, little one."
"I know." She gulped and nodded. "But I'm still afraid."
He looked ahead at the rising walls of the university, seeming lost in thought. Finally he spoke softly. "I'll teach you a little trick I used back in the war—when I was afraid, when I was in danger. I told myself: To survive, you only have to breathe the next breath. That's it. Just the next breath." He took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. "And then another breath. And another. I tried not to think too far ahead—just on taking that next breath, and every time that air flowed down my lungs, I realized that I'm still alive. I'm still going. And I could go a little longer and I'd survive that too. Some people say that you achieve great things step by step. But sometimes it's not even about moving—it's about living a little longer and realizing that you're still around, that you'll be all right."
She nodded and took a deep breath. "I like that, Papa." She leaned over in her seat and kissed his cheek. "Thank you."
Hayseed walked onward, pulling the cart into the town of Teelshire. The road was cobbled here, lined with houses that rose two or three stories tall, their roofs tiled, their windows filled with glass. Madori saw shops selling fabrics, pottery, sculptures, and books. An inn pumped out smoke from four chimneys, the sign above its door displaying a wolf in a dress and the words, "The Dancing Wolf." Everywhere she looked, she saw the other applicants—highborn youths with darting eyes. And among them . . .
Madori gasped. "A mage," she whispered. She tugged her father's sleeve. "Look. A real mage."
The man walked ahead, clad in a black cloak and hood. His eyes gleamed from the shadows. With a flourish of fluttering robes, he stepped into a shop with no sign, vanishing into the shadows.
Torin grumbled. "I've seen mages like him in the war—the black robed ones. Nasty folk. Your mother still has a scar along her arm from their foul magic." He winced. "Madori, are you sure you want to do this?"
She nodded vehemently. "Yes! Not all mages wear the black robes. Not all practice the art of war. I will practice the magic of healing." She thought back to that horrible year—the year her mother's belly had swelled, the year her little brother or sister had died in the womb, leaving her still an only child. She nodded. "I will do this. I will pass the trials. I will gain admission. And I will become a healer."
Because healers were respected wherever they went,
she knew. Healers were not mongrels or monsters. Healers were beloved.
Past shops, around a pond, and along a road lined with cottages, they reached the walls of the university. An archway loomed here, its bronze doors open, tall enough that a cherry tree could have stood within it. Guards flanked the entrance, clad in burnished breastplates, red plumes sprouting from their helmets. A potbellied, mustached man stood in checkered livery, ringing a bell. His hand was coned around his mouth.
"All applicants to Teel University!" he cried out, bell clanging. "All applicants step through these gates! Parents shall wait in the town. All applicants—step through!"
Torin watched the portly crier. "His mustache looks a bit like that thing that's growing off your head."
Madori nervously tugged the two long, black strands that framed her face. "You sound like Mother. Now go—I saw a tavern farther back. Wait for me there. Swap war stories with the other fathers."
She made to hop off the cart, but he held her shoulder.
"Wait, Billygoat." He tapped his cheek.
She rolled her eyes, but she dutifully gave him a kiss. After climbing off the cart, she gave dear old Hayseed a kiss too, then gulped and began walking toward the gates.
"Good luck!" Torin cried behind her.
Madori dared not even look back at him. If she looked back and saw him waving, saw dear old Hayseed, saw all those memories of home, she thought she wouldn't dare keep going.
Breath by breath, she thought. Like Father taught me. She inhaled shakily and walked forward. Just survive the next breath.
Chin raised and legs trembling, she walked through the gates, entering Teel University.
* * * * *
Torin watched his daughter vanish into the university, then stood for a long moment, staring at the gates. Finally, with a deep sigh, he turned and headed back into the town of Teelshire.
"Good luck, Billygoat," he said softly, walking along the cobbled street.
A part of him, however, didn't wish her luck. That part, perhaps petty, wished that Madori failed at the trials. If she gained admission to the university, Torin would travel the road home alone. His daughter would remain here among these walls for four years—a journey of many turns away from Fairwool-by-Night.
I'd miss you, Torin thought. Koyee would miss you too.
Madori often clashed with her mother—the two would argue over everything from Madori's clothes and hairstyle, to her disdain of Qaelish lessons, to the tattoo on her wrist—but Torin knew that the two women deeply loved each other.
Women? Torin frowned. Since when had Madori become a woman? It was only recently that Torin was changing her swaddling clothes, teaching her how to walk, and delighting whenever she learned to speak a new word. And now—in a blink of an eye—she was a woman?
He sighed.
You became a woman somewhere between Fairwool and Teelshire, he thought. He was both proud and terrified of how fast she had grown up. Maybe he was scared to let her walk alone in the world. And maybe he simply missed the child she had been, a child who had depended on him.
He didn't know how long the trials would last, but he saw many other parents ambling about the town, finding bookshops, teashops, and mostly alehouses to wait in. They were typical nobles, he thought, men and women adorned in embroidered fabrics, sporting bright jewels for all to see. Torin was the son of a knight, and after returning home from the war—a hero known across Moth—he had received his own knighthood. Yet he sought no castles, no riches, simply the humble life of a gardener. He knew that his simple peasant's garb, the dirt beneath his fingernails, and his humble demeanor dreadfully embarrassed Madori whenever they visited the courts of Arden—and even here in Mageria. Torin smiled grimly.
Good. It's a father's job to embarrass his children.
The houses and shops rose three stories tall around him, their windows displaying wares from across Mageria—rich woolen fabrics to rival even those from his village of weavers, statues and paintings of landscapes, armor and weapons, and all manner of books and scrolls. The shops were doing good business this turn; Torin guessed that the Turn of Trials was their busiest of the year, a time when the wealthiest parents across the world came to wait nervously . . . and spend.
Finally Torin passed by The Dancing Wolf tavern again. He decided that more than he cared to shop, he'd like to drown his worries in a big mug of ale. Worrying for Madori always gnawed on him—he hadn't stopped worrying about her since her birth—but now a new concern had risen. The encounter with Lord Serin still weighed heavily upon him. His cousin's warning echoed in Torin's mind.
The Radian Order rises in the sunlight. The creatures of darkness will cower before us.
Torin grimaced. He had heard similar rhetoric years ago. Last time, such hate-mongering had led to a war across the world. Torin had feigned indifference around Madori, not wanting to worry the girl, but now his belly twisted. The memories of that war years ago—the fire in the night, the blood on his sword, the countless dead around him—still haunted his dreams, and now those memories flared even here in this peaceful, sunlit town.
Shaking his head grimly, he stepped into the tavern.
A large, warm room awaited him. His usual haunt back home—a cozy little tavern called The Shadowed Firkin—was a place of scarred oak tables, a scratched floor, and commoners boasting about the size of their squashes and the longevity of their sheep. But here Torin found a tavern that looked almost as luxurious as a nobleman's hall. Tapestries hung on the walls, depicting scenes of hunters and hounds under a sky full of birds. Actual tablecloths covered the tables, revealing cherry-wood legs engraved in the shapes of horses. Armchairs basked in the heat of two roaring fireplaces, and sunlight fell through stained-glass windows. Casks of ale and wine rose along one wall, and a bar stood gleaming with polished brass taps. The tavern was still half-empty, but every moment the bell above the door rang as more parents shuffled in.
Nodding at a few other fathers—their cheeks were already red with ale—Torin made his way to the bar. He sat on a stool, placed a few coins on the counter, and ordered a dark brew.
He raised the drink in the air, silently making the same toast he always did—a toast to old friends. To Bailey. To Hem. To lost souls, old memories.
"It's been seventeen years, friends," he said, his voice too low for anyone to hear. "I still think about you every turn."
He drank for them, thinking of home, missing that old tavern near the dusk, missing his old friends.
Snippets of conversation, rising from the armchairs by the fireplace behind him, reached Torin's ears, interrupting his thoughts.
"Now the Radians!" one man was saying. "There are some folks with sense to them, I say. Proud. Get things done. They're doing some good work in Timandra."
A second voice answered. "I've been saying it for a while, I have. Can't trust the nightfolk. Damn 'lorians moving into the sunlight now—I saw some myself, right here in Teelshire! You let in a few, soon they'll swarm. Let the Radians deal with them."
Torin twisted in his seat, glancing toward the hearth. Two noblemen sat there, holding tankards of ale, their cheeks ruddy and their bellies wide. They noticed his glance and raised their tankards.
"Oi, friend!" said one of the pair, his yellow mustache frothy. "You agree with us, don't you? You're a man of Arden; I can tell from the look of you. Right on the border with the night, you lot are." He nodded. "The Radians will protect you. They'll protect us all from this infestation of filthy Elorians."
Torin winced. Filthy Elorians . . . His wife was Elorian. His daughter was half-Elorian. He had fought and killed to save Elorians from the cruelty of daylight.
The ale tasted too bitter in his mouth. He turned away from the men and faced the bar again. His heart sank.
Did I make a mistake? he wondered, throat tightening. Should I have truly brought Madori here into the wide world—a world that is hostile toward her? Part of him wanted to race outside, barge into the university, grab his d
aughter, and drag her home to safety. Madori would shout, claiming she was old enough to seek her own fortune. Even Koyee would insist that they could not shelter Madori forever. But how could Torin let his little girl go alone into this world—a world full of hatred and ignorance, a world that would hate her simply for her blood?
A stool creaked as a cloaked, hooded man sat down beside Torin. After ordering his own mug of ale, the stranger spoke in a low voice.
"You're right to ignore those fools." He turned his head toward Torin, though his face remained hidden in the shadows of his hood. "You can't fix stupidity, only hope to avoid it for a while."
The stranger's voice seemed familiar, as did his slender, short frame. Torin leaned closer, squinting, trying to see into the hood's shadows.
"Bit warm in here for a hood and cloak," Torin said.
The man received his mug of ale, took a sip, then leaned closer to Torin, letting some light fill his hood. "Warm but safe."
Torin's eyes widened. He nearly choked on his drink. "Cam?"
His friend—Camlin, King of Arden—smiled thinly and pulled his hood further down, letting new shadows hide him. "Hullo, Torin old boy. I thought I saw you in the crowd outside. You stick out like a black sheep with those ridiculous clothes from home."
The weight instantly lifted from Torin's shoulders. The world was dangerous, his daughter was leaving home, and hatred lurked only several paces behind him—but his friend was here, and things suddenly seemed a little brighter.
"I stick out?" Torin said. "Look at your clothes." He pointed at Cam's shabby old cloak.
The slender man sipped his ale. "That's different. I'm in disguise." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "I can't just walk around without this cloak and hood. People would mob me. I'm the King of Arden after all."
"King consort," Torin corrected him. "Queen Linee is the real monarch."
Cam groaned. "Will we ever have a single conversation without you reminding me of that fact?"
Daughter of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 4) Page 2
