by Beth Alvarez
“It's good to see you, too. I hear you're Archmage now.”
She nodded. “It's hard to believe. Even for me, sometimes. Shymin is Master of Healing, and Rikka is Master of Wind, too.”
He snorted in amusement. “How far we've all come.”
“And now you've come home.” She smiled, though her cheer was quick to fade. “If only it were under better circumstances.”
“Circumstances,” he murmured. His expression darkened and he drew away. “I feel like I've heard that word a lot lately. But that's part of why I asked for you. Ordin wasn't sure he could convince you to come, but I'm glad he did.”
“Well, it's hard to refuse the Uncrowned Prince,” she teased.
He looked troubled.
“What?” Kytenia arched a brow.
“That's not a title or name I want anymore.”
She couldn't argue with that. With a troubling history behind him on Elenhiise, it should have been obvious that he'd forged a new life for himself elsewhere. She crossed her arms and made herself smile at him again. “Who are you, then?”
He snorted. “On the northern or southern continent?”
Kytenia blinked in surprise. “You've traveled that far?”
“Rune Kaim-Ennen in the north,” he said, ignoring the latter question in favor of the first. “Champion of the Royal City Arena and vassal to King Vicamros II.”
“And in the south?”
“Ruali Dreamhunter.”
“Peculiar names,” she chuckled.
He shrugged.
“Well, since your liege is in the north, I suppose Rune will do.” She kept her arms crossed as she paced around the room. His quarters were only half clean. She couldn't imagine why he'd been put there, with all the space available in the palace. “So you wanted to speak with me. I'd say I'm flattered, but I'm guessing it has more to do with me being Archmage than with me helping rescue you, all those years ago.”
“Don't think I don't appreciate it.” Rune followed her with his eyes. “Right now, the most important thing is why I'm here.”
The lack of urgency in his words startled her. He spoke as if it were business, nothing more. Not the life of his child hanging in the balance.
“I've already done everything I can to help,” she said. “I'm not sure what else you expect of me.”
“I didn't ask you here to tell you what to do. I asked you here to warn you about what we're facing.” Stormy shadows filled his violet eyes.
“Free magic,” she finished for him.
Now he looked surprised.
She drew herself up and looked him square in the eye. “I am Archmage now, Ran. Rune.” The name still felt awkward on her tongue, but it was no worse than seeing him as he was. For most of her life—for the span of their delicate friendship—he'd masqueraded beneath illusory magic that changed his hair to tawny and hid the scales on his arms and legs. Even now when she thought of him, that was the image conjured in her mind, though she'd known his true appearance for years. It would take some time to adjust.
“I am aware of the practices of those before me,” she continued. “As I am aware of your origins, and what the former Archmage sought to do with your power.”
He grew solemn. “Then you know what we have to do.”
That gave her pause. There was a gravity to his words that unsettled her, a heat buried in them that threatened to burn its way to the surface. She hesitated to reply.
What did they have to do? She knew the former Archmage couldn't be allowed to go unpunished after what she'd done. And if exile worked, the woman wouldn't have come back to the island to begin with.
And neither would he.
True, his exile had been more self-imposed, but what other choice did he have? If he'd stayed—even if he'd hidden in the underground—he would have been found and taken to the gallows eventually. Especially once the Underlings had submitted to Firal's rule. But neither Rune nor Envesi were welcome on Elenhiise, and the reasons why mattered little.
“We cannot kill another mage,” she said at last, though stifling doubts rose within her as she spoke. Did mages on the mainland adhere to the same rules of conduct as the island mages? He'd been raised under the same tutelage as she had, even if his Gift was different. Had his time away from the island changed his understanding of their laws?
“I'm not talking about killing her.” Rune sounded irritated at the suggestion. The scowl on his face came as a relief. “With the kind of power she has now, I don't think that's possible. The best we can do is sever her. Hopefully before she learns how to share power with the girl.”
Her relief drained away and a knot of dread formed in her stomach instead. “What?”
“I couldn't link my magic with that of the Alda'anan, but there has to be a way. That's why she took the girl. It must be. If she really is a free mage, then—”
“No,” Kytenia interrupted, waving her hands. “The other thing you said. Sever her?”
Rune's brow furrowed. “What else are we supposed to do?”
That wasn't what she meant, either. She opened her mouth to explain, then grimaced. It served her right, after lording her knowledge over him only a moment before. “When you say severing—is that a practice among mainland mages?”
He stared at her for a moment before understanding lit in his eyes. “You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?”
“I have an idea,” she said, defensive. It would have been difficult not to gather an idea of what it meant, just from the word alone. “I'm just unfamiliar with how it is done. Certain practices are outlawed here, you'll recall.” That let her save face, at least.
Rune considered that for a moment and then shook his head. “Now that I think of it, I shouldn't be surprised. I'm not even sure you can do it. It might be something only a free mage can do. You have to be able to catch the flows and manipulate them directly. All of them, all at the same time.”
Even at a level of strength befitting an Archmage, that was beyond her ability. She could influence the flows, if she spent her own energy to do so, but she could not tap elements outside her affinity any more than she could open a Gate on her own. “That shouldn't be a problem, since you're here.”
The corners of his mouth twitched, and a deeply troubled expression flitted across his face before he caught himself and replaced it with a mask of cool neutrality.
Why would that bother him? Kytenia's eyes narrowed and she started to speak, but a knock at the door cut her off.
Captain Straes didn't wait for a response before he opened the door. “Archmage,” he said, taking a half step in before he realized she was only a few feet away. He froze.
She lifted a brow. “Yes, Captain?”
He glanced between them, his face pinched with worry. “A message from the temple. They need you. Now.”
Edagan was not what most people considered friendly. She did not even label herself as agreeable. But she was Master of the House of Earth, and she was good at her job. And so she found herself—yet again—surrounded by hapless and hopeless magelings who couldn't tell a pebble of sedimentary stone from a wart on their own backsides.
Sighing and rubbing her eyes, Edagan strained not to snap at them again. They were trying their best, she reminded herself. They wouldn't have been sent to her if they didn't have potential. It wasn't their fault she didn't enjoy their company. She didn't enjoy anyone's company, though she tolerated some better than others.
“I think that's enough for today's class.” Edagan closed her notebook and tried not to look at the disappointed faces. Field study was never pleasant for her, but the magelings adored it. It was the only time they were allowed to set foot inside the ruins, even if it was just the outermost rings. In days past, even that was forbidden. One of many things that had changed under Firal's rule, Edagan supposed.
The magelings in their colored robes shuffled into a line, preparing to file out. One lonely figure in white—the only other Master who had come today—moved to the bac
k of the line to herd them along, indicating Edagan would be stuck leading the entourage out of the ruins. A shame, really; she had hoped to send them off ahead of her and take a moment to herself to investigate what looked like the opening to a cavern.
Resisting the urge to sigh again, Edagan turned to address the class. “We will resume today's lesson after—” She stopped short. The small hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She shivered and the hairs on her arms rose, too. A ripple of energy in the air. Something wild, like the crackling flows of a Gate, but worse.
Neve, the Master at the other end of the line, held out a hand as if to keep everyone still. “What is that?”
Edagan frowned and started to reply.
A whistling shriek drowned out her words. The explosion that followed sent her to her knees.
“Down the hall!” Edagan barked over the cries of the magelings. “Farther into the ruins!”
The magelings scurried down the corridor, some on their hands and knees. Edagan spun toward the temple, though she couldn't see over the labyrinth's walls. Only a plume of smoke drifting into the clear blue sky indicated anything was wrong. Any other time, she might have thought it a training accident, nothing to be concerned about. But she recognized that foul feeling in the air, a rotten, tainted sort of magic she had not felt in decades.
Archmage Kytenia had only just mentioned its source the other day. The thought gave Edagan a chill, and she hurried to follow her class into the depths of the ruins.
The opening at the end of a hall that caught her attention earlier in the day wasn't far. The magelings poured into it with little direction. It proved to be a collapsed entrance, but the cavernous front provided refuge for now. Besides, if necessary, they were all mages proficient with earth. Digging a way down to the tunnels of Core wouldn't be difficult.
Edagan lingered by the opening. Neve moved close, the young woman's face troubled. Younger, Edagan corrected herself; Neve had worn Master white since the early days of the temple. Even with the slowed aging experienced by skilled mages, the corners of Neve's eyes and mouth were crinkled from the passage of time.
“What should we do?” Neve asked in a murmur.
For the dozenth time since their excursion began, Edagan struggled not to frown. “Well, one of us will have to go inspect whatever is going on. Rest assured it's nothing good.”
The magelings clustered behind them, most huddling beside the collapsed stone at the back of the cavern. Neve regarded them thoughtfully. Edagan tried not to. They were a pitiful lot, a mix of magelings in every color robe, a muddled mess of gray, lavender, yellow, green, and blue. None useful against trouble, and none of them yet strong enough to aid in the opening of a Gate.
“I'll go see what I can learn,” Edagan said as she adjusted the standing collar of her white robe and ignored the few stray strands of white hair that had fallen from her stern bun.
“Are you sure?” Neve asked.
“You're better with the children than I am.” Edagan didn't care if some of the magelings were old enough to have children of their own; they were all children compared to her. “Look after my class and I'll be back shortly.”
Without waiting for a response, she trudged back out into the ruined corridor and oriented herself to the position of the plume of smoke that rose from temple grounds.
What she was going to do when she reached the temple, she didn't know. For now, she was just relieved to be away from the magelings long enough to think. They were a noisy lot, and their presence was distracting. But they were her magelings. Whether or not she liked being around them, they were her responsibility. She straightened her posture as she walked and pushed them from her mind. As long as they were hidden away with Neve to stand guard, they'd be safe.
The mages in the temple were another story.
Edagan rounded a corner into the last ring of the ruins and froze. The temple walls were only a short distance away, across an open field. The temple itself was quiet and nothing seemed out of order, save the churning cloud of smoke. It rolled steadily from somewhere in the temple grounds, the mark of a constant flame, and the air sizzled with enough power to make her stomach turn.
In spite of the smoke, the temple grounds were quiet and still.
She started forward and took only a handful of steps before a lone figure in white emerged from the shrubbery that filled a gap in the temple wall. The gardens had once been sufficient for privacy; the mage-barrier kept out intruders more effectively than walls ever would.
Whoever it was, the Master saw her and signaled for her to stay put. Edagan retreated to crouch behind the crumbling outer wall of the ruins. Her knees protested, but she remained still.
The Master mage across the field lingered beside the bushes for a long time, then bolted across the field as if afraid to be seen. He'd come halfway before she caught a sense of his Gift, letting her identify him before her aging eyesight could make out his face. Balen was the Master of the House of Fire. What reason did he have to be sneaking about, unless something had gone terribly wrong?
“What in the world is going on?” Edagan snarled in a whisper the moment he was close enough to hear.
“Walk,” Balen replied, taking her by the elbow and guiding her farther from the temple.
Free magic still burned in her senses, though it faded as they moved. She growled beneath her breath. “Speak, boy.”
“Anaide and Shymin are in the Archmage's tower,” Balen murmured. He was unflappable as always, calmer than she thought a Master of Fire should be, but that was one of the reasons they'd chosen him as Alira's successor. The Master of a House needed to be calm, patient, and good with magelings. Or calm and patient at least, Edagan thought ruefully.
“I was the only one outside when the Gate opened.” Balen paused, looking back and forth. Edagan turned him in the right direction and continued toward the refuge where her class awaited while he went on. “The king came through with his daughter in his arms.”
Edagan stopped mid-stride. “That's the best news you could have brought!”
“No,” Balen said, hurrying her onward. Worry puckered his brow. That sort of expression on him was reason enough to be concerned. “He's a prisoner, I believe. He's in the company of... of the previous Archmage, I think.”
“You think?” She tried not to scoff. “She raised you as Master!”
“If it is her, she's... changed, Master Edagan.” His tone was stiff, uncomfortably formal.
It made her stomach lurch. “Lifetree's mercy,” she breathed, stopping to rest a hand on the wall beside her for support. The free magic burning in the air suddenly made sense. It wasn't Ran. It was worse. “She's done it to herself, hasn't she?”
Balen paused a few steps ahead. “Done what?”
She dared not try to explain. “We'll go down,” Edagan said, steeling herself and moving on. “Chisel our way to Core. We'll have to get word to the capital somehow.” How they would manage that, she didn't know. Even with three Masters and a whole gaggle of magelings with an earth affinity, it would take hours to dig their way through the collapsed stone and find a way to Core. Even if they managed it sooner, who knew how long it would take to find their way out of the tunnels? Her strength in her element gave them an advantage, but even that would only get them so far.
Belatedly, she realized she hadn't asked about the fire. “The smoke, what is that?”
“A disagreement between Envesi and Anaide.”
She moaned. “And when she comes face to face with the Archmage, I expect it will only be worse.”
“The Archmage is in Ilmenhith,” Balen said.
“Ilmenhith? Why?” Edagan shook her head. “No, don't answer that. Whatever the reason, it's a blessing right now. We must figure out how to get a message to her.”
“I asked a group of Masters to send word to Wethertree before I came to find you. With fortune, they've managed to do it. The mages in Wethertree were meant to send mages from the countryside to Ilmenhith. If they're
still in Wethertree, they will know how to reach the queen.”
“You've done well, Balen.”
He blinked in surprise. And with good reason; she didn't offer praise lightly or often.
She didn't give him time to bask in it. “Now roll up your sleeves,” she said, doing just that as she descended into the collapsed cavern where Neve and the magelings waited. “We have rocks to move.”
They may as well have been a mountain.
17
Restless discontent
Unseasonably cold rain pattered against the glass in the parlor's front windows. Rhyllyn hovered beside them, his fingers twitching with the desire to wipe the droplets away. He could, from inside; all he had to do was use his magic. The power came so easily now, but he knew wiping the window clean would change nothing. He'd see no better in the water's absence, and the path on the other side of the glass would still be empty.
Behind him, the soft rustle of fabric announced the fact he was no longer alone. He was always aware of Alira's presence, to an extent, but it felt different when she was nearby. Her Gift whined in his senses, like a mosquito hovering beside his ear. Unsettled by the comparison his own thoughts provided, he brushed a hand over the side of his head, as if to ward away the buzz.
“He's not coming back, dear heart.” Alira's voice was soft and tried to be soothing, but it only served to make him more miserable.
“You don't know that,” Rhyllyn murmured, and he surprised himself with how much he meant it.
Alira had no more than returned from Roberian's capital city. She'd seen the uproar herself. Surely the Triad wouldn't have churned itself into a fury over the mere possibility of a hero being slain.
