She stared at him, expression going hard as fear twisted her gut.
"Have circumstance grown so dire?"
"I haven't decided yet," he said.
Em shook her head with a little scowl.
"You can't mean to make me your successor."
"And why not?" he demanded. "None have better qualifications."
"Darien, people only tolerate me because they don't know I work here."
"Pish," he spat, surprising Em. "Those who matter know all about you now, Emily. They know your worth, your intelligence, your competence. If I have my way, and if you so desire, you will become Chief Librarian when I decide I no longer want the position."
"But no woman has ever held such a place," she countered.
"Then you'll be the first, won't you?" he smiled placidly. "And as this won't come about for some years yet, we have plenty of time to accustom people to the idea.
"That aside," he continued while her mind reeled, "If we hope to find any information about Lesser Magics and Destiny's belief that we hold such, I know no other place in our libraries that might contain any mention of such. You will find all useful books we have on magic nestled within these sheltered walls."
Em's gaze again swept over the wealth of knowledge revealed, her grey eyes narrowing at other implications.
"Why?" she asked in suspicion. "Why is this hidden? Why forbidden to all save the Chief Librarian? Why does the King not know about this room and its contents? It doesn't make sense."
"All very valid points, which I also raised when I learned of this room."
"And?" Em pressed when he didn't continue.
"And the answer is, I don't know. It all made sense when my predecessor explained it, but once we left the room, the explanation became cloudy. As does, strangely, the information."
Em blinked a few times, trying to process that. Before she could form any sort of reply, Darien spoke again, his gaze distant as the sea that swam in its depths.
"I've read some of these books, but I only fully recall things when the information becomes needful. Such as the existence of the wizard cells, or the knowledge that magic strengthens the castle walls, including these cleverly hidden ones." He frowned, his attention drawn to the far corner. "Or that that shelf holds what I believe are journals, though I've had little success understanding some of the hands that scrawled the words within."
Em followed his line of sight, worked out his likely thought process.
"You believe this room contains not only books on magic and its history, but perhaps a kind of spell that directs or conceals thoughts? Maybe even a variation on Destiny's memory spell?"
"It's possible," Darien conceded. "Unfortunately, of the two wizards available to ask, one currently sits locked in a cell, and the other I wouldn't trust as far as I could kick him."
Em swallowed a laugh at the description of wizard Marcus. Obviously she didn't stand alone in her dislike of the man.
"Perhaps your Lesser Magic will allow you to recall more than I," Darien said as he moved to the shelf he had indicated, running his fingers lightly across the face of the ledge holding the journals, careful not to touch the books themselves. "I've never come here with a purpose before," he murmured, so quiet that Em had to step up beside him to hear properly. "Only with curiosity. I wonder if that makes a difference?"
He turned his head and angled it down to meet Em's stare, speculation dancing with the shadows created by the candle. "Tell me Emily, holding to the subject we wish to explore, do any books call to you?"
Em felt her brows flutter and her eyelids twitch as she tried to wrap her mind around the question, the implication behind it. And to her surprise, as she thought about Lesser Magics and wizards and history, she realised that she did feel a pull from the journals. Imagination or reality, she didn't know; she simply allowed the feeling to guide her hand. It hovered over Darien's a moment, then slid to the left, to a book bound in battered black calfskin and tied with a frayed cord. Mindful of its obvious age, Em fought the impulse to yank the journal from the shelf. Instead, she carefully teased it from its place, sensing Darien's approval rather than seeing his thoughtful nod as she took it to the table and laid it reverently within the light of the candle, yet out of reach of its flame should the taper somehow fall.
They stared at it for a while, the chair set between them. Finally, Em glanced up at Darien.
"What is this?" she whispered, both fearful and excited.
"I'm not sure," he admitted, his own voice closer to elation than trepidation. "Let's open it and find out."
***
I dare not write these misgivings into a daily report, or I might follow the fate of poor Dancy―no accident, that, despite the official report. But I also cannot remain silent should my foreboding prove true ...
Henri has grown unpredictable, dangerous. No longer content to aid in the governing of Dalasham as an advisor, he now seeks to take power from the monarchs and rule in their stead. But he is clever, our little protege. Subtle enough that others fail to see the danger, forgiving, even condoning, his actions while he quietly scrapes ever more influence into his own hands. He has begun to erode our ability to keep his ambitions in check. Alfred sees it, and, strangely, so does Tercel. The other wizards and governors remain skeptical, or outright back Henri's claims. I fear for our future.
So began the private journal of Wizard Constance. It took Em a moment to familiarize herself with the cramped yet fluid handwriting, and a bit of patience to translate the words. After transcribing those two paragraphs onto fresh parchment, however, both she and Darien knew they read a piece of history previously unknown to either. Assuming this Constance wrote truth.
"Besides Henri, do you recognise any of these names?" Em asked, peering up from the seat she had taken.
Darien shook his head in negation as he read over her shoulder.
"The only records I know of wizards in Dalasham from this time name Henri alone, and only as a connection to wizards, not as a wizard himself," he said. "I've always found explanations of his defeat unsatisfactory and somehow incomplete. However, if other wizards intimate with the kingdom and not simply invited from foreign lands involved themselves in the affair, certain events begin to make more sense."
Em agreed, and wondered why the concept of more than one or two wizards involved in Henri's Rebellion―whether helping to initiate it or fighting against it―had never crossed her mind.
"This report suggests that Henri had a hand in the running of Dalasham before he struck at the crown," she mused. "That other wizards didn't simply walk the streets, but sat in seats of power beside him, right alongside the King."
"Alongside the monarchs," corrected Darien, his tone speculative as his finger hovered over that word. Em met his regard. "Do you suppose she meant the King and his successors, or could she actually refer to something more akin to shared power?"
"Shared? Between King and Prince?"
"Or between King and Queen."
Em stared at him, eyes wide in astonishment.
"But Dalasham doesn't recognise the potential of women," she whispered. Hadn't Em fought against that very prejudice when she had worked to save the King, struggling to make her voice heard not as a woman, but as a person of some value? Did Destiny not rail against that bias now, the fear of a female with power very nearly spelling her execution without trial?
"It may have once," Darien said. "Before Henri's time. But the victors write the histories. We know that better than most. How many accounts differ under separate penmanship?" Em could think of a whole section in the library detailing multiple accounts of the same events. "The author of this journal is clearly female, and she names Henri their protege. That indicates to me that she also likely had a hand in the governing of Dalasham, or at least advising those who did. Wizard and woman, holding a place of prominence within Dalasmar's very walls. It's not so much of a stretch to imagine the Queen in such a time also having some sway."
Em nodded th
oughtfully, trying to grasp the implications of this possibility. Her gaze roamed to the shelves behind Darien. Magics of pre-Revolutionary Dalasham again caught her eye. Forbidden Texts, Darien had called these tomes. Forbidden because of some kind of heresy, she wondered, or for containing dangerous truths?
She looked back at the journal on the desk.
"Whether something truly drew us to this book or not," she said quietly, "it has a story to tell. It might help us understand Destiny's concerns, or give us some insight into the mind of a wizard. But it seems this room has a lot of other resources we should consider." Again, she glanced at Magics of pre-Revolutionary Dalasham. "That one, for instance, might explain how wizards came to have any power in the councils of Dalasham. It could give us a better context for understanding whatever this Wizard Constance has to say."
Darien agreed, turning to gather up the book, along with some others.
"Stick to that one," he instructed as he settled himself at the other end of the desk. "Your Old Dalasham is more than sufficient for swift translation. I'll start on some of these, see what we might find of relevance."
Darien didn't tell her one important fact about the task he had assigned her; something that both frightened and excited him, and lent credence to Destiny's insistence on the existence of these Lesser Magics. Although the Chief Librarian could also read Old Dalasham, he couldn't understand Constance's words. He recognised the language, but the meaning refused to coalesce into any coherence in his mind. Darien suspected the wizard had overlaid her writing with some kind of magical ward, something to protect her fears from reaching the wrong eyes and ears. And somehow, Emily could read past that ward.
Chapter 5
Destiny lay on the hard stone slab staring at the ceiling, her meagre blanket bunched under her head as a pillow and her hands clasped loosely on her stomach. She considered what she had told Darien, and what she had thus far withheld. If she had harboured any doubts about the man's magical abilities, he had trammelled them with his strange, quiet intensity, the demand that she share her story. She didn't understand his empathy, but she certainly gained a further respect for his power. That he brought to bear so much raw talent through the ward of the cell made her wonder how strong he might have become had he received any instruction. In another part of the world, with training and diversity, she suspected that Darien would have grown into an impressive wizard.
With seemingly little effort, though Destiny easily recalled the building pressure of the man's insistence against her mental shields, the Chief Librarian had elicited some of Destiny's past―the very reasons she wouldn't contemplate snatching power from others as Nathan would, having had the like attempted upon her own self. The pain, the torment, the loss. The loneliness. That last had surprised her, the buried sense of isolation she hadn't even known she'd felt. Details she fought to keep to herself tumbled out for Darien's ears, leaving her feeling both empty and oddly relieved.
She had spoken of watching the spill of her mother's blood across the kitchen floor, the crimson drops falling thickly from the gleaming knife in her father's hand as Wizard Shelton―she had never known his name before, only his face and his cruelty―took Nathan away, depriving Girl at the age of five of the only comforts she had known. Countless experiments and casual abuses, both before and after that fateful death, that father had performed upon daughter in an effort to steal her power, all fell from Destiny's lips at Darien's instigation. The years when Shelton had hoped to sire another magic-capable scion upon his own adolescent child came to light, and the spells Destiny had learned and employed to fool the man into believing he had sated his perverted desire. She had told Darien how the many years and teachings of Shelton had warped Nathan's perceptions of Destiny from sister to slave. And finally, she had detailed the night that ended Shelton's life and began Nathan's vendetta.
The blood, the sting of deep cuts mixed with the agony of broken bones, the fire. Spells the vain wizard hadn't believed possible for a woman to master rolling easily from her tongue to shatter the monster who had created her. Defences battered and weakened amid the stench of ichor and smoke, forcing Destiny to flee the place of her birth where her father lay dead, her brother temporarily imprisoned. Those first efforts to start her life anew.
She had even touched upon the Wizarding Schools she had sought out, the teachers who grudgingly parted with a spell or two in return for some bit of knowledge she had stored in her mind, the occasions when one of Nathan's spies or assassins had found her and forced her to move on or risk an unwanted confrontation, before Darien seemed to tire of her voice.
When he finally left, taking the warm light of his lantern with him, Destiny had retreated to the cold comfort of her sleeping shelf. She stretched out in exhaustion to stare at the shadowed ceiling, her sight reduced to what the distant torch beyond the little window in her cell door could reveal.
She finally closed her eyes to the memories, only to have sleep claim her, and with it, memory morphed into dream, and she recalled an evening of more recent events.
Terandale, in the Sudam district of Dalasham not far from the border with Innosvar, didn't boast many amenities, but it did have a decent enough tavern for a modest town. Smoke hung in a heavy pall from both hearth fire and pipes, and soot marred the wooden beams overhead as well as the windows, further darkening an otherwise neutral-looking common room, but the food served by a cheerful young woman made up for the cloying atmosphere with its surprisingly bold and palatable flavour.
Destiny had chosen a small table in the corner furthest from the door. Although any young woman travelling alone would elicit attention, Destiny avoided notice or complications with a simple blurring spell. People would see her, but they wouldn't mark her isolated state as unusual, and so wouldn't bother her, leaving her free to observe unhindered.
She had come to the unmagical kingdom of Dalasham for two reasons. As a land that didn't embrace magic, she knew wizards tended to avoid the capital, meaning Nathan might not think to look for her here. Already, she felt restless, though she didn't know if that sensation came from anxiety or a real aversion to the place. She would only learn later that proximity to Dalasmar truly did increase that discomfort, and instill a desire to quit the urban centre.
The second reason involved finding a patron in or near the capital who wouldn't balk at her efforts to craft a complex spell. She had worked out the concept of a spell to alter an ingrained memory in her mind, refining the many layers required to fulfill her desire, but creating a new spell of this magnitude would leave traces for any who knew to look. She needed a base she could ward, somewhere she could work without interruption while she experimented and perfected her masterpiece away from the prying eyes of wizards. That demanded sheltering under the wing of someone who would see to her needs―food and shelter as well as time and space―while she cloistered herself within her work, and perhaps share in her disregard for the consequences to others.
She had planned to make her way toward Riverbend in the search for such a patron, but fate delivered him into her hands that very evening.
The golden haired man strode into the tavern with the mien of someone who expected the world to conform to his wishes. He dressed as a wealthy merchant, a small handful of guards at his back and a serving man at his heels, but Destiny marked him as a nobleman. His ill attempt at disguise drew her attention and she listened to his grievances without shame. His obvious dissatisfaction with his role as second son and his desire to obtain an equal share of his brother's power and prestige without bothering with the effort it entailed or the responsibility it imparted soon became apparent.
Destiny smiled at his puerile complaints and made a decision.
She waited until the nobleman's eyes swept her corner again, then released the blurring spell. He blinked a few times, the mug he had raised toward his mouth hovering unheeded, the beak-nosed servant speaking at his elbow ignored. Destiny held the man's stare, her eyes bold and challenging. She watched the noblem
an's consternation turn to calculation and cunning before he rose, silencing his servant, and strolled to her table. He plopped himself down across from her, took a swig from his tankard, then plunked it on the table with a small thud. He met her cool regard in silence for a full minute. At last, as she quirked up an eyebrow, he broke eye contact, covering his discomfort at her scrutiny with another swallow of ale. He spoke.
"How did you do that?"
He had a deep voice which carried an expectation that she answer. She smiled slightly, the expression devoid of warmth or humour. Then she leaned forward an inch, drawing him closer, and replied.
"Magic."
Again he blinked, but Destiny didn't see fear writ across his handsome face; she saw excitement.
"What other tricks can you do?" he demanded.
She scowled and pushed herself back.
"I don't do tricks," she sneered. To claim her prowess as a Level Five wizard, the highest order the Wizarding Schools awarded, would mean nothing to a titled man of Dalasham, so she spoke in terms he'd understand. "I employ magic in spells which can manipulate nature."
"What sort of spells?" he asked, his tone more subdued under her cold gaze.
With an effort, she gentled her voice.
"All manner of spells. Even one that might transfer the attributes of one man onto another in the minds of his servants."
He sat back, considering, his golden curls swaying minutely as he rubbed a hand over his mouth.
"What if those servants covered a whole country?" he asked in a soft whisper, and Destiny suddenly understood a great deal more about this nobleman. Or rather, this Prince.
"It would take time and space to effect such a spell with any efficacy, but I could do so, Highness."
He flashed her a wry smile.
"And what would you require for this spell?"
The Forgotten Magic Page 4
