She remembered the chill menace of the white quartz when she, Stefan, Fred and Dari had first encountered it, the eerie way her attention had both slid from the contraption yet kept coming back, as if the Seat tried to bend her sight away even though her mind clearly saw the Focus. The hard edges under her shoulder when she had tried to topple it pinched her now in memory, and the reverberation stinging her arm when she had struck it with the King's sword echoed with phantom sensation along her right arm.
Yet the Seat now almost seemed to greet her, its malevolence transformed into welcome despite its darkness. Whatever had allowed her to counter Destiny's spell, Em fancied that the Destiny Seat now somehow recognised her, and the strange sensation of welcome from an inanimate object raised goosebumps on her flesh.
Pushing such imaginings aside, Em tried to think how Destiny had intended this experiment to morph into something that would regain her the brother she had lost.
"Not an altered memory," she mused aloud, working out her thoughts verbally as she stood in front of the chair again. The guard in the hall barely stirred at the murmur of her voice.
Em set her lantern on the seat, then stood back, hands on hips as she talked to herself, her usual style when working through a problem. "Nothing with false pretenses. She doesn't want to change Nathan's memory so much as restore it, make him remember the little girl who tried to protect him, not the abused woman who killed their father. So how do you go from an intentionally false memory used to fool thousands to a true memory meant to reawaken a single person's past?"
Em found herself circling the broken Destiny Seat again, her hand reaching of its own accord to gently touch the crown at the back of the chair as Destiny had done to trigger her spell. The darkened quartz hummed warmly beneath her fingers and Em jerked away, startled. The Seat almost felt alive, and she stared at it with wide eyes.
"Have you attuned yourself to me in some way?" she whispered, rubbing her fingers together. Did the Seat glow slightly, an aura wavering beneath the perception of her Lesser Magic? Or did she imagine the subtle flavour of power, mistaking the reflections cast by her lantern as facets of magic? Heart beating a rapid rhythm in her breast, Em hesitantly stretched her hand forward again, daring to brush her fingertips across the crown once more. When nothing strange happened, she breathed a sigh of relief, attributing the weird experience to an overtired mind seeking answers when it should lie dormant in bed.
But something had brought her to Destiny's Sanctum in the early hours of morning, and she shoved fatigue aside to chase her thoughts. Something she had muttered to herself tried to claim her attention now and she frowned, struggling to place the thought.
"Restoring a memory," she whispered. "Not trying to create a false one, nor changing an existing one, save in correcting a misconception. Could we use a part of you, some fragment of your surface re-cut as a new focus for a reinstated memory?" She chewed her lip, her hand falling away from the Destiny Seat as she stared at nothing. "But how do you erase years of misguided belief? How do you reconcile the truth against an ingrained fabrication? Experience will match the illusion, not the truth, so how do you fashion a spell to take into account the error perpetuated by alternate memory?
"How do we make Nathan remember his true relationship with Destiny? And would that knowledge actually change his behaviour, or simply give him a wider breadth of understanding? Wizard Shelton may have warped his thinking, but his experience made him what he is; would giving him back the memory of Destiny as his sister make any difference in his intentions?" Em shook her head, her eyes fastened on her lantern. "Foolish to think restoring that memory would help Destiny in any way, not with so much animosity fuelled by years of hatred. So what did she hope to accomplish with a memory spell?"
With an irritated exhalation of breath, Em took up her lantern.
"Better to just ask the woman than have wasted a night of sleep," she griped. She took two brisk strides toward the door, head down as she absently wished she could ask Wizard Constance about her spell as easily as she could ask Destiny for her own thoughts, before her steps suddenly froze. Em spun, staring at the Destiny Seat, using the quartz as a tangible focal point for her sudden cognizance.
"Bright Spirits on high!" she blurted out, corralling the onrush of possibilities swirling through her newly stimulated brain, trying to sort out this potential insight. Constance's Dual Great Magic had changed the nature of magic in Dalasham, but it had also changed people's perception of the force. Yet had she literally wrested magic away from Henri and his ilk and given it to the people, or had she merely made the other wizards forget they had such power in the first place while realigning the flow of magic to affect future generations? Could Constance's work already embody elements of a memory spell that they could manipulate?
What if Destiny and Norbert used the power of the nexus now to restore the memory of magic as a skill, not something to cause fear? If all of Dalasham remembered magic as a tool, something once used by many to help govern and safeguard the land, would they also recall those who had used it, and why? Or would that knowledge, the abundance of magic, spur someone like Nathan into trying to harness it faster?
"Would the real histories reveal themselves, or would such a dramatic revelation unbalance us?" Em wondered. "Could we spread the knowledge of Lesser Magics, but in so doing, teach how to shield against the unscrupulous? Can we use a spell like that once intended for Nathan to protect ourselves?" The Destiny Seat sat silent to Em's questions as she stared at it, for which she breathed silent thanks. She didn't think she would handle it well had the Focus suddenly pulsed, even if only in her imagination.
She patted quickly at her abdomen where the pockets of her smock would normally rest in search of her charcoal stick and a bit of parchment to note down her thoughts, then glanced down in chagrin when she remembered she hadn't donned the smock when she hastily dressed earlier. Instead, she smoothed her skirt and turned for the door with these new ideas, wanting to write down the questions, the possibilities, see if they still made any sense by the light of day. She brought her gaze up to the entrance, door still open for her, and froze again.
A woman around Em's own age with tanned, unblemished skin crowned by waving deep auburn hair brushing her silk-draped elbows stared back at Em from the threshold. Shadows behind her indicated an escort, but the woman gave the illusion of confronting Em alone. Her head canted to one side, she gazed at the librarian from dark slanted eyes in a beautiful face, her expression otherwise hidden by shades of night.
"I wish hear more of your musings," she said, her heavily accented Dalsh as much as her complexion marking her as from the north. She flicked a glance to her escort, then looked back at Em. "You no speak as servant though clothes lack richness, yet you grace halls of Ambassadors. As we bear same gender, is permissible for us to converse, whatever you rank."
Em felt her mouth drop open and forced herself to close it even as she paled. She had known the contingent from Bash had arrived at Dalasmar Castle shortly after she and her group had returned from Erinnerung, but she had never imagined encountering one in her late-night foray, let alone Princess Mantinou herself wrapped in a silken robe. How much did she hear? Bash did not embrace magic users, but more, they seldom recognised the existence of women save through their relationship to a man, ever kept secluded save for specific court functions. So why does their Princess roam the halls before dawn?
Em dropped into a curtsey, the simple linen skirt she had worn yesterday, donned in the dark and without thought to encountering anyone, clutched in nervous fingers as she set her lantern down.
"Princess, you honour me, but I hold no rank," she said in passable Bashite, a language she had learned several years ago.
"No?" Princess Mantinou raised an elegant eyebrow as she replied in her own language. "Yet you speak my tongue. I did not expect to find any so learned, let alone one of my own. Come," she gestured suddenly, turning to walk away. "I will have discourse with you, even though you
lack a title."
Em had little choice. She rose from her genuflection, snatched up the lantern, and followed the Princess, dread hastening her steps and sitting like lead in her belly.
***
A maid rekindled the fire in the outer sitting chamber of Princess Mantinou's lavish quarters while two guards took up posts in the hall, all of them Bashite, and all three having accompanied the young woman and Em back from Destiny's Sanctum just four doors down. Two other Bashite guards had stood outside the next suite of rooms, likely belonging to Representative Prince Tolnar, and while one had frowned deeply at Em's presence, neither had spoken or moved to stop the small group.
Mantinou had folded herself gracefully into an elaborately carved oak chair near the hearth, a deep green velvet cushion softening its seat. She gestured to its companion chair with an upturned palm, waiting until Em settled into it nervously before dismissing the maid to the inner chambers. Em had doused her lantern and set it by the door, leaving only the dancing flames of the fire to illumine the room and its royal occupant. The librarian still had no idea why the Princess had chosen to walk the halls at this late hour―her only escort one maid and a couple of guards, unheard of for someone from a country both protective and dismissive of its women―let alone why she wished to speak to Em. She very much suspected her uncle, Prince Tolnar, would have forbidden any such explorations had he known of them, and wondered whether Mantinou had chosen the late hour to escape scrutiny or as an act of rebellion. Will I ever know? Em wondered, knowing better than to speak first, and not knowing quite how to ask anyway.
"So," Mantinou finally spoke, her Dalsh stilted but clear. "No rank have you. Who is?"
"I―" Em hesitated, then switched to the Bash language. "If it eases you to converse in your native tongue―"
Mantinou held up an imperious hand, demanding silence with a curt shake of her head.
"I practice want," she stated, again in Dalsh. "Understand much, but cannot find words. You answer Dalsh. Yes?"
Em ducked her head in a quick bob of comprehension. While Tolnar, as a long-standing representative from Bash, well knew the Dalsh tongue, he would return home after the royal wedding. Not so for Mantinou, and she stood at a disadvantage, obviously knowing some of the language, but likely having little opportunity in the past to speak it. Em didn't know how much Bash King Stefan might know, but she suspected few if any of the other nobles who resided near Dalasmar Castle could hold a conversation with the Princess―soon Queen―leaving the young woman as even more of an outsider. Unless she knew enough Dalsh to truly fit in.
Of course, feigning ignorance while attaining fluency would give her an advantage too. People would underestimate her intelligence if they thought she couldn't understand their words, and Em could see the intelligence shining from Mantinou's dark and exotic eyes. Even though thoughts of Lesser Magics, Wizard Nathan, the potential of the Destiny Seat and Constance's nexus clamoured for her attention, Em pushed them aside and, for this moment, devoted her time to helping a woman equal in age, but vastly different in experience and expectation.
"I am Emily," she offered. "Junior Assistant to the Chief Librarian."
"Librarian? What is?"
"I help in the care of keeping books."
The Princess frowned.
"You clean? A servant?"
"No," Em shook her head, her words clear and concise to aid in the other woman's understanding. "I study them. Read and write. Help others with research." Have claimed the role of scholar with the King at my side. "I help keep the flow of information."
Mantinou drew back briefly, slanted eyes wide, before leaning forward, hands on her knees. "You have book learning?" she breathed softly, a mix of wonder and denial in her voice. "Is permitted?"
Em winced but nodded. "The other librarians are men," she admitted. "As a female, I cannot rise any higher than Junior Assistant,"―although I might attain the title of Chief Librarian if Darien has his way―"but I have worked in the library for ten years."
"You teach?" she asked. "How read, how write?"
"I have not," Em replied, seeing a hint of disappointment in those slanted eyes. "But Chief Librarian Darien, or one of the tutor librarians can."
"No," Mantinou said decisively, sitting up straight in her chair. "You teach. I find librarian. Tomorrow. After break fast. You teach."
Em gaped at her, aghast.
"I can't!" she choked out.
Mantinou's eyes narrowed.
"Why?" Her voice had lowered, become dark and dangerous.
"I have to go to the Council meeting," Em said, hearing her own voice as a meek squeak. And also work with wizards, try to understand Lesser Magics, research Forbidden Texts with Darien. She frowned to herself. How had she become drawn in so many directions, parcelled into so many different roles? A bare two months ago, she had seldom stepped out of her beloved library. Now ... what have I become? She glanced up at Mantinou's moue of displeasure. "I sit as scribe for Lord Prichard," she quickly explained. Even if I do suspect he used a Lesser Magic to get me to agree to the position. "I take notes that he may peruse later."
"A woman, in Councils of men?" she scoffed, and Em shrugged uncomfortably. How to describe her apprenticeship to the master spy?
"Lord Prichard has some ... eccentricities that the other Councillors indulge. One such allows him the dubious honour of having a female scribe." One privy to the machinations of governance and able to share her thoughts as though they mattered. The idea, the daunting possibilities and trust, as ever, surprised her. But she could say none of that to the Princess.
Mantinou continued to frown at her.
"Lord Prichard," the dark woman said, eyes flicking in thought. Then they widened in recognition. "With many rings?" She wiggled her fingers with the word. "And ... strong? ... clothes? Thinks much of himself?"
"That's the one," Em smiled. Strong clothes indeed; she imagined he had worn something outlandish to the welcoming feast, brightly coloured and ruffled. Or perhaps overly layered.
Mantinou waved a hand dismissively.
"He no miss you. Scribe his own notes."
Em's smile vanished.
"Ah," she hedged, feeling for Mantinou's situation yet already stretched too thin for another responsibility. "King Stefan usually asks for a copy of my notes. I don't know if he will appreciate my absence on such short notice."
Mantinou's gaze flashed to Em's face, studying her plain features, her discomfort.
"You know King?"
"We've spoken," she replied cautiously. Dangerous ground, she thought, wondering how she could extricate herself from the young woman's intensity. The Princess would marry the man, and must have a great deal of curiosity about him, but Em didn't think Stefan would want Em to share their recent exploits to the west with Mantinou, let alone their efforts with Destiny in regards to magic.
Mantinou waited in silence, and Em fought the urge to fidget in her chair, clenching her fingers together to keep their tremble from giving away her unease. I'm too tired to deal with this now. But until Mantinou dismissed her, Em sat trapped by protocol. And no one knows where I am, she thought. Except maybe the guard on the door to Destiny's old room.
"What is like?" Mantinou's hesitant whisper pulled at Em, and she saw not a proud Princess sitting before her, but a frightened young woman in a land not her own, trying to find her way. Raised knowing her role as a political tool, she nevertheless must find herself in an uncomfortable position. Wed to a stranger twice her age in a foreign land; she wanted reassurance, not intrigue. Em softened. In the back of her mind, she could almost hear Fred scoff at her succumbing to a cliched tale, the girl using her plight to garner sympathy and gain information. She fondly pushed aside the imagined rebuke and faced the girl in question. Defining Stefan's character to his betrothed would harm no one.
"King Stefan is a wise and generous ruler," Em said. "Hard if necessary, but compassionate. He tries to listen to all sides before making a decision, but he won't t
olerate foolishness and will hold firm to what he believes is right." Even if that leads to his brother's escape. "He cares for his people, their well-being and safety, whether noble or base born. He is an expert swordsman, but a mediocre cook." Em stopped, biting her lip hard. Yes, Prichard had taken over cooking on their journey after a near disastrous attempt by Stefan to make a meal, but how could she explain that to Mantinou? She quickly pressed on, hoping the girl would overlook her flush and not mistake it for anything other than embarrassment. "He will treat you well."
"Indeed," Mantinou raised a delicate eyebrow, regarding Em with speculation.
"Um," Em said, fighting off a yawn and struggling to distract the woman. "It grows late, Princess. Please do not let me keep you up should you wish to retire."
Second eyebrow joining the first, Mantinou simply stared at Em. Em tried not to squirm, but the fatigue she had managed to keep at bay seemed to slam into her, and she knew if she couldn't escape now, she might say something the King wished kept quiet. Still, until Mantinou gave her leave, Em felt trapped. Just get up and leave, a part of her begged.
"You are strange, librarian who scribes for King, " the dusky woman said. "You have much liberty for woman, yet little skill with etiquette." Em cringed even though the Princess had veiled her rebuke with a mild tone. "I not heard all of musing I wish yet. You answer before dismissed."
Em bowed her head, waiting, fearing what Mantinou would ask. She tried to master her exhausted mind, knowing she would need her wits to keep secret that which she must not reveal.
"Who is Nathan you name in empty room and how do spelling affect history?" Em's chin jerked up, surprise writ plain across her face as she stared at the Princess. The other woman acknowledged Em's shock with a slight nod. "What is meaning of Lesser Magic? And what means unscoople?"
The last confused Em as much as Mantinou, and she chose to concentrate on it first. Unscoople? What had she said in the Sanctum? She frowned as she tried to recall.
The Forgotten Magic Page 20
