by M. J. Scott
It had taken the combined powers of all the magic wielders of the court and had cost more than that.
But in the end Anglion had been freed.
So the stories had said.
Of course, in the stories, the Temple didn’t try to kill royal witches. So who knew what she could believe.
If she couldn’t trust what she could believe, then she would try a different approach. Start with what she knew. Build on that knowledge. Then she would be able to determine a plan. Find a way to survive. To keep her and Cameron alive.
Starting now.
Settling her hands into her lap, she made herself smile again at Henri. “What was it you wished to discuss, Maistre?”
“Any number of topics comes to mind, Lady Scardale,” Henri replied, switching back to Anglish. He turned his attention to Cameron, who was hesitating beside her chair. “Please, Lord Scardale. Sit. We may as well be comfortable in body for this conversation.”
Meaning what? That it was going to be uncomfortable in other ways? Sophie tightened her grip on the thin thread that was all she could touch of the ley line. What exactly she, half-trained and now outcast, might do against a master wizard of Illvya was a question she didn’t want to think too hard about. Still, between her earth magic and Cam’s blood magic, perhaps they could at least do some damage if they were attacked.
“Have you heard from the emperor?” she asked as Cam settled into the chair beside hers after pointedly moving it several inches nearer to her. The emperor seemed the most likely reason for them to be summoned to meet with the maistre again so quickly.
“No,” Henri said. “I sent a messenger to the palace earlier. The message has been received but so far, I have not received a response.”
“Is that usual?” Cameron asked.
Henri shrugged. “The emperor is not a hasty man, as a rule. I think if he has not sent for you by now, then it will likely be a few days.”
And what, exactly, did he need those few days for?
Cameron didn’t look happy with the news. “But he will send for us?”
“Almost certainly,” Henri said.
“And in the meantime?” Sophie asked.
“That is what we shall discuss. That and other matters.”
That wasn’t exactly reassuring. It would be nice to know that Henri was on their side.
“You said you wanted news of Chloe,” Sophie said. “Perhaps we could start there.”
Chloe de Montesse had never told Sophie much of her relationship with her parents or of her past in Illvya other than her husband had been killed before she had fled Illvya. The fact that she’d chosen to flee to Anglion, where she would be treated with suspicion for life as an Illvyan refugee and marked as a free witch by the colors of her hair, suggested that however her husband had died, it was in a manner that the powers that be in Illvya did not approve of. One that might bring repercussions to his wife.
Had her husband been a traitor? The thought hadn’t occurred to Sophie before. Perhaps Henri was not a father seeking news of his daughter but the maistre of the Academe, seeking news of a renegade. After all, a man as powerful as he should surely have been able to protect his daughter when she needed such protection.
Hopefully none of this sudden torrent of speculation running through her brain was apparent to Henri. If it was, he showed no reaction, merely inclined his head and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. If he was trying to look as though news of his daughter was of little import, the spark of eagerness in his pale eyes betrayed him.
“Chloe was well when we left Kingswell. She was not harmed in the attack, and no sanctions or punishments were being imposed on Illvyan refugees.” That she was aware of. Cameron might know more but he was apparently keeping his counsel.
Tall, dark, and silent. She’d forgotten that had been how she had once categorized her husband. She knew a different side of him now, but apparently he could still play the stone-faced warrior when required.
She might need that side of him now. Intimidation and bluff were probably how they were going to survive, if indeed they were going to survive. If they didn’t, it wasn’t going to be because she hadn’t tried to avoid that fate. If she’d wanted to die, she could have taken the easy path and remained in Anglion. Or not fought off the assassin sent to kill her.
“And before that?” Henri asked, leaning closer.
Sophie chose her words carefully. “I have only come to know your daughter recently, Maistre. But she has a business of her own in Kingswell. She is prospering.”
“Why did you not know her before?”
“Your daughter’s store provides magical supplies, Maistre,” Cam said. “My wife only recently reached her Ais-Seann. She had no need of such things. Besides which, women of her rank do not tend to frequent the port. That is where Madame De Montesse has her store. It is in a good street but not somewhere the palace ladies often choose to venture.”
“Madame de Montesse,” Henri said musingly. “She has not remarried, then?”
“I am not aware that she has a husband,” Sophie said. If Chloe was married, she was keeping the man well hidden. And indeed, it would take a brave man to marry an Illvyan free witch in Kingswell. She wondered if the maistre was testing them. Anglion had always been full of rumors that Illvya had spies in the capital. In most parts of the country, even. Did Henri already know about Chloe and just wanted to see if they would tell the truth? “But she seems content.”
His expression was both pleased and a little sad, she judged. Which suggested that perhaps he was, indeed, a worried parent rather than the master of wizards, hunting down a wayward witch.
“Thank you, Lady Scardale,” he said. “That is . . . a comfort to hear. Chloe always forged her own path. Nothing anyone else could say would ever dissuade her from a plan once she had formulated it. It is hard to have her be somewhere where so little word reaches us. But it will please my wife to have this news. As it pleases me.”
“So little word.” Not “no word.” She wondered where exactly he obtained his information. From whoever the emperor’s spies in Anglion were? Or whoever controlled them here, perhaps. Some news obviously traveled between the two countries. Henri had known who they were when they’d arrived. But if the emperor did have spies in Kingswell, she couldn’t imagine that he would waste their time on Illvyan refugees who were causing no trouble. No, they would be trying to find out what was happening at court, amongst those with power. “I am glad to be of help. Chloe was always kind to me.”
“Was she the one who helped you get to Illvya?” Henri asked, then pursed his lips, holding up a hand with forefinger extended. “Perhaps it is wisest if you do not tell me such things.”
“That seems safest,” Cameron agreed.
He had been watching their exchange, blue eyes wary. She’d caught him glancing around the room, as much as he could without moving to give his reconnaissance away. Had he the same thoughts about demons as she did?
“Then I suppose that brings us to our next topic of conversation,” Henri said.
“Which is?” Cam asked, his voice less friendly.
“What exactly we are going to do with the two of you, of course. You are not naïve, Lord Scardale. Not as young as your wife.” He inclined his head to Sophie as if in apology. “I do not mean offense, my lady, but you are new to your power.”
“I was Queen Eloisa’s lady-in-waiting for several years before I reached my majority, Maistre,” Sophie said. “I have lived in the court for all that time. I am not totally inexperienced.”
“Ah, so. Yes. But being a lady of the queen—or the crown princess, as she was—offers a degree of protection in a stable court such as the Anglion one has been for some time now. You will find our politics somewhat more . . . robust.”
Sophie blinked. “I thought your emperor ruled the entire continent.”
“He does,” Henri said. “But one man cannot oversee such an empire alone. His Imperial Majesty has a tight grasp on the rei
ns of power, but those reins are attached to many steeds, so to speak. Ministers of parliament. The officers of his armies. The governors of his countries. It can make things complicated.”
“I will confess, Maistre,” Sophie said. “I do not fully understand what exactly a parliament is.” She had been taught to fear the might of the emperor of Illvya, but her education had neglected any details of how exactly he ruled his empire. It had discussed the strength of his army and his mages, not his bureaucracy. And at that moment she would take any scrap of knowledge about either that she could gather.
“In Anglion, your queen has advisors, no? As did her father before her?”
“Yes. But they are advisors only. She does not have to take their advice.”
Henri chuckled. “Yes, well. That is perhaps not so different. The trouble is our empire is large, so the number of advisors required to bring the emperor knowledge of all the different lands and their attendant issues is likewise large. So that is the role of the parliament. They represent the people. Both those who have a seat by virtue of title or rank, and those who are appointed by their localities.”
“But your parliament does not just advise. It also makes laws, doesn’t it?” Cameron asked.
Apparently, the Red Guard educated its officers better in the politics of Anglion’s enemy than her tutors had her.
“It can propose laws, but ultimately the emperor approves or disapproves them.”
Cameron nodded. “And if he disapproves?” Apparently her husband shared her desire to understand Illvya better.
“Usually the law is revised until his disapproval is reduced. Or until the parliament decides they do not wish to pursue the battle.” Henri looked amused. “After all, the emperor has more cards up his sleeve than they do. Ultimately his armies are sworn to him. And then, of course, there are his magic users.”
“Are you sworn to the emperor as well?” Sophie asked.
“All Illvyan magic users make an oath to protect the land. That is generally interpreted as protecting the crown as well. The parliament does not interfere in our business though, and we try not to interfere in theirs unless the situation warrants it. That usually means war. Or something similarly catastrophic.”
That was a neat answer. One that did not precisely answer the question she had asked. A fact, she imagined, Henri was well aware of. She decided not to push. If they appeared too interested in any one particular aspect of Illvyan life, Henri might just decide to stop talking. “What about the temple? Where is the goddess in all of this?”
Henri smiled and offered another small shrug. “Well, that is the other thing about an empire, my lady—many countries equates to many beliefs. The earth witches still worship the goddess, of course, but you will find she does not hold such sway here as she does in Anglion.”
“Does the temple have a representative in the parliament?” Sophie held her breath. She had no desire to cross paths with another domina intent on power.
“No. The most senior of the dominas, the one who presides over the main temple here in Lumia, comes to court, but I would say her influence is not particularly strong with the current emperor.”
Which either meant he was not pious or he worshipped another deity.
“There are many rumors about your emperor. About what his powers may or may not be,” Cameron said. The question at the end of that sentence hovered unspoken.
“That, Lord Scardale, is a question you will have to ask him,” Henri said.
Another non-answer, Sophie noted.
Cameron nodded, smiling slightly as though he hadn’t really expected an answer to the question. “Perhaps I will.”
“Which rather brings us back to our topic. About how the two of you intend to occupy yourselves while you wait for His Imperial Majesty to decide what use he wishes to make of you.”
Cameron’s mouth flattened. “And if we don’t wish to be made use of?”
“Then, as I see it, your options are to try to disappear into the empire and see if you can find somewhere where he will not find you. Or perhaps to return to Anglion, where he definitely will not pursue you.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Cameron muttered.
“The emperor has larger plans in that direction than the pursuit of one stray witch and blood mage, I would imagine,” Henri said.
“What if we do neither of those things?” Sophie asked. She didn’t see how they could possibly return to Anglion. And as for the other, well, that would take planning. She imagined if they tried to run now, they would not make it very far. Not with so little knowledge of the empire. Better to be realistic. Or at least appear to be so.
“Then I imagine you will have to deal with His Imperial Majesty and whatever he decides he wants from you. And with what he makes of your explanations in relation to your . . . ambitions.”
“I don’t have any ambitions,” Sophie said forcefully. The last thing she wanted was to be tangled up in still more politics.
Henri shook his head. “I believe, after what occurred in Kingswell, that may be a difficult position for you to convince anyone of. You are now one of those near the top of the line of succession for the Anglion throne, as I understand it. People will expect you to want what most of them want.”
“And that is?”
“Power, my dear. Simply put. That is what they will see in you. In both of you. Power. Currently unleashed. Unattached. And perhaps uninformed.” He pursed his lips. “In your place, Lady Scardale, I rather think the safest path would be to decide that a few years studying at the Academe was what I wanted.”
Become a student? Why?
“Why?” Cameron asked, echoing her thoughts. He had edged forward on his seat.
“If you choose to devote yourself to studies, it would demonstrate that you are not trying to provoke anything. Or anyone. Students are generally not considered fair game in the court’s machinations here. Or the parliament’s. It is not a complete guarantee, of course—nothing in life is—but it is something to think about.”
“Wouldn’t studying here be a signal that I wanted to increase my powers?” Sophie asked.
“Perhaps. Most will view it as a sign that you are not wedded to Anglion teachings though. That you are open to other ways of thinking. That is more important, at least as an immediate concern.”
“I see,” Sophie said. It was tempting. To have more knowledge about her magic. Knowledge beyond what the temple in Anglion would teach her. Beyond that which the Domina had allowed her to know. Which Sophie suspected was less than other earth witches of the Anglion court. But studying Illvyan magic would make it a thousand times more difficult to return to Anglion. Besides which, there had to be advantage to Henri in him offering them the option. Particularly when he had brought it up so readily.
“Lord Scardale is also welcome to continue his studies. Blood mages are valued here.”
“I never was much of a student,” Cameron said, spreading his hands. “I may not be worth your time.”
“You were good enough to be a member of the Red Guard, were you not? That shows some degree of skill. Besides, you may find it interesting to see how our methods differ. And, as I said, becoming a student here sends a message.”
Cameron nodded. “We will consider your offer.”
“Excellent, we can speak more later. But now I have other duties to attend. The Academe doesn’t run itself, unfortunately. I shall have Martius escort you back to your rooms.”
A demon? Sophie flinched, unable to control the reaction quickly enough to hide it.
Henri must have noticed her expression. “You will come to no harm from my fam,” he said. “And if you are to stay here at the Academe, you must become accustomed to the familiaris sanctii. Petty fams, too. Those, in particular, you will find it hard to avoid.” He made a peculiar gesture, an angled sweep of his hand down toward the floor. “Martius, show yourself.”
Sophie felt a sudden chill, and then a creature like the one who’d greeted them at th
e door to the Academe last night stood before them.
It was several feet away but she could still feel the cold rising from its skin. Enough that she was somewhat surprised that it didn’t steam slightly in the warm room. She hadn’t noticed the same from the creature—what had Willem called it? Bel something? Belarus?—who’d answered the door the previous night, but she had been too exhausted to note much at all at that point.
Martius inclined its head toward her, gray and black mottled skin seeming to soak up some of the light in the room. When it straightened, the black eyes regarded her with something she might have called curiosity, though it was a little difficult to tell. The demon’s features were humanlike but not human. There was no hair on its body, for a start. No eyebrows or lashes graced the bald head. And the features were blunter than a human’s, the face full of rough planes rather than curves. A black tunic and pants hid most of its body but the muscular arms were bare. Its hands were large and strong, the nails gray. It was a forbidding sight. No less because it was studying her with those large liquid black eyes. What did the demon—no, sanctii. She had to remember that here. Calling these creatures demons in Illvya where they were accepted would not be wise. What did the sanctii think of her?
“Hello, Martius,” she managed to say.
Martius’ black lips peeled back in what was probably a smile, revealing silvery teeth. “Lady,” it said. The voice was harsh, the low tones coming across as though the sounds of Illvyan did not quite suit its throat. It turned to Maistre Matin and said something in another, more guttural language, those words coming faster.
“Show them back to their chamber, please,” Henri said, then added something in that same unknown language.
Cameron, on the other side of Henri, was watching this exchange, expression somewhat dubious. But apparently he realized they had little choice in the matter, as he merely moved to Sophie’s side to offer her his arm, putting himself between her and the sanctii as they followed Martius out of the room.
