by M. J. Scott
Know her or trust her?
Maybe both. Only time would tell if either of those things would come to pass. “You seem to know a lot about Anglion,” Sophie said.
“I have paid attention over the years. Illvya may be anathema to your country but here in the empire, His Imperial Majesty believes in understanding his enemies. As did his father before him. Illvya has studied your country. Some of that knowledge escapes the emperor’s court, particularly when it comes to magic. After all, the emperor can hardly understand the magic your queen has at her command if his own mages cannot explain it to him.” Madame Simsa paused. “Knowing your enemies is a strategy you may wish to consider.”
Sophie frowned in frustration. “That would be easier if I knew who they are.”
“Indeed. So pay attention. Do not take things here at face value. I’m sure Henri has told you that you are safe here at the Academe, and that is most likely true, but you are valuable here in Illvya. Because of who you are and because of what I suspect you can do. The news of the former is probably spreading already. The latter, well, we shall try to keep that to ourselves a little longer. It will only complicate things.”
“Yes, Madame.” It seemed sound advice.
“A wise woman once told me that in life, you are either a player of the game or a pawn to be moved about by those who play. This has proven to be true. Doubly so when it comes to magic and the whims of royalty. Remember that.”
“Yes, Madame.” There didn’t seem much else to be said. And she couldn’t disagree with Madame Simsa’s words. Not from what she learned during her time at court at Kingswell or from what had happened after her Ais-Seann. And after all, back in Kingswell, someone had done their level best to remove her from the board altogether. She did not intend for it to be so easy for someone to try a second time.
“Good. So. I will determine a schedule of lessons for you, based on what I have learned here today. Plus, I think it would be good for us to meet at least once a week. I no longer take regular classes but I tutor some of the more advanced students. Or those who show potential to become so.”
Sophie assumed she was the latter rather than the former. “Yes, Madame.” She was beginning to sound like an idiot, repeating the phrase over and over.
“Pretty manners, child. But I hope you are not so meek as that court seems to have trained you to be.”
“No, Madame,” Sophie said. She grinned suddenly, relieved that she had managed to at least demonstrate enough talent to keep the venable interested in her. “I’m sure my parents, my former tutors, and even the chief of the queen’s ladies would have no problem telling you that that is not the case.”
Madame Simsa looked pleased at that. “Good. So let us return. I, for one, could use some tea. And you will need robes and other supplies for your lessons.”
Tea sounded good. A cake or two to go with it would not go astray. Now that her nerves had settled somewhat, her appetite had returned. Between that and all the energy she’d just spent demonstrating her skills, she was starving again.
As they crossed the wedge of garden, a black streak swooped down out of the sky. Sophie nearly stumbled as she ducked.
“Don’t worry, Tok wouldn’t hit you,” Madame said, watching the raven who was cawing and circling their heads. “They’re clever creatures.”
Sophie stood where she was, trying to keep the bird in sight. Which became simpler when he suddenly landed on her shoulder, claws biting a little through the wool dress.
“Perhaps we should make sure your robes are padded,” Madame Simsa said. “We did not discuss familiars, child, but I think perhaps we must.”
“Anglion witches don’t have familiars.”
“That may be so. But familiars are stubborn things at times. This one seems to be choosing you. He’s a little young, of course, so perhaps you could dissuade him.”
Sophie turned her head to try and look the bird in the eye. “Shoo.”
Tok cawed again, his head tilting at an angle that made it clear he found her amusing.
“You may have to try harder than that.” Madame Simsa pointed her cane at the bird. “Back to the tower with you, nuisance. You may see Lady Scardale again tomorrow.”
The crow’s claws tightened on her shoulder and for a moment, Sophie was sure he was going to stay right where he was. But then he gave an annoyed-sounding croak and took off again.
“I will add a meeting with the Master of Ravens to your schedule for this week.”
“I don’t want a familiar.” She wasn’t going to do anything to mark herself as different.
“As I said, you may not get a choice. Besides, it isn’t unheard of for an Anglion earth witch to use one. Once upon a time, they were more common. Before your temple grew quite so powerful.” Madame Simsa commenced walking back toward the main building.
“What do you mean?” Sophie had never heard of such a thing. Or read about it in any history book she’d been given.
“There is not enough time to explain now, child. For now I will say that it is wise to always take the tales told by history—or tradition—with a large grain of salt. You will learn more in your classes. So, come. Tea. Robes. Supplies. The sooner you begin, the better.”
* * *
The following morning, Sophie’s head was spinning by the tenth hour. Madame Simsa had turned the remaining hours before dinner the previous evening into a whirlwind of activity.
She’d taken Sophie down to the depths of the Academe to meet a little dapper man named Roberre. Sophie hadn’t been able to figure out exactly where this man stood in the hierarchy of things other than he seemed to be a senior sort of servant or hireling. He’d sized her up quickly, walking around her with a studying sort of eye, and then provided her with one of the voluminous black robes. It had a narrow stripe of brown at the edge of the collar which he informed her was for a student studying earth magic. Air was yellow, blood red, and water blue. Those who had not yet manifested wore unadorned black.
“What happens if you are studying more than one?” she’d asked.
Roberre had looked questioningly at Madame Simsa, who had nodded.
“Things become more complicated. Most students begin with one field of study and hence one color on their collars, then add more as they can based on interests and abilities. Once the venables declare a student advanced, the robes change.” He gestured at what Madame Simsa was wearing. “See this fabric. It appears black, but as it moves, it catches the light.”
So she hadn’t been imagining things. “Like shot silk?”
He looked pleased. “Yes. Only we use several colors amongst the black. And patterns.”
“In other words, the more complicated the robe looks when the wearer moves, the more they can do?” Sophie asked.
Madame Simsa had nodded. “Yes. Walking rainbows, some of us. If rainbows went about dressed in black. Some of the patterns are only discernible to those who have magic. But the emperors have always considered it to be only fair that the public have some chance to know what sort of magic a mage might wield. If only so that they may afford them the proper respect.”
* * *
After the robes had come books and writing materials, and then Madame Simsa had walked her through several floors of classrooms, pointing out which classes might be held where. She’d allowed only a glimpse into the two libraries she had pointed out, enough for Sophie to register that they were huge rooms stuffed with shelves holding a tantalizing number of books. And then she’d delivered Sophie back to the dining hall, with the final instruction that she would send Sophie a schedule at breakfast and she wasn’t to be late to her class, before leaving her with Cameron.
Who had had his own adventures with Willem in the city and had amused her with tales of what he’d seen before they’d gone back to their rooms. Cameron had started studying the city map, but Sophie had been too tired to keep her eyes open for long and had crawled into bed.
Now it was morning again and she was sitting at brea
kfast with Cameron and Willem once more.
She was just finishing a second cup of tea when a very short girl with brown hair tinged with red approached their table.
“Are you Lady Scardale?” she asked with a friendly sort of smile.
“Sophie,” Sophie said, nodding, taking in the stripe of brown at the girl’s collar.
“Madame Simsa asked me to bring you this.” The girl held out a piece of paper. “Your schedule. And, as it seems we are sharing our first class together, she told me to walk with you to class.”
“Oh.” Sophie took the piece of paper and unfolded it. “Thank you.” She studied the list of classes, days, times, and locations written in tiny precise handwriting. It seemed like a lot.
“Read later,” said the girl. “We need to go or we will be late.”
Sophie looked up. The girl was practically bouncing on her heels, in a way that would have earned her a severe discussion of appropriate deportment for ladies in public places from Lady Beata. But the Academe wasn’t a palace and, whoever the messenger was, she was right. They were cutting it fine to reach their class, if Sophie remembered correctly where the classroom indicated on the list was. She rose, then bent to kiss Cameron.
He hadn’t yet received a summons to meet with Venable Marignon, so he was going to be left to his own devices until he was. Sophie had told him where the libraries were, so she imagined he would head there. Just looking at the map of Lumia had reminded them both how little they knew about the country they were now residing in, let alone the empire beyond.
* * *
“I’m Lia,” the girl informed Sophie as they left the dining hall. She tapped her collar. “Earth witch. My twenty-first birthday was a few months ago.”
“Mine, too,” Sophie said.
“I assume that was your husband,” Lia said. Her Illvyan was a little uncertain, her accent odd. Which, strangely, made Sophie, who was doing her best to decipher it, feel a little better.
“Yes,” she replied. “Cameron Mackenzie. Lord Scardale.”
“I don’t know much about Anglion titles,” Lia said cheerfully. “Does that make him important?”
Sophie decided to downplay a little. Cameron, it was true, wasn’t one of the senior nobles of the court—though his brother, as Erl of Inglewood, was—but his rank didn’t matter so much when Sophie’s own position on the line of succession was so high.
Unless, of course, she’d been disinherited. She could imagine Eloisa in a rage, doing just that. “Not very, and as our ranks mean little here, I think it’s easier if you just call us Sophie and Cameron. Or do students use their titles here?”
“Not in classes, no. But you will notice a little social dance going on from time to time. There are those who would prefer to, how do you say it? Stand on ceremony?”
“Something like that,” Sophie said with a smile. “My Illvyan isn’t very good.”
“Mine isn’t perfect either,” Lia said. They had reached the staircase that led to the upper floors. She grabbed a handful of her robe and the skirt of the dress she wore beneath and hitched them up before she started to climb. Sophie, who was finding the combination of the robe and the belled skirt of the dress she wore—one of several Cameron had bought for her—somewhat cumbersome, followed her example.
“Where are you from?” Sophie asked. Lia’s skin was darker than hers and also darker than most of the Illvyans she had met so far.
“The Faithless Isles,” Lia said with a shrug. Then she paused. “You probably don’t know where that is, do you?”
Sophie shook her head. “No, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Lia resumed climbing. “It’s a group of islands off the northeast coast of the mainland, up beyond Partha. Mostly famous for growing cotton and for our king trying to kill the emperor.”
“Why would he—”
“Not the current emperor. His grandfather,” Lia said. “When he conquered Partha and came to our shores, announcing that he would take us, too, our king tried to kill him there and then in the audience chamber. Of course, the Imperial Guard and their mages didn’t let him succeed. But the attempt gave the emperor the excuse to kill the king and take us over a lot more quickly than may otherwise have been possible. And to punish us for the rebellion, he took half the population and sent them to work as servants—slaves, really—across the empire. And renamed us the Faithless Isles as an example to others.” She sent Sophie a sidelong glance. “Not known for their subtlety when they wish to make a point clear, the Imperial Family.”
Was that a warning? “I will keep that in mind.” Her stomach churned. Slavery and conquest. Exactly what Anglion feared from Illvya.
“Do,” Lia said. “Though, to be fair, the current emperor has been less aggressive. Maybe because he already has the entire continent in hand so he doesn’t need to be. And his father freed the slaves. Though most of our people did not return home after that.”
“Why not?”
“They found new lives. They changed, I suppose. Perhaps they thought their old lives would no longer fit who they had become.”
Would she be able to fit into her old life if she ever returned to Anglion? It was a disquieting thought. She squeezed the bannister too tightly and then made herself relax. They had reached the top of the stairs and Lia turned right.
“When did you come to Lumia?” Sophie asked to distract herself.
“About a year and a half ago. There isn’t a lot of magic in the Isles, but my family has thrown up more than its share of witches over the years. So the governor granted me a scholarship to come here to study and be prepared.”
“Governor?”
“The emperor’s . . . proxy, I think the word is. He rules the Isles.”
“I thought you said you had a king? Did he have no heirs.”
“ The surviving members of the royal family were amongst those sent away. We do not have kings anymore.”
“As slaves?” The thought of a royal family overthrown was somehow shocking. It had happened, of course, in Anglion’s history but not for several centuries. She couldn’t imagine such a thing.
“So they say,” Lia said. She paused in front of one of the doors lining the corridor. “This one. And the chimes have not yet sounded, so we’re even on time. Come, you can sit with me.”
Chapter 6
By the time Sophie returned to the dining hall for lunch, she was exhausted. This day was not letting up when it came to the pace of new information being thrown her way. The first class with Lia had dealt with earth magic. But only from a theoretical point of view. The kind of lessons that Sophie had taken in Anglion just before her Ais-Seann. It seemed Illvyan witches continued their education for longer. It was easier to study if one wasn’t immediately married when one came of age, it seemed.
After the first class, there had been a class in Illvyan and one in history, where she was with students who all seemed to be far younger than herself. Which made sense. Judging by what Lia had told her, most of the pupils came to the Academe before they manifested. So those who needed a grounding in things perhaps not taught in all corners of the empire could be brought up to speed as well as prepared for their magic if necessary.
Sophie’s head ached from trying to follow the classes in Illvyan. She’d been hoping that Cameron might appear in one of her nonmagical classes, at least, but he hadn’t. Being without him put her on edge. Alone, she had no one to watch her back. Being surrounded by rooms full of strangers didn’t make it any easier for her to relax and pay attention.
And there was still half a day remaining.
Hopefully lunch and more tea would refresh her enough to concentrate on whatever the afternoon might bring.
There was no sign of Cameron or Willem but she spotted Lia at a table with Magritte, who had also been in their earth magic class earlier, near the rear of the hall. Lia saw her and waved. Magritte didn’t look as welcoming, but Sophie was going to ignore that. If she was going to survive the Academe, she needed some fr
iends. She was used to having Eloisa’s fellow ladies-in-waiting in her life. Cameron was wonderful, but she had grown accustomed to spending much of her days with other women. She wouldn’t have called all of them friends, perhaps, but they were a close-knit group. She missed them, the sudden pain of it a shock that made her suck in a breath. She tried to ignore it, summoning a smile as Lia waved at her. There were friends to be made here, if she made the effort.
“How was your morning?” Lia asked through a half-full mouth as Sophie sat down.
“Interesting. Tiring. It’s hard to keep up in Illvyan at times.”
Lia nodded sympathetically. “Yes. I wish I had the money for the reveilé, but sadly my funds do not extend so far. So I shall just have to study hard.”
Reveilé? Sophie didn’t recognize the word. “What is a reveilé?”
Magritte looked at her with surprise. “It is a thing the sanctii can do. To help you understand a language.”
“There are no sanctii where Sophie is from,” Lia said to Magritte.
Magritte’s nose wrinkled. “That must make life very difficult.” She looked at Sophie. “Are there really no sanctii in Anglion? Or water magic?”
“No.” Sophie suppressed the shudder that wanted to roll down her spine at the thought. “Water magic is forbidden. So no sanctii.”
“Perhaps it is because Anglion is an island,” Lia said. “The sanctii cannot cross salt water. “We do not have them in the Fettered Isles either.”
Magritte snorted. “The Fettered Isles has no water mages. Just a few earth witches. That is why you have no sanctii.”
Lia narrowed her eyes at Magritte. “So you are the expert on sanctii now?”
“No, but I’m good with history,” Magritte said. “Water magic isn’t so common. And your islands—lovely as I’m sure they are—do not have a history of it.”
“Neither does Mesineia,” Lia retorted.
Sophie didn’t know where Mesineia was. And she didn’t want a geography lesson on top of everything else that was being crammed into her head already. It might explode. She felt as though she was back at the court in Kingswell, in her first few months as a very green lady-in-waiting, trying to learn too many new faces and places and rules at once. “I don’t understand how a demon can help you learn a language,” she said.
