by M. J. Scott
“You teach some things. I’ve heard women talk about it.”
“Small things. Herbs and such. To women with small power. Seed witches at best. Not royal witches. I’m not permitted such things. It’s part of the oath I swore when I was allowed to stay here.”
“Is it just an oath?” Sophie asked curiously. “Or something more?”
“More? A ritual? A binding?” Chloe shook her head. “No. No, I do not think your goddess would be able to bind a free witch. Not one who has touched more than one type of magic. It doesn’t work. Once you know more than one art, you can’t limit yourself back to just one.”
“Women use more than earth magic there? In Illvya. I mean, I’ve heard the stories. Of the—”
“Demons? Water magic, yes. Though truly, more men than women choose that path. Sanctii can be troublesome. And dangerous. Too much trouble, in truth. But yes, women can do more. Is that what you wanted to ask me? It is not such a secret.”
Not a secret, no. But taught to be an abomination. Abhorred by the goddess. Which Sophie had never fully understood. If magic came from the goddess, as the temple taught, how could part of it be forbidden?
And Chloe said that a binding wouldn’t work if you had used more than one kind of magic. Which couldn’t be the explanation in her case. She hadn’t used anything but earth magic, as far as she knew. She wished she had been able to return to the library and the small green book. But perhaps she had just as useful a resource here with her now. “Madame, do you know what amplification means?”
Chloe wrinkled her nose. “Amplification?” She paused, considering. “Do you mean an augmentier, perhaps?”
Sophie wasn’t familiar with the Illvyan word. “What is that?”
“When two people join their different magics. And the whole becomes more than the sum of the parts, as you say. Both are strengthened.”
More than the sum of the parts. Greater than the whole. The book had said something like that. “How does that happen?”
Another shrug. “Ritual. Blood. Sex. It depends. But I think we are straying into those things that I am not allowed to teach to royal witches.”
“Is it a permanent thing?”
“Sometimes. Between married couples, perhaps. Or very close friends. It can be dangerous.”
“How?”
Chloe shook her head. “I think perhaps you should ask your temple to explain. If you are brave enough. I do not think such things are liked here.”
Sophie couldn’t disagree with that. And she didn’t think she was brave enough to raise any such thing with the temple. But perhaps the green book would shed some more light when she could return to the Hall of Three. If this was the thing that the Domina thought had happened to her and Cameron. “Could an augmentier happen accidentally?”
Chloe frowned. “Accidentally? I do not—” She stopped, sat still for a moment. “I do not know. Perhaps. If there was enough power and those involved lacked control. Such a thing would be very unusual in Illvya. But not impossible, maybe. Difficult to undo, I would think, if you did not know how it was done in the first place.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”
Sophie shook her head. She couldn’t tell Madame the truth. No one was supposed to know that she was betrothed to Cameron yet, let alone that the proposal was brought about by what they’d done. She pasted on her best innocent smile. “It was just something I came across in a book. I didn’t know what it meant.”
The dark eyebrows arched upward. “I would not expect to find such a thing in an Anglion book on magic.”
“It was just a book on bindings.”
“You Anglions are overly fond of bindings. It is foolish to give up part of your power to another to control.” Madame de Montesse glanced back at the house. “But again, perhaps this topic is not what I should discuss with a royal witch.”
“I’m sorry,” Sophie said. “I was just curious.” Perhaps a change of subject was called for before Chloe grew too uncomfortable and decided they should go back inside. “What’s it like? Illvya?”
Madame de Montesse looked startled. “Do you truly want to know?”
Sophie nodded. “Yes. I mean, they teach us very little. How big it is, what the capital is, what countries it claims. But the rest is so vague. Other than it is cursed for using water magic, of course.”
“Of course.” Chloe smiled then. “If they were sensible, they would teach that we are very dull. So dull no one would be curious. And no one would ever try to come farther than the trade points.”
Sophie didn’t want to hear about trade points. Trade with Illvya was strictly limited and controlled. Exchanges of essential goods only, and that conducted under such a weight of treaties and protocols that she had nearly fallen asleep anytime anybody had tried to explain it to her.
“Is that why you left? It was too dull for you?”
“No.” For a moment, Chloe looked wistful. Almost sad. “No. Never dull. Quite the opposite. It is very different, Illvya. Wilder than here, yet more civilized in some ways. Also more dangerous. Freedom brings risks, after all.”
“Why did you leave?” Sophie asked before she could stop herself. When she realized what she had asked, she clapped a hand over her mouth in horror. “I’m sorry. That was terribly rude. You don’t have to tell me.”
“I do not mind. It is as the tales they tell of me say. My husband died. The circumstances were not good. I did not think I would be long behind him if I stayed, though the error was his and not mine. So I took the chance and ran. For me, it worked.”
“I’m sorry,” Sophie said. “I can’t imagine.” Leaving Kingswell with Cameron had been scary enough. She couldn’t imagine leaving her whole life behind for good. Her hand strayed to the pearl at her throat. Salt protect me. If the goddess was kind, she would never have to do anything more than try to imagine such a thing.
“It was long ago. Time heals such things.” Chloe straightened on the bench as the quarter bell chimed. “Now, milady, I think you have asked enough for one day. If you linger much longer, you will not have the chance to try on that very pretty dress your mother showed me. The one she says is for your Ais-Seann celebration when it finally happens. Either that or your Red Guard friend will grow impatient. Go inside. I will wait out here until you return to the palace. No one will see me.”
“Thank you,” Sophie said. “I wish we could talk more.”
“You know where to find me. Perhaps when things are more settled.” She shook her head. “Or, perhaps, if things do not settle. Remember that.”
Sophie smiled. “Thank you. I will. And yes, once things are settled, I will come to your shop. After all, the queen-to-be always says you have the best supplies, and I’m a royal witch now. My husband—whoever he turns out to be—will just have to get used to paying your bills.”
“That, I would be happy to accommodate,” Madame de Montesse said. She nodded toward the house. “Go now. You have a dress to try on. These things are important at court.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Are you ready for this, brother?” Alec asked. He put his hand on Cameron’s shoulder, peering into his face. “You look nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” Cam retorted. “You’re drunk.”
“Not really,” Alec said. “Not so you’d notice.”
The Iska had flowed freely at the Mackenzie apartments since they’d returned from the rites for their father. Well, at least it had for Liam and Alec. Cameron, having to report for duty, had kept his intake low. Being on night duty had given him an excuse to escape the second round of drinking the previous night. It also meant he was desperately tired, but the anticipation of what was about to happen was generating enough nervous energy to keep him on his feet. Eloisa was holding her first audience at midday. But that didn’t seem to have stopped his brothers having another few glasses of Iska already today.
Alec, at least, didn’t have anything important to do at court today, so it wouldn’t matter if he was a little under the w
eather. But Liam. Liam had a role to play. Not to mention this was his first audience since he had become erl. Maybe Cameron wasn’t the only nervous one in the room. To be fair, though, Liam always could drink the rest of them under the table. A glass or two of Iska wasn’t going to affect him much.
Hopefully. Today Eloisa would announce Cameron’s betrothal to Sophie.
Which was likely to turn the court into a three-ring circus. Liam would need his wits about him. They all would.
Cameron had been keeping his ears to the ground for rumors involving Sophie, and even in the short time since Eloisa had declared herself well again, the barracks gossip had been full of speculation about which lord might be granted the new royal witch. His name hadn’t come up in any serious fashion. No. So far the favored contender was the distant Farkeep relative that the archivists had determined was the heir to the late erl, with so many of the family killed in the attack. The man lived halfway across the country in some obscure town. He hadn’t even reached court yet.
When he did, he would no doubt send all the mothers of eligible daughters into matchmaking mode. But Sophie’s mother wouldn’t be one of them. No, because her daughter would already be betrothed to Cameron.
He’d seen Sophie for only brief moments here and there. The ladies-in-waiting seemed to be everywhere in the palace, moving in small black-clad groups as they ordered and scolded and coaxed and ensured that the queen-to-be’s wishes were being carried out exactly.
He managed a minute or two with her before breakfast this morning and had asked if she’d heard any rumors about them. She said she hadn’t, though she admitted she thought the ladies-in-waiting suspected something. But if they had their suspicions, they apparently weren’t sharing them with the rest of the court. The fact that Sophie was staying with his brother hadn’t seemed to have triggered anything. Half the court was displaced, and almost every family was hosting extra guests and providing beds and food where they could.
And with everyone focused on the queen-to-be, the court simply lacked the time for the full-blown level of speculation—and lobbying—there would normally be around a royal witch. And whilst there were some puzzled whispers about how the Domina had healed the queen-to-be so quickly, once again, Sophie’s name wasn’t being mentioned. Which was good. He didn’t know whether what Lord Sylvain had told him had any truth to it—if someone had killed the erl’s first wife—but he wasn’t going to take any chances with Sophie.
They wanted him to marry her. So he would marry her. And then he would protect her as his honor demanded.
No one would harm her as long as he had any say in the matter.
He shook off the dark thought.
Most likely Lord Sylvain had just been seeing shadows where there were none in the wake of losing a beloved wife.
Sophie was safe. Their biggest problem was going to be dealing with the inevitable indignation when she was handed to someone as low in the court as himself.
Likely there’d be an outcry. Not that anyone other than Eloisa had any say in the matter.
“Are you sure you don’t want another drink, Liam?” Alec asked, rising to refill his glass.
“Some of us have to be mostly sober,” Liam said lazily from across the room. He was reading something his manservant had just handed him, sitting half propped on the great blackwood desk their father had used. He looked every inch the erl, decked out in black velvet and linen. The Inglewood ring glittered on his left hand, and the waistcoat beneath the long jacket was sewn with gray pearls and jet. Jeanne had even managed to tie his hair back with a black ribbon.
“You’re just getting old,” Alec said, grinning at Liam. Alec’s sartorial splendor was only slightly less than his brother’s. He tilted the glass in his hand, watching the liquid swirl around with an assessing expression, and then turned his focus on Cameron. “Sure you don’t want a soothing sip or two, little brother? Calm the nerves. Getting betrothed can be a nervous business.”
“I’m not nervous,” Cam repeated. He straightened the collar of his dress uniform. The bright red was familiar, but amid all the black in the room, he felt overly conspicuous. Or maybe that was just because he was about to be the center of attention. He could have worn civilian garb like his brothers but had chosen the uniform. He knew his brothers’ finery was both a display of the strength of Inglewood and a display of support for him—a reminder that Cameron was a Mackenzie, brother to an erl. But it couldn’t hurt to remind anyone who might object to his marriage that he was a soldier. An elite one. A trained battle mage.
He wasn’t sure exactly how he felt. Looking forward to seeing Sophie. Worried about her. Wondering what came next. He hadn’t had any time at all with the queen-to-be. No chance to speak to her alone. To try to apologize personally. Lady Beata had discussed the betrothal arrangements with them.
Well, maybe that was best. He couldn’t change what had happened, and Eloisa would have had to end it with him eventually. Even as brother to an erl, he was not fit to be consort to a queen.
“You can say you’re not nervous as often as you like, but that doesn’t make it true,” Liam said, putting the paper down as the quarter bell rang. He glanced toward the door, where, as if on cue, Jeanne appeared.
Cam tugged at his collar one last time. Time to go to court.
Eloisa’s temporary audience hall had been thoroughly transformed. It didn’t look like a ballroom. It did, however, lack a throne. King Stefan’s throne was presumably ash and splinters, like the rest of the furnishings in the Salt Hall. Someone had placed a large gilded chair with deep-blue velvet upholstery on the platform that had been erected at the southern end of the room. It was impressive but lacked the imposing bulk of the blackwood and nacre Salt Throne.
Cameron followed Liam down the aisle toward the front of the rows of chairs. The chairs—also gilt and velvet—looked more comfortable than the blackwood benches that the court had previously had to put up with, but they were, like the throne, harbingers of change.
Protocol demanded that Eloisa not sit on the Salt Throne before she was crowned anyway, but she should have been seated before it. The space where the throne would have been was a stark reminder of exactly what had happened. Eloisa was going to have to work harder to bring her court to heel without the weight of history the throne represented to lend her any gravitas.
Maybe she already had teams of furniture makers working on a new throne somewhere in the depths of the palace. But even an exact replica wouldn’t have the same significance.
Cameron took his seat next to Alec and tried not to let anything show on his face as they waited for the court to assemble. Curiosity apparently fueled the eagerness of the courtiers today. Whether the speed was driven by the desire to see how the queen-to-be would handle the situation or whether they wanted to see for themselves who had survived and who had fallen and what that meant for court alliances and feuds, the courtiers took their places far more rapidly than usual. Often it took a good half an hour past the appointed audience time for everyone to arrive and be seated. Today Cameron didn’t think there was one empty place—other than the gaps left by those injured or dead and the grander rows of chairs nearest the platform left for Eloisa’s retinue—by the time the hour bell started to toll.
A hush settled over the crowded hall as swiftly as the sun slipping below the horizon in midwinter. One minute chatter and laughter had made the air fairly vibrate; then, the next, there was silence, bar the echoing chimes of the great bronze bell in the Sea Rook.
When the last toll faded away, the master of court didn’t even need to bang his staff to bring the court to order. To a person, they rose and turned to await the entrance of the queen-to-be, row after row of silk and satin and velvet in all the colors of the rainbow.
Eloisa had sent an edict stating that those who wished to mourn personal losses would be permitted the choice but that the court was not to don mourning for King Stefan. So there was a fair sprinkling of black amongst the brighter shades. P
earls and jewels glittered as skirts swayed and jackets and shirts were smoothed. The room seemed to hold its collective breath as two young pages in Fairley blue and gold pulled back the doors and Eloisa stood framed in the light.
Her dress was blue and gold, too. Deep blue like a falling twilight, embroidered heavily with gold thread. Fantastical flowers and leaves and branches twined up her sleeves and down over her skirt. Around her neck a triple strand of thumb-sized cream pearls circled her throat and fell down her chest. Heavy gold beads and sapphires broke the creamy white here and there.
Her mother had worn that particular necklace, Cameron realized. One of the first days he’d attended court had been the day that Eloisa’s betrothal had been announced, and he remembered the queen by King Stefan’s side, pearls at her throat, standing very straight as her daughter had been bound to her husband-to-be.
The jewels were spectacular, matched by a tiara set in Eloisa’s bright hair. Since she hadn’t worn anything other than black pearls and dark colors since she’d returned to court following Iain’s death, the change in her appearance was startling.
Startling enough to send a buzz of whispers running through the crowd. Eloisa stood, waiting, until silence descended again. Only then did she begin to walk toward the makeshift throne. Behind her, Margaretta walked with her husband, similarly clad in blue and gold, though her dress was not as elaborate. Then came the Domina, wearing temple brown, simply cut. Simple but not inexpensive—the velvet overrobe and the silver-and-pearl circlet holding back her hair proclaimed her status as the chief servant of the goddess.
After the Domina, the ladies-in-waiting walked sedately in pairs. They were all dressed in shades of blue from nearly as dark as Eloisa’s to something as pale as heat-faded summer skies.
Cameron looked for Sophie and found her in the last pair. Her hair had been caught up and braided into a pile at the back of her head. Her gown shimmered like peacock feathers, an unexpected shade of blue that made her skin glow. It made her hair appear redder, too. A clear sign of her change in status. Simple white pearls hung from her ears and around her neck in a single row. Her expression was composed, but as his eyes caught hers, she smiled briefly, and he felt his heart stutter a little.
