Color Mage (Book 1)

by Anne Marie Lutz

  Callo nodded his own apology as he was pulled through the throng. His bows met with indifference, and an occasional look of scorn. He could feel his brows tighten into a frown at that reaction, though he should have been well accustomed to it after all these years as King Martan’s bastard—but nevertheless royal—nephew.

  At last Arias stopped. Callo saw his brother bow before a vision of beauty in a gown that seemed but lightly dusted onto a voluptuous body. Lady Fiora had been the talk of the young men in the guard for a sennight now. She was the new widow of an ancient lord to whom she had been betrothed by her parents. She had shown no sign, in her short time in the capital city, of mourning his loss.

  Lady Fiora paid Callo no attention, but she smiled at Lord Arias.

  “My lord!” she said. “I didn’t think to see you again so soon.”

  “My lady, I want you to meet my half brother, Lord Callo ran Alkiran” Arias said, drawing Callo forward. “Callo, this is Lady Fiora Eshal.”

  “I’m delighted,” Callo said. Arias, looking much younger than his thirty-two years, grinned at him.

  Lady Fiora’s smile vanished. She stared at Callo with huge blue eyes and withdrew her hand, which had been extended to greet him. “Lord Arias,” she protested, transferring her gaze to his face.

  “What?” Arias turned and saw her expression. The grin dropped away. Arias suddenly bore a strong resemblance to his grim old father. Callo felt his own temper rise; he stifled it.

  “Let it go,” Callo said to his brother.

  Arias ignored him. “My lady, this is my half brother. If you cannot welcome him, then my presence must not be welcome either.”

  Lady Fiora blushed. “But, my lord, I have been told . . .”

  “Told what? By what idiot?” Arias’ voice rose. His dark Alkirani eyes glittered in a way that Callo knew well, and wasn’t prepared to deal with here in the middle of the King’s ball. Around them, the curious were turning to look in their direction.

  “Arias, let it go,” Callo said again, frustrated.

  Lady Fiora stared at Arias for a moment. Callo could almost see the calculations whirling in her head; this one was not as shallow as she pretended to be. Then Lady Fiora smiled at Callo. He knew the smile was false, but it was so sweet that he felt himself smile back.

  This one, he thought, is dangerous.

  “Lord Callo,” Lady Fiora said. “I beg your pardon. Whoever Lord Arias introduces must be a welcome acquaintance.” She held out her hand.

  Arias relaxed as Callo took the lady’s scented fingers and bowed over them. Callo uttered a few meaningless social phrases, an odd premonition of misfortune stirring within him. The crowd returned to its own gossip. In a few seconds a gray-haired woman in a jeweled gown came to draw Lady Fiora away. The intervention was so prompt that Callo wondered if it was really a rescue.

  “Isn’t she beautiful?” Arias asked, pleased with life again. He took two glasses of wine from a passing slave’s tray and gave one to Callo.

  “They’re all beautiful,” Callo returned. He sipped the wine. It tasted like berries on his tongue, clearly the finest Southern wine available.

  “They are,” Arias returned, smiling after Lady Fiora. On the other side of the room, a group of very young men surrounded her, laughing and vying to entertain the lady.

  “You’re ten years too old for her, Brother. She’s just a flighty child, let off the hook by Eshal’s death. She wants a young guardsman, or maybe a musician. What would you do with her, haul her off to SeagardCastle and keep her locked away?”

  “I think I could convince her to stay without any need for lock and key.”

  “Ha!” said Callo. “One thing on your mind as usual.”

  Arias laughed. The colors in his cloak swirled like a gentle sunset, colors of pleasure. He slapped Callo on the back and hailed a guardsman he knew. Callo dropped away from his side and went to find something to eat.

  The musicians began to play the Royal March. Callo stepped out of the way as the crowd swirled left or right to make a path into the room. King Martan Alghasi Monteni entered, his keen gray eyes scanning the crowd, passing over Callo without stopping. Nevertheless, Callo knew the King had marked his presence among the other bowing nobles; he was not known as Sharpeyes without good reason. Queen Efalla entered behind the King, her arm draped over that of the Mage Lord; she was resplendent in her silk gown and glittering jewels.

  Behind them came the representatives of the Collared Lords, seven leaders of the righ class trusted by their lords to plan and confer in their names. Since the Collared Lords never left their holds, these men spoke for them here in the Capital. The crowd bowed to them, almost as deeply as they had for the King and Queen. Callo wondered what matters they had discussed, up in the King’s rooms while the rest of the crowd danced. He looked for and found Sopharin, Lord Alkiran’s representative, a whip-thin man wearing a valus-fur trimmed tunic and brocade leggings, as well as boots that appeared to be set with jewels. Sopharin loved finery, and his rewards from Lord Alkiran allowed him to indulge his passion. Callo found him sycophantic; he knew Arias did not care for the man either.

  The music resumed. A young girl, her hair dressed with flowers in the traditional way, smiled at him. He smiled back. Her chaperone leaned over to whisper in her ear. The girl turned away.

  Callo made his way to the silk-clad wall to sip his wine. In only a few moments, a distinctive, scratchy voice interrupted his thoughts.

  “Lord Callo, are you trying to avoid me?”

  Callo turned to see a heavyset lady, tightly gowned in puce and red velvet that clashed with the wall hangings. The lady held out her hand and Callo grinned, grasping it.

  “I am always happy to see you, Lady Phoire.” It was true; Phoire was one of the few in the nobility who not only accepted his presence among them but actually seemed to enjoy it, regardless of his uncertain status as the King’s bastard nephew. He looked around for a chair for Lady Phoire, who tended to run out of breath due to her girth and tight clothing. The weight of her jewelry probably did not help either.

  “No, no,” Phoire said. “I’ve just come to drop a word in your ear. A word regarding your handsome half-brother, in fact. I’ve always had a soft spot for him, in spite of his likeness to his father.”

  “Arias? He’s here somewhere . . .” Callo looked around.

  “It’s where he is that should be your concern.”

  Callo finally spotted Arias, dancing with Lady Fiora. They made a striking couple. Arias smiled down at Fiora, who chattered at him as the dance carried them around the room.

  “With Lady Fiora? Arias knows what she is, I think.”

  “Of course he does. No fool he, when it comes to women. But, maybe, when it comes to men, he does not see so clearly, friend Callo. Look at His Majesty Sharpeyes.” She turned away for a moment. “Yes, I will take that seat after all, if the ridiculous thing will hold me.” Phoire motioned to a passing slave who brought a cushioned bench over and set it near the wall, out of the way of the crowd. She let her considerable weight down onto the bench, sighing with relief.

  “Sharpeyes, you say? Surely . . .” Callo stopped short, his eyes on his uncle. The King sat on the dais, paying no attention to any of the courtiers and ladies that awaited his attention. His shrewd gray eyes were riveted to Arias and Fiora as they passed in the dance. Callo frowned, noting this for a moment. The King did not take his eyes from the lady as the dance ended, and Arias relinquished Lady Fiora into the care of her companion.

  “The lady is beautiful,” Callo said, turning back to Phoire with a raised eyebrow. “She draws many eyes.”

  “That she does, and her chaperone is thanking the gods for it. I understand Eshal’s estate did not amount to much and so the girl must remarry soon,” Phoire said. “But I have never seen the King so fascinated by a woman.”

  Callo shrugged. “He does not stray from the Queen. I have never known him to.”

  “He wants that young woman. I have ne
ver marked it better. You tell me, Lord Callo, from your experience, which I know is unique—what does his Majesty do when he sees something he wants?”

  “Hm.” Callo turned back to the King. Martan was still fixated on Fiora, who seemed to light up her vicinity with her enjoyment of the ball. The sheen of perspiration on the young woman’s face only added to her attraction; she was very alive. Across the room, the Queen moved in the stately patterns of the dance with the graying Sea Commander, barely smiling. She moved with such dignity that the dance did not disturb the smallest lock of her hair.

  “I will tell Arias,” Callo said. “I think you are right.”

  He found Arias much later in the evening just as his half-brother was taking his leave of two of his drinking companions. Callo touched Arias’ arm to gain his attention.

  “A word with you, Arias,” he said.

  “Tomorrow,” Arias said. His dark eyes were slightly blurry with drink. He turned to leave.

  “Arias, wait. Look at Sharpeyes.”

  Arias’ eyes went to the King and stayed there. He frowned.

  “The King is greatly interested in your lady. Lady Phoire marked it, and bade me give you a word of warning.”

  “I will thank her for her concern,” Arias said lightly. “As I thank you for yours, no matter how misguided you are.”

  “Just take care, Arias. You know as well as I do that Sharpeyes is not to be trifled with.”

  “Yes, I do. Now let me go, Callo; I am tired and not in any immediate danger, after all!”

  Callo smiled and released Arias’ sleeve, watching his half-brother make his way to the stairs and vanish upstairs. He cast a last look at Sharpeyes and headed for his own quarters, which were in the commanders’ housing near the guard barracks.

  The next days were busy, and Callo gave no thought to Arias and his infatuation with Lady Fiora. On the morning of the third day after the ball, there was a knock on the door. Callo had just finished tying his fair hair back in his usual warrior’s tail. His manservant Chiss was straightening the room. Chiss answered the knock and bowed as a gray-bearded man entered. The man’s mage cloak swirled silver in its depths.

  “Mage Oron!” greeted Callo in considerable surprise. The lord of the mages was a stern man who, in spite of his severity, had a soft spot for the mercurial Lord Arias. Callo had always thought Oron disapproved of himself, like most of society here in the capital.

  “Lord Callo,” returned Oron with a nod. He waved away the chair that Chiss drew out for him. The mage’s eyes, as gray as his beard, traveled around the small room. It was a room consistent with Callo’s status as a commander in the Guard, providing privacy and some comfort, but no luxury. Callo’s unanswered correspondence was scattered over the small table, along with the remains of a simple breakfast and an earthenware mug. His sword was in its leather scabbard, slung over a wooden hook near the bed.

  “I am surprised to find your quarters in this section of the complex. I was under the impression your rooms were near those of your half-brother.”

  Callo felt his mouth twist a little. Oron had expected to find him in the main palace, in rooms considerably more luxurious than this one. His influence with the King would not have reached so far. “I have no need for more than one room,” he said.

  “Indeed.” The lord of mages nodded, Callo thought in approval. “I have come on a matter of concern to us both, Lord Callo.” He turned to Chiss. “You, my man . . .”

  “Chiss, my lord.”

  “Chiss, then. Please leave us.”

  “Wine, my lord?” Callo asked.

  Oron shook his head. “I have no time. I come about something that is none of my business, you will no doubt say, and you would be correct—your half brother, and this Lady Fiora who is leading him around by her skirts.” Oron paused, as if waiting for a response, then continued. “The King has taken an interest in the woman, and quite plainly, I must say I fear for Arias’ safety. I have dropped a word in Arias’ ear . . .”

  “Unsuccessfully, I take it.”

  “Perhaps you would not believe it, but he laughed at me.” Oron’s mouth twitched.

  Callo grinned. “That’s just like him, my lord. What do you want me to do? I must tell you I’ve already warned him of this, with no more success than you.”

  “Use whatever influence you have,” said Mage Oron. “Use up any credit you have with him. He’s infatuated, I know, but it isn’t worth the loss of his life.”

  “Surely the King would not . . .”

  “Who knows what Sharpeyes might do?”

  “I have very little influence over Arias,” Callo said.

  “I am sure you underrate yourself,” Oron replied. “Do what you can. He is in more danger than he knows.”

  After Oron took his leave, Callo stood staring out his small window, seeing nothing. Oron’s concern about this matter troubled him. If the Mage Lord had interrupted his schedule to call upon a minor noble of uncertain status, of whom he did not really approve—he must consider the matter serious.

  Callo’s duties that day took him to the guardhouse, where he heard several of the younger guardsmen laughing over Lord Arias’ attraction for the young widow. He grew more and more worried. He did not see Arias all day, either in the practice circle or the guardhouse, so before dinner he walked by Arias’ suite of rooms and knocked on the door. The lone servant who answered the knock informed him that Arias was at a private party, and was not expected back until very late.

  The next morning, Callo was dragged out of a deep sleep by Chiss’ hand shaking his shoulder. There was only a sliver of pale light visible under the shutters. The fire had burned down to ashes and had not yet been built up for the morning.

  “What’s wrong?” Callo mumbled.

  “I have urgent news for you, my lord,” Chiss said. “Here, get up. I brought you tea.”

  Callo put his feet out of the bed. His mind felt groggy. He reached for the tea and sipped it.

  “My lord,” Chiss said. “I beg your pardon for awakening you at such an hour. There is news I thought you should know immediately.”

  “It must be Arias,” Callo said, putting down the teacup. “What now?”

  “Servants’ chatter, my lord. The talk is that Lord Arias took the young lady away from the King at a gathering last night.”

  “He did what?”

  “The young lady was speaking with His Majesty, my lord. Apparently Lord Arias simply smiled at her, and she left His Majesty’s side and went with Lord Arias. The King was much enraged, they say.”

  “The cursed idiot!” Callo said, reaching for his clothes. “Chiss, you have my gratitude and Arias’ also as soon as he gets his hide out of the capital. Where is he, do you know? What time is it?”

  “Still not dawn, my lord. Here is your tunic. Will you wear the riding leathers?”

  “My sword, too. Gods know I may need it before I get that fool out of the city. Thanks to you, Chiss!”

  In a very few minutes Callo stood before Arias’ door. A sleepy-eyed guardsman answered Callo’s knock.

  “Lord Callo? Sir, my lord is sleeping. You must come back later.”

  “I’ll see him now,” Callo grunted, and shouldered the guard aside. “If he has a woman with him, tell her to get out.” Familiar with Callo’s close relationship with their lord, the guard did nothing other than to utter a useless protest and follow him through the outer room and into Arias’ chamber.

  Arias’ chamber was lit only by the embers of a fire, which cast red reflections on the few items of metal or glass in the chamber. The bed and its occupant were only a darker shadow on one side of the room.

  “Arias! Get up!”

  “What the hell?” Arias voice was thick with sleep.

  “My lord, I am sorry for the disturbance. It is Lord Callo,” the guard said to Arias.

  “Stir that fire up,” Callo ordered the guard, “And then get yourself out of here.”

  The guard obeyed. The fire leapt up enough t
o illuminate Arias’ face. Callo shoved a chair out of the way and stalked over to his half-brother, who was alone in the big bed.

  Arias sat up, rubbed his hands over his face and yawned. “All right, I know why you are here. Get it out of your system and let me go back to sleep.”

  “Sleep, hell. You’ll get your hide out of the city and to Seagard before the King is out of bed if you have any sense. What do you think you are doing, Arias?”

  Arias lay back and crossed his arms behind his head, studying Callo with an unreadable expression. “I did nothing.”

  “That’s not what I heard. You are the talk of the servants’ hall, and you’ll be the talk of the whole palace before luncheon.”

  “Chiss!” Arias sighed. “I must remember to thank him for this.”

  “You should,” Callo said, calming down a little. “You jest, Arias, but you should. The King was enraged, Chiss said.”

  “He was not pleased. I swear I did nothing, Callo. She took it into her head to bear me company for a while—that is all. She is young, and naive. But, yes, the King was angry. Sit down, will you? You are making me nervous.”

  “I should be making you fear for your life. Arias, you idiot, whether you deserve it or not the King will be sending guards for you by noon. Go to Seagard!”

  “There is no need,” Arias said. “Here, there is wine on the table. Have some. You seem to need it more than I do.”

  Callo scowled at his half-brother, then sat down at one of the heavily-carved chairs and poured wine into a cup. He sipped it, still frowning at Arias. “What do you propose to do then?”

  “I don’t know yet. His Majesty is not likely to imprison me for a meaningless flirtation. The man is too shrewd to alienate my father for such a reason. Yes, he is angry, but he will not endanger his own peace because of a silly girl. You are as anxious as an old woman, Callo, barging in here to tell me run for my life!”

  “I know well what the King is capable of, having lived my life subject to his will. If he does not arrest you, he will find some other way.” Callo felt his temper rise and quelled it again, ruthlessly, as he had been forced to do all his life. “I’ll go then. Your fate is on your own head.”