A Wizard's Sacrifice

by Amanda Justice

  “Is there anything I can help you with?”

  “Not at the moment. Go into town. Amuse yourself while you can.”

  She left his office and dithered along the first-floor gallery. She’d taken a few walks round the quiet, pretty streets of Citizen’s Circle, but the city below was too daunting. It’s not like you’ve never gone anywhere before, she chided herself. With her father, she’d traveled to every city in Latha, and he’d even taken her with him to perform for the Eldanion royal court. She’d been to Kragnash, Olmlablaire, and Re. But Traine with its Citizens, mistresses, merchants, thieves, slaves, and beggars . . .

  Boots on the stairs drew her to the foyer where she caught Ashel halfway out the door.

  “Let me come with you,” she said.

  His scowl shifted into a forced smile. “I’m just nosing around today.”

  “All the more reason to let me help—”

  “I—I’ll bring you when I get a solid lead and need your skills.”

  He was gone, and Wineyll’s shoulders slumped.

  “Shemen leave?” Kelmair asked, hurrying down the stairs. She was out the door before Wineyll could answer. Kelmair shadowed Ashel wherever he went, working with the Buzzards and her sect to put Oreseekers in his path and build his sympathy for them. Wineyll gnawed on a ragged thumbnail, squashing guilt about keeping that information from him. If he would only stop stubbornly hunting for Vic and Bethniel, when they couldn’t be found. When. She shivered a little, wondering what it must be like in the rainforest of Direiellene. A wet heat pressed down upon her skin, and she sank into a chair, feeling inexplicably weak, as if she’d been very ill for a very long time.

  “Hello, Wineyll.” Earnk stood in the hall. A close-trimmed goatee sharpened his chin, but his golden hair was all wild soft curls. Her gaze scrolled over pale arms, shadowed with lean muscle, and the narrow waist encased in an embroidered silk vest.

  Yanking her eyes to the floor, she stood and bent her shoulders to him. “My lord.”

  “Are you busy?”

  She straightened. “No.”

  “Will you have luncheon with me? I’m going back to Relm for a while, and I thought I’d stop by a favorite cafe before I go. I’d love some company.”

  Eagerness radiated from her heart. “Then I’d love to come.”

  * * *

  Cutlery scraped and porcelain clinked. Voices murmured beneath sprinkles of laughter. Buttery pastry crackled as Wineyll bit into it; it melted as it touched her tongue.

  “Do you like it?” Earnk asked.

  She nodded, brushing flakes off her blouse. “I do, but it’s messy.”

  “If you can eat a crescent bun without making a mess, it’s not a good crescent bun.”

  “I’ve never tasted anything like it—how do they get it crunchy and soft at the same time?”

  “Baker’s magic?”

  Her smile widened as she realized genuine feeling, not stagecraft, bent her lips upward. She leaned in for another bite, and flakes spattered her plate. “I wonder if my mother could bake these. She’s a tavern cook in Re.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Your mother’s Relman?”

  She nodded. “My parents met in South Market. I lived with her there when I was very young, but Father took me back to Latha once they realized I was good at music.”

  “Did you stay in touch?”

  “Letters. Not many, because of the war. They had to go through Mora, so it would take a long time.”

  “Did you see her when we were in Re?”

  “No.”

  His eyes narrowed, whether in judgment or sympathy, she couldn’t Hear.

  She added, “It felt too awkward to contact her, when I was there with a conquering army.”

  “And a wizard?”

  “That too.” Her smile mirrored his, and again she felt it.

  “It was a little awkward for me too, arriving there with a conquering army and a wizard.” A soft, sardonic laugh caressed her ears.

  “Your father meant for you to be Relmlord all along.”

  “Which is probably why I still hold the Seat. Far be it from Father to let attempted patricide interfere with his grand scheme.”

  She looked down at the fists curled atop her napkin. She had given herself entirely to Lornk, but in the weeks since they’d arrived in Traine, he’d mostly ignored her except when he took her to meetings with the Citizenry, so she could Listen for him. She’d been given her own bedchamber, and he’d visited only twice, the lovemaking distracted and perfunctory. When she’d told him she was going off with Earnk, he’d only wished her an enjoyable afternoon. The lack of jealousy hurt, but she reminded herself that everyone was just a pawn on his chessboard.

  Earnk sipped the last of his tea. “I could take your mother a letter, if you’d like to let her know where and how you are.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  “Tomorrow. Father may have meant for me to inherit the Seat, but I could still lose it if I stay away too long.”

  Disappointment pulled her mouth down. It was as if she stood outside herself, watching her own facial expressions and feeling astounded that they reflected genuine feelings. Perhaps she was astonished at feeling anything; she’d been hollow inside for so long. She covered the frown with her napkin. “That was delicious. Thank you, my lord.”

  “Shall we walk?” he asked as they left the pastry shop. A pair of guards hopped off the waiting carriage and shadowed them as they ambled along the cobbled sidewalk.

  “This city seems so small to me now,” he said. “More people live here than in Re, but in such tight quarters. I’ve grown used to the expansiveness of Relm. It seems more familiar to me, as if I dreamed my childhood here.”

  “It can’t have been easy.”

  His eyes darkened the way Lornk’s did when he was angry.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t presume. It’s just that I know how cruel your father can be—of course, he has always been kind to me,” she added hastily.

  He guffawed, a bitter, angry sound. “No, Wineyll, he has not.”

  They continued past elegant shops selling silk, silver, and other luxuries. “Yet you’re here,” she said.

  “I had to gain Father’s blessing—show the Council I have his endorsement. And I had to meet with Parnden. I couldn’t not meet with him, considering our positions.” Rancor tinged his mindvoice. His expression grew more thoughtful. “It’s impossible not to admire my father. He transformed Relm from a rustic backwater into an economic power. South Market has trebled in size since you were born there. The war bankrupted Latha, but Relm thrived, and the people are better fed and educated and live in much greater health and comfort, which makes them far less likely to protest my rule, however it came about. It is quite a legacy Father left me.”

  “And now he wants to do the same here.”

  “He loves a challenge.”

  A glint drew her to a shop window where a silver flute gleamed. Tiny springs propped open pearl-inlaid keys. Whistling softly, she wondered how it might sound.

  Earnk pushed open the door. “Let’s go in.”

  Her chest hollow with longing, she backed into the bodyguards. “I—no. No, thank you, my lord.”

  His brow furrowed. “I loved hearing you play on the journey to Re.”

  “That one would sound different from my old flute.”

  “Would it?”

  “It’s entirely silver. The flute you heard was hollowed crystal.” And one no Trainer silversmith could match, her father had always said.

  “I’m still curious to hear it. Indulge me.”

  She let her hair fall between them as they went inside and Earnk spoke to the shopkeeper.

  “It’s sterling.” The woman placed the smooth, radiant metal in Wineyll’s hands. It was lighter and slimmer than her old flute. She blew softly across the embouchure hole, adjusted the headjoint, and played a quick scale. The tone was a pure, clear singl
e line, lacking the inherent harmonies of the crystal instrument but full and beautiful nonetheless. Closing her eyes, she began a bright little march, delighting in the swirling, swooping stutters and glissandos. The shop door scraped open while she played, but no disruption could diminish the pure joy of playing music again. As the last note trilled, she turned to the shopkeeper, her skin tingling with warmth.

  The woman’s eyes were big and staring over Wineyll’s shoulder. Earnk’s features were preternaturally composed as he gazed at a bald, wizened man who smacked his palms together in slow applause. The copper baubles on his sleeves rattled with each clap. “That was delightful! Lord Earnk, my dear boy, who is this charming magician of sound?” The man’s head, perched on a thin and wrinkled neck, emerged from a silk caftan dripping with gemstones and copper scrollwork. A thickly muscled woman with short, iron-gray hair stood by the door, a hand on the pommel of her sword.

  Earnk gave a polite nod. “Commissar Parnden, may I present Wineyll of Narath.”

  Wineyll donned a courtier’s smile and bowed her shoulders to Betheljin’s sovereign. “It’s an honor, Commissar.”

  “Of Narath you say? Then you’re a minstrel?”

  “Wineyll has joined our household as a retainer,” Earnk said. “And I’m afraid we have an appointment. We’ll leave you to your business here.”

  Parnden nodded at the flute in Wineyll’s hands. “I’ve had my eye on that instrument for some time and came in when I noticed it had been taken down from the window. My Horst is very fond of music, and I thought I’d get him a present.”

  Wineyll offered the flute to him. “It’s magnificent. It would make a very fine gift.”

  Parnden leered, but his eyes slid from her to Earnk. “It seems to me it’s found its master already. I couldn’t deprive a magician of her wand, could I, my lord?”

  Earnk’s lips spread in a thin smile. “As you say, Commissar.” Earnk named a sum and asked if the shopkeeper would find it acceptable.

  “Very satisfactory, my lord,” she replied in a small voice and hurried away to pack up the flute.

  Parnden grinned and pointed at a large brass horn with looping pipes and silver keys. “What do you think of this monstrosity, my dear? Would Horst like that, do you think?”

  “Any instrument can be learned with enough practice, sir.” She looked up at Earnk. “I’m afraid we’ll be late for that appointment, my lord.”

  “Indeed. Commissar, we must take our leave.” Earnk handed the shopkeeper a stack of bank notes in exchange for the case.

  “When do you leave for Relm, my lord?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Parnden’s eyes rolled over Earnk. “Well then, until you return, I shall have to content myself with dear Horst. Perhaps I’ll invite your divinely handsome cousin to dine with me. I’d love to hear how a prince of Latha has come to reside at the Korng palazzo. You should come too, my dear,” Parnden swept up Wineyll’s hand and pressed wet lips to her knuckles.

  “Thank you.” Wineyll bowed again, and Earnk steered her out of the shop. Blocking the street, the Commissar’s litter was surrounded by mounted guards. The bearers—beautiful, young men, all of them nude—squatted on the cobbles, each wearing a collar of gray steel with a chain bolted to a ring on the litter. Wineyll touched her throat as the sensations of Vic’s captivity skirted through the shadows of memory. Relief and shame prickled under her fingers as they found only skin, no collar.

  Lips pressed into a bloodless line, Earnk strode swiftly up the posh avenue until they reached a flight of carven stone stairs rising up a hillside toward Citizens Circle. Halfway back to the palazzo, they stopped at an overlook to catch their breath. The city unfolded below them, a landscape of gray stone ringing a blue bay that merged with the sky far out at sea.

  “Who were those youths, the bearers?” she asked. “They didn’t look like Oreseekers.”

  “They’re not.” He grasped a wooden railing, breathing with deliberate steadiness. “They’re all the sons of Citizens or guild leaders.”

  Her eyebrows drew together. “Their sons? How? Does he force them? How do their families tolerate it? I haven’t Heard a whiff of resentment from any Citizens Lornk has met with—much less any desire to overthrow Parnden. At best, some seem indifferent to his rule.”

  “Fear and greed drive allegiances here, and fashion is a powerful tool. Parnden has groomed each of those young men to be his willing chattel. He has no heir, and his current favorite, Horst, doubtless thinks he’ll win that title.”

  She began to ask why anyone would allow themselves to be degraded that way but swallowed the question. For Lornk, she’d abandoned every principle her father had taught her. Her gaze rose from Earnk’s white knuckles, tight round the railing, to bloodless cheeks. “Did he . . . do that to you?”

  “Did he make me one of his bugger boys?”

  Wineyll winced, “I’m sorry, my lord—”

  “He asked me. He always asks, and I wanted to do it, because it’s such a Shrinejumping honor to be asked. Father made me decline.” Red stained his ears as the cords in his neck stood out. “There are always consequences when you refuse an offer from the Commissar of Betheljin. He killed a friend of mine, the son of a tradesman whom I loved as a brother. Sliced his throat right in front of me.”

  “Elesendar,” she breathed.

  “For years, I blamed Father, thinking nothing would have happened to my friend if I’d only said ‘yes.’ That may be true, but after I met Vic and saw what living like that was like for her, I realized what Father had saved me from. It’s ironic. And shameful.”

  She watched a cloud sail over the bay, its shadow darkening the bright waters beneath, until his breathing slowed. “Do you still love Vic?”

  He crossed his arms and leaned against the rail. “No. I pined for that smart, arrogant, frightened girl who was my father’s slave for years, but when I met the woman she became—the real woman who saved herself, not the fantasy girl I’d hoped to rescue—I realized it wasn’t really the girl whom I loved but rather the idea of a star-crossed romance with my father’s mistress.”

  They stood in silence as more clouds drifted across the bay.

  “Do you like the flute?” he asked.

  “It’s magnificent. But I can’t accept it. I know you only bought it to escape Parnden’s company.”

  “No, he was right—you are the right master for that instrument, and it’s my pleasure to give it to you. In fact—” He pulled in a deep breath. “I’d love to have you come and play for the Council. When I reach Relm tomorrow, I have some business with the nomads, but when that’s done, I hope you’ll come with me to Re.”

  “I can’t.” Her chest grew tight, and she had to clear her throat.

  “My father doesn’t own you, Wineyll. You can go where you like.”

  She flushed. “It’s not that. The Guild expelled me, and the guild rules forbid me from playing in Relm, as in Latha.”

  “If you appeared as my guest, they couldn’t stop you. It would be one friend sharing her gift with another.” His lips tilted slyly. “The invitation would give you a better reason to be in Re, and you could see your mother.”

  “I don’t think the Council would welcome me, my lord.”

  He wrapped her arm around his and started up the stairs. “I think the Council could not object to a friend of mine. But first, we do have to be friends. Call me Earnk.”

  Her skin where they touched felt hot and her breath short, though they’d only climbed a few steps. A desire to flee warred with a need to let him continue to hold her hand, to lean on him as they walked away from his past, and she found herself hoping the stairs they climbed led toward a better future for both of them.

  The Riches of Traine

  The final note died on Ashel’s lips, and his companions clapped him on the shoulder and exchanged congratulations on a well-played rehearsal.

  “We have a regular gig on at the Piper’s Ree
l on Thirddays,” Romner said, stowing his lute. “We’d be honored to have you join us.”

  “It’s honor enough you let me practice with you,” Ashel said.

  “Master Romner’s always better when his attention’s fixed on his strings, not his vocals,” Paeln teased.

  “Lucky Master Paeln became a drummer, seeing how she’s tone deaf,” Romner returned.

  Master Londsaen chortled as he snapped shut his fiddle case. “The pair of you bicker like chicken farmers. We would be pleased if you’d make it a quartet, Ashel.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” Jovial stood in the doorway, arms crossed. “Ashel, come with me.”

  The musicians exchanged frowns, and Ashel followed the Guildhousemaster to her office, where she handed him a Guild proclamation. It declared his expulsion.

  “I asked that your Guildhouse assignment be transferred here, and this was the Music’s response. I’m sorry. It’s the Guild’s loss.”

  “The Guild cannot expel you, Prince Ashel,” Melba had said. She’d been wrong. He sank into a seat, rubbing the severed knuckles. “Maybe the only surprise is that it took them this long.” He felt as if he stood at a crossroads in the dark, holding the frayed end of a guideline he thought would always be there.

  Jovial sighed. “Allying yourself with Lornk Korng hasn’t helped.”

  “I haven’t . . .” The protest died. “Thank you, Master.”

  “You’re welcome to continue to practice with Master Londsaen and the others, but I’m afraid performances are out of the question.”

  The offer felt like a kick, but what more could she do? Thanking her again, he left.

  The bang of the Guildhouse door echoed through the square. His gut hollow, he sat on the steps, head in hands.

  “Prince Ashel of Narath?” A soldier stood on the sidewalk, hand on the pommel of a longsword. Iron medals decorated her chest.

  “Yes?”

  “Bribery is outlawed in Betheljin, Your Highness.”

  He straightened. “I believe it is generally outlawed everywhere.”