by Jayne Castel
Dain felt useless here, as if his hands had been tied behind his back. How long would it be before Thrindul cast him out?
If that happens, I’m taking Lilia with me.
Exactly how he’d achieve that, Dain didn’t know.
Brand’s voice brought Dain back to the present. “How can we assist you today?”
“Enchanter.” The man dipped his head. “I come to request a charm that will make my wife more biddable.” He straightened up and cast a baleful look at the female standing a few feet behind. “Come forward, wife.”
The woman’s mouth thinned, and she shook her head. The man turned back to the platform. “See what I mean,” he huffed. “She refuses to obey me as a wife should—even when I beat her.”
Brand’s face was blank and non-committal as he listened, although Irana’s jade gaze narrowed. “Why does her lack of obedience vex you so?” she asked.
The man’s expression turned truculent. “She refuses to go out and check on our poultry and livestock after dark. It’s her chore to make sure thieves don’t carry them off, but instead she locks herself indoors.”
“Sounds wise to me,” Irana replied. “You must know it’s dangerous to go out after dark these days?”
“Aye, I know that,” the man growled. “But it’ll also do us no good if we lose our fowl, goats and sheep. How will we survive then?”
Irana leaned forward. “Why don’t you go out and check on your animals yourself, if their welfare worries you?”
“It’s her job, a wife’s job. She can’t cook, she can’t clean. The least she can do is look after our livelihood.”
Irana glanced over at Brand, her mouth pursing. “This one’s yours,” she murmured.
Brand smiled. “It is?”
Irana nodded.
Brand met the man’s eye. “What’s your name?”
“Pavel.”
“And your wife’s?”
The man glowered, irritated by the question. “Thalia.”
Brand’s smile remained. “Your request for a charm is denied, Pavel.”
The man’s face went red. “Why?”
“We don’t cast charms that make folk slaves to others.”
Pavel spat on the ground, while behind him his wife drew herself up, relief suffusing her work-worn face. “A wife should obey her husband.”
“My colleague has the right of it,” Brand continued. “Check your livestock yourself rather than bullying your wife. She has every right to be afraid. You know what stalks the darkness these nights.”
Pavel’s lip curled, his gaze sweeping over the two seated enchanters. “An old woman and a boy barely off his mother’s tit—is that all they could spare this morning? Look at what’s happening to our land—your Order can’t even protect folk anymore.”
The insult quietened the crowd behind him, although Irana and Brand didn’t react. Instead, Brand shifted his focus to Pavel’s wife. “If he ever lays a hand on you again, tell us.”
Thalia nodded.
Brand met Pavel’s eye once more, and when he spoke there was a gentle threat in his voice. “The king permits us to deal out punishment to men like you—remember that.”
Irana stretched her slender arms above her head, as if bored, and beckoned to a young woman standing behind the couple. “Next.”
Pavel, still red-faced and glowering, was forced to stand aside as a pretty girl with thick blonde hair stepped forward.
“How can we assist?” Irana asked.
“I come to request a memory charm.” The girl’s gaze darted about the shadowy hall as she spoke. “Four days ago, a Nightgenga broke into my family home at dusk. My mother and I watched it strangle my father before carrying his body off.” The girl’s words carried in the silence, her eyes glistening. “My Ma has been desperate ever since—almost to the point of madness.” Her voice caught here. “I fear she will do something rash, if she does not forget what she saw … at least for a short while.”
Brand frowned. “Have you not brought her to the Hall of Healing?”
“Aye, but their calming potions do no good. Every day, she grows more desperate, her behavior more extreme. I fear she is losing her wits, that she will do herself harm.”
Brand and Irana’s gazes met for a moment, before Irana gave a brisk nod. Brand turned back to the girl. “Very well … where are you both living now?”
“In the lower town—we left our home in the valley after the attack.”
Brand glanced behind him, beckoning the young woman standing next to Saul. “Bridia will go with you and perform the charm.” He looked back at the girl, meeting her eye. “I warn you though, it will only last a few days—a week at most.”
The girl nodded, her eyes shining. “It will give her some respite, at least.”
The audience lasted until noon. Dain, Saul and Lilia remained there, watching as Brand and Irana dispensed charms, or sent folk away disappointed and angry. They performed some charms then and there—an anti-theft charm on a box owned by a money-lender, and a waterproofing charm for an elderly woman whose only wooden bucket was now full of holes. However, some charms were more complex, and required them to send one of their enchanters out to the subject’s home, as they had done with the girl.
Even though he had seen Ryana gather the Dark many times, the sight of the shadows and dark corners of the hall coming to life when Brand or Irana beckoned them still awed Dain. He now realized why this hall was so poorly lit—to create as much shadow as possible for the enchanters to work with. He watched as the shadows danced across the hall into Irana’s outstretched hands, or wreathed toward Brand like black smoke blown by a strong wind.
“Did you enjoy that?” Brand asked them as the last of the folk exited the hall, leaving them alone in a suddenly large, echoing space.
“Immensely,” Saul replied, his voice dripping with boredom. “Now I’ll enjoy some lunch.”
“It was interesting,” Lilia added, casting an irritated look in Saul’s direction. “How often do you hold an audience?”
“Once a week—although folk would wish it more often.”
“Don’t you have to be careful,” Dain asked. “There’s a fine line between helping and interfering.”
“There is,” Brand agreed with a smile. “That’s why there’s always two of us. It’s a responsibility we don’t take lightly.”
“And the king doesn’t mind?” Saul asked.
“As long as we don’t interfere with royal matters, no,” Irana replied, meeting Saul’s eye. “Why—are things different in Anthor?”
Saul’s mouth quirked. “The House of Light and Darkness at Mirrar Rock dwells within my father’s keep. He decides whom they help … if it’s to his benefit.”
Irana’s mouth thinned. “As you can see. Things are different here.”
They returned to the House of Light and Darkness, to the great feasting hall where they had eaten at dawn. There, they sat upon the dais once more with Thrindul, Asher, Irana and Brand, as they had done that morning, and ate a meal of venison stew, coarse bread and boiled onions. It was simple, peasant food, which surprised Dain for he would have thought the Order could afford better.
The rumble of conversation in the hall echoed off the cold stone walls, providing a barrier of sound that gave the feasters relative privacy. Half-way through his bowl of stew, Dain turned to Lilia. He’d made a point of sitting next to her, although this time he made sure he didn’t accidently touch her—for he’d noted how she’d shifted away from him that morning.
Lilia often avoided his gaze, and he wondered if his nearness made her uncomfortable.
“What do you want to do?” he murmured to her, keeping his voice low, barely above a whisper lest anyone else hear.
Her gaze flicked to him. “What do you mean?”
“If you want to leave, tell me.”
Her eyes widened, although she managed to keep her face composed. “But how?” she whispered.
Frankly, Dain had no idea—howeve
r, if Lilia wanted to escape he’d find away.
“Leave that to me and Saul.” As much as he hated to admit it, he’d need Saul’s help if Lilia wanted to run. They’d never make it out of the capital without his help. “Just say the word.”
He watched her swallow before she gave a quick nod.
“What are you two whispering about?” Brand asked. The young man sat opposite, next to Saul. He was watching them.
“Just having a private conversation,” Dain growled.
Across the table, Saul smirked. “Still trying to woo her, Dain?”
Dain forced a smile, although in truth he felt like throwing his bowl of soup at Saul’s grinning face. Still, Saul provided a welcome excuse for their whispering. He shrugged. “A man can still hope.”
“Shadows,” Lilia muttered. “Would you two shut up?”
Brand chuckled. “Ah, so the both of you are vying for lovely Lilia’s attention. But what if she’s not interested in either of you?”
Dain gave him a hard look. “Why—do you think you have a chance?”
“Stop it!” Lilia snapped. Her brown eyes had darkened in a rare burst of temper, and she was glaring at Dain as if she wanted to lash out at him. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not even here.”
“Sorry, Lily,” Dain murmured, realizing Lilia hadn’t understood he’d pursued this topic in order to draw Brand’s attention away from their talk of escaping. “No offence was meant.”
However, she’d looked away from him. She stared down at her stew, shoulders tense; her face a delightful shade of pink. Irritated, Dain reached for another piece of bread. He’d never had as much trouble communicating with women as he did with Lilia—every time he opened his mouth he offended her. It had been that way since their first meeting in The Grey Anchor.
The time was coming for them to speak plainly, instead of trying to ignore the attraction between them.
Feeling someone watching him, Dain glanced up. Across the table, Saul was smiling at him.
30
The Garden Room
Lilia rose to her feet, following the others at the table. Around them, the sound of footfalls on stone pavers told her that the enchanters who lined the rows of tables in the cavernous space were filing out of the feasting hall.
Thrindul stretched out an arm so that his hawk could step onto it from its perch on the back of his chair. He wore a leather arm guard over the sleeve of his white robe, to protect his flesh from the hawk’s talons.
Not for the first time, Lilia wondered at the bird—was it a familiar of some sort? She’d heard that some enchanters did indeed bond with animals and birds.
Thrindul glanced up, his gaze spearing Lilia’s.
“We have a closed council now,” he informed her, “and will be busy for the rest of the afternoon. I shall have you escorted back to your room, if you’re tired.”
Lilia was tired—she still hadn’t recovered from the day before—but at the same time she felt restless and on-edge. She had no wish to go back to her cell-like chamber and ponder her predicament.
“I wish to take a look around the House?” she replied. “Is that allowed?”
Asher, who had just gotten to his feet next to the High Enchanter, smiled. “Of course it is—there’s plenty to see here. Make sure you visit the garden room.”
Thrindul gave the blond man a quelling look before shifting his attention back to Lilia. “A tour is permitted—just make sure you don’t leave the House.” Without another word he stepped down from the dais and strode away, carrying his white hawk aloft. Irana and Asher followed.
Lilia watched them go, not trusting herself to speak as irritation bubbled up within her.
“See you at supper, lovely Lilia.” Brand winked at her before he turned and followed the High Enchanter and the others.
Pretending she hadn’t heard him, Lilia turned to where Saul and Dain had risen to their feet. Dain looked annoyed whereas Saul wore an indifferent expression. “Fancy a walk too?” she asked.
Saul shrugged. “Why not?”
Dain nodded.
Two enchanters stood waiting for them at the foot of the dais. One of them was Gunner, the young man with curly dark hair and a friendly face, who had greeted Lilia that morning. The other was a solemn-faced man of around thirty winters with thinning red hair. Both wore robes of the Dark.
“So you’d like a tour of the House?” Gunner greeted them with a smile. “Lars and I’d be happy to show you around.”
He had such a friendly manner it was easy to forget she was a prisoner here—and that he was one of her jailors. However, Lars’ dour face reminded Lilia that the hospitality was in name only.
Lilia exited the hall, flanked by the enchanters, with Saul and Dain bringing up the rear. Gunner and Lars took them through the first floor of the House first, through the huge kitchens at the rear of the building, the store rooms and the library, which took up one corner of the second floor. The library was a musty, damp space that had a forgotten, slightly melancholy air to it.
“Don’t the enchanters use this much?” Lilia asked.
“Apprentices take their lessons in here most mornings,” Gunner replied. “The rest of us don’t bother with the library much.”
“We’re busy with more important matters,” Lars added, his voice low and gravelly. “Our numbers are small and the need for our abilities grows. There’s no time for study.”
Emerging from the library, Lilia spotted a set of stone stairs that descended into the basement. She turned to Gunner. “Where do they lead?”
“The Vault.”
Lilia glanced back at the stairs, thinking of Ryana locked up somewhere down there. Behind her, Dain and Saul didn’t comment, although when she shifted her gaze to them, she saw both of them observing the stairs.
Lilia turned back to Gunner. “Where to next?” she asked him, ignoring the look of sympathy on his face; he knew she worried over her friend’s fate.
“Upstairs,” he replied. “This way.”
They climbed the circular stairwell in the center of the building to the second floor. This was the level where the accommodation was housed, so there was little to see—except for a colonnaded portico that faced south. Decorated with pot plants and low stone seats it looked like the sort of place one came for reflection. In warmer weather it would have been pleasant, but this afternoon a fine drizzle drifted down from a helmet of grey, and a dank breeze made the air unpleasant—they didn’t linger.
Up on the third—and top—floor, the ceilings were higher, the corridors wider. The Council Chamber was located here, as were the High Enchanter’s lodgings. Thrindul and his council were currently meeting, and Lilia could hear the muffled rise and fall of their voices through the thick stone. She wondered if they were discussing her fate.
Most likely.
What would they decide? To lock her up in the Vault like Ryana, to ensure she didn’t try to escape? Take the stone from her by force?
Kill me?
These thoughts made her stomach hurt, so Lilia tried to ignore the rumble of discussion next door and, instead, focus on the tour.
Gunner and Lars took them into a long, thin hall lined with life-sized marble statues. Glad of the distraction, Lilia stopped before the first one, looking up into an aristocratic face: a bald man who wore enchanter’s robes.
“These are the previous High Enchanters of this Order,” Lars said, pride in his voice. “That’s Elthan, Thrindul’s predecessor.”
Lilia raised her eyebrows, looking at the statues of men and women immortalized in various stately poses. “How far back do they go?”
“Nearly one-thousand years.”
“Did all of them have a familiar, like Thrindul?”
Lars shook his head. “Very few did. Grim—that’s the hawk’s name—has a unique bond with his master.”
Behind them, someone yawned. Lars turned and cast an irritated look in Saul’s direction. “Are we boring you?”
Saul gave a
n apologetic smile. “All this pomp is wearing. Where’s the garden room Asher spoke of?”
Lars pointed to the end of the long hall, to where two oaken doors sat ajar. “Through there.”
“Let’s see it then.”
Both Gunner and Lars glared at Saul.
“When Lilia has finished in here, we’ll go through,” Gunner replied stiffly.
Lilia moved along the column of statues, examining the faces as she went. They were all so different—some austere, others arrogant, while a few were serene or gentle. She wondered at their lives here.
Eventually they reached the end of the column and Lilia turned her attention to the garden room. She could see a flash of greenery through the gap in the doors, and could smell rich, peaty earth and wet foliage.
She cast a glance back over her shoulder at where Saul and Dain trailed behind. Both of them looked bored now. “Come on then,” she said with a smile. “Let’s have a look.”
She and the enchanters had nearly reached the doors when a sound behind her made Lilia halt.
The meaty slap of flesh colliding, followed by a startled grunt.
Lilia swiveled around, to see that Saul had just chopped Dain across the throat with the side of his hand. Dain collapsed on the flagstone floor and grasped his neck, choking.
Saul bounded forward, moving so fast that Lilia and the enchanters had no time to react. He whipped out two knives from inside his leather jerkin. Lilia had thought he’d left his arsenal of blades in his chamber since arriving here, but instead, he’d just hidden them under his clothing.
Saul threw the blades with startling precision at the two men flanking Lilia.
Thud.
Thud.
Cries filled the hall as Gunner and Lars dropped to the ground, grappling with the hilts that now protruded from their chests.
Lilia screamed and leaped back, crashing into the doors to the garden room. Saul shoved her hard, and the doors flew open. Lilia tripped, fell and skidded across the polished floor, coming to rest against one of the large columns that held up the roof.
