by Jenna Glass
Mairah blinked and shook her head as she realized the pain of the poison had faded to something almost tolerable—and that her memory had come to life before her eyes as the walls of the inn room disappeared.
Mairah sucked in a startled breath as she saw herself as she’d been that night, dressed in a ballgown of rich plum silk embroidered with gold thread, her face young and innocent and unmarred. Beside her stood Linrai in a gown of daffodil yellow, her hair adorned with silk flowers with jeweled centers. At the time, Mairah had thought herself sophisticated and elegant in her dark gown, but with the distance of time she saw clearly that Linrai outshone her with brightness and beauty. If Granlin had favored Mairah as he claimed, it was only because she had granted him privileges a well-brought-up young lady never should have allowed. At the time, she’d been convinced he was deeply in love with her and planned to offer for her—else she never would have granted him that final privilege, never would have given him the gift of her virtue.
“We will have to fight the suitors off with a sword,” Linrai burbled, her face alight with excitement and energy. “I pity the other girls who were cursed to come out when you and I are available.”
Mairah smiled at her friend with tolerant indulgence. Linrai had always bubbled with high spirits and liked to talk in hyperbole. Mairah agreed that the two of them made a fine pair, and their lineages—and the dowries that went with them—assured them of advantageous marriages, but her own nature was more cautious. They might attract the handsomest beaus at the ball, but if their fathers decided to marry them off to ugly old men, they would have no choice but to obey.
Lord Granlin was a choice Mairah had no doubt both their fathers would be overjoyed with, for it was widely rumored he was a leading contender to be the next lord high priest. No father of the aristocracy could resist the temptation to marry his daughter to such a man, even if his family’s fortunes were not what they once were. Granlin’s father had reputedly made a number of ill-advised investments and was in rather dire need of a generous dowry for his son—something both Mairah’s and Linrai’s families were more than capable of providing. All of which figured into Mairah’s decision to lie with Granlin, wanting to make certain it was her he offered for, not Linrai. In her naïveté, Mairah had assumed a man of Granlin’s standing—a priest, no less—would never dream of taking a debutante’s virtue unless he intended to marry her.
“Stop frowning, Mairah,” Linrai scolded, giving her friend’s arm a friendly slap. “You worry too much.”
Mairah smiled—though she was quite tired of her mother and her father constantly telling her to smile, and she didn’t appreciate hearing the same exhortation from her best friend. “I’m not worried,” she lied, for though she’d assured herself that Granlin would offer for her, he had not yet done so. She wondered if tonight she ought to belatedly act the demure and proper debutante and not allow Granlin to lure her out of the public eye for a quick tumble. Perhaps she would suggest that she would not be comfortable doing so again until the offer was made. “We’ll have offers pouring in before the week is out,” she said, genuinely hoping that would be true for both of them. Linrai would no doubt be hurt if she ever learned that Mairah had endeavored to snatch Granlin out from under her, but a beauty such as she would have no trouble securing a marriage nearly as exalted as Mairah’s would be.
Linrai clasped Mairah’s hands and squeezed them as if she could barely contain herself, her enthusiasm contagious. Young Mairah squeezed back, then cast one last look into the mirror, smoothing a stray fold of lace. Her older self, watching from a distance of more than ten years, saw what she had missed back then, the way the smile died in Linrai’s eyes the moment Mairah was no longer looking at her, the flash of cunning and malice that swam behind her usually sweet and friendly mask.
Despite their friendship, Mairah would never have dreamed of telling Linrai that she’d lain with Lord Granlin and was awaiting the reward of his proposal. At the time, she assumed her friend had no way of knowing she had already lost the contest for Granlin’s hand. But that one secret, fulminating glare said she knew full well what Mairah had done.
Oblivious to it all, young Mairah grabbed the shawl that was draped over one of the chairs, making the fatal mistake of once again letting Linrai out of her sight. While her back was turned, Linrai opened her Mindseye, plucking an unseen element from the empty air and directing it into the small metal flask she had smuggled out of her father’s liquor cabinet. The flask was filled with a strong, smoky whiskey of a sort that was strictly forbidden to proper young ladies such as themselves, who were expected to drink nothing stronger than watered-down wine. “For courage,” Linrai had said when she’d produced the small flask from her reticule.
Linrai’s eyes had cleared by the time Mairah had settled the shawl around her shoulders and turned back to her. Her face was all innocence.
“We need one more shot of courage before we go down,” Linrai said, lifting the flask to her lips and taking a big swig. At least, so it had seemed to Mairah at the time, but she had not been on her guard and never thought to look too closely at her friend’s throat to see that she did not swallow, had probably never done more than touched the mouth of the flask to her lips.
Mairah had not much enjoyed her first swallow of whiskey and would have preferred not to take another taste. However, she did not like to think of herself as prim. So she reached for the flask when Linrai offered it, even as the older version of herself screamed futilely for her not to.
The vision faded and Mairah returned to the the inn room and the sound of Norah’s snores. She shivered in her sweat-soaked nightdress, her stomach still tight and unhappy from the ravages of the poison. Her mouth tasted foul, and her throat scratched and burned as if she’d been screaming, though she supposed she hadn’t been or there’d be people pounding on the door. She rose on shaky legs to down a swallow of wine, her knees so weak she practically collapsed.
Had her modified seer’s poison actually worked?
What she’d seen had certainly felt like a vision, and it remained clear in her mind now that it had finished. She’d regarded the proceedings from what felt like a little distance, very much as she had when she’d seen herself sitting at the abbess’s desk. And it seemed that she had directed that vision at the intended memory, just as she’d planned. Not only that, but it had shown her things her younger self had not seen on that fateful night, things Linrai had done while Mairah wasn’t looking.
Of course, what she’d seen had been exactly what Mairah had always claimed had happened. As soon as the fever had struck that night, as soon as her parents had been forced to whisk her away from the ball while her skin swelled with flaming red, itchy pox, she’d insisted that Linrai had poisoned her. No one—not her parents, not the priests, nor the healers who’d tended her during her illness—had believed her. It was an unfortunate trick of nature, they’d told her. An especially virulent strain of pox that the healers’ spells had been able to treat, but not cure. The fact that Mairah had been the only person in all of Khalwell to be struck down by this particular pox was deemed to be nothing but pure bad luck. And the fact that Granlin had taken one look at her face after she was well and immediately offered for Linrai…Well, she’d told no one of Granlin’s promises for fear that her lack of virtue would land her in the Abbey, so it was no great surprise that he chose the radiant Linrai over her pox-scarred friend.
Had Mairah’s vision shown her the truth of what had happened that night? Or had it merely shown her what she was already predisposed to believe was the truth?
Frustratingly, Mairah had no way of knowing for sure whether her potion had worked the way she wanted it to. Nor did she know how—or whether—she could make it give her memories that did not belong to her. But, she reminded herself, she did not need her potion to work perfectly, or really even correctly. All she needed was a way to create hope, and even if everything the
vision had showed her turned out to be false, the potion ought to be enough to create that hope.
Ved was the key; she was sure of it. The other elements in the memory potion were ones she could procure anywhere. All she had to do was find a way to bring some Ved with her when their delegation returned to Khalpar.
Her heart sank at the notion. Not just at the difficulty of smuggling out a supply of Ved, which would be a challenge when their entire delegation had been warned they’d be searched both physically and with Mindsight before leaving. But at the thought of returning to Khalpar at all.
Yes, with her skills, she could likely parlay this potion of hers into an official and permanent position as Abbess of Khalpar. Whether its revelations were true or not, she had faith in her own ability to manipulate the facts. But now that she’d seen what was possible for a former abigail here in Women’s Well, it was hard to be satisfied with the prospect of being the Abbess of Khalpar for the rest of her life.
“Get used to it,” she growled at herself impatiently.
Unless she could find a way to escape her guards, convince the Sovereign Princess of Women’s Well to let her stay, and then disguise herself so well and thoroughly that she would not be immediately captured and sent back to Khalpar for execution, becoming the permanent abbess was the best she could hope for.
Resigned though she might be to the eventuality, Mairah had no intention of returning to the Abbey any sooner than necessary. Only at the last possible moment would she announce the successful testing of her new seer’s poison. Until then, she would enjoy the faux-freedom of her days in Women’s Well. And, though she sternly commanded herself not to get her hopes up, she would devote every spare moment to the impossible task of finding a way out.
* * *
—
Chanlix settled behind her desk in the Academy with a cup of mint tea that filled the room with its fragrance. She took a honey-sweetened sip, savoring the flavor while her stomach growled a protest that tea was no substitute for a hearty breakfast. Her stomach had a short memory. The last two hearty breakfasts she had consumed had fled her body before she’d even set foot out of her house and had left her feeling so nauseated that even the thought of downing an anti-nausea potion was enough to make her heave.
Feeling it was prudent to wait and see how her stomach received that first sip, Chanlix put the still-steaming cup down as Kailee slipped into the office, as she did every morning before she joined the abbess and the novices in the back room. Mother Mairahsol no doubt guessed that Kailee was reporting on her, but there was no reason to rub the woman’s nose in it, so Kailee made sure to drop by before the start of the day, when there was no chance that Mairahsol would know she had arrived at the Academy.
Kailee took a seat, immediately tucking away the veil that hid her eyes. “Good morning, Lady Chanlix,” she said with her habitual good cheer. If the news that Chanlix was carrying her husband-to-be’s child in any way upset her, she was a master of hiding her feelings. “How are you feeling?” She sniffed the air. “Is that tea in addition to breakfast or instead of it?”
Chanlix had been unable to conceal her morning sickness during Kailee’s previous two visits, and if she didn’t get it under control, it wouldn’t be long until everyone in Women’s Well knew that she was with child. A little sigh—half resignation, half contentment—left her. Even without the morning sickness, her condition would become apparent in another couple of months or so.
“Instead,” Chanlix admitted, risking another sip. “If I can avoid making a public spectacle of myself, I will.”
Kailee grinned at her. “Does that mean you’re going to retire in genteel seclusion for the duration of your pregnancy?” she asked in a tone that said she knew full well the answer.
Chanlix snorted, although for all her happiness at the new life that grew within her, she was finding herself not quite as confident of her place as she’d led Tynthanal to believe. Those of the working classes did not expect their women to hide themselves away while pregnant, but Chanlix wasn’t certain how the gentry of Women’s Well—what little of it there was—would react to a woman of her station not only being out in public every day but actively participating in council meetings. But that was a trial to be faced later, when she decided to tell others she was expecting. So far, only Tynthanal and Kailee knew, and they were both sworn to secrecy.
No matter Kailee’s apparent ease with discussing Chanlix’s condition, Chanlix was not similarly comfortable with it, so she changed the subject. Not that she was especially eager to discuss the disturbing report she’d received from those who kept watch on Mairahsol at the inn.
“I’m afraid we made a mistake in giving Mairahsol that memory potion,” she said, mentally kicking herself for not putting her foot down. She’d known as soon as Kailee asked that permitting Mairahsol any but the barest minimum of education about and access to the magic of Women’s Well was a bad idea, but she’d allowed herself to be convinced the memory potion was harmless.
“Oh?” Kailee asked, her brows arching. “How so?”
There was less concern in her voice than Chanlix would have liked, and Chanlix sometimes wondered if the girl was more naïve than she had once thought. Mairahsol made little effort to hide her unpleasant nature, yet Kailee seemed to be genuinely befriending her. And, perhaps, underestimating her threat.
“She apparently used that potion in combination with a seer’s poison last night. Which is not something I believe she would have done spontaneously. I’m afraid she manipulated you into offering it to her.”
Kailee showed no sign of being abashed. “Do you truly believe the delegation could not have acquired a memory potion without my help?”
“There’s a reason they’re all being watched,” Chanlix explained patiently. “We will not allow them to go around us to get what they want.”
Kailee shrugged. “You’re watching them now, yes. But if they decide what they need is a memory potion, they can always hire someone to buy them a potion from Women’s Well after they leave. I know our border patrol is doing its best to stop people from smuggling out our elements and our magic, but there’s only so much they can do.”
Chanlix squirmed, for of course that was true. Every kingdom and principality struggled against smuggling of its unique and rare elements, and it was distressingly easy for someone to make away with a small quantity. “Even so, we should not make things any easier for them. We will give them no more magic, not even the most benign spell.”
“Fair enough,” Kailee responded. “Do you know what Mairah was trying to accomplish with that memory potion?”
Mairah? Chanlix mused. “Don’t you mean Mother Mairahsol?” she asked out loud.
“Don’t be a scold,” Kailee said, but without any trace of irritation. Of course, she was used to Lady Vondelmai, so Chanlix’s gentle and subtle rebuke had no teeth. “I cannot spend so many hours with her and keep using her formal title.”
Chanlix tapped lightly on the edge of her teacup, more uncomfortable with Kailee’s familiarity with the abbess than she would have liked. “Please be careful with her,” she warned. “Remember that she is here on behalf of a man who would love nothing more than to see Women’s Well destroyed. She is not our friend.”
“I think she could be,” Kailee countered. “I know she has some very rough edges, but she’s been through a lot, and I have a feeling she’s known very little genuine kindness in her life.”
Chanlix’s sense of alarm strengthened. “I suspect I’ve had as much if not more experience with unkindness as she, but you won’t find me trying to take away the first true hint of freedom women have ever known.”
“I don’t believe she wants to do any such thing. That may be why King Khalvin sent her here, but if she’s honestly trying to undo Mother Brynna’s spell, then it’s because she is being forced, not because she wants to.”
Chanlix leaned forward with her elbows on the desk, willing Kailee to understand the gravity of the situation. Her forgotten cup of tea sent a forlorn tendril of steam her way, and instead of welcoming the scent, her stomach gave an unpleasant lurch. “It doesn’t matter what she wants,” she argued. “It only matters what she does.”
“Yes, but if she doesn’t want to succeed, that greatly reduces the chances that she will. She cannot help but see the kind of life that is possible for women here. I know she admires you and is amazed that a former abbess is now a grand magus. And she sees me, a blind girl who has always had one foot in the Abbey, marrying into the royal family instead of being hidden away in disgrace. She’s obviously a talented spell crafter, and it seems she is a seer, as well. She would be a tremendous asset to Women’s Well if she can be persuaded to stay.”
Chanlix groaned and covered her eyes with one hand. She should never have agreed to allow Kailee to make contact with Mairahsol. She was too sheltered to see Mairahsol’s true nature, and she was too young to have made peace with the reality that not every person could be “saved.”
“First of all, we have no way of knowing if she’s so talented a spell crafter. She’s not made any progress in her quest to cure that plum blight.”
“That’s because she’s sabotaging the efforts,” Kailee said. “She’s being very clever about it, but I am clever, too. There are several elements I’ve convinced her I cannot see, and she very carefully adds those into her potions to ruin her spells.”
Chanlix dismissed that argument with a wave that Kailee may or may not have been able to perceive. “And even if she is so skilled, she cannot stay here even if she wants to.”
“Why not?” Kailee challenged. “Surely we could make use of her talents.”
“She’s the Abbess of Khalpar!” Chanlix said with a hint of exasperation she could not suppress. “If we were to offer her a place here, you can be certain her king will demand her return. We are not going to go to war over her.”
