by J. B. Markes
"For all you know he's right," Gustobald said, waving his hand through his smoke rings. "Your weak condition isn't conducive to spellcasting at all; the slightest mishap on the way down and that'll be your story."
"I could be resting, if you're so concerned," I said. There was much agreement all around, but little sympathy from my master. After an organized search of the God's Eye, it was clear there was nothing to be found. Its main feature was empty space, and it served its purpose well. When it became apparent our visit was fruitless, Seeker Celeste struck up a conversation with Gustobald on the difficulties of life as an academy necromancer, which he was all too happy to enumerate.
It was the better part of an hour before the sky began to soften. Dawn was breaking. I had been so focused on my scrollwork the night before that I didn't notice the time passing, which also explained why I was so tired. I had previously thought I lost only an hour to that failed enterprise, but it must have been closer to four.
The revelation of how much time I had lost over the preceding days frightened me. I resolved to forgo trance and extraplanar travel for the time being, at least until I reset my diurnal clock. Finally the sun rose harsh over the eastern Everwood, drowning out the mages' artificial lights. So immersed were they in conversation that they paid no heed to the daylight.
"But you must admit that taking command of the deceased is morally questionable at the least," Celeste said. "How can the dead consent to serving the living?"
Gustobald removed his hat and brushed his head. "Yes, yes. These are good questions and quite necessary. Which is why special care must be taken to ensure necromancy is not abused."
"We have taken special care."
"We have outlawed it completely. That's not the same thing."
The wizards didn't seem to be winding down. I could tell Inspector Raines was growing impatient. When he approached, I hooked my arm around his to apologize for yelling at him earlier. "We have to check over the side," I said, leading him back toward the edge. "What if he's actually down there somewhere?"
The God's Eye was more or less a cylindrical tower. The drop reached all the way to the courtyards below. I could even see the private garden where I had spent the afternoon with the princess. To the north was a dedicated orchard, its dwarf cherry trees preparing to rest through the cold season. The inspector's arm tensed up each time I strayed closer to the side for a better look, but he didn't stop me.
When we rounded the west arc, I instantly spotted the body below and my heart sank. A raised terrace below abutted the tower wall. It had caught the prince when he fell, so no one had spotted his body from the ground farther down. My ragged breath drew the inspector's attention and he leaned over to confirm. The God's Eye tower cast a heavy shadow across the lower terrace, but there was no mistaking what we saw. Inspector Raines whistled through his fingers and the two wizards put their argument on hold to come over.
"Do we go down there or do we bring him up?" Raines asked, provoking condescending glances from all present. "It's quite a fall. Can you get us all down safely?"
"Miss Ives with me," Gustobald said, tucking his pipe back under his arm and waving me over. "Come, come! Seeker, you're stuck with the shoofly. Watch he doesn't arrest you on the way down. Ddjeeraer." Gustobald held my hand gently—the way he might if he were a gentleman—then walked out onto thin air. I raised the hem of my robe out of habit before stepping off of the God's Eye.
After the short-lived warmth of the new day's sun, our descent into the shade seemed colder than the previous hour. We followed the wall all the way down, landing but a few feet from the corpse. The smell was pungent despite the steady breeze. I loosed Gustobald's hand and felt the weight of the world return, and we quickly made way for the Seeker to land.
The inspector touched down with his eyes closed, but once his foot was on solid ground he set to work. He crouched down to have a better look, so Gustobald rushed to mimic his example, glancing up once or twice to ensure he was using the proper form. Both men nodded carefully while I stood with my hand over my mouth and nose.
The man was lying on his stomach with his face turned to the side. His eye was sunken and his skin jaundiced, and he had long tangled hair which matched his loose tatty clothing. The blowflies were in full force.
"This is not our prince," the inspector said. "But it's obviously no coincidence. We'll have to identify him, find out how long he's been dead."
"Ten days," Gustobald said without looking up.
"That's long before the prince even disappeared," the Seeker said. She swept her hand over the area and found nothing of value judging by her flat expression. Gustobald waited for her headshake then waved his hand dismissively and the blowflies scattered, leaving their former home vacant. A solitary beetle crawled out of the mouth, apologizing for its tardiness by disappearing over the edge of the terrace.
"Any way of knowing if he jumped or if he was pushed?" the inspector asked.
The necromancer shook his head and held his hand out over the body, fingers spread wide. "Haehongwik," he said, and for once I recognized the distinct syllables of necrospeech, though I knew I would never be able to recite it from memory. The body shifted, reconstructing itself right before our eyes. I shielded my smile when the inspector rocked back on his heels in shock. Soon the body appeared fully intact, as if the man were simply taking a nap in an odd place. Unfortunately, the smell still lingered.
At Gustobald's nod, the inspector turned the poor soul over onto his back and raised an eyebrow. "I know this riffraff," Raines said. "He's made quite the name for himself going in and out of the stocks. Good riddance as far as I'm concerned." He turned out the man's pockets but came up empty. "But what are you doing here, Vaughn?"
"A better question is how he got up to the God's Eye in the first place," Gustobald said. "He wasn't scaling the wall without any equipment."
"I've seen some acrobats in my time," Raines said. "Not this one; he was a brute, but usually much better dressed."
"He might not have been alone," I said. "And his conspirators might have made off with the climbing gear after he fell."
The inspector looked up at me and nodded. "With Prince Jasper still unaccounted for, we'll treat it as an abduction gone awry. Five days before the prince's actual disappearance."
"They may have been successful the second time around," I said.
"Still, it doesn't explain them leaving their bruiser behind. Why take the chance of being found out before their next attempt?"
The two men stood up and Gustobald released his spell, allowing the body to revert to its decayed state. I looked away to save my stomach any more trouble. The Seeker's dour expression was an inspiration to me, and once again I found myself in awe of the Sentinel training. Celeste levitated the body with careful concentration and lowered it over the side safely to the ground below.
"I'll take it from here," the Seeker said, making eye contact with each of us in turn. "If the cutters learn anything useful, I'll let you know. Good work, all of you. I mean it."
The inspector took it in stride. "I'll head to the streets and see what I can pull out of Vaughn's associates."
"Good man. Keep us updated," the necromancer said, with a more dramatic tone than the situation warranted. "In the meantime, I have a duel to prepare for."
"Gustobald." My headache was making a comeback and dizziness soon followed. I remember sitting down to catch my breath, but I don't remember exactly how I made it back to my bed chamber.
Chapter 10
I kept the light low for the next day, though I wouldn't have been able to stand long enough to snuff a candle had there been one. I drifted in and out. There was a fire burning in my skull that couldn't be extinguished by tears alone, so I lay as still as possible as the world trembled about me. Sometimes I woke to find Gustobald sleeping or reading in the armchair. Other times I had the room to myself.
When sleep did come, it was in fitful bouts of dream-torn confusion. I was back at the mag
ic school with Regina, robed in burgundy instead of yellow. And we were dueling again. I cast one spell after another. Ice, fire, lightning. The magic flowed through me uninhibited. She didn't bother defending herself; the magic had no effect on her. In my anger I cast again and again, until I could barely stand under the spell-sickness.
The nausea followed me through to the waking realm and I lost it, falling over the side of the bed and retching in dry heaves. My spasms gave way to violent coughs and I tasted iron. In my daze, it took a moment to realize Gustobald was holding my shoulders. He pulled me off of my hands and knees and sat beside me with our backs to the bed.
He kept his arm around me until I was steady, but when he pulled away I leaned forward and buried my face in his shoulder. He rubbed my hair and squeezed me tightly, hushing me with soft tones that only made me cry harder. When it became difficult to breathe, I turned my head to the side and leaned my full weight on him. I stayed there for several minutes, searching for equilibrium.
"It will pass," he said finally, waking me from my drowsing. "Have faith."
"What if it doesn't?" I didn't dare sit up to look him in the eye for fear the truth would be staring back at me.
"It will," he replied. "Everything does. It's the natural order." He reached out his hand and summoned a small mug from the bedside table. I moved slowly so as not to shake his hand. He stirred the liquid with his finger and it began to boil in the cup. When he finished heating the tea, he blew the cup once and his finger twice then handed the concoction to me. "Drink it."
"What will this do for me?" I asked, detecting the scent of ginger and honey.
"It'll burn your throat. And it'll fill your stomach."
I took a few sips, followed by a longer gulp that made my throat go numb. Breathing easier, I leaned my head back on the bed as I cradled my cup. "It won't be long now," I said with a weak cough. "I can feel it."
"Drink up and back to bed," he said, watching as I took a few more swigs. When I emptied half the cup, he took it from me and placed it back on the table. He lifted me to my feet a little faster than my stomach would have liked and lowered me down onto the bed, rolling me onto my side and tossing a light blanket over me. "Real sleep now. Clear your mind and leave everything to me."
There were no dreams after that. Whatever Gustobald put in that tea knocked me out for the rest of the day and night, though it felt like I was asleep for ages. When I returned to my senses, the old Gustobald was back, making his brief sentimental interlude seem little more than some nocturnal fantasy. I scanned the bedside table for the mug of tea, but Gustobald had already disposed of the evidence.
"We're late," the old man said. "You've slept most of the day away."
I cleared my throat and leaned up on my elbows, squinting against the dull light of Gustobald's floating crystals. He was wearing his dress robes again, but the same old crooked hat. In one hand he was holding his deathknell staff; in the other, the slim trunk of a small potted tree only slightly taller than he was. It was laden with round red fruit. The sight was so ridiculous I lay back down and closed my eyes, putting a hand across my forehead to check for fever.
"Did you not hear me, girl? Up!" The aggravation in his voice sounded real enough. I was feeling no worse than was to be expected, so I humored him, spilling onto my feet and stretching my arms.
"What are we late for?" I asked. "Has there been another murder?"
"How could we be late for a murder?" Gustobald asked, shaking his tree and sending one of the fruits rolling toward my toes. My stiff muscles complained as I bent down and scooped it up. I sighed when I realized I was holding a subspecies of apricot. I took a small bite, but spit it into my hand instantly when I realized how under-ripe it was. "We're going to attend the king. It's His Majesty's gifting ceremony. Get out of those rags and into your borrowed academy robes."
I didn't remember changing clothes in the first place, lending further credence to the idea that I might still be dreaming. I dipped behind the partition wall and made a quick change then went straight to the looking glass. My hair was a disaster. The color had returned to my face but the fatigue was lingering in the patches beneath my eyes. Finally, I surrendered to the fact I had returned to reality and presented myself to Gustobald for inspection.
He shook his head and lowered the tree to the floor, waving his hand in front of my face. He mumbled a few words and my hair flattened. It was an unusual style for me but better than the alternative. He didn't wait for a 'thank you'. Instead, he rushed to open the door and waited in the hallway. I tried to catch his gaze, but he was intent on the ivory buttons of his posh robes.
I slung my bag over my shoulder, but removed my wand and secured it to my wrist with the leather thong. I looked around one last time to make sure I wasn't forgetting anything and noticed the half-empty mug of tea on Gustobald's chair. I felt suddenly sentimental, but the feeling faded considerably when I passed the burned scroll parchments on my writing table.
"Listen," I said, leaning on the door frame for support. "Last night I thought—"
"We're late." He was searching his pockets much too lazily to find whatever he might be looking for.
"Yeah, but I just want to say that I appreciate—"
"Don't forget the tree."
"Yes, Gustobald."
He was at the other end of the hallway when I returned with the tree, which was too stout to pass through the doorway without the risk of losing fruit. I called to Gustobald for aid, but he wasn't even facing in my direction. I gave the trunk a few quick tugs and the leaves rustled harshly. A few quick thumps informed me that I had indeed lost two or three apricots in the process.
"How did you even get this into the room?" I called to the fleeing necromancer. I had to rush to avoid being left behind, so I took the corner blind and collided with Sentinel Chalke, hitting him square in the face with a bunch of leaves.
"What the—" The sentinel pushed the branches away from his face and stepped back, pointing down the hallway like a child throwing a tantrum. "The ceremony is already begun," he said, modulating his voice. "Please try to enter without drawing too much attention, if that's even possible."
"What is a gifting ceremony?" I asked, staying as close to Chalke as my cargo would allow.
"It's to celebrate the prince's upcoming wedding."
"Are you joking?"
"I don't make the decisions," he said with stooped shoulders. "Just come on, please. And watch where you're swinging that thing."
"Sorry about that," I called out to his back.
After a three-minute walk, we were sneaking through a side entrance to the throne room. There was a short hallway lined with palace guards and sentinels. Heads turned as I dragged the tree through, and more than a few guests snickered at me as I added yet another embarrassment to my ever-growing tally.
Nevertheless, I congratulated myself on slipping into the throne room without too many stares, although in retrospect it wasn't such a feat. The king was the center of attention, seated high on his throne beneath a great oculus, which provided a steady stream of natural light that kept the enormous chamber more or less free from shadow. The gilded walls were partially obscured by decorated black and silver tapestries displaying the Crown of Roses, the age-old symbol of the kings and queens of Coranthia.
An arcane circle shone on the floor directly beneath King Eamon's throne, sending light upward in all directions bright enough to rival the indirect sunlight. Even Gustobald dropped his policy of feigned disinterest to marvel at the sight. Queen Valora's humble seat was positioned far off to the side, leaving no question as to where the power resided.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and pulled my eyes away from the spectacle to see Airlea. Her dress robes were gold weft that made my borrowed silks look cheap, and her recently curled hair was dotted with star-shaped pins at regular intervals. She had traded out her emerald astrologist's crest for one of chaste silver that perfectly matched the heavens in her hair. She made a short but formal
bow, so I returned the gesture then moved the tree to my other hand to press my shoulder against hers.
"This place is beautiful," I said. "And so are you."
"Not just beautiful," Sentinel Chalke interrupted. "That ring of light protects the king's life. They call it the Radiant Round. It's an artificial dead zone—a barrier that magic cannot pass, no matter how powerful. Those are extremely rare."
"So I've heard."
"The Round has protected kings and queens for almost a thousand years. It supposedly took a team of artificers a year and a day to imbue it."
I watched the proceedings with interest as one after another the lords were announced and presented to His Majesty, their titles as lofty as one breath would allow. Probably every nobleman in the kingdom was present that day. Most of them are dead and gone now; I can't remember any of their names.
But they were so proud to approach the king, their servants carrying whatever gaudy gifts their regions' taxes had sponsored. Some of the lesser lords gave chests filled with gold crowns, polished to shine brilliantly in the light of the Round. Others brought ornate weapons or exquisite paintings, which inspired applause from the onlookers in direct proportion to their perceived expense.
"This is an ancient custom, older than Astar," Sentinel Chalke said, leaning in closer. His late explanation gave me the sudden urge to hit him with the tree again, but my good nature got the better of me. "It started as a means to pay the bride price, but today I believe the gifts stay with the king or queen."
"Are you a student of history or something?" I asked as I put space between us.
"You asked earlier," he replied. "But, yes, I'm more than just a handsome face."
"Thanks for that," I said, ignoring Airlea's questioning look. "Excuse me a moment." I leaned in close to her and pulled the tree against me to give us cover. "Have you had a chance to speak to your father about the duel? I hate to say it, but he's probably the more reasonable of the two."
"He's made up his mind." She shook her head, suddenly somber. "You need to get your master to back down. Make him apologize. He's the one in danger, after all."
