Your Ignorant, Unworthy Servant,
Mage Fain Quillen
“Oh, you’re being courted!” Rosebeth cries with delight, clapping her hands and bouncing on her heels. “By a Level Five Mage! Oh, Tessie! Think of the parties! And the fancy things you’ll have! Oh, how lucky you are!”
No, not courting, I realize with warm certainty. Just unabashed, overwhelming kindness.
Tears sting at my eyes, and I blink them back.
“He’s so handsome and dashing!” Rosebeth says happily. “Genna was wrong about him after all!”
No, my thoughts counter with decided firmness. Genna’s not wrong. But it doesn’t matter, not a bit.
I cradle the exquisite tunic in my hands, the silk as light as a feather. A tear streaks down my face, and I wipe it back. A fierce wave of gratitude washes over me, followed by an equally fierce desire to protect Fain.
I don’t care what people say he is. I don’t care who he loves. He saved me and my entire family, along with Vale. He literally gave me the shirt off his back. He saw me nursed back to health, saved me from being humiliated by all the other Gardnerians.
And now this.
I hug the tunic to my chest, bringing my hand up to cover my eyes and catch my tears.
Chapter 18: Embroidery
I’m still hugging the beautiful clothing to my chest as I hover at the entrance to Fain’s tent. Twilight darkens the sky, the thunder in the distance growing more insistent.
I take in the enormity of the base from this elevated height, the fog having lifted, a multitude of torches springing to life. There are long rows of tents and scattered campfires covering the entire valley, right up to the surrounding mountains. A small flock of our dragons makes their way across the sky in the distance, headed south.
I peek inside, the tent flap tied back a fraction. Fain is reclining on his plush, tapestry-covered divan, a drink in one hand, a thick book open on his lap. He beams as he catches sight of me, his eyes dancing with amusement.
“Ah, the fair warrior, Tessla. Come in. I’ve been expecting you.”
Awkwardly, I enter and pull the tent flap closed as I hug the beautiful dress, the warmth from his expensive stove instantly enveloping me. I stand before him, my back ramrod stiff as he lounges back and waits.
“Mage Quillen,” I say with heartfelt emotion, “I’ve come to thank you for your great kindness.”
“Oh, please, Tessla,” he scoffs good-naturedly. “Surely we’re on a first-name basis by now?” He sets down his drink and book and gestures toward the other chair. “Sit. Please. My home is your home.”
He gets up, takes the clothing from my hands and puts it aside, then fusses with a pot that’s placed over a small burner. He pours a steaming drink from it and hands it to me.
It smells rich and delicious, and there’s powdery cinnamon skimming the top.
“What is it?” I ask, settling back into the cushioned chair, testing the heat of the rich drink against my lips.
Fain sits and picks up his own cup, smiling his catlike grin at me. “Ishkartan cocoa. I did promise you some. It’s so good, you’ll want to fast to it and have its babies.”
I cough out a laugh at his outrageous comment. Gratified, Fain takes a sip, eyeing me with mischief.
I taste the cocoa and am momentarily overcome with bliss. The rich, sensual sweetness of the creamy drink explodes in my mouth, delighting every sense.
“Oh, Fain,” I enthuse, forgetting to be awkward about using his first name. “It’s so good.”
He smiles contentedly at me, licking away the half-moon of cocoa coating his upper lip.
Heartened, I return his smile.
“It’s nice to see you smile, Tessla,” he tells me, his voice gentle. “You’ve a lovely smile.”
I look down at the cocoa, blushing. “I don’t know where you found such a stunning dress—”
“Ah,” he cuts in, eyes twinkling. “You will find that I am delightfully resourceful.”
I nod at this, amused, then take a deep breath, growing more serious. “Fain, what’s going on tonight? They don’t force fasting, do they?”
His levity disappears. “Is your grandfather likely to force you, Tessla?”
“No,” I say with a shake of my head. “No, he wouldn’t. And no one would fast to me now, anyway.” I throw him a level look, bitterness seeping through. “I think Nils Arden briefly fancied me. But now he hates me. Because of my friendship with Jules.”
Fain gives a short laugh and nods with understanding. “Ah, yes. Mage Nils Arden.” He shoots me knowing glance. “He’s quite lovely. But...a tad inflexible in his views. Life doesn’t flow in such rigid lines, my dear, as much as we might like it to.” He shoots me a poignant look.
“The rumors about me aren’t true,” I tell him flatly.
Fain smiles benignly. “Rumors are like chaff, my love. Don’t give them anything rough to hook on to, and they float away on the wind.”
“But they’re complete lies. Jules and I...we were never...intimate.”
Fain waves his hand, as if clearing my words from the air. “Whatever he is to you, Tessla, I’ve no judgment on it.” His eyes darken, his expression growing insistent. “He’s a Kelt. I’d speak of him no more.”
I bristle at this. “Kelt or not, Jules is my friend. I’m not ashamed of him.”
“Nor should you be, sweet Tessla,” Fain agrees with a calm nod. “But there’s nothing wrong with you being unashamed privately.”
“I won’t deny my friends,” I staunchly insist.
“And that is absolutely commendable, my dear, but also potentially tragic.” Fain lets out a deep sigh, shakes his head and looks to the ceiling. “I keep surrounding myself with such stubborn idealists.” He closes his eyes, shakes his head again, then picks up a plate full of biscuits with purple candied flowers gracing their tops. “Here, have a lavender biscuit,” he says lightly, holding the plate out to me. “They’re lovely. Flavored with vanilla and cardamom.”
Though I’m still unsettled, I take a biscuit and bite into it. The flavors of the buttery, spiced biscuit perfectly complement the cocoa. Slightly mollified by the amazing food, I look to Fain.
“Patriotic fervor is running high,” Fain cautions me, all amusement gone. “One can speak more freely in Verpacia, especially at the University. But not here, Tessla. Not two steps away from the front lines.” He pours himself more cocoa, his expression turning untroubled once more. He smiles at me. “One must be smart in this world, sweet one.”
I bristle at his lecturing me about the world.
What does he know of the world? He’s kind, to be sure. And I like Fain a great deal. But he’s pampered and privileged. With his lavender biscuits and his spiced cocoa, his fancy embroidered tapestries and his luxurious tent and all his money.
A rich, entitled Mage barely out of his teens, if I had to guess.
“How did you and Vale become friends?” I ask, an edge of cynical challenge creeping into my tone. “Do all the rich people congregate together?”
A laugh bursts from Fain’s mouth, and he looks me over with narrow-eyed incredulity. “My people weren’t moneyed. I grew up in Graveshire, further down the river than you, my dear.”
Shock courses through me, disbelief riding close on its heels. I eye him with skepticism. “You’re...a Lower River Gardnerian?”
Fain narrows his eyes further, his mouth lifting into a sly, feline smile. “So you think Lower River Gardnerians can’t be cultured and refined?”
I flush. “No. No, of course not,” I stammer, immediately chastened.
“My father was an illiterate pig farmer,” Fain tells me, a hard gleam lighting his gaze. “Horrible man. We did not get on. I was never his vision of what his only son should be. I’ve a penchant for lea
rning. For elegant things. I have—” he pauses, his lip curling with cool defiance “—artistic fancies. He caught me embroidering with my sisters when I was ten.” His expression darkens. “You’ve seen the scars on my back.”
I suck in a quick breath of air. I was barely conscious on our way here, Magedrunk beyond belief, but I remember the pale lines crisscrossing the skin of Fain’s entire back.
“He beat me senseless.” Fain bites out the words with a cold smile. “But then, I was beaten by so many. Until I turned fourteen and came into my power.” His eyes grow fierce, full of glittering pain and simmering anger.
For a brief moment, it’s as if the tent’s interior shimmers and darkens and we’re cast into the ocean’s great depths. I have the strong sense of devastating water power gathering on all sides and am struck by how overwhelmingly dangerous Fain is.
“What happened?” I ask, my voice almost a whisper.
The tent brightens as Fain’s pain and anger fall away, his staggering power abruptly subdued, as if brushed behind a curtain. “No one ever beat me again,” he says lightly with a shrug. “I left soon after. Went to sea. Gained employment as a Water and Wind Mage on merchant vessels and became quite rich.”
“Did you ever see your family again?” I venture.
Fain’s head bobs in a suppressed laugh, and then his gaze hardens. “I went back home once,” he tells me with a chilly grin. “As soon as I came into money. I gathered my sisters and took them to Valgard with me.”
My eyes widen. “And...your father let you?”
Fain’s smile turns dangerous. “He took some convincing. Privately. With my wand jabbed into his vile throat.”
The color in the tent darkens and ripples once again, and I feel a heavy pressure, as if leagues of water are surrounding us. Then Fain’s power withdraws, flowing back into him, the colors of the room vivid once more.
Fain settles back in his chair, his expression warming. “I met Vale about a year later, en route to the Salishen Isles. We’ve been friends ever since.” He grins. “We’ve had more than a few adventures together. And though our affinity lines are complete opposites, we fit together, Vale and I. Like two pieces of a puzzle.”
I ponder this for a moment, trying to decide if there’s a deeper meaning behind Fain’s words. If that means the two of them really are together...as more than just friends.
An acute sense of my isolation washes over me, filling me with sadness, and a bit of envy. At least they have each other—they’re not alone, like me.
I clear my throat, dismissing my feelings of self-pity, and say lightly, “I’m surprised Vale will suffer your company. You’re even more Lower River than I am.”
His eyes dance at this. “Don’t let Vale upset you, sweetling. He doesn’t do tactful.”
I purse my lips at him. “So I’ve noticed.”
He laughs and holds the plate out to me again. “Here, have another biscuit.”
I take one as he watches me, his expression growing thoughtful. “You know, Tessla,” he says, his voice kind, “I have friends on the other side, too.”
I nod, suddenly drawn in by his openness and our growing kinship. Tears prick at my eyes as I think of Jules, and my lips begin to tremble.
Jules. Where are you, Jules?
I look down at my gleaming cocoa cup in one hand and the biscuit in the other, the images growing liquid and wavy through the veil of my tears. The feeling of sadness overwhelms me, and I begin to sob.
After a moment, I hear Fain get up and kneel down before me. He rests his hand on my arm.
“It’s hard, isn’t it?” he asks, his own voice breaking. “To have a mind that strays outside the lines?”
I nod jerkily, my chest heaving.
Fain grips my arm gently, and his cool water magic flows into me, quickly dampening my unsettled fire, slightly calming the storm that’s roiling inside me. Some of the tension released, I let the tears flow freely, and he holds on, his magic a soothing comfort. There’s no attraction in it, just friendship and understanding.
“Take heart, my love,” he tells me. “We’ve both moved through insurmountable odds, and yet here we are, improbably alive. Sipping cocoa.”
The sheer outrageousness of this catches me off guard, and I cough out a tear-soaked laugh.
“We’re sipping cocoa,” I tell him, sniffling, “in an Ishkart tent.”
“That belongs to a devastatingly handsome Level Five Gardnerian Mage of considerable influence,” he puts in helpfully.
I laugh, my voice stuffy from the tears, and smile at him with deep affection. “Do you need a fastmate, Fain?” I ask teasingly.
Fain gives a hearty laugh and tilts his head to the side, a rueful look in his eyes. “Oh, honey, you wish.”
Our eyes meet, momentarily aligned in perfect understanding and acceptance.
He sits back on his heels and grins at me. “I will not fast to you, Tessla Harrow. But I like you. We understand each other, I think. In ways unique to the lowly folk.”
“No one will ever fast to me,” I tell him. “Not with all the rumors.”
Fain considers this. “Perhaps not, sweetling, but you’re clever. You’ll find your way. I’d wager on it.” He pats my arm and rises, holding out his hand to me. “Come, sweet Tessla. I’m a Water Mage. I’ll draw a nice bath for you, and you can get yourself properly cleaned up. And then we’ll turn you into a creature ten million times more enchanting than all those Upper River girls combined.”
Chapter 19: Predator
I am transformed.
My body scrubbed clean and smelling of vanilla and jasmine soap. My hair blessedly washed, combed out and styled similarly to Rosebeth’s in long, flowing locks with tiny interwoven braids created by Fain’s nimble fingers.
And I’ve never been garbed so richly. The entire tunic and underskirt catch the light of every torch or lantern I pass, the black silk shimmering gold and red as I move, and the rubies reflect golden stars of light.
A threatening storm hangs over the west, thunder steadily rumbling, puffs of lightning periodically flashing, the very air charged with electricity.
Fain walks through the base with me, my arm threaded through his. He’s handsome as sin, with his silks perfectly pressed and a rakish smile on his face. We must be quite the impressive-looking pair, judging by all the eyes turning toward us as we pass. I flush, noticing more than a few appreciative glances from young men.
“I will find you later, my dear lady,” Fain tells me with a mischievous smile, leaning to kiss the back of my hand.
He’s to meet up with the other Level Five Mages before this evening’s gathering, and I’m to find my grandfather. There’s a bustle of activity around us. Torches being lit. Couples chatting animatedly and often ardently, while the singles in the crowd seek to secure fasting partners for the mass fasting that’s planned.
Fain strides confidently away with effortless grace. I turn and begin to weave my way through the rows of tents toward the base’s mammoth Command Tent. It’s the only tent large enough to hold both the unfasted soldiers and most of the fasting-age refugees and their families.
I haven’t walked but a few steps when I see Genna and her lovely Upper River friends laughing and chatting up ahead. Getting ready to fast to Level Five Mages, I imagine sourly. To continue their easy, charmed, elitist lives.
No matter, I remind myself. You’ll find work as an apothecary apprentice. Fain can help you. And you’ll eventually get your small, warm cottage in Verpacia. Things will be okay.
But I’m tired. Too tired to endure Genna’s mocking ways. I don’t feel equal to it. So I quickly dip between tents, watching Genna, waiting for her and her cruel friends to turn and make their way toward the Command Tent.
Genna catches sight of something and gestures for her frien
ds to continue on without her. They smile and set off, looking backward a few times to shoot her admiring smiles.
I feel Vale’s heat just before he strides into view and I quickly lean back against a tent wall, taking shelter in the shadows. My heart is suddenly racing in my chest, my fire reaching for him against my will. I try to quell the flames, hoping he doesn’t notice me.
Genna’s face has gone all doe-eyed and bashful. I watch as she moves to intercept Vale, her voice sweet and sultry.
“Mage Gardner.”
Vale slows and turns to look at her, his movements full of lithe grace, his hand stiff on his wand. There’s such power in the way he holds himself, coiled and seething. He eyes her coldly, but I can sense the edges of his fire, tightly held in check.
“I... I was there that night. Perhaps you remember,” she tells him, moving in close, feigning an enchanting hesitancy. “In Doveshire. I saw what you did for us. You were so...so powerful. I had to speak to you. To...to thank you.” She looks away momentarily, as if overcome by his magnificence, demure and lovely. She brings her heavily lashed eyes back up toward his stern face. “Thank you, Mage Gardner. May I...may I have the honor of sitting with you this eve?”
Vale’s wintry stare doesn’t budge, but his controlled fire lashes out at the edges. He looks at her probingly, his lips turning up in an icy smile. When he speaks, he bites out each word. “Your ambitions far outweigh both your beauty and your charm. Please, let me pass.”
Genna’s eyes catch fire, her mouth falling open. “You...you are not kind!” she sputters.
Vale makes a sound of disdain. “And you are absolutely predatory.” He starts to walk away from her, then briefly turns around and sets his intense eyes on her. “There are a number of Level Five Mages who are unfasted and far more gullible than I. Go flirt with them.”
Vale turns on his heel and strides away from her, his silver-striped cloak flapping behind him, tendrils of angry fire lashing back, stinging at my affinity lines.
Genna turns away in a huff, her eyes storming with outrage, her hands in tight fists, looking as if she’d run after him and strike him down if she could.
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