~
Ailsa stood in the center of the arc and looked left to Jathan and right to Grandmama. Both of them nodded to her. She took a deep breath and let her magic build slowly, reaching out to either side. She met Jathan’s magic first, sparkling and enthralling, then Grandmama’s joined the bond. Hers was more comfortable, less exhilarating, but it also seemed to help regulate the effect of Jathan’s. Ailsa turned her attention to the work at hand.
Directing the flows was a very different experience. She was working on trees farther in, since their previous efforts had cured the outermost ring of oaks. These trees were more heavily infected. Paying attention to the minute details, separating the fungus and destroying only that, while leaving the roots intact, required a lot of concentration. Ailsa had to remind herself to stop periodically to check on both Grandmama and Jathan. The attention needed to wield the magic offset the intoxication to a certain extent, but not completely.
She felt the magic flows falter and glance up and to her right. Grandmama was nearing her limit, but the flow was still strong from her left. Without hesitation, Ailsa dropped Grandmama from the circle and continued working with just her own magic and Jathan’s. This was even more exhilarating than the three-way bond. She felt buoyed up by it, like she could work all day.
When she began to feel a little dizzy, she sat down on the grass and continued to work, reveling in the feel of their combined magic. Only, the feel was different. It wasn’t a balanced mixture of her magic and Jathan’s. Nearly all of this was Jathan’s magic. It felt like an embrace. And it was slipping away from her. Ailsa tried to hold onto it, sweat popping out on her forehead.
“Stop! Let it go, now.” Grandmama’s voice said from somewhere close behind her.
Ailsa blinked as the flow of magic abruptly ceased. Hooves thundered from her left.
Jathan reined his horse to a stop and almost leapt from the saddle to her side. “Why didn’t you stop?”
She hadn’t wanted to let the warm touch of his magic go, but she couldn’t say that. Instead, she huffed. “I can work as long as you can.”
Grandmama crossed her arms. “No, you can’t. Ailsa, you’re may be a level ten green mage or, at least, a very high level nine. Jathan, on the other hand is at least a level ten. Though he does seem to work best with someone near his level to push him a bit. If you two are going to work together—and together you can be the greatest green mage team in generations—you’re going to have to be willing to let him know when you reach your limit.”
Jathan nodded, not grinning the way she’d expect at the news of his rating.
Ailsa grinned in spite of her splitting headache. A green mage team? She and Jathan? That would be . . . potentially complicated, but a lot of fun. It would be the best way to work as a green mage that she could think of. “Next time, I’ll be more careful. I won’t do that again.” She looked up at Jathan. “We can’t have anything endangering the team.”
Jathan returned her grin. “No. I don’t suppose we can at that.”
She looked up at Grandmama. “Would it be better for Jathan to lead from now on?” As long as she could continue working with him, she really didn’t care who led.
Grandmama pursed her lips. “We’re still quite early in your training. Both of you need more experience leading a circle. Part of that, is learning to recognize both your own limits and the limits of your partners. It’s not only the leader who can drop out of the link if it’s necessary.”
Jathan nodded firmly at that.
Chapter 20: Imperial Summons
Savyon handed his reins over to the groom. “Give him a good rub down. He’s earned it.” He started toward his chambers to bathe and change, but a commotion at the palace entrance made him change direction to see what was up.
A squad—a full fifty-man squad—of Imperial cavalry sat in ranks on their tall horses in front of the palace. Now where could Imperial cavalry have come from? And why?
No. There were fifty-two men. The two in front of the squad dismounted, along with the squad captain. Two young men—one possibly about Savyon’s age, the other a year or two younger—both just above middling height, with brown hair. Enough alike to be brothers and, though dressed richly, not wearing the black and silver cavalry uniform. The older one carried the silver baton of an Imperial embassy. Savyon remembered the letter he’d had from the emperor. Could it be his summons to Terranion, come at last? He couldn’t suppress his curiosity and followed the three men into the palace. The cavalry captain spoke to the nearest servant and the three were conducted inside, toward the king’s main audience hall. Oh, Savyon wouldn’t miss this for the world.
When he followed the three newcomers into the audience chamber, Savyon looked to the dais and his father’s throne-like chair. Clearly, Father had been interrupted in his office and had only just managed to arrive before his unexpected guests. Father was still arranging himself to best effect when he looked up at the sound of booted feet on the tiled floor, and he did not look happy. Savyon quietly moved around to the side, where he could see the faces of both sides.
“By what right do Imperial troops invade Far Terra?” the king demanded.
The officer, who had just raised his spear to tap its butt on the floor in preparation for a formal announcement, paused and, with one glance at the brothers, brought his spear back into the rest position. The one Savyon had mentally identified as the younger brother scowled and his hand drifted toward the sword at his side. The officer placed a restraining hand on his arm.
The older brother raised his eyebrows and gazed at the king coolly for a moment, allowing all eyes to turn to him before he replied. “I’d suggest you revise your tone, King Ewart. My imperial father can hardly be accused of invading territory that already owes allegiance to him.”
Father blinked. “Your . . .” He paused to clear his throat. “Your imperial father?”
The older brother smiled slightly, not in a particularly friendly way. His eyes flicked toward the officer. When he spoke, his voice was smooth as silk. “I regret that we had no chance to introduce ourselves, your majesty. I am Imperial Prince Rishiart.” He nodded his head in the barest indication of a bow and pointed to the other brother. “And this is my brother, Imperial Prince Arrigo.”
Prince Arrigo didn’t even nod, but continued to scowl at King Ewart.
Father took a deep breath. “Well, in that case, you are most welcome, your highness. Your highnesses. Ah . . . to what do we owe this signal honor.”
“Oh, no honor is intended,” Prince Rishiart said without missing a beat. “We are merely here on our father’s behalf. My specific mission is to escort Prince Savyon, Prince Cergio, and Prince Perion back to Terranion as our guests.”
Prince Perion? Well, Lady Izbel would have been Princess Izbel before ex-King Sandor’s abdication. But neither Perion nor Ailsa had ever claimed a royal title. Then again, would they have dared, here, under Father’s suspicious eye?
Father half stood from his chair. “My sons are not going anywh—”
Prince Rishiart interrupted him. Savyon couldn’t remember the last time anyone had dared to interrupt the king. “You misunderstand, your majesty. My imperial father is invoking the clause in our treaty that requires all potential heirs to spend at least a year at the Academy in Terranion. It was not a request.” Prince Rishiart paused, giving the last statement full weight. “The emperor greatly regrets that his father had not seen fit to require you to be presented at court in Terranion before the unforeseen circumstances that resulted in your ascension. He does not intend to allow that . . . oversight to be repeated.”
King Ewart sat with his mouth open. A smile tugged at the corners of Prince Rishiart’s lips, but he managed to restrain himself as he nodded to his younger brother.
“Meanwhile.” Prince Arrigo placed his hands behind his back exactly like a school boy reciting a memorized piece. “The bulk of the imperial cavalry squad will remain here with me, as your guests. My mission is to ens
ure the safety of any and all mages within the territory of Far Terra. Our imperial father has been very disturbed by some reports that have reached him of mistreatment of mages operating under the aegis of the Institute of Magical Arts and, by extension, of the emperor, who is the patron of that august body.”
“I am more than capable of protecting my own subjects,” King Ewart roared.
Prince Rishiart held out a hand and Prince Arrigo subsided, biting back some comment he’d been about to make. “In that case, your majesty, we will be glad to make that report to our father—just as soon as either of us can make that statement from our own observations. Until then, I’m sure you understand, our imperial father’s instructions are law, even to us. Also, as of today, the Imperial mail in Far Terra will report directly through Prince Arrigo.”
Prince Rishiart was clearly the more diplomatically inclined of the brothers. Savyon suspected Prince Arrigo of a temper that could rival the king’s.
Prince Rishiart waited for a response, which didn’t come. “At the moment, however, it’s been a long ride. My brother and I would appreciate a chance to clean up and rest. And, I’m sure, Captain Damek would like to see his men settled.”
King Ewart waved his hand dismissively. “Of course. I’m sure there’s room for both of you in the guest wing. One of the servants will help you. As for your cavalry—”
Savyon stepped forward. “That won’t be necessary, Father.” He bowed to the imperial princes. “I am Prince Savyon of Far Terra.” He turned half back toward his father. “There are empty chambers in the wing occupied by my brother and me. I was just going in that direction myself and I’d be glad to show you the way.” He thought fast. “It seems to me that the guard barracks on that side is but lightly manned. It shouldn’t be too difficult to clear it for the use of the imperial cavalry. It has the advantage of being between the palace and the stables, which may be desirable.”
Father scowled. “Yes, yes. Whatever. See to it.”
Savyon bowed to his father and gestured for the others to follow him. Best to get out of Father’s sight before he could get any more worked up. There’d be plenty of explosions later. Father wouldn’t like this at all. Savyon, on the other hand, could barely keep from laughing.
“Prince Savyon—”
“Savyon, Prince Rishiart. Just call me Savyon. We’re all princes here.”
Prince Rishiart smiled. “Indeed we are. And none of us particularly like having our titles thrown at us every five minutes. It’s Rishiart and Arrigo.”
Savyon nodded.
“Well, Savyon, I have particular instructions from my father the emperor to talk with you about the situation here. Also, I need to meet with both Prince Cergio and Prince Perion as soon as possible. In addition, I have private messages for ex-King Sandor.”
It was still a little disorienting to hear that title in front of Perion’s name. “I had a letter from the emperor telling me to expect a messenger. I never expected it’d be two of his own sons.”
“Father decided that this assignment required someone with sufficient . . . gravitas . . . to get the king’s attention,” Rishiart said.
Savyon nodded. “Probably smart. At least you’ve certainly got his attention. Let’s see. Cergio’s around here somewhere. He’ll be at supper if I can’t round him up sooner. I can take you to see Perion any time you like.” He bit his lip. “Father’s already going to be stirred up about this visit. Maybe it’d be better if you let me arrange for the ex-king to meet you when we go to see Perion. Even Father can’t get too suspicious about Sandor visiting his own sister.”
Rishiart and Arrigo scowled and exchanged a glance. “We’ll be guided by your judgment in this. For now.”
Savyon led the way to the best unoccupied rooms in the east wing, a large suite with two sleeping chambers and a private bath. He pointed out his own chambers and Cergio’s on the way down the hall. “I hope these will do. I’ll ring for the servants to bring fresh linens.” He pulled a bell rope in the corner.
Rishiart smiled. “This will do very well. Thank you.”
Savyon smiled. “Good. I’ll leave you to refresh yourselves.” He bowed slightly to the brothers. “Captain, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to the east guard barracks, which I hope will suit.”
The captain saluted. “Thank you for your kindness, Prince Savyon.”
~
Savyon sat still while Perion paced across the front room of his parents’ house. “I am not an heir. I want no part of ruling Far Terra.”
“Your pardon, Prince Perion,” Rishiart said, “but a generation ago King Ewart was not considered an heir, either. Father requires you to visit Terranion. I am not empowered to excuse you from that.”
Lady Izbel placed a hand on Perion’s arm. “You’ve wanted the chance to be tested at the Institute like Ailsa. It’s all you’ve talked about since Delea’s father betrothed her to Baron Jazep’s oldest son. This is that chance. Take it.”
Rishiart smiled. “Of course. We will be glad to arrange for that during your visit.”
Perion looked from the prince to his mother. “How can I leave after what Baron Mikel—”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Arrigo said. “I have specific instructions to see that all mages—and in particular Princess Izbel—are treated with all due respect. Even with the ten that will be going back as your escort, I’ll have forty of the best imperial cavalry to help me with that.”
“Of course, Princess, if you wished to accompany your son, that could also be arranged,” Rishiart put in. “I’m sure Father would welcome you.”
Lady Izbel shook her head. “I’m not a princess anymore. And my place is here. There are too few of us, now. We’re losing the fight to maintain Far Terra, let alone expand it.”
Rishiart nodded. “That’s the point. My father intends to do something to amend that situation. He’d appreciate your perspective on that, if you were so inclined. In your case, however, I was instructed only to extend the invitation. The choice is yours.”
A soft tap on the door was followed by the entrance of ex-King Sandor. Both imperial princes stood and bowed to him—more deeply and respectfully than they had to the present king. Savyon thought about the implications of that. For the first time, it occurred to him to wonder just what the emperor might do if he was seriously annoyed with King Ewart. Unlike his father, Savyon had read the full treaty. He knew the emperor’s powers in Far Terra.
Savyon had been provoked beyond caution by his father’s short-sighted policies and baseless suspicions, but he’d always assumed that he’d be the one to set things right. Optimally by persuading his father to see the light, but if not, then by succeeding him to power. The emperor could change that at a whim. The treaty gave the emperor the final say in the selection of the heir to the Far Terran throne. There’d been no choice to make when ex-King Sandor abdicated. Lady Izbel was already an established mage and Father was the only other male heir. There were three potential heirs now. Four, if you counted Ailsa and her future husband. True, things had to change, but . . .
“Prince Sandor—” Rishiart said.
Sandor held up his hand. “I gave up the right to that title long ago. The most I am entitled to now is Lord Sandor.”
Rishiart shook his head. “Nevertheless, you are a male of the royal line. There is no other requirement for the title that I’m aware of. I, for example, will certainly never rule, but I am still a prince. So are you.” He smiled. “Besides, Father would flay my hide off in strips if I didn’t show you the proper respect.”
Sandor smiled. “Your father has always had very definite ideas about such things.”
Rishiart nodded agreement. “Indeed. I am instructed to extend you—and your wife—an invitation to visit the imperial court. My father wants most urgently to consult with you about the current state of affairs in Far Terra.”
Sandor grimaced. “I’d love to visit Terranion again. And see my daughter, too. But . . . politically, it’s
difficult.”
Rishiart winked. “Not if my father orders it. I have been instructed to phrase his invitation in that way if and only if you wish to accept and think that this will make the situation any easier.”
Sandor rubbed his chin. “It might at that.”
“Good, then it’s settled. And I’m sure Ailsa will be glad to see you, too.”
Savyon looked up at that. “You know Ailsa?”
Rishiart shrugged. “Of course. We’ve adopted her as a long-lost cousin. She spent two weeks with us at our summer lodge just after the solstice. Besides, she’s studying with our stepbrother, Prince Jathan. He’s a green mage, too.” He smiled. “You should have seen them. There was this burned-over area on the road to the lodge. A ravine that was going to cause nasty mudslides when the rains came. She took one side and Jathan took the other. By the time they were finished, there was this green fuzz of seedlings over the whole blackened area. When we rode back out two weeks later, the grasses and other plants were almost two inches high and the village below was saved from the threat. They were both rated as level nine mages for that.”
Sandor’s smile turned to a grin. “I know. She wrote me about that.” His face darkened. “She had to send it under your father’s seal to keep King Ewart from reading it before it got to me.”
“Me, too,” Savyon said. His head was spinning. Ailsa had written about the burned-over ravine. She hadn’t mentioned that she was now a ninth-level green mage. He couldn’t even conceive of the power inherent in that. Lady Izbel was the strongest mage he’d ever seen work and she was only a sixth-level water mage. Ailsa was truly a new hope for Far Terra. But . . . she couldn’t do any of that as his wife. Not at present, anyway. After what he’d seen at Baron Mikel’s estates, he wasn’t even sure that he should wish for Ailsa to come back to Far Terra at all, no matter how much her abilities would mean.
That felt like an icy kick to the gut. The cold lump in Savyon’s belly flared to fire. What about this Jathan she was studying so closely with? He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that at all. There wasn’t a thing he could do about any of that from here, though. He needed to be where Ailsa was. Right now. “When do we leave?”
Daughter of the Disgraced King Page 20
