by Jasmine Walt
Perhaps it is time to return to the attic, she thought, looking up at the ceiling again. Clearly, conventional methods were not going to work. Besides, at this point, what did she have to lose?
Resolved, Tariel took up the candleholder by her bed and crossed the room. Pushing aside a tapestry, she pressed her hand against the panel behind it. It scraped against the stone floor as it gave way, revealing a long disused service stairwell that led to the closed-off part of the tower she called “the attic” in her mind. The candle illuminated the winding staircase, and she shuddered a little as a rat scampered away, its tiny claws clacking against the dusty limestone.
Squaring her shoulders, Tariel crept up the stairs to the upper floor. There were several rooms up here—the entire floor was a suite that had belonged to a long-dead Tyrook ancestor who by all accounts had traveled quite extensively. There were furnishings, instruments, and art from around the world that Tariel had once spent hours examining with delight.
But today, she went straight to the study and opened the second drawer on the right side of the desk.
Moonlight streamed through the window behind the desk, illuminating the abacus within. The smooth wood and semi-precious stones strung across sturdy wires gleamed, beckoning her to reach out and touch it.
The moment she did, a golden glow enveloped the instrument. Tariel quickly used her body to shield it from the window, and drew the drapes across just in time for Zolotais to rise from the abacus. The golden energy coalesced into the form of a woman with delicate features and fiery orbs for eyes. Her hair was bound up in a turban, her curvy form wrapped in a loose, flowing robe that flickered as she moved.
“Well, well.” Zolotais’s generous lips curved. “Have you finally come to face your destiny, little mage?”
Tariel flinched. “I don’t know about any destiny,” she said, spreading her hands wide, “but I need your help. Lady Tyrook means to marry me off to a terrible man who has threatened to have me burned at the stake if I refuse.”
“Then leave,” Zolotais said simply. “It is past time for you to be rid of these stodgy Fjordlanders. You were never meant for this land, Tariel.”
“But how?” Tariel pushed a hand through her long hair, her fingernails scraping her scalp. “I will not get very far as a lone woman, and especially not one who looks like a Maroyan witch, not while witch hunters are roaming the countryside so eagerly. And where would I go?”
“Stop calling yourself a witch,” Zolotais said impatiently. “That term is reserved for those who practice black magic, which is most certainly not the case with you, considering you barely practice magic at all.”
“Mage,” Tariel repeated, testing out the word. It was hard not to think of herself as a witch, as she had been conditioned to think of all magic users as witches. But Zolotais was right. If she was to embrace her magic, she must leave behind all negative connotations surrounding it.
“You’ll go to the Empire,” Zolotais continued on, as if that were obvious. She was referring to the Maroyan Empire, where magic was practiced openly. Zolotais was a desert spirit whose purpose was to teach writing, arithmetic, languages, and other scholarly lessons to Maroyan children. She also had quite a treasure trove of exotic tales, and had told her all about the strange, faraway land in the south, where women were revered, magic was practiced openly, and mages were prized above all else. “And you can use your magic to disguise your looks. If you are afraid of traveling alone, then take a man or two along. It shouldn’t be hard to find them in this castle.”
Tariel frowned thoughtfully at that. “I do have a male friend or two,” she said, thinking of Calrain and Riann. “But I could never ask them to do something so reckless. They would have to throw away everything they’ve worked so hard for, and they will be burned at the stake if they are caught! It will ruin their lives.”
“Do not sell yourself so short,” Zolotais scoffed. “Becoming part of a mage’s harem is considered a great honor, and affords many benefits to your paramours. If you do the ritual we spoke of with them, you may have magic enough to protect and disguise your group. If you take the fastest horses, and bespell the others so that they will be sluggish for a few days, you will get a decent head start, and perhaps make it to the Carlissian border before your pursuers catch up.”
The ritual, Tariel thought, her stomach plummeting. She knew exactly which ritual Zolotais spoke of. Before they had their falling out, Zolotais had been teaching her about magic and what Maroyan mages were capable of. Tariel knew she had to be descended from one, though her blue eyes told her she was part Fjordlander too. At the time, she had been eager to learn more about her ancestry, and about how to manipulate her limited magic. But Zolotais had explained to her that the only way to unlock a Maroyan mage’s magic was through a ritual that involved having sex with two or more men, and as a young woman brought up in the strict Roisen faith, where women were taught that their worth depended on their virginity, Tariel could not stomach the thought. The two had quarreled for a long time, and Tariel ended up shunning Zolotais completely, convinced the desert spirit’s teachings would bring her nothing but tragedy.
And yet, what did she have to look forward to now but tragedy? Her virginity was no longer hers to hold onto—Lord Sowell would take it in a few days. If sacrificing it would give her the power to escape her oppressors, she was more than happy to give it up.
Besides, Riann and Calrain were handsome enough to look upon, and she was certain she would find much more enjoyment in bed with them than she would with the loathsome Lord Sowell. Her cheeks flushed as she remembered her encounter with Riann in the garden a few years ago. Marilla had taunted her fiercely that day, and the two of them had wound up in a brawl that ended with Tariel receiving a whipping. She’d gone to the garden for a moment alone, to lick her wounds amongst the fragrant blossoms, when Riann had come upon her. He had asked no questions of her, and as she’d curled up in his strong embrace, the desire for more had unfurled inside her.
She’d stopped herself from taking things too far that day, for fear of reprisal. Would Riann still want her, after she had rejected him not once, but twice now? And what of Calrain? She knew he fancied her, but as an apprentice preparing to take his vows to the Brotherhood, he had already committed himself to a life of chastity. Tariel had never pursued anything more than friendship with him, not wanting to get in the way of the path he had chosen. But now…
“If these men are truly your friends, you should give them the chance to decide whether or not to help you,” Zolotais said, gentling her voice. “It is quite a risk, but if you use your natural feminine allure, you may convince them to cooperate.”
Tariel bit her lip. “I’ll have to tell them the truth about what I am,” she said. “There is a chance they will recoil and denounce me.” In fact, she would be very surprised if they did not. They had been raised the same way she had, brought up to fear and loathe witches. Getting them to overcome a lifetime of prejudice to help her was going to be difficult.
But then again, what other option did she have than to put her hope in them? Regardless of what decision she made, she would likely end up burning at the stake anyway. At least this way, she could say she tried to make a bid for freedom.
“All right,” she said grimly, taking a seat behind the desk. She pulled out a sheet of paper, a quill, and a bottle of ink, and began to write the note that would seal her fate.
9
Calrain was just about to turn in for the night when he heard the sound of paper scratching against stone.
He turned around just in time to see a note slip beneath the door. Soft footsteps pattered away, and he hurried to the door and flung it open. Whoever had left the note was long gone, but he caught just a hint of lilacs and sunshine in the air outside—a scent he would recognize anywhere.
Tariel?
Heart hammering, he bent down to pick up the note. He’d been up all night thinking of ways to get Tariel out of her predicament, but had come up wi
th nothing. Could it be that she’d found a solution?
Hope kindled inside Calrain as he unfolded the note and held it up to the firelight. Tariel’s elegant script flowed across the small scrap of paper, and goosebumps raced over his flesh as he read the words.
Come to the old gallery under the tower at midnight. Bring Riann, if you can convince him. My life depends upon it.
Calrain swallowed. She wanted to see them both? Jealousy flared inside him, and he shook his head. Of course she wanted Riann. He was strong and fast and good with a sword, while Calrain was merely good with numbers and learning. That she had even asked for him at all warmed his heart, chasing away the negativity.
His feelings were irrelevant in the face of Tariel’s plight. If fetching Riann was what it took to save her life, then by Roisen, Calrain would get him.
Calrain cleaned up his workspace, then snuffed out the candles and left the office. He wrapped his cloak around his shoulders to protect against the night’s chilly breeze—evenings were always cold in Fjordland, regardless of the time of year—and headed into the dark with a torch.
The first place he checked was the stables, and to his great fortune, he caught Riann just in time. The knight was dressed in light armor, and the stable boy had just finished helping him saddle up his horse. Calrain wondered why he did not have a squire to assist him, but then again, Riann was newly knighted—perhaps one had not been assigned to him yet.
“You’ve caught me at a bad time if it’s fighting lessons you’re after,” Riann said. “I’m about to start my patrol shift.” His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but Calrain did not have time to wonder what it was about patrol that rankled the knight.
“I’m not here for training. I need to speak to you about a personal matter.” He glanced at the stable boy, who was still standing nearby. “Alone, preferably.”
Riann sighed. “Very well, but make it quick. I cannot afford to be late.” He handed his horse’s reins off to the stable boy, then followed Calrain to an alder tree far enough away that they would hopefully not be overheard.
“I received a note from Tariel a few minutes ago,” he said as quietly as he could. He unfurled the scrap of paper to show to Riann even though he knew Riann could not read it. “She has asked us both to meet her in the old gallery at the bottom of the tower where she lives. She says her life depends on it.”
Riann lifted his chin, his gaze going to the castle. Calrain followed his line of sight to the tower, and saw a light flickering from Tariel’s window. Had she really managed to get back to her room so quickly? How could she move about the castle so easily when Lady Tyrook had ordered the servants to watch her like a hawk?
“How do you know the note is from her?” Riann asked, still looking at the tower. “Tariel cannot read or write—”
“Yes, she can,” Calrain said, taking a risk. Riann’s eyes widened at the treasonous declaration. “I taught her when we were small. I recognize her handwriting.”
Riann blew out a long breath. “You must care for her deeply to do such a thing. Unless it was a bargain, such as the one you made with me?” His eyes narrowed.
Calrain’s cheeks colored. “We were children,” he protested. “I couldn’t have taken advantage of her even if I’d wanted to. The only thing I desired was to spend more time with her, to see her smile and her eyes sparkle as we read tales of wonder and adventure.”
Riann smiled. “You’ve quite the way with words,” he said. “I can see why Tariel would like you.” The glint in his eyes was not unlike the jealousy Calrain had felt earlier, which surprised him. What reason would Riann have to be envious of him?
“Are you going to come, or not?” he asked, turning the conversation back to the matter at hand. “Midnight is only an hour away. I must have your answer now.”
Riann set his jaw. “Of course I will come.” His nostrils flared as he looked toward the castle again. “When I heard that Lady Tyrook was going to marry Tariel to that oaf, I nearly went to her myself to offer my sword. But I will need to get another knight to cover my shift, at least for an hour or two.”
The two of them parted ways, agreeing to meet in the gallery at the requested time.
An hour later, Calrain found himself standing alone in the gallery, his eyes and ears straining for any sign that someone else was watching. He’d arrived a few minutes early to ensure no one had followed, but he was no soldier—he could have easily missed a spy. The lone yellow candle he held aloft in a brass candleholder was the only source of light in the dark, empty space, illuminating the dust motes hanging in the air.
As the minutes passed, he wondered if it had been a mistake to ask Riann to come. What if the knight had merely pretended to go along, and was even now reporting him and Tariel to the Captain of the Guard? He was not a suspicious man by nature, choosing to see the best in people most of the time, but the nature of what he was doing, skulking around in the dark like this, made him jumpy, and he imagined all sorts of terrible outcomes.
At a rustling sound behind him, Calrain nearly jumped out of his skin. He whirled around, brandishing the dagger he’d hidden beneath his cloak, then relaxed as Riann slipped through the door.
The knight eyed the dagger, not a trace of fear in his blue-eyed gaze. “That’s a fine blade you have there,” he said, an admiring note in his voice. “Where did you get it?”
“My old master gave it to me when I was sent away from the monastery.” Calrain ran a finger along the flat of the blade fondly, remembering the old man who had raised him. “It was far too big for me at the time, but I’ve practiced a bit with it, and I think I’ve grown into it.”
Riann chuckled. “I’ll teach you how to use it properly, once this business with Tariel is behind us.” His keen gaze swept the room. “She’s not arrived yet, has she? I hope she didn’t run into any trouble on the way here.”
They both flinched at the sound of wood scraping against stone on the other side of the room. Riann’s hand flew to the hilt of his sword as a hidden panel in the wall opened, and they both gaped in astonishment as Tariel stepped out. The light from the candle in her hand flickered across the planes of her lovely face, and her blue eyes seemed to glow with ethereal light.
“I’m so glad you’ve come,” she said, giving them a grateful smile as she waved them over. “Come, quickly! There is a better place where we can talk in private.”
Riann and Calrain exchanged bewildered glances as they followed Tariel into the hidden passageway, which turned out to be the bottom landing of a winding staircase.
“How did you find this passage?” Calrain asked as he mounted the staircase behind her. Though the dark dress she wore was modest, it did not completely hide her curves, and the unexpected view of her tantalizing bottom heated his cheeks.
“I discovered it by accident when I was a child,” she said as they climbed. “It gives me access to the gallery, and the upper floors, which are otherwise closed off.”
She led them to the very top, then through another hidden panel. Calrain’s eyes widened as they stepped into a large suite that looked like it hadn’t seen a good dusting in decades. He and Riann gawked as they passed exotic furniture, artwork, statues of half-naked women, and other items no respectable Fjordlander would display in his home.
“Where did all these things come from?” Riann asked as Tariel beckoned them to follow her down a small corridor.
“I believe they belonged to a Tyrook cousin who had a penchant for traveling,” Tariel said. Her hips swayed as she walked, an alluring picture of grace that beckoned Calrain like a siren’s call. He knew he was not the only one entranced—Riann’s eyes were fixed on Tariel as they both hurried after her, lingering on her enticing curves.
“No wonder the Tyrooks closed this place off,” Riann said as Tariel led them into a study. “I’m surprised Lady Tyrook hasn’t burned everything in here.”
“I’m quite glad she didn’t,” Tariel said, sitting behind the desk. She motioned for Calrain
and Riann to sit in the visitor chairs, and as they did, Calrain couldn’t help but think Tariel looked very at home in that grand chair behind that big, impressive desk. She held herself with a natural poise and confidence so few Fjordland women possessed. It was no wonder half the men were madly in love with her, and the women jealous. He’d overheard more than a few unkind barbs from them, though he’d never said anything about it. It would be most unseemly of him, a Brother of Roisen in training, to jump to the defense of a woman he was not related to.
Not that Calrain had any idea who his relatives were. He was deposited at the steps of the monastery when he was a babe on a cold winter night. The monks had never known his parentage, and despite his distinctive red hair, a rare attribute for a Fjordlander, they had never been able to track them down.
“All right,” he said, taking charge of the conversation. “Now that we are safely away from prying eyes, tell us what we can do to help you.”
Tariel squared her shoulders. She looked a bit nervous, Calrain realized, her face taut with tension. “It’s complicated,” she began.
“I don’t see why it has to be,” Riann said. “Your unwanted groom could suffer a nightly attack by masked robbers that would leave him in no condition for a wedding. You would be well within your rights to break off the engagement on account of not wanting to be saddled with an invalid for a husband. I am certain you would have another suitor in seconds.” His voice sharpened a bit at the end, echoing Calrain’s own sentiment about seeing Tariel with another man, but he quickly hid his displeasure. There was no point in pining after what they could not have, Calrain reminded himself.
