by Colt, K. J.
In response to Gala’s blunt question, Esther laughed and Maya flushed a deep red before storming off.
“Oh, no . . . what did I say?” Gala asked Esther, embarrassed at her obvious faux pas. “I didn’t mean to offend . . .” She really needed to learn how to interact with people properly.
“Don’t worry about it, child,” Esther said, still chuckling. “Maya is far too sensitive about the subject. I was just teasing her a bit, and you didn’t do anything wrong. You were just curious.”
“So did Blaise’s father enter into sexual relations with Maya?” Gala persisted, wanting to understand. “And did he pay her for it?”
Esther shrugged, smiling. “Well, yes, my child, he did. But I think old Dasbraw really did love Maya later on. At first, he just needed something to distract him from his wife’s death. He took care of Maya, sure, but she was not sleeping with him for the money or even for his gifts. Still, they didn’t get married, obviously, and the girl is insecure about that. I like to tease her sometimes, get her mad. One of these days she’ll probably strangle me in my sleep.” The old woman grinned, apparently delighted at the prospect of such a dire fate—a reaction that Gala found confusing.
“Can you tell me more about Blaise’s parents?” Gala asked. “You said his mother died?”
“Yes,” Esther confirmed. “She was killed in a sorcery accident when Blaise was a little boy. His father passed away much later. His mother is where Blaise gets his handsome looks, but he inherited his smarts from both of his parents. Both Dasbraw and Samantha were on the Sorcerer Council.” There was a note of pride in her voice, and Gala realized that Esther felt like Blaise’s parents’ accomplishments were her own. It likely had something to do with the prevailing social structure and how each sorcerer had ‘their people,’ Gala decided.
“Louie, his brother, was born right before Samantha died. I took care of the little one all by myself,” Esther continued, her eyes filling up with moisture.
Gala stared at her, realizing that the subject had disturbed the woman emotionally. She had somehow managed to upset the only two human women she’d met.
“I am sorry, child,” said the old woman, wiping away her tears. “I was much attached to those boys. When Louie died, it was as though part of myself died with him.”
Gala nodded, not sure what to say to that. She felt bad that the woman was hurting.
As though sensing her discomfort, Esther gave her a shaky smile and tried to change the topic. “So why hasn’t Blaise told you some of this himself?”
“Blaise and I met quite recently,” Gala explained, hoping that the woman wouldn’t pry further.
Esther didn’t. Instead, she just gave Gala a warm look. “I could tell he cares about you,” she said kindly, “and I’m sure you’ll get to know each other better soon.”
Gala smiled. Hearing what Esther said made her feel good. While it was unlikely that Blaise cared for her all that much, it was still a nice fantasy. From what she knew about human emotions, there needed to be some kind of courtship period, during which humans generally participated in sexual relations—something that hadn’t occurred between herself and Blaise yet, to Gala’s disappointment. Of course, she was also not human, so she didn’t know if Blaise could grow to care about her. She knew he found the form she had assumed appealing, but she was uncertain if his feelings could extend beyond simple physical attraction.
“Why don’t we go into the house, so you can change?” Esther suggested, bringing Gala out of her thoughts.
As soon as they entered the house, Maya greeted them with a dress in her hands.
“I am so sorry,” said Gala, still worried over her earlier misstep. “I didn’t mean any insult—”
“That’s all right,” Maya said, flashing Esther a mean look. “Unlike this one, you didn’t mean to offend me, so you don’t need to apologize. You are just entering adulthood, and you probably haven’t seen much of the world. How old are you, anyway? Eighteen, nineteen?”
Gala considered that question for a second. “I’m twenty-three,” she said, making up a number. She didn’t think telling them how long she had really been in existence would be prudent.
“Oh, of course.” Maya didn’t seem surprised. “Sorcerers always look younger than their true age. Our Blaise doesn’t look a day older than twenty-five, although he’s already in his thirties.”
Gala smiled, glad to learn yet another tidbit about her creator. Then, taking the dress Maya was holding out to her, she studied it critically. “Do you think it will make me look plain?” she asked, hoping that the piece of clothing would enable her to walk around unnoticed.
Esther chuckled. “Making you look plain is something that would require high sorcery, child.”
“It won’t make you look plain,” Maya chimed in, “but it will make you look less like a lady, especially since you’ll be in the company of two old crones like ourselves.”
“If anyone asks, you’re our apprentice,” instructed Esther. “We’re what you’d call village healers, so we do a bit of midwifery, take care of minor injuries, and occasionally look after young ones.”
Gala nodded thoughtfully. She remembered Blaise mentioning that he got his Life Captures from Maya and Esther. Their profession explained how they were able to get so many droplets—and why those had been primarily from women.
Thinking about the Life Captures reminded her of her purpose for coming here. “I would like to go explore the village,” she told them, eager to get started on her plan to see the world.
Esther frowned. “Not so fast. When was the last time you ate? You look like a stick,” she said disapprovingly.
Gala felt insulted. A stick? That didn’t sound good. She had seen sticks; they looked fine to her, but she didn’t think it was a compliment to call a human being that. “I am not hungry,” she said, trying to keep the hurt note out of her voice.
“Ah, so she is a sorceress,” said Maya knowingly. “They can live on the sun, like the trees.”
Esther snorted. “Oh, they can still eat. Even Blaise eats sometimes. Maybe real food will put some meat on those bones of hers.” And without waiting for Gala to say something, she walked determinedly toward the kitchen.
“Do I really resemble a dead piece of wood?” Gala asked Maya, still thinking about the ‘stick’ comment.
“What?” Maya looked shocked. “No, of course not, my lady! You’re beautiful. Esther wants to feed everyone—hell, she thinks I’m too skinny!”
Gala immediately felt better. Maya was much rounder than Gala herself, although she also didn’t have Esther’s plush curves.
“Eat something, my lady,” Maya urged, smiling. “It’ll make that old woman happy.”
“Of course, I would love to eat something,” Gala said honestly. It was yet another new thing for her to try.
A few minutes later, the three of them sat down at the kitchen table.
Gala quickly discovered that the sensation of eating was highly enjoyable. She’d only felt it in a Life Capture before, and those memories were not as clear in her mind. Eating was probably the second most pleasurable thing she’d experienced, Gala decided—the first being those kisses with Blaise.
“Look at her wolfing down that stew,” Esther said with satisfaction. “Not hungry, my foot. That magical sustenance is not food, I tell you.”
“You should teach our young apprentice how to cook, so she can make this stew for Blaise,” Maya told Esther, barely containing her laughter, and winked at Gala.
“I just might do that,” Esther said seriously, giving Maya a frown. “And I’ll show her how to bake bread. His mother used to make food for Blaise sometimes, and I have seen him eat it.”
Gala noticed that the two women paradoxically liked and disliked one another. It was very strange.
“If you are going to teach the lady to cook for Blaise, you should teach her something fancier than this slop,” Maya said derisively, apparently continuing their bickering.
&nb
sp; “Oh, I don’t mind learning how to make this wonderful stew,” Gala protested. She loved the rich flavor of the soup on her tongue.
Both women started laughing.
“I think she really means it,” Maya said between bouts of laughter.
Gala was utterly confused. “I would like to learn how to make it,” she insisted.
Maya grinned at her. “Just take onions, garlic, cabbage, potatoes, and some chicken, and put it all in a pot for a couple hours. Oh, and be sure to forget to put enough salt and be too busy to stir it properly—”
“Hey, at least my cooking is better than yours, you old crone,” Esther said, and the two women laughed again, reinforcing Gala’s impression of the strangeness of their relationship.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Barson
POURING A PITCHER OF COLD water on Siur’s face, Barson watched calmly as the traitor regained consciousness, coughing and sputtering.
“Welcome back,” he said, observing with amusement as the man realized that he was in Barson’s room, securely tied to the wooden column that supported the tall, domed ceiling.
“Are you going to torture me now?” Siur sounded bitter. “Is that your plan?”
Barson slowly shook his head. “No, I don’t have to do anything as barbaric as that,” he said, gesturing toward the large, diamond-like sphere sitting in the middle of the chamber.
Siur’s eyes went wide. “Where did you get that?”
“I see you know what it is. That’s good,” Barson said, giving the man a cold smile. Getting up, he took the Life Capture Sphere and rubbed it against Siur’s still-bleeding shoulder before placing it back. “Now every thought—every memory that comes to your mind—will be mine to know.”
Siur stared at him, his face nearly bloodless.
“People will say anything under torture,” Barson explained calmly. “I’ve found this to be a much better way to get real answers. You might as well talk, you know. If I have to pry the information out of your mind, I will make sure you’re known to everyone as the treacherous rat that you are.”
“So if I talk—?” There was a tiny ray of hope on Siur’s broad face.
“Then I will say you died in battle, as an honorable soldier should.”
Siur swallowed, looking mildly relieved. He obviously knew this was the best he could hope for at this point. Dying in battle meant that his family would be taken care of and his name respected. “What do you want to know?” he asked, lifting his eyes to meet Barson’s gaze.
Barson suppressed a satisfied smile. There was a reason he’d studied psychological warfare so thoroughly; now this ordeal would be over with quickly. “Who bought the information from you?” he asked, watching the man carefully. He already knew the answer, but he still wanted to hear it said out loud.
“Ganir,” Siur replied without hesitation.
“Good.” Barson had suspected the old sorcerer was the one behind the disappearances. The irony of using Ganir’s own invention against his spy didn’t escape Barson. “And how long have you been reporting to him?”
“Not long,” Siur answered. “Only for the past few months.”
Barson’s eyes narrowed. “And who reported to him before you?”
“Jule.”
That made sense. Barson remembered the young guard who had been killed in battle less than six months ago. It was far more understandable for Jule to get tempted by Ganir’s coin; to a low-ranking soldier, the money must’ve seemed quite attractive. Siur’s betrayal was much worse; he had been in Barson’s inner circle and thus could’ve done some real damage with his spying.
“How much did you tell Ganir?”
Siur shrugged. “I told him what I knew. That you’d met with those two sorcerers.”
Two? Barson exhaled, trying to conceal his relief. When two of the five sorcerers he’d spoken with disappeared, he had been deeply alarmed, expecting the worst. He had also realized then that there had to be a spy in their midst—someone close to him who could’ve seen or known something.
The fact that Siur didn’t know about the other visitors was a tremendous stroke of luck, as was the fact that none of these sorcerers knew much of value. They had just held preliminary discussions, and Barson had been careful not to show his hand fully. If Ganir succeeded in questioning them, he wouldn’t have come across anything particularly damning. In fact, losing two potential allies was a small price to pay for discovering Siur’s treachery.
“Did Ganir kill them?” Barson asked softly.
“I don’t know,” Siur admitted. “I just know they disappeared.”
Barson gave a short laugh. “Yes, I noticed that much. Went to explore the ocean storms, Ganir said. So tell me, Siur, why did you stay behind on this mission?”
“Ganir told me to.”
“So you knew about the three thousand men instead of three hundred?”
“What?” Siur appeared genuinely shocked. “No, I didn’t. There were three thousand peasants?”
“Yes,” Barson said, unsure if he believed the man.
“I didn’t know,” Siur said. “Captain, I didn’t know, I swear it! I would’ve warned you if I knew.”
Barson looked at him. Perhaps he would have; there was a big difference between selling information and sending all your comrades to their deaths.
Siur held his gaze, his face pale and sweating. “Are you going to kill me now? I told you everything I know.”
Barson didn’t respond. Walking over the Sphere, he brought it back and pressed it against Siur’s wound again, concluding the recording. He had to watch it now, to make sure Siur’s thoughts matched his words. Picking up the droplet that had formed inside the Sphere’s indentation, he gingerly put it under his tongue and let it take over his mind.
When Barson regained his sense of self, he gave Siur a somber look. “You told the truth. Since I’m a man of my word, your good name is safe.”
“Thank you.” Visibly shaking, Siur squeezed his eyes shut.
A swish of Barson’s sword, and the traitor was no more.
Wiping the blood off his sword, Barson walked toward Augusta’s quarters. He’d found it suspicious that Ganir wanted to talk to her. He doubted the old sorcerer could’ve learned about Augusta’s involvement in the battle so quickly, which left only two possibilities.
Ganir was either using her to spy on Barson as well—or he was suspicious of her, just as he had been of the two sorcerers who’d gone ‘exploring the storms.’
Barson considered the first possibility—a thought that had occurred to him in the past. But somehow he couldn’t see Augusta being a spy. She was fairly open in her dislike for Ganir, and she had far too much pride to let herself be used in such manner. If it came down to it, she’d be the one plotting something, instead of being someone’s pawn.
That left the other option—that of Ganir learning that Augusta was Barson’s lover and taking action against her. Even this seemed unlikely. She was a member of the Council and quite powerful in her own right. Making her disappear would be a significant challenge. In fact, if Ganir did try to take on Augusta, there was a chance that she would make the problem of Ganir disappear instead.
So what had Ganir wanted with Augusta? To his frustration, Barson was no closer to figuring that out.
Entering Augusta’s room, he was relieved to find her there, changing her clothes. And to his surprise, he realized that a small part of him had been worried for her safety. Rationally, he knew she was more than capable of taking care of herself, but the primitive side of him couldn’t help thinking of her as a delicate woman who needed his protection.
“Are you going somewhere?” he asked, noticing that she was putting on one of her special-occasion dresses. Made of a deep red silk, it made her golden complexion glow.
“I just need to run an errand,” she said—somewhat evasively, he thought.
Barson suppressed a flare of anger. He wasn’t stupid; the last time he’d seen her wear a dress like this was at one
of the spring celebrations. Was she dressing up for something—or someone? And did this have anything to do with her earlier conversation?
There was only one way to find out.
Coming up to her, Barson wrapped his arms around her narrow waist and bent his head to nuzzle her soft cheek. “What did Ganir want?” he murmured, kissing the outer shell of her ear.
“I don’t have time to discuss it now,” she said, slipping out of his embrace in an uncharacteristic gesture of rejection. “I’ll see you when I get back.”
And in a whirl of silk skirts and jasmine perfume, she walked out of the room, leaving Barson angry and confused.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Augusta
EXITING THE TOWER, AUGUSTA GOT on her chaise and headed toward Blaise’s house, mentally steeling herself for the upcoming encounter. She could feel her heart beating faster and her palms sweating at the thought of seeing Blaise again—the man who had rejected her, the man whom she still couldn’t forget. Even now that she had found some measure of happiness with Barson, memories of her time with Blaise were like a poorly healed wound—hurting at the least provocation.
Closing her eyes, she let the wind blow through her long dark hair. She loved the sensation of flying, of being high up in the air, above the mundane concerns and small lives of people on the ground. Of all the magic objects, the chaise was her favorite because no commoner could ever operate it. Flying required knowing some basic verbal magic, and non-sorcerers would not be able to do more than slowly float away to their deaths.
Passing by the Town Square, she made an impulsive decision to land in front of one of the merchant shops. Out here among the noise and bustle of the marketplace, on this beautiful day in late spring, it was hard to remain negative. Perhaps there was a good explanation for Blaise’s obsession with Life Capture droplets, she thought hopefully. Perhaps he was running an experiment of some kind. After all, she knew he had always been interested in matters of the human mind.
