by Jayne Castel
The queen made a valiant effort to keep the conversation focused upon lighter topics: the upcoming fire festival that marked the official start to summer; the meal before them, especially the delicious berry tart that finished it; and the history of the palace, which had many a tale attached to it.
Ninia said little, preferring instead to let the conversation eddy around her while she observed. The girl’s sharp gaze missed little.
By the time they were sipping small goblets of fortified wine, Elias was exhausted. He felt as if he’d just spent an hour in the training yard. The verbal sparring had drained him.
Eventually, the evening came to an end. The four of them rose from the table and left the banquet chamber. In the shadowy hallway beyond, the king and queen bid Ninia and Elias good night before linking arms and heading up a set of stairs toward the royal apartments.
Elias watched the king go, his brow furrowing.
What’s that sneaky bastard up to?
He wondered if he’d find out tomorrow—he and Nathan had a full day of negotiations planned.
With an escort of guards, Ninia and Elias turned left, making their way toward the central stairwell.
“Are you staying in the palace tonight?” Elias asked, his tone deliberately light. Thanks to Nathan’s meddling, they’d hardly spoken to each other since the main course.
“I’ll return to the House,” Ninia replied. “It’s my home now.”
“You appear to have adjusted well to your new life.”
She cut him a sharp look. “I’ve had little choice … but I do enjoy living with the other enchanters.” Her expression shadowed then. “Life could be lonely in the Swallow Keep. I had no sisters, and my two elder brothers were always too busy for me.”
“My brother and I fought like two pit dogs growing up,” Elias admitted with a smile. “We had a string of governesses, who despaired of us.” His smile faded a little. “My father was pleased though … he brought us up to be rivals.”
Ninia’s head inclined, curiosity lighting in her eyes. “Why was that?”
They’d reached the stairwell and now began the long descent to the lower levels.
This is your chance, a voice whispered to him. Take it … now.
“Father wanted his sons to be tough,” he replied. “He wanted to see which of us was the most ruthless.”
“And which of you was it?”
Elias gave a soft laugh. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “Saul possibly … he was always more cunning than me.”
Halfway down the stairwell, they reached a wide landing, where Elias drew to a halt. The party of four guards accompanying them also stopped, waiting a respectful few yards back. Elias turned to Ninia before favoring her with a brisk bow. “I shall bid you good night now, princess.”
What are you doing? The voice bellowed in his skull now. Don’t walk away from her!
Ninia nodded, although she didn’t move. Her gaze was dark in the flickering light of the sconces burning on the wall behind her. “You’re an enigma, Elias of Anthor,” she said softly. “I really don’t know what to make of you.”
Elias’s mouth quirked, yet he didn’t reply. Best to keep the princess wondering.
Ninia picked up her skirts and stepped away from him. “Goodnight.”
Elias watched her go, remaining still as two guards passed by. The other two stayed with him. He wasn’t allowed to wander the hallways of the palace without an escort.
Ninia disappeared from view round the curve of the stairwell, but Elias didn’t move.
Kill, kill, kill, kill.
The voice was screaming at him now, insisting he bounded after Ninia and ended her life. He’d just missed the best chance he’d possibly ever get to kill the princess. Just four guards, and with Ninia in close proximity. He could have whipped the blade from his boot and cut her throat, before she’d had time to gather either the Light or the Dark. The guards would have been easy to deal with.
But he’d let her walk away.
Elias ran a tired hand over his face and resisted the urge to mutter a curse. He didn’t understand why he’d just done that.
What’s wrong with me?
7
Into the Slums
Veldoras
The Kingdom of Thûn
“ANTHOR SCUM!”
THE shout echoed across the Spiral Way, reverberating off the surrounding stone buildings.
Gael glanced across at the crowd of locals that lined Veldoras’s main thoroughfare and searched for the agitator.
Wisely, for them, whoever it was had shut their mouth. However, none of the faces that flanked the cobbled street were friendly.
Casting a look in Saskia’s direction, Gael raised an eyebrow. “We’re popular here, I see.”
The enchanter shrugged. “Popularity doesn’t matter … they know who rules.”
Gael didn’t reply. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder to where men garbed in black and red followed them. An escort of twenty Anthor soldiers accompanied Saskia and him through the city, making their journey to the slums a parade. Gael had hoped to create less of a spectacle. Upon arriving in ‘The City of Tides’ he’d attracted very little attention before presenting himself to the king. He preferred to keep it that way.
However, Reoul had insisted they have an armed escort.
As he walked, he felt Shade shift against his chest. He carried his familiar everywhere with him these days. Ever since the rat had appeared at his side in Dûn Maras, they’d been inseparable.
It felt odd, but after a lifetime alone he found he enjoyed the rat’s companionship. It didn’t grate on his nerves the way people did.
A woman broke away from the crowd. She was around Gael’s own age and looked as if she might be attractive under all those layers of grime. Yet her face was twisted in loathing. “Pigs!” she snarled at Gael and Saskia before spitting at them.
A guard lunged at the woman, clubbing her across the face with a mailed fist. She fell back, shrieking into the crowd.
Observing the hate-filled faces and hard gazes surrounding them, Gael wondered how long Reoul would manage to control this rabble, before it turned on him. The folk of Veldoras suffered under Anthor rule. Gael had seen signs of unrest immediately upon his arrival here. There were daily hangings on the walls, and locals went hungry, while most of the food went to sustain Reoul’s army. Many of the faces in the surrounding crowd were thin and pinched.
“The king would do well to get this lot on side,” he said to Saskia, glancing her way once more. “It might serve his interests one day.”
She snorted. “Reoul has more important matters to attend to.”
They continued on in silence, while the hostile crowd grew. Larger numbers of Anthor soldiers appeared and beat some of the more aggressive bystanders back.
Gael kept one eye on the crowd as he quickened his pace. The Spiral Way hugged the lazy curl of the Brinewater Canal. It was high tide this morning, and sunlight sparkled off the water. A lad sat on the canal wall as they passed, playing a harp. A smile curved Gael’s mouth as he listened to the clumsy, though enthusiastic, playing. It had been a while since he’d picked up a harp. The lilting sound reminded him of his days in The Royal City of Rithmar. He’d enjoyed posing as a musician, although those days seemed a lifetime ago now.
A decade on, things had changed for Gael. The Shade Brotherhood had fallen, The King Breaker had been destroyed, and Reoul of Anthor was Gael’s best chance of glory.
That’s all he’d ever wanted—ever since being cast from the House of Light and Darkness in Mirrar Rock after injuring a fellow apprentice—glory and a reputation that would live on long after he died. And now, finally, he had a chance to shine.
Gael’s smile widened. Once he was done here, The Four Kingdoms of Serran would certainly remember his name.
A short while later the procession turned away from the canal and into the tightly packed tangle of fetid streets that made up the slums of Veldoras.
>
Saskia led the way to the heart of the quarter. After a spell, she stopped before a large iron door with a stag’s head knocker.
“Is this it?” Gael stopped and craned his neck to survey the dilapidated building that loomed over the street.
“Aye,” Saskia replied, impatience in her voice. She hadn’t wanted to accompany Gael here, but Reoul had insisted.
Gael gave a low whistle. “How the mighty have fallen.”
Veldoras’s House of Light and Darkness had a crumbling, lichen-encrusted stone façade, a slate roof full of holes, and tiny windows that squinted down at him like blind eyes. Piles of refuse lay against the walls, and the stench of urine was strong enough to make Gael’s eyes water. He wouldn’t have believed enchanters lived here, if it wasn’t for the distinctive door knocker that glared out at him.
“What a desolate sight,” Gael murmured, voicing his thoughts aloud.
“The Order hasn’t been welcome in Veldoras for years,” Saskia replied. She stepped past him, leading the way toward the rusting iron door. “King Aron succeeded in turning the populace against our kind. He blamed them for everything from The Grey Ravage to a poor harvest. They’re fortunate the folk here didn’t run them out of the city. Good luck raising them out of the gutter.”
Her tone told him that she wished him the exact opposite.
Gael followed Saskia to the doors. He lagged a few steps behind, seizing the opportunity to admire the attractive enchanter. Dressed in tight-fitting grey leggings, high boots, and a light-grey shirt belted at the waist, the woman definitely pleased the eye. She had tied back her long dark hair into a braid that bounced between her shoulder-blades as she walked. She dressed in the fashion of Anthor enchanters, a style that accentuated her lithe curves.
Saskia grabbed the door knocker and banged twice. The sound echoed hollowly, as if they stood within a vast cavern. Around them the dingy, rubbish-strewn street was quiet.
It took a while for someone to answer the door. Saskia knocked twice more, before they heard the scuffle of feet and the scrape of an iron bar being lifted.
A lanky young man wearing stained smoke-grey robes greeted them. “What do you want?”
“Good morning.” Gael flashed him a smile. “We’re here to see the High Enchanter.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No … but since we’re here on behalf of the King of Anthor, she’ll want to see us.”
The young enchanter regarded him for a moment, his brow furrowing. Then he stepped back, throwing open the door wide. “Follow me.”
Leaving their escort of guards on the street, Gael and Saskia stepped inside. The door boomed shut behind them, blocking out the daylight. A musty smell assailed Gael’s nostrils. It was as if no one ever opened the windows in this place. Sconces burned on damp stone walls.
The youth led them to the center of the building. The House of Light and Darkness was built around a vast inner courtyard. Terraces of floors rose up in a square around it, with stone balustrades. They were on the first level here, and Gael surveyed the enormous courtyard before him. The sun shone down, filtering between the pillars lining the wide space.
It was eerily silent; you could almost believe that a busy city didn’t exist beyond these walls. Gael noted the lichen creeping over the stones, the ivy climbing up the pillars. Mirrar Rock’s House of Light and Darkness had a similar space; this would be where the apprentices trained, but there was no sign of anyone this morning.
As their escort led them toward the first set of stairs heading to the next level, Gael called out to him. “Where is everybody?”
The young man glanced over his shoulder. “Busy.”
“Doing what? Sleeping?”
The enchanter scowled.
“What’s your name?” Gael asked, persevering.
“Daric.”
“When did you join the order, Daric?”
“Ten years ago.”
Saskia cut him an amused look, clearly wondering why he was bothering to talk to the lad. In response, Gael felt his irritation rise.
Ignore her, Shade’s soothing voice interrupted his thoughts. You have a plan.
Indeed, Gael did have a plan—one that entailed gaining the trust of the enchanters of this House. The first thing you did when trying to earn someone’s trust was learn their name.
Daric led them up to the top level of the building. Here, the sun filtered onto the walkway and warmed their faces. Gael looked around him as he walked, taking in the flaking paint on the building’s façade. Above him, he spied high arched windows. This House had once been a grand building. There should have been voices echoing off the stone this morning, enchanters moving down its hallways and stairwells. It was a shame to see it so neglected.
Their boots scuffed upon worn stone as they reached a huge pair of double doors.
Daric stopped before them and turned to face Gael and Saskia. “Wait here,” he ordered.
Mysandra, High Enchanter of Veldoras’s House of Light and Darkness, leaned back in her chair, scrutinizing the man and woman who stood before her.
Gael held her gaze and waited till she had finished her inspection.
In the meantime, he did one of his own. The vast chamber they stood within was an absolute mess: jumbled stacks of books towered against moldy walls; and shelves groaned under the weight of dusty boxes, bottles, and piles of parchment. The shutters to the chamber were shut, despite the bright day out. Oil lamps illuminated the darkness, perched on the few clear surfaces within the space.
Even the floor wasn't clear. He and Saskia had been forced to weave their way to the center of the room through piles of parchment and trays bearing the remnants of meals. Some of the trays looked like they’d been sitting there for weeks, judging from the furry green mold covering them.
Unlike her room, the High Enchanter herself was neat and tidy. Mysandra was a large woman, dressed in flowing white pristine robes. It was hard to discern her age. She had a mane of immaculately coiffed white hair but a smooth, unlined face. Her features were beautiful: a delicately molded mouth painted scarlet, a straight nose, and perfect skin. High arched eyebrows framed startling green eyes.
“Greetings, High Enchanter.” Gael dipped his head. “Thank you for seeing us.”
Mysandra’s painted mouth curved. “What a surprise … Anthor enchanters finally pay us a visit. I was beginning to think you were going to ignore this House forever.”
Beside Gael, Saskia shifted impatiently. “I lead a party from Mirrar Rock’s House of Light and Darkness.”
The woman inclined her head, her attention remaining upon Gael. “And you are?”
“Gael is assisting us,” Saskia replied, her tone sharpening. She didn’t like that the High Enchanter was ignoring her.
It pleased Gael, however. He smiled, meeting Mysandra’s eye. “I’ve offered to train the enchanters of this House.”
The High Enchanter stiffened, her mouth pursing. “That’s presumptuous of you.”
Watch this one, Shade warned him, and he felt her wriggle against his collar bone. She’s cleverer than you think.
For once, Gael didn’t agree with his familiar. Mysandra wasn’t any sharper than the woman standing next to him, and no more dangerous. However, she was head of the Order and that made her prickly. “I’d prefer to think of myself as generous.”
“I train our apprentices … we don’t need you.”
“This House is a mess,” Gael replied, gesturing around the pig-sty of a chamber to demonstrate his point. “Your Order has been degraded and torn down, piece by piece, for years. I’m a powerful enchanter, and I can bring you back to greatness.” Gael uttered the last sentence without an ounce of arrogance. He was merely stating fact.
Silence fell in the chamber.
The High Enchanter didn’t look impressed. Her green eyes smoldered, and her hands clenched upon the desk before her. “Why would you concern yourself with us?”
“The King of Anthor has m
ade you his business,” Saskia spoke up. “He wishes you to stand alongside the enchanters of Mirrar Rock to defend this city—or take part in any attack—should he ever need you.”
Mysandra let out a slow breath and leaned back in her chair. Her gaze was now guarded, her shoulders tense. Gael sensed her annoyance, boiling just below the surface. However, the High Enchanter was a prudent woman, for she eventually nodded. “Very well … how can I assist?”
Gael smiled once more, inclining his head in thanks. “I’d like to meet your enchanters.”
Gael swept his gaze over the crowd amassed before him and frowned.
The group of two dozen enchanters standing in the courtyard in front of him wasn’t an impressive sight. Most of them were his age, in their thirties, or older. Daric, the youth who’d escorted them earlier, appeared to be the youngest of the group. The enchanters of Thûn dressed in robes of a similar cut to those of Rithmar, although the similarities ended there. Their smoke and slate-grey robes were shabby: stained and threadbare.
The lad, Daric, cast a questioning gaze over Gael’s shoulder at where Mysandra stood. However, the High Enchanter remained silent, her arms folded over her matronly bosom. She’d done her part and called the enchanters to a meeting. Gael could do the rest.
A few feet away, Saskia stood looking on. She shifted her gaze to Gael and smirked. “I hope you can work miracles?”
Gael forced a smile. He didn’t have any experience in teaching, having worked alone for most of his life.
The time has come to extend yourself, Shade whispered to him. As always, his familiar knew when to urge him on. You need these men and women.
He’d exaggerated during his meeting with Reoul—he didn’t have the information he’d boasted of, not yet anyway. He was close though; a few more evenings bent over those parchments, and he’d have the answer he was looking for.
Then it wouldn’t matter how useless this lot was.
8
The Lay of Morwen
The Royal City
The Kingdom of Rithmar
