“Oh, that’s nice.” Bethia held the paper beside Ariana and assessed her. “Do you have anything like this color? Neckline not too low?”
“I have one very close to that shade, hitting about here.” Ariana drew a line across her collarbone.
“Perfect. Put a ribbon at your throat, to set off your neck, and you’re all set.”
“Thanks.” Ariana smiled, embarrassed. “It’s my first audience. I know it’s not so much to you, but—”
“Don’t be silly. When is it not important to dress well for meeting the king?” Bethia pinched the green endpaper and waved it cheerily. “You’ll do fine.”
Ariana stole another glance at the commander’s impeccable uniform and smoothed self-consciously at her own gown. She had dressed well, thanks to Bethia’s advice, but seeing his brushed, stiff appearance had made her worry anew. He looked very little like the rugged soldier she’d known on the road.
He led her through the palace of Naziar to a well-appointed anteroom, where several brilliantly-dressed persons waited about the room. Becknam gestured for her to sit on a padded couch and then went to speak with a secretary. He returned and stood beside her. “It will be some time; it always is.”
She nodded. After a moment she gave a small start. “Oh! I’m sorry. Please sit. I’d forgotten, I was so accustomed….”
He sat at the other end of her bench and gave her a small, tight smile. “No matter. I tend to be more aware of my manners here.”
“I’m a little nervous,” Ariana confessed. “I have seen him before, of course, but from a distance.”
“Just curtsey at the appropriate moments and smile prettily. You’ll do very well.” He caught himself, started to speak, and then flushed. “I didn’t mean your smiling, I meant—never mind.”
Ariana blinked. Was he—was he flirting with her? It was… awkward, if real, and wholly out of place. Or perhaps he was only unsettled.
He stood suddenly and began pacing the length of her couch. Someone else came into the room and spoke with the secretary before taking a seat elsewhere. Ariana noticed several of the courtiers glancing surreptitiously toward Becknam, avoiding eye contact. The door to the next room opened at irregular intervals, allowing another secretary to talk with this one and occasionally admitting or discharging courtiers.
The inner door opened again, and the secretary called for Commander Shianan Becknam, Count of Bailaha and Lady Ariana Hazelrig. Becknam straightened and looked to Ariana. “This way, my lady.”
It was a smaller room than Ariana had expected, but richly decorated. There were a number of men standing around the room, a few of whom looked familiar but none she knew. In the center, just rising from a desk while speaking with someone else, was King Jerome. She caught her breath. Beside her Becknam took three more steps and then knelt. Quickly Ariana dropped into her best curtsey.
“What have we here?” The king moved toward her. “Rise, sweet lady. No one with a face such as yours should be suffered to avert it for long.”
Ariana blushed. “Your Majesty.”
“You are the mage who brought the Shard?”
“With the commander’s help, of course, Your Majesty,” said Ariana. She should have called Becknam his lordship, she realized belatedly, but King Jerome did not seem to notice.
“We owe your effort a great deal,” he said. “When the Circle completes the shield, our kingdom will be protected as never before. Thank you, Lady Ariana Hazelrig.”
Ariana curtsied again, feeling warm. Beside her Becknam was on one knee, his head bowed. She watched the king’s eyes shift. “Bailaha.”
“Your Majesty,” Becknam said, still kneeling.
“Rise.”
Becknam did, as if his joints were too tight.
“We are pleased you completed the task we set you,” the king said. “Well done.”
The door opened, admitting a handsome man. The courtiers around them gave quick little bows, and Ariana, startled, accordingly sank into another curtsy. Becknam bowed this time.
“I’m sorry for interrupting, my lords,” the newcomer said, “but we need a final resolution on the tariffs before the Migrations end. I’ve been asked for our decision today.” He looked at Ariana. “Forgive me, my lady.”
“Thank you, Soren,” the king said. He turned away from Becknam and held out a hand to the elder prince. “Let’s see what you have thus far.” He gestured for a few of the courtiers to come nearer, and they began poring over a sheaf of papers Prince Soren had carried. After a moment the secretary looked sternly at Becknam.
“Back away,” Becknam whispered. He bowed again toward the king’s back, held the door as Ariana curtsied and exited, and closed the door firmly behind them.
Ariana felt a curious conflict of elation and cutting disappointment. “I thought—”
But Becknam was not listening as he went ahead with a long stride. Ariana followed him from the antechamber. “My lord?”
A boy of Tam’s age—apparent age—was coming toward them in the wide corridor. Becknam moved stiffly to one side, and Ariana saw the commander’s jaw tighten as he bowed. “Your Highness.”
The younger prince raised his eyebrows in exaggerated surprise. “What? Did this wing become an army barracks? What are you doing here?”
“I had an audience with the king.”
“Did you? That was good of him. And what a relief to know the army is still outside.” Prince Alasdair looked at Ariana, who bobbed hastily. “My lady. Good day.” He walked on, leaving them behind.
Ariana looked after him—she had never seen the princes so near, either, and she was stunned by the childish, stinging remarks—and then looked back, but again Becknam was already striding down the corridor. Ariana followed at a distance.
Abruptly he stopped and turned to face her. “I am sorry, my lady,” he said stiffly. “I did not mean to be rude and leave you behind.”
She wanted to say something, but acknowledging she had witnessed the barbs would be cruel. “It is only that I need you to show me the way out.”
Becknam sighed. “I’m sorry. I am not usually the best of company afterward.” He gestured. “This way, my lady. Mind the steps.”
He walked her home in silence.
Chapter 10
Ariana stood against the wall, looking across the wide room. The unpolished stonework reflected little light. Beneath the Wheel of the Circle was an ideal location for the shield’s epicenter, but the converted cellar was purely utilitarian.
Beside her Tam stood still, trying not to attract attention. He was present nominally in case the White Mage should need to send him for something. The majority of spectators were mages waiting for their chance at the Great Circle and members of the council or military. Ariana adjusted her colorless grey robes against the stony chill.
Near the door, Elysia Parma approached Ariana’s father, confirming something in the mages’ array. Even conferring, the Silver Mage exuded amiable confidence.
Only the Grand Mage of the Circle was elected to his white robes. All others were ranked by seniority, advancing through the colors as new mages were admitted. Elysia Parma had been a Mage of the Circle as long as Ewan Hazelrig, despite having come to magic later. Ariana admired and respected the Silver Mage, who had reportedly arrived in Alham as a lone farm girl determined to develop her magical gift. Lacking funds to purchase traditional training and an apprenticeship, she had at last done something unorthodox and impressive enough to earn tutelage with a respected practitioner. What exactly that had been, however, Ariana had never been able to discover.
Ariana regarded her wistfully. Silver robes were not so different than grey, it might seem, and yet there was a vast chasm between them.
Mage Parma finished speaking with the White Mage and came across the room to Ariana. “I haven’t thanked you myself for helping bring this to pass.”
“I was only an errand girl,” Ariana answered with a little laugh.
“Nonetheless, it was an import
ant errand. Keep close attention today; you’ll be assisting in the first renewal, I’ve no doubt.” Mage Parma smiled as if a bit proud of Ariana’s achievement already.
“I hope to undertake the entrance exam again very soon.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” The Silver Mage gave a quick smile to Tam before she moved on. Ariana, pleased, watched as she took up a vial beside the Shard and thumbed it open.
“My lady.” Becknam arrived beside her. “Today it ends—the war, your place, and mine.”
“My lord?”
“We’ll still have the southern warlords, but without the Ryuven threat, it will be interesting to see what becomes of the army and the Circle.” His eyes shifted to Tam beside her. “He came to watch?”
“It’s only fitting,” she said a little coolly. “It is his world we are walling away.”
“Quiet!” Becknam snapped, his eyes flicking about them.
Ariana bristled at the rebuke. She wouldn’t betray Tam.
The fourteen mages of the Circle took their places—one color to fill—and the room fell silent. They raised their hands, each taking a different position in their colored robes, and then began to move, weaving overlapping magics. Arms rose and fell irregularly, flashing sleeves of deep green, navy, orange, scarlet, yellow, violet. Ariana found the figure in white and watched as her father worked his part of the great spell, weaving together the overarching shield.
She glanced at Tam beside her and saw him very still, lamplight reflecting in the damp trace on his cheeks. She rested her hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. She took a quick look toward Becknam, but he had eyes only for the shield-making.
And then she sensed the first effects of the mages’ work, a shift in the air around them. In the center of the room the Shard began to glow, spilling a deep indigo light that hardly seemed light at all. The mages continued around it, and she felt a vibration deep within her. Tam twitched beneath her hand. The vibration increased, becoming a heavy throbbing pulsing through the room and through her, and the indigo light spread.
Tam jerked and gasped.
Ariana looked at him and saw him pale, his arms crossing as if to shield his torso. The throbbing increased again and Tam stiffened against the wall. His wide eyes rolled toward her. “Help.”
“Tam!” She seized him. The throbbing was audible now, a heavy booming of power that filled the room.
Becknam turned toward them. “What’s going on?” She could barely hear him over the throbbing.
Tam winced as the vibration cut through him. “It’s affecting him,” Ariana said. “It’s—”
Becknam swore and pulled Tam from her. “This will reveal him!” He wrapped his arms tightly around Tam and clamped a hand over his mouth.
The indigo light was thickening now, forming a layer of iridescence at its outer rim and shaping slowly into a hemisphere over the working mages. It was of course a full sphere about the Shard, but only the portion above the floor was visible. The sound was deafening. “Stand in front of us!” shouted Becknam. Ariana did, hiding Tam behind her grey robes.
Then the mages began to move in unison, and the iridescent layer solidified, obscuring them. The room seemed to crack with power and the hemisphere suddenly expanded, bursting through Ariana and the observers and speeding on. Beneath the deep boom Tam cried and his body spasmed against her back.
And then it was over, and the room fell silent, the contrast almost painful. The Shard stood ordinary and empty of light, stably supporting the shield. There was movement at Ariana’s back. Then someone cheered, and the room erupted into happy celebration.
Ariana spun. Becknam still held Tam, who was resisting weakly. His hand was pressed over Tam’s face, pinching off air. “Let him breathe!” Ariana grasped Tam’s shoulders. “It’s all right, now, let him breathe.”
Becknam dropped his hand. “I couldn’t during the quiet,” he said gruffly. “He was gasping too loudly.”
“Tam, are you all right? Tam?” Tam hung limply in Becknam’s grip, panting for air. She bent and held his face, damp beneath her fingers. “Tam?”
“Lady,” he breathed. “Right. All—right.” He swallowed. “Can’t stand.”
“What’s this?” Ewan Hazelrig leaned beside them. “Why are—oh, no.”
“The shield hurt him,” Ariana said.
“Take him to my office,” her father instructed. “I’ll meet you there shortly.” He turned back and intercepted an approaching mage.
“Hurry, before anyone else sees,” Becknam said. He lifted Tam and rushed to the nearby stairs.
Ariana pointed. “This way.”
“I know where the White Mage’s office is.”
They wound their way from the cellar to the upper levels of the Great Circle’s administrative building. It was round, befitting the Great Circle, and they had to travel a quarter of the Wheel before reaching the White Mage’s office. Ariana led Becknam directly to the rear workshop and cleared a table of books and equipment. “Put him here.”
Tam was pale. He lay on the table, looking very frail in his boyish form. “What did it do to him?” Becknam asked.
“I don’t know,” Ariana said. “The shield is designed to resist Ryuven passing through it, and it passed through him. We didn’t think—his body is supposed to be human. It shouldn’t have affected him like this. I don’t know what it did.”
“His body is human,” Ewan said, closing the door behind him, “but his essence is Ryuven. We didn’t think that would be critical, but obviously it is. It would have killed him already if he were wholly Ryuven. As it is, I don’t know what it’s done internally. Tam?”
Tam’s voice was hoarse. “Everything hurts—inside. Burnt from within. Hurts to breathe. It hurts when my heart beats.”
Ewan frowned. “Let’s see if anything is still happening. Take his shirt, please.” He took a jar of yellowish ointment from a shelf and rubbed it over his hands. Becknam lifted Tam and stripped the loose shirt, making him wince with the motion, and then lowered him again.
Ewan gingerly placed his fingertips on Tam’s sternum. Tam flinched. “It’s hot.”
“It will be. The ointment responds to magical injury, and you’ve been exposed to very strong magic.” He drew his fingers apart and began tracing over Tam’s chest, pressing his palms against the ribs, traveling more cautiously over the abdomen. Finally he returned to the chest and lingered there. “There was something here,” he said, “but it’s fading now. The effects will pass.” He straightened and Ariana handed him a towel to wipe his hands clean. “You should sleep, if you can. That will help.” He paused, watching Tam’s shallow, pained breaths. “We’ll give you something to help you sleep.”
“I’ll make it,” Ariana said, turning to the other table.
“Herbal only, nothing magical,” Ewan warned. “He doesn’t need any more conflicting influences.”
Becknam let out his breath. “Did anyone see?”
“I don’t think so,” Ewan said.
Tam shifted his eyes toward Becknam. “Thank you for hiding me.”
Becknam shook his head. “That would have been spectacularly poor timing.”
Ariana tipped the pestle and brushed crushed leaves into a cup. She added water, warmed over the brazier she’d magically hurried, and brought it to the table. “Here, Tam, drink this.”
Ewan pulled a white cloak from a peg to spread over him. “Sleep as long as you can.”
Tam tried to smile. “A Ryuven beneath the cloak of the White Mage.” His eyes closed, and a moment later his quick, shallow breathing slowed a little.
Becknam pushed a chair toward Ariana without speaking. Ewan’s shoulders dropped. “He’ll be all right. He just needs time to recover. It was fading quickly, unable to hold to his human body.”
“This is too much risk for you,” Becknam said curtly. “You should have let him take his chances with his own kind.”
Ewan shook his head. “I promised him shelter. He gave me his service a
nd assistance—you’ve seen how much progress we have made in our research? He was free to return if he wished, but he did not want to risk all of us.”
“All of us?”
“If he were released here, they might have come here. He did not want to risk the Shard.”
Becknam clenched his fists as he leaned on the table. “Now the shield is up and he is trapped here,” he said after a moment. He straightened. “Hide him well.” He turned and left.
Chapter 11
Captain Torg desultorily eyed the stack of waiting messages on his desk. Rain hummed outside, masking the noise of work in other rooms. He pushed aside the first; that hand belonged to someone in supply, and he would deal with it later. The second was a letter detailing the new troops he could expect. The third—the third was from Alham and addressed in a handwriting Torg had not thought to see again.
He held it for a moment, dreading what it might contain. He had always cursed the unlucky star which had landed the bastard at his barracks. The day the boy arrived Torg had known his fate was sealed, known he would never leave this hinterland outpost. No one associated with the bastard could rise.
But he had done as well as he could, faithfully following his instructions. The boy had learned to wield a weapon, to read and write. He had been raised and toughened with the men Torg commanded. But more orders came….
The rain continued, hard rain without thunder to break its monotony. Torg returned to another rainy evening, when he’d sat at this same desk before a warm brazier. A soldier had brought the boy as Torg read the day’s messages. “He was found sleeping on his watch, sir.”
Torg frowned deeply. The boy was young and, truth be told, overworked, but this could not be permitted. “Sleeping on your watch?”
Shianan Becknam looked at him with an odd mixture of regret and defiance. “I’m sorry, sir. But it’s not as if anything is coming anyway. There hasn’t been an attack here in over a year.”
“Not as if anything is coming? If you’re able to predict the Ryuven, boy, you should have said so. It would save us all so much time and effort.”
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