The Queen of Mages

by Benjamin Clayborne

Liam tried not to wince as Dardan repeatedly stumbled over his own words. The young lord had made half a dozen sallies at describing Hedenham County to this Lady Amira, and each time, he said the wrong word, or got caught up in irrelevant details, or simply trailed off awkwardly. Liam had seen Dardan tongue-tied with a pretty girl before, but this was agonizing.

  “They seem to be getting along,” Liam murmured politely, leaning against the wall of the Tarians’ sitting room. Lady Amira’s vala hummed dubiously and did not return his glance. She was quite focused, this Katin Berisha, closely watching both Dardan and Amira.

  Luncheon had been served out in the Tarians’ garden, a fine meal of sautéed greens, fresh-baked rosemary bread, grilled pheasant, mushroom bisque, and herb-encrusted pork loin. Liam and Katin had, for a wonder, been invited to join the nobles at the table. The countess no doubt wanted to ensure that even Amira’s vala would approve of the Tarians. After luncheon, the party had retreated inside so that the eligible lord and lady might converse and get to know one another better. Protocol did not demand Liam’s attendance here, but he was not about to miss his master’s first meet with a prospective wife. Katin clearly shared his interest, which spoke well of her. Any vala who would leave her lady’s side in such a situation was no vala worth having.

  At least out in the garden, Dardan had not had to speak much. Besiana had been happy to blather while everyone else ate. But now it was Dardan’s turn, and he was fumbling it badly.

  Liam could quite understand. Amira was even more beautiful than Besiana had insisted. Liam had stared at her for a moment when she came into their foyer, then made himself look away, feigning indifference. Dardan, however, had gaped at her for several seconds before remembering himself and bowing over the lady’s hand. Later, when Besiana and Amira were distracted with chattering, Dardan had caught Liam’s eye with an expression of utter disbelief. Amira, even in her demure, high-necked powder blue dress, drew every eye. Even disagreeable old Bertram’s jaw had gone slack when he saw her.

  But it was Amira’s vala who drew Liam’s eye. Katin was young and slim, and pretty, though in a much more conventional way than her lady. Her hair was a dull brown, and her smiles were tight and never reached her eyes. She reminded Liam of a doe, lonely in the woods and fearing danger behind every tree. He silently cursed his distractedness and tried to focus on the nobles.

  Besiana sat across from the young couple, eyes twinkling. Liam could tell she was fighting to keep her mouth shut. As well she did; the whole point was to observe Amira and her son, to begin to gauge whether they could make a suitable couple. Liam had watched one such meet several months ago, between Dardan and a baron’s daughter, that had ended with them arguing angrily with one another. Dardan had been horribly embarrassed, but Count Asmus (and, less openly, Liam) had found it highly amusing and cracked jokes about it the rest of the day.

  Now Liam had only pity, and hoped someone would put an end to this soon. Amira, for her part, did not seem openly repulsed by Dardan’s verbal ineptitude. She knew just how to flatter Dardan, responding with subtle compliments on his skills at riding, hunting, leadership. After a while Liam began to wonder if she was trying to fluster him on purpose.

  Besiana had prepared them with what she had learned about Amira. The lady had married Valmir Estaile, a wealthy merchant, only a little more than a year earlier. He’d found her in some city out to the west, Bridger’s Rush or Cleavesport or somewhere; it was unclear. She had apparently been a merchant’s daughter. A month after returning to Callaston, King Viktor had granted Valmir peerage, raising him to the lowest level of the nobility. No lands, just a title, but still, any man would find it a great honor. Amira, as his wife, automatically became a noble as well. The reason for the peerage was also unclear, though Besiana had heard rumors of “special services” rendered to the crown, whatever that meant.

  Then Valmir had died abruptly this winter past, after a short illness. Even though he’d been Amira’s senior by a good fifteen years, he’d had no children anyone knew of, not with Amira or any other woman, and so by law all his holdings passed to her.

  From unwed common girl to wealthy lady of the realm in just over a year… She was either extraordinarily lucky, or exceedingly devious. Liam was inclined to be a little suspicious based on the story alone, but now that he’d met her, he could hardly believe her capable of such treachery.

  After some time, Amira pleaded exhaustion. “I did return from my trip only yesterday,” she explained, “and I’m afraid my reserves are quite drained.” When she stood, Dardan practically leapt to his feet to take her hand. Liam came to his master’s side, and Katin to her lady’s.

  Dardan’s mouth worked for a moment. “My lady, I have had a great pleasure—that is, it has been my pleasure—a pleasure to meet you. I, um…” He trailed off, casting about as if someone might step in and save him.

  Besiana coughed a little. “The ball…”

  “Mother,” Dardan muttered.

  “Indeed?” Amira asked, looking amused.

  Liam could not help himself. “I believe m’lord said he meant to ask m’lady something.”

  Dardan gulped. He was trapped and he knew it. Liam could barely contain his glee. “My lady Amira… would you—would you consider attending the ball? With you? I mean—the royal summer ball, with me?”

  A sheen of sweat glistened on the young lord’s forehead. That he had asked the question was a miracle in itself; he didn’t even want to go to the ball, the fool. Besiana looked pleased as punch.

  “Well,” Amira said, glancing at the countess for a moment before returning her attention to Dardan. “As you were so courageous in asking, how could I say no?”

  “What?” Katin blurted out, stunned.

  “Really?” Besiana said, equally surprised. “I mean… really, how delightful!” She clapped her hands.

  Dardan’s jaw simply hung open. After a few seconds he blinked a few times. “Um… thank you?”

  “Not at all,” Amira said. “This will be my first time at the ball. I’m sure you’ll be able to show me everything.” She bowed to the countess and swept out of the room. Katin followed close behind, glowering at everyone.

  Liam was going to have to get Dardan very drunk tonight.

  ———

  “That was a cruel trick,” Dardan said as he held his arms out. The wizened little tailor scampered from one side to the other, measuring the cut of Dardan’s half-finished new suit and marking adjustments here and there.

  “Woe betide m’lord, he who must attend the greatest feast in the kingdom with the most beautiful woman in the realm.” Liam snorted.

  “You and my mother planned that, didn’t you?”

  “I wish I could claim that level of foresight, m’lord, but alas, it was merely a fortunate coincidence.” Dardan sighed and hefted his arms again as the tailor prodded him and asked him if he could kindly hold still for five seconds at a time. Dardan certainly could have summoned the tailor to the manse, but he’d wanted to get away from his mother for a while and had insisted they go out into the city.

  The sun was nearly set when they emerged from the tailor’s shop. Callaston’s tall streetside oil lamps had already been lit. “What say we go for a walk, m’lord?” Liam suggested.

  “Hm? Yes, of course.” He let Liam lead the way, paying no attention to their path. Liam made a beeline for the the nearest malthouse: Tarrington’s, catering to lords and wealthy merchants, situated as it was in this upscale part of Callaston.

  The room was somehow both well-lit and musty, sunlight slanting in through the windows to glint off motes in the air. Three men, two with flutes and one with a hand drum, sat on a platform at the side of the room, piping and pounding merrily. Liam found an open booth and sent a serving boy to fetch ale and fried onions. Dardan slid into the booth, looking doubtful.

  Liam felt just the opposite. Going into a malthouse energized him like nothing else. Ale was all well and good, and he loved the traditional snack of ba
ttered and fried pearl onions as much as the next Garovan, but the real allure was in the freedom to speak. By tradition, men left their titles at the door, and said what they willed. Well, as much as they dared to. Everyone knew stories of some ale-soaked valo who had said the wrong thing to a duke, and later regretted it.

  It was also the best place to talk about women, since they were customarily banned from malthouses. In Callaston, at least, and most towns Liam had been to. He waited until he’d had his first sip of ale, then started in. “All right, you’ve spent half the day moping about. Stop it before I knock your hat off. You’ll be with the prettiest girl at the ball! You should be dancing with joy, though I suppose I’ve been your valo long enough to know you better than that.”

  Dardan glanced up. “What are you on about?”

  Liam shoved the bowl of onions at Dardan hard enough that the younger man had to catch it before it tipped into his lap. “I’ve seen moths less dazzled by a torch than you were by that girl.”

  Dardan snorted, pushing the onions back. “So what? She’s a pretty girl. We’ve got them in Hedenham too, you know.”

  “Your eyes nearly fell out of your head. Don’t deny it. I was watching you the whole time.”

  “Can’t a man be charmed?” Dardan finally took a gulp of ale.

  “Charmed? Is that what it was?” Liam popped a bit of fried onion into his mouth. “Tell me one thing, anything, that you learned about her today, that you didn’t already know.”

  Dardan paused. “Uh. Well, there was… uh… she…” He trailed off. “Oh, shut up.”

  Liam laughed. “See? You were hooked the moment she walked in the door. I’ll admit, she might be the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, but it’s not my legacy that’s on the line here.”

  “Yes, well, you got to stand over by the wall, with her vala. Who was much less distracting. See? I did notice something besides the lady.” This time he took a deeper drink. “You don’t think there’s anything to worry about, do you?”

  “About what?”

  “That she told us so little of herself. I mean, mother already gave us the important details, but…”

  Liam shrugged as he crunched on another onion. “Some girls don’t talk much of themselves. Well, a few girls. Well, before today, I would have said there might be one somewhere. Look, unless there’s something in particular you’re concerned about, have a drink and thank your good fortune. You’ll see her again, no doubt. The countess will want you to meet her at least once more before the ball.”

  “By all means, let’s repeat today’s disaster.”

  “You got her to say yes. Hardly a disaster.”

  “I meant all that came before it. By the Caretaker, I was nervous.”

  “Look, you don’t have to meet with ladies if you don’t want to. You are a grown man.”

  “Try telling that to my mother.”

  “Next time you should tell your mother to go stuff herself.”

  Dardan snorted. “She’s determined to get me married off. She’s already acting as if I’m deep into a proper courtship.”

  “Make a good impression on the lady, and maybe you will be.”

  Dardan just grumbled at that, and took a drink. Clearly he was going to need several more cups of ale. Liam signalled to the serving boy.

  With their second round in hand, Liam raised his cup. “To limited responsibility.”

  “To the Aspect of Courage,” Dardan said.

  “Don’t go all devout on me, Dard,” Liam chortled. They clinked their cups together and drank.

  Evening turned to night as they drank through more rounds and plowed through baskets of onions. Lamps were lit, the crowd grew, and Liam glanced up to see a familiar face coming toward him. “Gareth!”

  The stocky, red-haired man leaned on their table, carrying a basket of fried onions. “Liam Howard, you young bastard,” he crowed in a thick voice. His bulbous nose shone red from too many cups of ale. That was typical for Gareth Ainsley, valo to Lord Skender Faroa. Usually a valo helped his drunken master back home after a night at the malthouse, but with Gareth and Skender it was usually the reverse.

  “Serving boy now, eh?” Liam cracked, eyeing the basket. “Lord Skender get tired of your nose?”

  “He got tired of your sister first,” Gareth shot back with a grin. His eyes went to Liam’s boothmate. “Dardan, ho there.” Dardan mumbled a greeting around a mouthful of onions. “Come and join us?” Gareth asked.

  “Don’t mind if we do,” Liam said, sliding out of the booth. Dardan, surprisingly, followed without objection.

  “What’s with him? Never seen a lord look so down,” Gareth said as they wove through the crowd.

  “Dardan’s got himself a date for the ball. He senses wedding bells in his future, whether he likes it or not.”

  “Poor man,” said Gareth.

  Lord Skender Faroa, heir to the Dukedom of Blackwall, sat alone in another booth. He had long dark hair pulled into a queue, and black eyes with irises so wide the whites were almost invisible. His nose was sharp and his smile always grim. Liam found him unsettling, but he thought the company would be good for Dardan.

  At the next table sat two black-coated men, drinking only water. Their eyes scanned the crowd warily. This duke’s son isn’t foolish enough to go unprotected, even in the nice part of town.

  “Good evening, gents,” Skender said, raising his ale.

  “Skender,” Liam said, sliding in. “How’s things up north?”

  “Cold.” He smiled thinly. His eyes fixed on Dardan. “Why so glum?”

  “Lord’s in love,” Gareth snorted as he shared the onions around.

  “Is that so,” Skender said, his smile deepening slightly. “Do tell.”

  Dardan shrugged. “Hardly. The widow who lives next door,” he said. “I’m escorting her to the summer ball.”

  “Are there so few eligible maidens that one must chase old women now?” Skender took the tiniest sip of his own ale.

  “She’s no crone,” Liam put in loudly. “She’s of an age with m’lord. Just unlucky to be widowed so young.” He gulped his ale. “Anyway, what of you? If you’ve got a girl half so beautiful to bring to the ball, I’ll eat this table.”

  Skender raised up his left hand. A golden band glittering with iridescent onyx stones encircled his ring finger. “My betrothed, sadly, remains in Blackwall.”

  Liam coughed on his ale. “The likes of you, getting married. Gareth! I thought a valo was supposed to protect his lord.”

  “Knives, plots, poisons, that’s easy. Protecting a man from himself, that’s where it gets tricky.” The red-haired valo chuckled, but the eye he cast toward Skender was wary.

  “So, Dardan,” Skender said. “No doubt you’ve heard about the regiments his majesty dispatched to the northern passes.”

  “Of course.”

  “Where does your house stand on the Vaslander threat?”

  Liam glared at Gareth. “Well no wonder.”

  Gareth at least had the good sense to look embarrassed. “Just doin’ as I’m told.”

  Dardan tapped a finger on his mug. “You know as well as I do what our position has to be. What I’d like to know is why your father’s so bent on starting a war.”

  Skender’s eyes narrowed a little. “A fair question.” He sipped at his ale again. The cup was still nearly full. Either he can’t hold his liquor… or he prefers to be the only one sober. It occurred to Liam that there were benefits to being the last man standing.

  Skender went on. “I know how you love to study history, Dardan, so you’re well aware of how much damage the Vaslanders did to Blackwall in the last war.”

  Dardan nodded. “I’d think Duke Terilin would want to prevent war, not engage it.”

  “Any wise man would, but, ah… Do you know how my mother died?”

  Gareth was holding very still now, staring down at the table. Liam thought he could see the man biting his tongue.

  Dardan shook his head. “I only knew
she’d died in the war, along with… others.”

  Skender took another tiny sip of ale, as casually as anything. “Father moved us all to the south of the dukedom when the Vaslanders invaded. My mother, my sisters, and I were all taken to an old castle in the southern hills, and then again south to Gravensford when the Vaslanders came closer.”

  “Gravensford? Doesn’t the royal family have an estate there?” Liam asked.

  “The very same,” Skender said. “Many nobles of Blackwall were housed there during the war. My mother, however, felt as strongly about the defense of Blackwall as my father did, and refused to stay long. She left us children in the care of others, and returned north to help my father.” His smooth tone never changed, as if he were recounting a day at the shops on King’s Street. “By then, we had pushed the Vaslanders back north a ways, and reclaimed the keep at Iceford. Mother saw to the defense and the wounded there, while father led sorties north, to weed out pockets of Vaslanders who still held some towns and villages.” His black eyes gleamed in the candlelight, and he paused for a moment. “He returned to find Iceford under attack. Forces spread too thin had let a band of Vaslanders slip through and reach the castle. Somehow they gained entry, and…” Here he paused, his voice showing a little strain for the first time. “Few in the castle survived. Father found my mother in the kitchens. She was still warm.” He sipped at his ale again and fell quiet.

  No one else spoke, either. Gareth no doubt knew this story already, which explained his grim expression. Liam felt sick.

  “So you see,” Skender went on after a minute, “my father has quite enough reason to hate Vaslanders, and to want them all dead. He will not risk them reaching his borders again. I find myself compelled to agree.” He smiled again. “But this is such a sad topic. Tell me more of this lady of yours,” he suggested.

  Everyone seemed relieved to change the subject. Dardan spilled everything he knew about Amira, which still wasn’t much. Liam found it interesting that the summer ball and the prospect of courtship seemed to unsettle Dardan, but when he spoke about Amira herself, his face lit up.

  “And what about your betrothed?” Liam asked Skender, once Dardan had finished. “She couldn’t come down for the ball?”

  “She preferred to stay in Blackwall,” Skender said, but for once Liam thought he detected a hint of irritation in his reply. But so what? Men could talk freely here. Liam took another gulp of ale.

  “Well at least tell us something about her,” Liam insisted, wiping his mouth. “Dardan told you all about his lady.”

  Skender pursed his lips. “She’s the daughter of Count Ebersbach. A lovely girl.”

  Liam waited. “And?”

  “And that is all I wish to say about her.”

  Liam snorted. Who did Skender think he was? Liam was already flush from all the ale, and he could feel the heat in his cheeks. “Come on, man, Dardan told you everything he knows about Amira.”

  Skender’s thin smile disappeared completely. “You forget yourself, valo.”

  A palpable chill rose around the table. Gareth, still barely conscious, started in with a drinking song, and Dardan joined in quickly. Liam and Skender had locked eyes, but Liam looked away first. He clenched his hand around the table leg to keep himself from smashing in Skender’s face.

  He cut himself off about then, to regain some of his wits before they had to stumble home. Several other nobles Dardan or Skender knew stopped by to chat, as Dardan guzzled another three mugs of ale and Liam’s fury slowly cooled. How had Skender gotten him so enraged?

  When they made to leave, Gareth was snoring face down in a bowl of onions. Skender still had half his first mug left, and nodded slightly as Liam put an arm under Dardan and half-dragged him from the malthouse. Liam was glad to leave those dead black eyes behind.

  They stumbled along through the dark, from one pool of lamplight to the next. “Skender wa’n’t too happy wit’ us, I thin’,” Dardan slurred.

  “That was a right awful story he told, m’lord,” Liam agreed, slipping back into valo formality. He had to take care of his master; that would keep his mind off Skender.

  “Urgh,” Dardan said, and vomited on the street. Liam danced aside just fast enough to avoid the splash. His lord wiped some spittle away with a sleeve and leaned up against the darkened window of a jeweller’s. “Too much ale,” he groaned.

  “Not enough onions,” Liam joked lightly. “They soak up the ale.”

  Dardan laughed. It was hard to tell in the dark, but Liam thought the night out had served his master well.

  “We should get you home, m’lord. You need some proper food.” All they’d had since luncheon was ale and onions. Besiana would be irritated they’d missed dinner. No, wait. She’ll be preoccupied with preparing for the ball. She might let them alone for once.

  Liam kept his eyes open as they went home. Even in the affluent, well-lit streets of northern Callaston, nobles still got robbed or stabbed from time to time, but they made it to the manse without further incident. Bertram brought out a tray with broth and baked carrots for Dardan and demanded that he eat. The young lord choked down a few bites before begging off and going upstairs to his rooms. Liam helped him wash and dress for bed. Dardan was already half-asleep when his face hit the pillow.

  Liam hoped he’d be able to fall asleep just as easily, but once he was in his own chamber, he felt the rage creeping back upon him. Skender, that arrogant bastard. Where did he get off acting like that in a malthouse? If the man wasn’t going to play fair—or at least get drunk—then what in the black spirits was he doing in the place?

  Liam tried to calm himself down, but he couldn’t. He wrapped his fist in his pillow and slammed it into his mattress a dozen, two dozen times. Only when his arm began to grow sore from the exertion did he collapse onto the floor, breathing hard and curling himself into a ball to keep from lashing out.

  He’d let it happen again. When was this going to stop? One of these days he was going to lose control in public, and do something he knew he’d regret. He tried to keep his distance, not let people provoke him.

  His father’s face flashed before him. Liam crawled onto the bed and drank a sip of water from the glass on his bedside table. He didn’t want to think about his father. He wanted no part of the man, and yet he was his father’s son, wasn’t he?

  The rage had drained, leaving a morose numbness behind. He had little to look forward to now; the ball was only a few days away, and Countess Besiana would keep Dardan close. Liam would spend most of his time standing around, watching nobles nattering on. There’d be no more evenings at the malthouse for him, not for a while. That might be a good thing, if the likes of Skender Faroa’s going to be hanging about.

  He wondered when Dardan would see Amira next. Everyone would be busy the day before the ball with last-minute preparations and adjustments, but perhaps the day before that, another meet could be arranged. Dardan and Amira would need to spend much more time together before an offer of marriage could even be considered. Liam wondered who they’d present the offer to; he’d heard of no male relatives, no father or uncle or brother or cousin. Don’t put the cart before the horse. Any marriage offer’s a long ways off. For all you know, Amira will change her mind at the last minute and skip the ball altogether.

  Instead he thought about going down to the servants’ quarters to see if any of the girls were still awake. Maybe Paula or Tria would be up for a little roll in the hay. His thoughts drifted, and he found himself thinking about Katin instead. Perhaps the offer of marriage could go to Katin. Yes, Katin would do nicely…

  Liam realized he was smiling dreamily at the wall, and scolded himself. Don’t go mooning, idiot. You’re twenty-six, you should be past that sort of thing by now. And you’ve only met the girl once. Grumpily he turned over and planted his face into the pillow.

  He fell asleep hoping to dream of Katin, but instead found himself fleeing through a forest from giant, angry onions who all had the smirking face of Skende
r Faroa.

  CHAPTER 5

  AMIRA