The Queen of Mages

by Benjamin Clayborne

Garen rode on the pack horse Count Kirth had given them; its load had been lightened considerably in the weeks since they’d acquired it, and the rest of its cargo was distributed among the other mounts. He ambled along beside Amira, and at a moment where Dardan rode ahead and Mason lagged behind a little, he spoke. “M’lady—I’m sorry. Amira.” He blushed as she smiled at his stumble. “I’m really sorry about what happened. I should have been able to fight.”

  “You were surrounded by a score of men. Trained men. Armed soldiers. What did you expect to do?”

  “Something… I don’t know. Something better. I’ve got this power and I couldn’t even use it.”

  “I am told that even trained soldiers rarely do well in their first battle. Many are overcome by fear.”

  She’d meant this to comfort Garen, but he seemed to pout even more. “I should’ve been able to do something,” he muttered, and urged his horse on ahead. Amira sighed. Why must men be so proud and unreasonable about these things?

  At least Dardan had understood how she’d felt, after the battle in Stony Vale. But how could he think she was responsible for what Warden Penrose had done? She had been given this power without being asked. It was not her fault if men like Edon and Penrose acted badly because of it. They were the real monsters, not her. Weren’t they?

  ———

  The odd little party came into Seawatch early the next day, after spending the night in a roadside inn a few miles from Seawatch’s gate. They’d made it out of Stony Vale in the late afternoon, after a round of farewells and some discussion over what Hugh Hamm—and the others who had started the attack on the royal soldiers—might do if Warden Penrose returned. They’d seemed confident in their ability to defend themselves, and some had argued that Penrose would chase after Amira instead, so they had nothing to worry about. She’d prayed they were right, and she would miss them, but they could not be her problem any longer.

  It might be a moot point if they encountered Penrose on their way to Seawatch—if he’d fled to the garrison near the city—but they saw no sign of him or of any armed force on the road. Perhaps he went west to find Edon.

  She eyed the walls of Seawatch as she rode through the gate. Dardan had told her of the city’s innate defensibility, but she knew mages would not be so easily stopped. Garen on his own could knock a hole in the city wall in a few moments. It would be a very rude way to announce oneself to the duke.

  Duke Fortarin Eltasi. Could he really help? Amira wanted to start searching for mages at once, but Dardan had insisted that they go to Eltasi first—he expected them, and might be able to provide men and funds. If Edon was gathering a mage army, then so would she, and she had to admit that Eltasi’s resources could help her in that task.

  She glanced at Mason Iris now and then as they made their way through the city. He was always polite, even if he did utterly disapprove of her. She’d had second thoughts about him, wondering whether it would not just be safer to leave him behind—or kill him. No, she couldn’t bring herself to do that. He’d sworn his oath, and she would trust that.

  Dardan took them straight to an inn, the largest, most opulent inn Amira had seen in a long time. He made no secret of their presence, openly giving his true name and title to the innkeeper and asking for their largest suite of rooms. Mason gazed around with mild interest. Garen all but gaped. He’d been to Seawatch a time or two before, he’d told her, but he had never seen anything like this: gilded fixtures, plush velvet seats in the common room, nobles and wealthy merchants lounging about enjoying elaborate breakfasts.

  Dardan wrote a note on parchment, sealed it with red wax, and gave it to the innkeeper to deliver to the Eltasi. He assured Amira it wouldn’t take more than a day or two for the invitation to arrive.

  They left their belongings in their suite and went about the business of acquiring new garments. They stopped at a nearby tailor first, to get Dardan and Garen measured for suits to be retrieved the next day. “I do not see what it gains us to wait another day,” Amira said as they wound through the crowds toward a dressmaker’s shop that the tailor had recommended. “You said Duke Eltasi expects us.”

  Dardan clucked his tongue. “You have set our course, my love. Now let me steer the ship.”

  “Nautical metaphors? Are you a sailor now?”

  “We’re in Seawatch. It seemed appropriate. Now look: I have more experience dealing with high nobles than you do. It is not bluster, just a simple fact. We will do better to await a proper invitation. And Duke Eltasi, like all men of rank, will be better swayed if we are dressed like those with power.”

  “I have power,” she retorted.

  Dardan glanced around and replied in a whisper. “Setting the duke on fire will not impress him favorably, I assure you.”

  The dressmaker insisted that she could not provide a new dress for Amira in less than three days. They instead settled on an existing bronze gown that would suffice after a few alterations, but it would still take until the next day at the earliest.

  When that was done, Dardan declared that he and Garen would visit the nearest malthouse, and strongly suggested that Mason and Amira take dinner at the inn. Amira wasn’t sure what her husband was up to, but she acceded without complaint. Even with Mason as her dinner companion, a nice quiet meal in an upscale inn would be a dream come true after all those long weeks on the road, and in the pleasant but admittedly rural environs of Stony Vale. She’d had enough of wild game to last several lifetimes.

  Amira changed into one of the dresses she’d bought in Stony Vale. She came out into the suite’s antechamber to find that Mason had removed his armor. He instead wore a serviceable suit of black wool that he said he’d had rolled away in his pack.

  Even without his armor he drew many eyes in the dining room. He was reasonably handsome, though his white hair was distracting. If only he’d smile. She could not bring herself to dislike him; even if he had travelled with the despicable Warden Penrose, even if he did insist on upholding his oath to obey Edon, he had displayed a justness and humility that impressed her. Mason might not be her friend, but she saw no reason to be hostile to him. And perhaps their growing familiarity would soften his attitude toward her.

  The meal passed pleasantly, and as they were surrounded by many ears, they restricted their conversation to idle chatter about what little background they shared—their time in Callaston, mostly. Mason told her of the Bastion of Spirit—the headquarters of the Wardens—and how he had spent long hours in its grassy courtyard, practicing with his sword, studying his books, or just meditating.

  She in turn told him about her life on Willbury Street, about which she had not thought much in quite a while. It unsettled her to think about what might have happened to her manse and servants in her absence. Of course this led her to think of Katin, and she paused for a moment to offer a prayer to the Aspect of Despair. She had not thought of her friend and vala often enough.

  They finished their meal and retired to their suite, which had two large bedchambers adjoined by a sitting room. Dardan and Amira would share one room for the night; Garen would have the other to himself, for Mason had volunteered to keep watch in the sitting room. Perhaps he thought she might try to sneak away in the middle of the night.

  As the other men had not returned yet, Amira took wine there. The inn provided a serving girl to attend them, but Amira gave her a silver, told her to take the evening off, and poured the wine herself.

  Mason refused to drink. “It would be inappropriate while I am in your company, m’lady.”

  She shrugged and went through the carafe herself. Mason seemed to grow sullen as the night wore on, and Amira eventually gave up trying to make further conversation.

  Footsteps heralded the return of her husband and Garen, who both staggered drunkenly. She bade Mason a good night and guided Dardan to their bedchamber.

  He seemed to sober up a bit once the door was shut. Amira asked how his evening went. “Quite well. I think there’s no more concern as far as
you and he are, er, concerned.”

  Something about the way he phrased it, and how he did not meet her eyes, piqued her interest. “Tell me all about it,” she said sweetly.

  “It’s… nothing you’ll find interesting.”

  “Oh, I think I should be the one to judge that.”

  Now Dardan looked at her, his face slowly contorting with dismay. “It… um… it’s no fit conversation for a lady.”

  “Ah, I see. You took him to a brothel.”

  The look of horror on Dardan’s face made Amira burst into laughter. “I’m sorry, dear. Surely you don’t think I was so sheltered a girl as to be unaware of the existence of brothels?” In truth she knew a great deal more about brothels than merely that they existed, but she would have to be a great deal more inebriated for that discussion. Magic powers were one thing…

  “I did not—I did—only he did!” Dardan protested. “I stayed in the lounge!”

  She put a finger over his mouth. “I believe you, dear. Now enough about the boy.” She put her lips on his and guided his hands in removing her dress. There were no more words after that.

  ———

  As promised, the new garments were ready the following afternoon. Amira’s gown was bronze silk striped with gold, long hanging sleeves, and a colossal lace ruffle at her neck. Dardan’s suit was simple, fine black linen; he’d also acquired shiny new boots that would probably hurt his feet terribly until they were broken in.

  With Mason in his silvered Warden’s plate and Garen looking like he might not have too recently fallen off the turnip wagon, they perhaps might stand a chance of persuading the great, aged Duke Fortarin Eltasi to help them. Amira’s only obligation, Dardan told her, was to demonstrate her power for the duke and a few other nobles—his daughter and grandson, in particular. He seemed greatly relieved when Amira told him that she didn’t mind at all. As far as she was concerned, the more people who knew about her power, the better.

  That afternoon they also received a response from House Eltasi: they were to come to the castle the following morning. This they did, taking a coach up the central street of Seawatch, the Salt Road, which ran straight as an arrow toward the duke’s castle at the highest point of the bluff. Amira, Dardan, and Garen rode in the coach, leaving their horses at the inn, but Mason chose to ride Hawthorn.

  The fortress of House Eltasi was named Wind’s Fury. It was built into the rock of the promontory itself, an angular slab of limestone slotted into sea rocks of a darker gray. Narrow window slits rose in a helix up a central, tapering tower. It was imposing and stolid, forbidding beneath the flat gray clouds. In four hundred years it had never been taken by any attacker.

  The gate guards expected them. Amira wasn’t sure if they stared at her or Mason more. Everyone in a big city like Seawatch would have seen Wardens at least a few times in their lives, but it was still an excitement to meet one up close.

  A page was summoned to lead them into the castle keep. Amira tried to remember their route through the keep, but it was hopeless. All the stone corridors looked the same to her. The fortress had been built for defense, which meant lots of choke points, exposed corners, and heavy barred doors. She prayed that Dardan had kept track of it all.

  They were first brought to an audience chamber, but Duke Fortarin Eltasi was not there. Instead Amira was introduced to half a dozen nobles, all of whom seemed to be Eltasi’s descendants: his eldest son Thervan, who was already old and gray; Thervan’s brother Marin, who frowned and drummed his fingers impatiently; Lady Nyera Helgar, Fortarin’s eldest daughter, with whom Dardan had spoken on his first visit; her son Gennevan, who Dardan knew from past encounters; and a few others who seemed to be of lesser import. Their valai were all present as well, clustered at the edge of the room.

  “So this is your little countess,” Lady Nyera said once the introductions were complete. Younger than her brothers, and in no position to inherit much of anything, she nonetheless took the fore while Thervan, the heir apparent to the dukedom, sat idly in a velvet chair. Nyera gave Amira a thorough examination, even going so far as to circle around her and inspect every angle as if she were a horse for sale. “A very pretty girl. I imagine you expect that to impress us, Count Tarian.”

  “My lady,” he replied noncommittally. “Once the demonstration is complete, we will be brought to the duke, as you agreed, correct?”

  Nyera’s smirk betrayed how likely she thought that was. Amira wanted to knock her down a few pegs, but she kept her hands folded before her and bit her tongue. “By all means, my dear count.” Nyera glanced at Amira. “Please show us… whatever it is.”

  Amira had spoken to Dardan about what she should demonstrate. He’d wanted her to start small, so as not to frighten anyone, but upon meeting Lady Nyera, Amira knew that that would be a mistake. She had to impress them, and Nyera most of all.

  She pushed her bead out and stretched it into a net, then lay it around Nyera’s head and gently pushed energy into it. Nyera’s smirk dissolved into a frown, and she looked about in confusion as she began to warm. In a few moments, beads of sweat broke out on her forehead. Amira stretched the net larger, so that it enveloped Nyera’s whole body. The woman unconsciously wiped her hands on her skirt as her palms began to sweat. She glanced around, still looking for the source of the heat, and then suddenly swung her startled gaze upon Amira. Amira just smiled at her.

  “When is this to begin?” Lord Marin asked, sounding peevish. “Some of us have matters to attend—”

  “Quiet,” Nyera snapped.

  It so happened that behind the Eltasi nobles sat a large hearth. Fresh logs had been laid in it but not yet lit, which gave Amira an idea. She released the net around Nyera and formed a new bead, then held out her hand and placed it above her palm. She pushed just enough energy into it to make it begin to glow with light that all could see.

  The other nobles gasped and exclaimed one by one as they noticed the glowing speck. Amira curved her palm around the bead, then flung it at the fireplace while pretending to throw it with her hand. As soon as the bead touched the wood, she pushed every ounce of energy into it that she could, dragging it back and forth along the logs.

  Flames sprung up with a series of dry pops as bubbles of sap in the wood burst. In seconds the fire raged along the whole hearth. Those nearest to it backed away hurriedly, as if the fire might decide to come after them next.

  No damage had been done so far, but Amira could not resist a final flourish. She raised her hand and brought her bead up to the wood panelling above the hearth. Drawing it down to a fine point, she began to char a jagged black line along the wood. It hissed and smoked for several seconds, and when she was done, a stylized symbol of a flame had been burned into the wall.

  Amira turned to Lady Nyera, who alone among the Eltasi had not moved. Amira bowed very slightly, meaning to insult the rude old woman. “I do hope you are impressed, my lady,” she said, then went to stand by Dardan’s side. He looked alarmed, but she gave him her best smile and squeezed his hand.

  The Eltasi had all gathered together, whispering fiercely. After a remarkably short time, Lady Nyera turned to face Amira. “I think… I think I shall conduct you to the duke now.”

  ———

  Lady Nyera took them to a chilly arched hall. Gray light slipped in through narrow windows, and Amira could hear the distant surf through a balcony door in the far wall. At one end of a long table sat an old, withered man, dressed in rich furs and apparently in the last stages of a meal. Amira recalled that she had met Duke Fortarin Eltasi at the summer ball, but she had also met a hundred other nobles that day and one face blurred into the next.

  Nyera led the way into the hall, motioned for Amira and her companions to stay at the door, and went to speak with her father. Her vala followed, casting dark glances at Amira and Dardan.

  Amira looked around. Two guards stood behind the duke, along with a younger man who must be the duke’s valo, and a pair of footmen, hovering and ready to attend
to the duke at a moment’s notice. After several minutes of whispered conversation, Lady Nyera turned and beckoned to them. Dardan and Amira led the way, with Garen and Mason right behind them.

  The duke looked up at his daughter. “Nyera, dear, that will be all.” The woman seemed disappointed, Amira thought, but she graciously withdrew with her vala, giving one last astonished glance at Amira.

  Dardan bowed deeply to the duke. Amira curtseyed as low as her dress would let her. “Your grace. It is an honor to meet you again,” Dardan said.

  In contrast to the rudeness of the other Eltasi, Duke Fortarin smiled and spoke in a friendly manner. “Likewise, my boy. I was saddened to hear of your father’s death. I cannot claim to have known him well, but I never heard a bad word said against him, except by those with spite and jealousy in their hearts. Please, have a seat.” He waved grandly at the long, empty table before him as he examined his guests. His sunken, pale blue eyes lingered on them each in turn.

  “Thank you, your grace.” Dardan and Amira sat at his left hand. Mason stayed standing behind them. Garen wavered, seeming unsure whether to sit or stand.

  “Your valo and Warden Iris may sit as well,” the duke said, smiling. Several of the duke’s teeth were missing, replaced with a wooden denture, painted off-white to match his remaining teeth. Something about it made Amira a little queasy, but she kept a soft smile plastered on her face.

  Garen seemed to realize that the duke thought that he was Dardan’s valo, so he shrugged and sat down. Mason declined. “Thank you, your grace, but sitting in plate armor is never comfortable,” he said. Amira wondered if Mason would say anything else, or try to explain how he had come to accompany them. She hoped not.

  “Well.” Duke Eltasi considered the Warden for a few moments. “I suppose that is true. It’s been ages since I had to wear plate. The mind forgets.” He turned and clapped liver-spotted hands. “Refreshments for my guests!”

  A platter of wine, soft bread, cheese, and fruit was brought out for them. Dardan, Amira noticed, did not touch it, though he nodded graciously and thanked the duke. Garen waited until no one was looking and began sneaking morsels. Amira nibbled on a little cheese, just to be polite. Her stomach flipped every so often. Throwing up on the duke would be no more polite than incinerating him.

  “So tell me what it is that brings you here today,” the duke said, folding his wrinkled hands together. His own plate had been cleared away and he watched them all intently.

  Dardan laid out much the same story as he’d told to Elmer Brahim all those weeks ago, and later to Count Barnard. Except now he hid nothing. Amira’s power had been openly revealed to the rest of the Eltasi, and there was nothing they had reason to hide from the duke… except for Sir Gaelan Thoriss’s death, which Dardan did not mention.

  Duke Eltasi interrupted frequently to ask questions about this detail or that. Dardan did all the talking, and so Amira was at leisure to observe the old man. His eyes flicked around constantly, usually between his four guests, but occasionally to the heavy oak doors they’d come in through. They were closed now.

  The fifth time he glanced at the doors, Amira began to feel uneasy. Was he expecting someone? It had been only a few days since Dardan had been to Seawatch the first time; surely not long enough to get a message to Edon, wherever he was now.

  Amira looked around. They’d been here nearly an hour. The footmen had all withdrawn. Even the duke’s valo had gone out at some point, leaving only the two house guards.

  The duke’s valo returned just as Dardan began to describe how he had come to Seawatch and met with Gennevan and Nyera. The valo stepped near to his master and cleared his throat gently. “Excuse me,” the duke said, and the valo bent down to whisper to him. “Oh dear,” the duke said, not sounding put out at all. “You must pardon me,” he said, rising to his feet. Amira, Dardan, and Garen all stood as well, bowing or curtseying as was required. “I must attend to a delicate matter. I will be back directly.” He shuffled away toward the heavy oak doors. His valo trailed him, as well as the two guards. When the doors clicked shut behind them, Amira and her companions were left alone in the dining hall.

  “That was odd,” she said.

  “I’m surprised he wasn’t interrupted sooner,” Dardan said. “Dukes rarely have a moment’s peace, even at home—”

  Suddenly Mason had drawn his sword, and was facing the door. Then he looked up at the high walls to either side of it. Amira followed his gaze. The walls were the same dark wood as the doors, carved with elaborate seascapes, scenes of battle, wildlife. “What is it?” she whispered.

  “Under the table!” he shouted, and shoved her away. She did not hesitate, and scrambled to the floor, putting the heavy table over her head. Dardan had drawn his sword as well. “All of you!”

  The order was punctuated by a twang, just as Mason leapt to the side. A crossbow quarrel clanged off his armor and spun away, a glancing blow that would have punched straight through him had he not moved. Amira couldn’t see where it had come from, but there must have been murder-holes hidden up in those carvings. She couldn’t see them from under the table, or try to strike at whoever had shot at them.

  Garen had taken the hint and darted under the table as well, followed at once by Dardan. Only Mason among them wore armor. “Garen!” Amira hissed. “I can’t hit them. You have to!”

  He twisted around to look at her. There was fear in his eyes, but also determination. “What? Where?”

  “On the wall, high up. Tear the whole thing down if you have to!”

  Garen was breathing hard, and she saw him shaking. But he nodded. By now, Mason had gotten behind the end of the table farthest from the carved wall. His armor was too bulky for him to get on the floor and crawl under the table easily, but the edge of the table and the duke’s chair might provide some cover.

  Garen stuck his head out the other side of the table and then immediately jerked back. His momentary appearance was rewarded with another quarrel thwacking off the floor an inch from his head. He leaned out again at once. Whoever had shot at him would be reloading. And Amira knew that Garen’s response would take only a moment.

  There was a sound like a tree snapping in half—she was reminded of the huge pine outside Hugh Hamm’s house falling into the brush—and she saw shards of wood rain to the floor. Amira risked a glance of her own from farther back, and saw a pumpkin-sized hole in the wall, about ten feet off the ground. Behind it was an open space, some hidden gallery that allowed for secret observation—or exactly the kind of ambush that had just occurred. After a moment, a man’s face peered out through the hole, looking astonished.

  Amira’s blood raged. She was far beyond any kind of caution or mercy. She made her bead into a focused point and flung it at the man. There was a sizzle and the man screamed, falling back out of sight.

  “The door!” Mason shouted.

  “Garen, blast open the door!” Amira repeated. “All your strength!” She could see it from here, between the far legs of the table. Garen crawled that way. Amira heard an irregular beat, and began to make out the sounds of boots thumping somewhere, and orders being shouted. There must be armed men out in the hall, preparing to rush in and kill them all.

  Dardan risked a glance out the other side of the table and almost had his head pierced by a crossbow bolt. He jerked away from it as it thunked into the arm of a chair. “There’s another one up there,” he grunted. “Go after Garen. They’ll have a harder time hitting the foot of the table.”

  Amira heard a clank behind her and looked back. Mason had sheathed his sword and flopped onto his back, then used the table legs to slide himself head-first toward her. It was an odd way to move, but perhaps his only choice, given the confined space under the table and his heavy armor.

  She began to crawl after Garen, who had made it to the far end of the long table. He gripped the table legs and focused on the door beyond. Amira had to look away when the bead reached its brightest, just before the detonation. The doors
and a good chunk of the walls surrounding them exploded into a storm of wooden shards, mostly directed into the corridor beyond.

  “Go!” Amira shouted. Garen crawled out quickly, got to his feet, and plastered himself against the wall next to the gaping ruins of the doorway. Whoever was shooting at them from up above would not be able to hit him there. Amira followed Garen out, with Dardan close on her heels. She put herself opposite Garen, and then Dardan put himself in front of her. “Behind me, you dolt,” she said, yanking him away by the arm so that she could see.

  He protested, but he was little more than an obstruction to her just now. She could see a sliver of the corridor and heard voices and movement. She caught Garen’s eye and pointed over her shoulder, into the corridor. He nodded, leaned out, and a moment later there was another crack from that direction, and several agonized shouts.

  She darted around the ruins of the doorframe and looked the other way down the corridor. Up above must be the hidden gallery, but there was no obvious way to reach it from here. In the corridor were several men in disarray, holding swords or crossbows. Some stood, some leaned against the wall in shock, and others lay on the floor, injured or dying or dead.

  A faint glimmer of sympathy surfaced in the corner of Amira’s mind. But she reminded herself that these men were trying to kill her, and she could give no quarter without risking her life—and that of her husband, and Garen, and Mason, who had finally extricated himself from under the table and taken up position next to Garen. Mason, for all his oaths, was no fool; Eltasi was trying to kill him, and his haunted expression showed that he knew it.

  One by one, Amira pushed her ember into the calf muscle of each Eltasi soldier who remained standing, meaning only to disable them for now. Your mercy will be the death of you, a voice came unbidden, as each man screeched and fell to the floor.

  She would not show such mercy to Duke Eltasi if she found him. She had a fancy for a moment of hunting down the old bastard and killing him for his treachery, but he could be anywhere by now, and they had to get out of here. “Mason. Lead the way out. Garen and I will be at your sides. Dardan, watch our back.”

  The men all goggled at her for a moment, but one by one they nodded. She felt a tightness in her chest, and knew that if she stopped to think about it she’d fall to pieces right here in the corridor. So she steeled herself, lifted the hem of her skirt a little to avoid tripping on it, and marched down the corridor beside an oathbound Warden, a blacksmith’s apprentice, and an exiled count.

  ———

  Relief flooded her as they emerged into the stableyard. They’d fought through another group of armed Eltasi men who had confronted them in the halls. The guards had yelled at them to surrender, and Amira yelled back, and then Mason and Garen were yelling too, and when one of the Eltasi men lunged forward, Garen had set off a thunderclap that had knocked the man back down the corridor. He had come to a rest sprawled on the floor; unconscious, maybe dead. Amira couldn’t make herself look at him as they passed. The other guards had panicked and fled, and she had trembled even though she had the upper hand—or perhaps because she had it.

  “Horses! Now!” Mason shouted at a pair of wide-eyed stablehands who stood in the yard. Only when he shouted again did the boys hop to.

  Amira could sense the tension radiating from her companions. Dardan especially seemed to be agitated. Garen was calmer; Mason spoke only in short, terse eruptions. She wondered why she was noticing all this now. Shouldn’t she be panicking? Focusing on the danger at hand? What was wrong with her? She felt light-headed and held onto Dardan’s arm for a moment.

  Horses were brought forth almost at once: Mason’s white stallion Hawthorn for him to ride, as well as three of Eltasi’s stock for the others. “Now we’re horse thieves as well,” Dardan muttered.

  “I believe the circumstances justify it,” Mason said. He kept his eyes focused on the castle doors behind them.

  Amira’s dress was not split for riding, but propriety was the last thing on her mind. She mounted and let her dress ride up, exposing the petticoats and her ankles beneath, and led the way out through the gate, which by some miracle had not been closed. Not that it would have stopped them, but she felt they’d already made quite enough of an impact today.

  They cantered down the main road, knifing through the crowds and slowing to a walk only once they neared their inn. “Duke Eltasi may still send riders after us,” Dardan said. “He will still think in the old way, despite what you’ve just done.”

  Garen and Mason waited outside while Amira and Dardan went to their suite to gather the belongings they’d left behind. Dardan stopped on the way out to deposit a bag of silver with the innkeeper and settle their account. “No sense burning any more bridges,” he said to his wife, and she could not bring herself to argue. They left the Eltasi mounts behind and retrieved their own from the stable.

  No one tried to stop them when they left Seawatch through its gate. Either the news of what had transpired at the castle had not reached them, or someone had the sense to not waste more guards’ lives trying to stop the mages. Still, Dardan insisted that they should ride many miles before stopping.

  Amira twisted to look back at the limestone walls of Seawatch as they dwindled away. The story would spread, no doubt. How would the powers of Garova react to this new threat? Would they unite behind their king? A few mages could easily upset the balance of power; a duke or a count—or a countess—who gathered a few loyal mages could suddenly become a major threat. What would the commoners think? The people of Stony Vale had stood by Amira, and for that she would be forever grateful, but something told her that the future would not be so easy.

  They finally stopped after an hour so that Amira could change out of her gown and into something more practical. One of the dresses she’d gotten in Stony Vale was split for riding, but instead she hid behind her horse and put on her old, travel-stained wool and leathers. The old order had been shattered; who was there left to impress?

  They mounted up again and rode on. Amira saw that Garen still looked exhausted and stunned. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  Garen grinned. “I think I did better that time.”

  “It may not always go so well,” she cautioned him. “It’s… it’s not too late for you to return to Stony Vale, if you wish.”

  Garen shook his head. “No. You were right. If I stay there, well, that Penrose bastard might come back for me. I’m better off with you.”

  Mason had ridden close. “Warden Penrose may lack compassion, but he is still a Warden and obedient to our king and our Order, and deserving of proper respect,” he interjected. If the recent altercation had unsettled him, he didn’t show it. Amira felt cold fear wash over her at the memory of it, even though it had been hours.

  But she was also greatly annoyed by his tone. How dare he defend Penrose at a time like this? “I’m afraid I’m not as forgiving as you, Warden. When people try to kill me, I do not praise them for their valor. In case you’ve already forgotten, the very first quarrel was aimed at you in particular. Surely your obedience to Edon does not extend to permitting his minions to murder you for no reason.”

  Mason beetled his brow and looked away. “I’m certain it was an oversight on Duke Eltasi’s part. He assumed that any companion of yours was equally guilty of treason. If he had known my correct role, he would not have attempted to harm me.” But he kicked Hawthorn’s side and rode ahead a few dozen yards, nullifying the possibility of any further argument.

  Dardan had listened quietly to the exchange. “Must you try to provoke him?”

  Amira shrugged. “He’s the one seeking provocation. I think it is a diversion. A man who truly believed in the strength of his oaths would not have to work so hard to honor them.”

  CHAPTER 33

  LIAM