Shadow & Flame

by Mindee Arnett

  She looked up again. “Would you like to play?”

  “I wouldn’t know how.”

  “It doesn’t have to be Queen’s Tower,” Eravis replied, her expression suddenly shy. “I can teach you something else, or perhaps . . . perhaps you can show me a Rimish game.” Bending toward the table, she retrieved a second deck of cards from the drawer.

  A pleasant warmth spread through Corwin as he picked up the new deck and examined the familiar suits of candles, jars, flutes, and stones. It was a full Rimish deck, complete with the shade cards. He ran his finger over one of the shades, a figure in a black cloak wearing a horned crown, while a dozen memories of old games won and lost slid through his mind.

  “It must be hard,” Eravis said, drawing him out of his reverie. “To be away from your homeland. I’ve never even been out of Luxana before, much less Seva.”

  Corwin drew a breath, pushing the memories back, and looked down at Eravis. He knew he should walk away now, but the allure of an hour spent doing something familiar, something from home, was too much to resist. Sitting down across from her, he said, “Shall I teach you how to play Peril?”

  The princess raised her eyebrows in surprise, then a look of delight lit up her features. “Please do. It’s one of Eryx’s favorite games, but he refuses to show it to me.”

  Corwin shuffled the deck, doing it with a flair that made the cards seem to dance in his hands. “Why not?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Because betting games are not fit for highborn ladies.”

  Despite himself, Corwin was reminded of Kate by her annoyance, and the way she used to bemoan not being allowed to learn the fighting arts alongside the boys. Instead she had to sneak out late at night and learn what she could on her own—and from him.

  Ignoring the old familiar ache in his chest, he returned his focus to the cards, explaining the rules to Eravis. She listened intently, only asking a few questions for clarification. Then they began the game. With no coins for betting, they used dried helian seeds and charis nuts, both foods native to Seva. There were always bowls of them set about the room. Corwin liked the charis nuts best and so chose them as his chips. He just had to discipline himself not to eat them all, lest he go broke.

  Eravis proved a quick study, and before long they were playing the game in earnest, Corwin no longer needing to give her allowances for inexperience. He won the next two rounds, but she took the third.

  With a wide grin on her lips, an expression that could only be described as radiant, Eravis leaned back in her chair and said, “I have bested you at last.”

  “One victory does not win the war.” Corwin regretted his words at once and raised his wine glass to his lips, to hide his scowl at the reminder that every day brought them closer to war with Rime—and there was nothing he could do about it. He’d asked to visit the Mistfold only to be given an emphatic no. He didn’t dare ask again for fear of arousing suspicions. He had no idea what Bonner was up to, but he trusted him implicitly and would not risk betraying him.

  Glancing away from his dark expression, Eravis took her own drink. Then, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she said, “My brother tells me that in Rime cards are played using real magic.”

  Corwin smiled, grateful for neutral ground. He set aside his wine glass and picked up the queen of candles. “Cards there are imbued with magist spells, and ordinary people like you or me can invoke them with a spoken word.”

  “I would hardly call us ordinary.”

  Corwin supposed she had a point. To most people, a prince and princess would be seen as extraordinary. Only his time spent in the mines and as a Shieldhawk before that had taught him better. He was no different from any other man. He bled and wept and suffered and loved. His mistakes were as frequent as his triumphs, if not more so. The titles bestowed on a small few were mere luck and pretense, not inalienable proof of something greater inside the individual.

  “But what does the magic do?” Eravis leaned forward as if eager to see it done.

  “Not all that much. The candle on this card will glow as if truly lit.” He traced a finger down the candlestick and around the halo over the woman’s head. Then he picked up the seven of jars. “These will glisten as if wet, and all the suits will have a distinctive smell, too. And once these spells are invoked, it prevents cheating. A played card stays played, cannot be replaced or swapped out with sleight of hand.”

  Eravis made a face. “Is that all? Why, it’s nothing more than parlor tricks.”

  “There are others who’d say differently, especially in a high-stakes game,” Corwin said, feeling the urge to smile at her indignant tone. “Besides, those are the spells only on the most common cards. Other sets possess more powerful ones.”

  “Like the Death Bones?”

  Corwin frowned. “You know the game?” If Peril was considered unladylike, that one would be downright scandalous.

  “Only a little. Eryx has mentioned it once or twice, but he refused to go into detail. When it comes to magic, he’s like my father—both secretive and covetous.” She made a face again, but this time Corwin felt no urge to smile. Instead, a sudden tension spread through his body at the turn in the subject, the opening it provided.

  “Is that so?” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. “And is that why your father plans to invade Rime? For its magic?”

  Eravis cut her eyes to him, her gaze suddenly sharp. Then she visibly relaxed. She’s clever, Corwin thought, not for the first time. Far too clever. The vapid-princess persona she played so often in public was an act and nothing more. Despite his better judgment, she intrigued him.

  “Why else?” Eravis pulled a lock of her long hair over her shoulder to idly run her fingers through it. “Seva has enough wealth on its own not to need that of Rime. My father is no fool. He doesn’t conquer merely for the joy of conquering, but to get what he needs. What Seva needs.”

  “Does he hope to restore magic to Seva by stealing it from Rime, then?” The knowledge that there had once indeed been magic in Seva had come as a shock to Corwin when he’d stumbled across an entire section in the library devoted to the subject. He’d always been told magic only existed in Rime, but it seemed he was wrong. Once it had existed everywhere. There were just too many chronicles stating otherwise for him not to believe it. And he’d seen the Mistfold as well and the way it had restored Kate’s magic the moment she set foot in the pit. Magic was here already, some of it at least.

  Eravis hesitated before answering, as if afraid of saying too much, her gaze fixed on her silken strands. “I believe that is the idea, yes.”

  Corwin leaned back, his arms stretched toward the table. He was suddenly grateful for the isolation that had driven him to spend so much time reading of late. “It’s ironic, considering it was his very ancestor who destroyed all the magic in Seva in the first place.”

  “What are you talking about?” Eravis pinned him with a cool stare.

  “The Ascension, I believe it was called. When your ancestor, Fanen, slew the gods of Seva and started the rule of the Godking.” He’d come across the story just this morning, in an old book called The Rise and Fall of Magic. “Surely you know the story. It’s said that when Fanen killed the gods, the ‘magic of Seva dried up like water and drained away as if like blood from the body.’” The last was a direct quote, one that had stuck in his mind for no particular reason he could fathom, other than the gruesomeness of it.

  “Tell me, Prince Corwin, are all people from Rime affected with this strange need to read so much?”

  Corwin arched an eyebrow, offended on multiple levels, not the least of which was the implication that reading lacked value. “I sincerely hope you’re not likening me to Lord Gavril.” He seemed the only Rimish person Eravis could’ve possibly been exposed to. There was no one else, save the wilders, but he doubted she made a habit of visiting the Mistfold. Even if she did, it seemed unlikely the wilders there had access to books.

  “I would never,” Eravis said,
her voice quiet and her expression suddenly soft. While he regarded her, he caught her quick glance at the trestle table where the nenath waited, as always, for when the need came upon him.

  Corwin swallowed, uncomfortable with the tension growing between them, all the things they didn’t talk about, like the stewardess coming each morning to collect the sheets for the record. Gathering his composure, he asked, “Who then, if not Gavril?”

  Again, Eravis seemed to consider her response. “A man called Rendborne. He’s visited several times over the years. But this last visit he spent nearly every waking hour in the library. It showed, too. The man was so pale he looked like death.”

  The name struck Corwin like a fist, and he sucked in a breath, struggling to keep his reaction to himself lest he frighten her into silence. Like him, Eravis too seemed aware that they were still enemies, despite this congenial interlude. “How long ago was this? When did Rendborne leave?”

  “He departed some six months ago. Why, do you know him?”

  Corwin considered how much to tell her. Judging by the casual way she spoke about Rendborne, he guessed she had no idea who he truly was, how important his involvement had been in laying the foundation for her father’s quest to conquer Rime. He wondered how much of the truth he should tell her. Not all of it, he decided—especially not how Rendborne was Corwin’s great-great-granduncle, a Tormane who had rebelled against the power of uror and been cast out. But perhaps something to open her eyes to the truth.

  “A little,” he said, clearing his throat. “Enough to know he is guilty of the worst treachery. That he is evil to his very core.”

  “Evil? Rendborne?” A disbelieving smile curled one side of Eravis’s mouth. “Why, I’ve rarely met a more charming man.”

  Corwin nodded, understanding her reaction perfectly. He’d felt the same about Rendborne, trusting him, liking him, only to be rocked by the truth of what he was. “Rendborne is the reason your father has his wilder army, but he will regret trusting him in the end.” Corwin had seen the hatred inside the Nameless One that day, when he’d used his uror mark to block the spell Rendborne had unleashed on him and Kate and their friends, magic designed to kill them all in a single blow. Rendborne had an uror mark as well, his faded with age, but still there, still powerful. It had linked them, however briefly, but long enough for Corwin to understand that Rendborne didn’t care about Seva and the Godking’s quest for magic.

  All he wanted was to see Rime fall.

  “Why do you say that?” Eravis asked, raising her glass for another drink.

  Corwin told her how Rendborne had orchestrated the creation of the gold order, how he’d served as minister of trade to the high king for years before his machinations had been uncovered.

  “That’s some story,” Eravis said when he finished. “One worthy of a place in the great library.”

  “You don’t believe me?” Corwin drummed his fingers on the table, annoyed that he let himself trust her enough to share it with her, to hope that beneath the public persona she wore, the true Eravis might sympathize with the plight of the wilders imprisoned in the Mistfold. It seemed he’d imagined more behind her reaction to the death and carnage of the Spectacles than was truly there.

  “Yes, I believe. He’s just like my father. An ambitious man who will do whatever it takes to get what he wants. No matter who it might hurt.” Her fingers had tightened around the glass, the knuckles showing white, and when she raised it to her lips, it shook slightly in her hand.

  Pity swelled in Corwin’s chest as he put himself in her position. He might not understand how she could play the game as well as she did—acting the part of the happy bride for all those watching eyes—but he could understand the feel of being a pawn in the Godking’s game.

  When she set the wineglass down once again, Corwin reached out and placed his hand atop hers. “I am not like your father or Rendborne. If I can, I will stop him from using us both.”

  Eravis jerked her hand away, scowling. “You understand nothing, Corwin Tormane. You are a hopeless fool if you think you can stand against Lord Gavril. Once the time has come he will—” She broke off, her gaze livid, although Corwin had a feeling her anger wasn’t only directed at him.

  “What time? What do you mean?”

  Eravis stood abruptly, her chair rocking so hard it nearly toppled over. “It’s . . . nothing. I misspoke. Thank you for your concern.” She drew a deep breath, and Corwin watched as the true Eravis—one full of anger and resentment—slid away, the false princess taking her place. She smiled at him warmly, lips parted. Then coming around the table, she leaned down to him, her hands sliding over his shoulder and her long hair closing around him like curtains. The robe she wore slipped open at the movement to reveal the nightdress beneath, made from a fabric so sheer it might’ve been nothing. Her perfumed skin filled his nose, an assault on his senses that made his head spin.

  Before he could stop her, her lips found his. She kissed him softly, the barest of caresses, more a promise than anything else. Then she pulled away from him. “I enjoyed our game. Perhaps we can play again tomorrow night. I look forward to everything else you have to teach me.”

  The air seemed to thicken with the innuendo in her words.

  Corwin blinked, coming back to his senses, but she was already gone, retreating to the bedroom. He watched her go, worry swirling inside him. He thought he’d gotten the measure of her, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. He didn’t understand it. All he knew was that he needed to find a way out of here before it was too late.

  But at least she had given him something to think about, to concentrate on. Rendborne had been here and now was gone. Back to Rime, Corwin guessed, which meant that the danger his loved ones faced back home was even greater than he imagined. Loved ones. Like his Kate. He must do whatever he could to protect her, to protect them all.

  And finding out just what Rendborne had been searching for in the library was the place to start.

  11

  Kate

  IT TOOK TWO DAYS FOR Kate to get hired on as a chambermaid. They were the longest two days of her life.

  With the revelation that Corwin was still alive, every other matter seemed less pressing. All she wanted was to ride south to the harbor at Penlocke, board the first ship that would take her across the sea, and find Corwin. She didn’t care what the Rime Review said about his supposed marriage. Corwin was being held against his will, forced to play whatever part the Godking was concocting for him and for Rime, with no one to help him, no one to trust.

  And she’d left him there, all this time.

  She tried to tell herself it wasn’t her fault, but it didn’t matter. Nothing assuaged the guilt, or lessened her sense of urgency. Still, in the end, Signe convinced her to remain in Norgard.

  “Just until we’ve finished our mission,” Signe said, grabbing Kate by the arm and forcing her to stop her pacing. She’d been doing it ever since she returned from Mirror Castle, where she’d spent nearly two hours waiting to talk to the housekeeper about the job, her impatience like a wild horse tethered against its will and fighting to be unleashed.

  “Signe is right,” Tira said from where she sat next to the door, idly eating an apple. She wiped the juice off her mouth with the back of her hand. “If we’re going to Seva, we will want Dal with us.”

  “We can’t bring him,” Kate said, pulling free of Signe’s grasp. “If he leaves Norgard without permission it will restart the war.” She hated herself for saying it. She agreed with Tira; they would need Dal’s help and more in order to rescue Corwin, but she hadn’t sacrificed so much for the Rising to be the cause of their fall now. Her coming here to protect her friend had been a big enough gamble as it was, but Dal’s absence couldn’t be kept secret as easily as her presence in Norgard.

  “We will go without him if we must—once it’s certain he is safe,” Signe said, arms crossed and feet planted.

  Tira took another loud bite of her apple and through the crunchin
g said, “Did you forget what happened last time we were in Seva, Kate? Your magic vanished with the very first sunrise away from these shores. How do you expect to march into the Sun Palace and whisk your true love away from under the Godking’s nose without your sway?”

  Kate clenched her fists at this unwelcome reminder. Even after that brief spell in the Mistfold when her magic had come back to her, it was gone again not long after they left Seva. And Tira was right—without her sway their small team stood little chance of rescuing Corwin. She shook her head. “My magic came back to me inside the Mistfold. There must be a reason why.”

  And she knew just the person to ask.

  She arrived in Harue’s shared room with Wen a few heartbeats later. To her complete lack of surprise, she found Harue with her nose buried in a book. At least she was lying down, taking her ease physically, if not mentally. A mind like hers never rested, Kate supposed. Harue didn’t look up at her sudden entry.

  “Mistress Harue,” Wen said in her squeak of a voice. “Mistress Kate is here to see you.”

  Waving the girl off, Kate marched up to the bed, close enough even Harue wouldn’t be able to ignore her. “Why did my magic vanish when I left Rime? And why did it start working again in the Mistfold?”

  Harue blinked up at her, brow furrowed over her glasses. “I need more information if you expect a proper analysis.”

  Kate quickly explained the way her magic behaved during that trip over a year ago. For so long she had refused to talk about these events, but now, knowing Corwin was still alive, it was easy. And to her credit, Harue listened without distraction.

  “There were everweeps in the pit, you say?” Harue asked once Kate finished her story.

  “Yes,” Kate said, her voice breathy with exasperation.

  “Are you certain it wasn’t crylilies? They’re native to Seva and might be mistook for everweeps by someone in distress or—”