by Kyle West
He ate ravenously. He hadn’t had anything all day, so he couldn’t worry about small details like being poisoned. The Queen would have killed him by now if she wanted, anyway.
No sooner than when he was done, there was another knock at the door. Jarvis himself entered with four servants behind him. The head butler cleared his throat, as if he didn’t already have Lucian’s attention.
“The Queen has asked me to prepare you personally for the soiree tonight. She intends to take you as her consort.”
Lucian nearly choked on his food. From Jarvis’s tone, there was no room for refusal. “Uh . . . are you sure about that?”
“Quite. It is an honor usually reserved for the highest – and most handsome, I might add – Mage-Lords of the Empire. I’m sure you are quite pleased.”
Well, this certainly would not go over well with his friends. Was this the Queen’s way of driving a larger wedge between them?
He thought of how to respond. “I suppose I can’t refuse.”
Jarvis’s face paled, clearly horrified. The Queen would probably have his head if he returned with that news.
“All right, then,” Lucian said. “Let’s get this over with.”
“I’m pleased, sir. When the gentleman has finished eating, please come to the mirror, that we might attend to you.”
Lucian put his fork down. Better to get this over and done with.
Jarvis and his servants attended to him immediately, with Jarvis whistling a merry tune. Lucian was dressed in vestments worthy of a king. First, they measured him efficiently, and within moments, found him a black dress shirt and black pants, of quality as fine as anything on Earth. Even finer. Over the shirt went a tunic of red with gold trim, with a Septagon of seven colored jewels on the breast – ruby, spessartite, citrine, emerald, sapphire, amethyst, and diamond. Lucian’s eyes popped as the gems sparkled at him from the mirror. He wondered whether they had been mined or created atomically, such was their size and purity. The tunic was cinched with a black belt with a silver buckle, studded with diamonds and rubies. Black leather boots were fitted to his feet, his hair cut, combed, pasted, and his face shaved.
The face staring back at him from the mirror was shocking. It belonged to a man ten years older than the one who had left Earth – all hard edges, fierce brown eyes, with new lines and wrinkles. He even had a few scars he hadn’t known were there – one on his head, just below his hairline, and the other on the right side of his jaw, about two centimeters long. In short, he was unrecognizable. When he had left Earth, he was all of twenty years old, and on Volsung, he had turned twenty-one. If enough months had passed on the prison barge, he might very well be twenty-two, now. But the man in the mirror looked thirty-two, and he felt much older than that after the events of the past two years.
And he looked tired. So very tired. But there was still a determination in those eyes. He hadn’t given up, despite everything that had happened.
He could never let that fire die.
Despite the fine clothing, something seemed to be missing. And Lucian realized what it was when it was brought to him.
Jarvis himself handed Lucian his shockspear, fitting a sheathe for it on his back.
“It is not proper for the Queen’s consort to go without shockspear to any social gathering,” Jarvis said, watching him neutrally. “It is for you to protect her, should the unthinkable happen. She has placed a great deal of trust in you, sir.”
All Lucian could think was she couldn’t have chosen a worse person.
“I see.” It was all he could manage to say.
The other servants worked at his clothing, fixing minor details Lucian couldn’t even see, adding a kerchief to his breast pocket. They even added a dash of cologne before he could tell them to hold off. The sharp aroma made him cough.
“When is the soiree, anyway?”
“In less than an hour. It will be a small gathering. No more than fifty of the Queen’s most trusted lords and ladies. Quite exclusive.”
“The last thing I want is to play politics. What’s her game?”
Lucian had mostly been speaking to himself, something that the butler must have sensed, because he remained silent. It was not for him to speak against his Queen. In fact, Lucian had better be quiet himself. Every word he said, Jarvis would certainly faithfully report.
“That shall do it,” Jarvis said, with a final bow. “I shall fetch you when the Queen has called. Until then, Master Lucian.”
With that, he left, leaving Lucian alone in his chambers with his shockspear.
Immediately, he unsheathed and extended it. What kind of damage could he expect to do? Could he find the others in time and make an escape? Could he ever hope to outrun the Queen and the Zephyr?
The answers to that question were: almost no damage, they couldn’t escape in time, and even if they did, the Zephyr would hunt them down within the hour. The Queen already knew where he planned to go, so all of it was useless.
Lucian reached for his Focus, streaming Dynamism along the shockspear’s length. The spear crackled as he practiced his footwork, creating the space to deal with an imaginary foe. He poked and jabbed, swinging the spear in a wide arc to cut down multiple enemies, dancing away to create space again. He lost himself in the movements and sequences taught to him at the Academy, enough to work up something of a sweat. It was probably the opposite of what he should be doing, but he didn’t care. He branded the Dynamistic Magic to the tip of his spear, allowing it to last all the longer.
By the time the brand petered out half an hour later, Jarvis had returned with a retinue of bronze-armored guards, each with their own spear and rounded shield. Lucian knew these were to be his escort, probably some “honor” he was due as the Queen’s consort, but it certainly didn’t seem an honor.
Jarvis’s eyes widened upon seeing Lucian’s state, but Lucian kept his spear out, feeling a flash of irritation at the interruption. “Yes?”
“It is time, Master Lucian.”
Reluctantly, Lucian sheathed his spear with a flourish. “Lead the way.”
Jarvis took a minute to straighten out Lucian’s appearance – the man wouldn’t let Lucian do it himself. Once done, the butler led the way as the guards formed a box around them. For minutes, they walked through lamp-lit halls filled with sculptures, paintings, and rich carpets. The darkness outside was nearly absolute. Hours had passed since their arrival.
Anytime they passed a servant, they bowed as if Lucian were a Mage-Lord himself. He didn’t know what was going on, until he realized he probably looked like one.
At last, they came to the final entry hall, a grand space with three floors with twin spiral staircases. It was in this reception area that Lucian was greeted to the sight of several dozen Mage-Lords and Mage-Ladies, all dressed richly in gold, red, blue, violet, and every color of the Spectrum of the Septagon. At once, each group and conversation stilled as Lucian stumbled inside. The Mage-Lords’ eyes narrowed as if in challenge, while the ladies’ eyes went wide at the sight of him. Lucian reached for his Focus to steady his nerves, while he resisted the urge to reach for his spear. He noticed some of the other Mage-Lords had armaments, too – spears, rapiers, even some hand-axes.
Lucian knew from one look that he was in a room full of jackals. The oldest ones might have even been in the Mage War, surviving until this day by wile and magic. The middle-aged ones might be their children, or those Psyche-born who had the spark of magic in them. There were few mages of an age with Lucian. This seemed to be an older crowd, and he could feel them calculating his strength of position, their minds mechanizing on how Lucian might be used to their advantage.
It was a good five seconds before they returned to their conversations, though they cast plenty of surreptitious glances his way. Lucian just wondered where his friends were.
“Please, wait here,” Jarvis said. “The Sorceress-Queen Ansaldra Dara will arrive soon.”
Jarvis withdrew, weaving through the lords and ladies with m
any-a-bow before entering the banquet hall beyond.
Lucian stood alone, doing his best not to feel like meat at a market. Though none would talk to him, that certainly didn’t stop them from talking about him. He deepened his Focus and was relieved to see that his magic waited for him beyond. He refreshed his Psionic ward, knowing he couldn’t be too careful. That should keep him at least somewhat safe.
At last, their voices stilled. From the third level above, a pair of doors opened, revealing the Sorceress-Queen, in a black dress festooned so thickly with red rubies that it might as well have been a red dress – a color of red that perfectly matched Lucian’s vest. The dress had a bejeweled Septagon emblazoned on the front. It was similar to Lucian’s, only the gems were much larger. The Queen, clearly, was not to be outdone. His throat clamped, not at her magnificence or beauty, but at the fact that they wore matching clothing. He knew what kind of signal she was trying to give with that, and if he had seen it coming, he might have put up more of a resistance.
The crowd of lords and ladies oohed as she descended the stairs, like an angel descending from heaven. The long tail of her dress floated with an anti-grav brand, while her burning violet gaze met Lucian’s. It was hard to decide whether she was more beautiful or terrifying.
Every person turned to him, seeming to wonder how this no-name Rifter had caught the eye of the Sorceress-Queen. Eyes reweighed, recalculated, and presumed a new balance of power. Half of the lords and ladies now offered gracious smiles, as if they hadn’t completely snubbed him moments ago.
Jackals, all of them. He wondered whether they were really so admiring of her Majesty, or if this simpering was simply political expedience. This soiree would be an opportunity to feel that out. It was hard to say if the information would be useful, but it wouldn’t hurt to keep his eyes open.
At that moment, Lucian’s friends appeared from an archway close to the banquet hall, each dressed in their own colors. Serah wore a new gray dress. Even if the dress was far more understated than the Queen’s, it kept more of the focus on Serah as a person. To Lucian, she was radiant with her blue eyes and honey blonde hair. This dress had no sleeves, so like him, she’d had no part in its selection. She had her arms folded in a way that hid her frayed skin.
Cleon was dressed in a red tunic, too, though nowhere near as fine as Lucian’s, having no jewels. Coupled with his red hair and freckles, it almost made it look like he was on fire. Fergus was dressed in a green tunic, hardly fitting his size and heft. To Lucian’s surprise, the Queen had allowed Fergus and Cleon to carry their own spears. Serah was without one, but none of the other Mage-Ladies had weapons. She could not have been happy about that.
His friends gazed at him with the same shock as everyone else. But eventually, the attention refocused on the Queen, who was gliding down the last few steps of the staircase. She seemed to float toward him, the levitating hem and train of her dress giving her ghostly grace. The lords and ladies parted, all smiles and manners, with looks of approval even sent Lucian’s way. Lucian couldn’t get out of here fast enough.
When she stood before him, Lucian had to keep icy concentration on his Focus. She lifted a hand toward him.
This required delicacy, and he had to play her game and beat her at it. As impossible as that would be, he had to make it through this in one piece.
He took her hand, and drew her to his arm in a single movement. She smiled, seeming delighted on the surface, but something burned in those violet eyes. She pulled him somewhat roughly, despite the fact he had taken the leading position, which elicited some chuckles from the nobles. From his peripheral vision, her pale cheeks colored ever so slightly. It felt good to embarrass her for once.
He stumbled over something on the floor, but when he looked down, nothing was there. He glanced her direction, her eyes glinting with mischief. He kept his gaze forward, his expression stoic. Her message was clear: push me, and I’ll push you back twice as hard.
He kept his face placid, his mannerisms cool. He forced himself to nod at a couple of Mage-Lords as he and the Sorceress-Queen strolled toward the open doors of the banquet hall.
The massive Lord Kiani, wearing an emerald surcoat over his bronze armor, stood by the door. The beautiful woman hanging on his arm was at least half his age, and half his size. Could this be Cleon’s sister, Lynne? Lucian didn’t see much of a resemblance, and he had to suppress the urge to search for Cleon. The woman wore a shimmering white and blue dress that left her delicate shoulders bare. Her icy blue eyes twinkled as she watched him pass, and she gave a small curtsy to both him and the Queen, her ringleted brown hair bobbing at the movement. For some reason, Lucian got the feeling this woman wasn’t Cleon’s sister. She seemed to be in her early thirties at least.
The Sorceress-Queen and Lucian entered the banquet hall first, where a long table was filled to the brim with food: meats, plates of breads and sweet treats, trays of hors d’oeuvres with meats, pastries, and glassware filled with bubbly, colorful drinks. In the corner, a small orchestra began to play a lively tune on stringed instruments, each of them wearing white puffy tunics. It was as if he had stepped backwards in time to the Renaissance.
“This way,” the Queen said.
They didn’t make for the food, but a pedestal across from it. She led him to the top, and Lucian couldn’t help but feel like a dog whose leash was getting yanked. He had to lay down his pride, as difficult as it was, and keep playing the game. He made his way to the podium in his own time, and faced out to the rest of the banquet hall.
Couple by couple, the lords and ladies filed in, each standing before the Queen and Lucian. His friends entered last of all, hanging at the periphery. From their blank expressions, it was hard to tell what they were thinking. If they didn’t think him possessed by the Queen’s magic before, they almost certainly did now.
By the time all had gathered, the Queen shifted beside him. Lucian noticed Cleon staring murderously at Lord Kiani, who seemed oblivious. His wife wasn’t looking at Cleon, but at him and the Queen. No, definitely not Cleon’s sister.
“Be welcome, Mage-Lords and Mage-Ladies,” Queen Ansaldra said. “I thank you for attending my little soiree on such short notice.”
Little? If this were little, then Lucian didn’t want to see what a big one looked like.
“Tonight, we have honored guests among us.” She raised a hand toward Lucian’s friends. “A delegation from the Far Riftlands is here, who have agreed to accompany me to court and work with me on an important matter – one that stands to strengthen and unify all of Psyche. Tomorrow, the delegation will be setting sail aboard the Zephyr for the Westlands, as far as the border of the Burning Sands.”
This elicited excited murmurs from the crowd. Apparently, it was either a high honor to fly with the queen on her airship, or the Westlands of Psyche were as exotic as the Riftlands to these people.
“As my very closest friends,” she continued, with a winning smile, “I thought this delegation could regale you with tales of life in the dangerous Rifts of Psyche. Cleon Dowe, once a Mage-Knight, now fights for Kiro Village of the Deeprift.” At being mentioned, Cleon’s face reddened, either in embarrassment or anger. “The beautiful Serah Ocano, an expert Gravitist.” Serah’s face paled at the mention of her name. “Fergus Madigan, captain of the Kiro Watchmen, a Radiant of renown.”
Lucian wondered where she had learned all this information. Could she have sifted it from their minds? What else had she found out? At that moment, Lucian realized why she wasn’t afraid of them turning on her, or of even allowing them weapons. She could probably read their intent long before even they realized what they were doing.
How could you fight someone like that? Was she aware of his thoughts, even now?
She gave him a sidelong glance. Lucian faced forward, to keep those knowing eyes from seeing into him.
“And last of all,” she said, pausing for emphasis. “My consort for the evening: Lucian Abrantes, the most powerful Binder in all the Worl
ds.”
This got the biggest reaction, some even going so far as to applaud. What was he, her monkey? But it was best to play it cool. He tried not to let his anger show, nor let the Sorceress-Queen know how she was grating at him.
“So, my friends. Eat, drink, and be merry,” she said. “The Riftlands delegation is at your disposal.”
She clapped her hands once, and the orchestra began to play anew. Immediately, the nobles began to mingle as servants weaved in and out, serving drinks and hors d’oeuvres.
“Stay near me, and you’ll be fine,” she said.
Without waiting for a response, she strolled into the crowd, engaging a group of nobles with a charming smile. She immediately had them under her spell. They tittered at some joke as Lucian awkwardly approached. He scanned the crowd for his friends, but they were already getting swarmed by their own nobles.
This was going to be a long night.
39
Thankfully, Lucian did not have to talk much. He did have to answer questions, and tried some of the food offered by servants, more to blend in than anything else. He held a drink in his hand but intended to nurse it all evening. His goal was to not stick out, but of course, that was impossible when he was the object of attention and “the Best Binder in the Worlds.” The Queen had needed some justification to take him as her consort. He hadn’t liked the sound of that at all and hoped this companionship did not extend beyond this evening.
He answered questions about Earth, which no one had visited save the Queen and some of the older Mage-Lords. He spoke of the Volsung Academy but didn’t volunteer information beyond what was asked. The Queen’s eyes weighed him with every word he spoke, so it was best to speak as little as possible.
