by Beth Alvarez
Her return was shameful, but it could be worse. Though the loss of her title as Archmage was frustrating, she'd stopped thinking of it as a crippling blow. A setback, but not devastating. Perhaps it even reopened doors that had been closed long ago, shut in her face when her family had announced their intention to see her married.
She had been a student under her uncle, then. Tanvar had been a powerful man, strong in his Gift and clever in how he used it. He had been part of the council of the Grand College, as well, and she had hoped to replace him someday. That had been impossible when she was trapped on Elenhiise. It wasn't impossible now. The thought made her smile and she stopped halfway down the open walkway between College buildings to lean against the balustrade and look across the sea.
The country of Lore was renowned for more than the mages it trained. While most of the population lived along the coastline, The Grand College and the palace both stood on the numerous islands just offshore. Unlike anywhere Envesi had seen in her travels, the islands of Lore rose from the ocean like towers. Great mansions of stone seemed to sprout from the tops of the oddly-shaped spires of jointed basalt, some sprawling over the edges and teetering precariously above the sea.
Building atop the columns would have been foolish for anyone but the mages. Their combined power protected the basalt from the crashing waves that would have otherwise toppled the islands centuries ago. Looking out across the islands with the sunset turning the southern sky to a rosy backdrop, even someone as practical as she could understand why they found it worth the effort. It was beautiful and it was defensible. The mages provided access to the islands and could cut off that access at any time.
Envesi lingered until the first stars began to appear in the dusky sky. Then she pushed herself from the balustrade and continued on her way. None of the passing mages paid any attention to a white-haired woman in the brown wool of a servant, even with her mage-blue eyes. A laundry maid was a laundry maid, and for the first time since her arrival, the former Archmage was glad of it. Magelings were not permitted to rove the city on their own. Being noticed would have been a hindrance.
This time, her destination stood at the far end of one of the Grand College's gardens. Bridges would have marred the beauty of the basalt islands. Instead, they were connected by a number of free-standing Gates set inside tall, black stone archways and held open by gleaming Gate-stones. The portals made no sound and gave off no sense of energy, despite the immense power required to make them.
The Gate she chose was only one of a number of archways that stood along the edge of the city. The portal's surface provided a clear image of what waited on the other side. A pleasantly cool wind flowed through it as if it were any other doorway. Envesi picked up her skirts and stepped into to the coastal city in a single stride. Few people used the Gates; only the wealthy had need to traverse the islands. The rest of Lore's people were content to stay on the shore, where the sheer number of inhabitants gave the city a low hum that never quieted.
Her icy blue eyes earned her a number of curious looks outside the college grounds, but when Envesi walked, people moved out of the way. No one questioned the intent of mages, and she liked that. It was one similarity between Elenhiise and the mainland she was grateful for, though similarities between the two regions were blessedly few. On Elenhiise, mages were avoided out of respect. In Lore, they were avoided out of fear. The number of mages on the mainland dwindled year by year as the old distrust she’d all but forgotten drove people away from the college. She could have changed that, she told herself. She still might.
Street by street, Envesi wound her way farther into the city, where dim oil lamps did little to illuminate the streets against the night. Her figure cast flickering, misshapen shadows down long alleys and avenues as she passed.
The wards the mage council had bound to her kept her from touching the flows, but they didn't keep her from sensing them. She felt everywhere, scouted out each tendril of energy or spark that indicated a person with an inkling of a Gift left untapped. Now and then she paused to watch urchins scurry about the alleys and streets. When she felt nothing, she moved on.
She had to credit Melora; an orphan would be the perfect choice for renewed efforts with her experiments. With any luck, it would only take one. Recreating something like Lomithrandel would be difficult without a full council of mages, but the three of them should suffice. They would be forced to work slower, but that was not a bad thing. A lack of speed caused caution, and caution meant fewer mistakes. Such caution would be necessary. No matter how slowly she'd tried to recreate the complicated flows of magic in the past, Envesi had never determined how they should have been laid in place of that twist, that one kink thrown into the essence of life by that infernal woman.
The thought of it always stirred Envesi's anger anew. Lumia never should have worn white. Envesi still cursed herself for that mistake, the first and last time she'd allowed her council to sway her. The woman had been reckless, impassioned, driven by her own causes. That alone should have been grounds to reject her when she'd come to Kirban Temple. The former Archmage shuddered with anger and forced the thoughts from her mind.
It was of no consequence now. She walked the streets of Lore's harbor city, not Ilmenhith. A place bursting with people and prosperity, a far cry from the isolated island she'd left behind.
The graceful soaring towers and arches of the college made the rest of Lore seem particularly squat and dumpy, its low stone buildings with roofs of thatch or wooden shakes far from awe-inspiring. Boardwalks lined the unpaved streets, which churned to mud the moment it rained. It was dirty and often ill-smelling, but it would have to do. Try as she might to keep from it, Envesi couldn't help but compare the city to Ilmenhith. For a moment, she felt a pang of regret, and her step slowed.
But Elenhiise was behind her. She could only hope her manipulations of the weather had come to some fruition, caused enough trouble for the pitiful girl the mages had set upon the throne. That satisfaction, too, would simply have to do.
The edge of the city proper loomed ahead and Envesi released a quiet sigh. She'd walked from one end of the city to the next without sensing anything of value. But the exercise had put a warmth in her legs and lungs, both refreshing and empowering.
Or was it the walk that strengthened her? Envesi hesitated at the edge of the city proper. Something prickled at the edge of her senses, as if to beckon her onward. She straightened and stared down the road that meandered from the city off into the countryside. Had she come this far before? No; she'd had no need to visit the fields. The currents of power that rode on the air seemed closer here, as if to beg her attention. Surely she would have noticed. Envesi's eyes narrowed and she extended her own energy to grasp the flows. The wards the Grand College had burdened her with felt distant, just barely influencing the forces that skirted her reach. That the wards on her power were tied to the college itself, and not to her, had never crossed her mind. A few steps farther and she'd be free to do whatever she pleased.
Alira and Melora came to mind. They'd be interested to hear of such a discovery. A hint of a smile twisted her mouth and Envesi turned back the way she'd come, toward the Gate that would lead her back to the college and her colleagues. Perhaps their research wouldn't have to wait so long after all.
3
A Gift of What Was
“Tea, my lady?”
Firal started and looked up from the papers on her desk. She shouldn't have been surprised to see Medreal in the doorway, holding the tea tray she couldn't picture her without. It wasn't unusual for the woman to enter without knocking, but under normal circumstances, Firal paid enough attention to notice her approach. “Yes, please,” she said, giving as warm a smile as she could muster and leaning back in her chair as her stewardess closed the distance between them.
Medreal's Gift was odd. The woman had never given any indication of being predisposed to magecraft, but having studied at the Kirban Temple for the entirety of her life, Firal knew w
hat the Gift felt like in someone. Medreal's power was there, but different. She'd felt something similar before, though she couldn't quite picture where. It gave the stewardess a curious presence, one that was easy to identify even from afar.
Firal straightened when she saw the number of teacups on the tray. Three, and only two of them in the room. “Who is here to see me?”
Medreal glanced up, a ghost of a smile coloring her expression. “A rather important man, from the looks of him. He introduced himself as Davan and said you would wish to see him immediately.”
“Davan!” She almost leaped from her chair. “Show him in at once!”
“Of course, my queen.” Medreal bowed her head and left one full teacup on the desk before she hurried away to do as she was told.
Firal eased back into her seat and stared at her tea in disbelief. How long had it been since she'd called Davan to Ilmenhith? It had been just after her father’s death, if she remembered correctly, the better part of a year before. She had resigned herself to the idea that none of the Underlings would answer her call. It was almost troubling for one of them to arrive at the palace so long after her summons had been sent.
Had she been in a position to do so, she would have traveled to Core long ago and spoken with the people she'd left behind in the heart of the Kirban Ruins. But she'd been ill, heavy with child, and she'd only just begun to feel like herself again. She hadn’t expected recovery from the girl’s birth to take so long.
Gathering her composure, the queen smoothed back her ebony hair, lifted her chin and folded her hands against the edge of her desk, looking as much the part of ruler as she could manage. When she'd married Vahn, she had assumed he would be the one to take the throne, but her father had been king, not his. Ilmenhith and half of Elenhiise were hers to rule, whether she liked it or not.
When Medreal opened the door again, she ushered in a man who looked much older than what Firal remembered. He murmured a thank-you and shifted a satchel on his shoulder as he turned to face her. He gave a deep and respectful bow, though his expression was less reverent and more worried. His hair had gone gray in not quite a year's time, his face more haggard than any of the Underlings had ever seemed before. He hadn't shaven, and his clothes spoke of long travel on foot. Still, he carried himself with an air of dignity. At least that hadn't changed.
“Davan,” Firal began, her tone courteous and formal, her face placid despite the new worries his appearance spawned in her mind. “I'd given up on the idea of seeing you outside of Core.”
“Begging your pardon, miss—ah—Majesty.” Davan avoided meeting her eyes as he touched a knuckle to his forehead and bowed again. “I'd have been here much sooner, but I didn't expect it to take so long for all of us to travel.”
Her warm amber eyes never left him. “All of you?”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” His brow furrowed with concern. “The letter I received said we were to serve you, our queen, as people of your country. So we've come to do as asked.”
Firal pursed her lips. Surely he didn't mean it. Not all of them!
“We've established a camp of sorts five miles from the city,” Davan continued, seemingly unaware of the impact of his words. “We thought it best not to move any closer until things with your army's patrols were cleared up.”
Patrols? So the approach of the ruin-folk hadn't gone unnoticed. Word simply hadn't made it to the queen. Her jaw tightened. “Davan, how many did you bring?”
He blinked, flustered. “Everyone, Your Majesty. All of Core has answered your call.”
Firal blanched and lowered her hands to her lap. All of Core. Twelve thousand soldiers. Wives, children, workers, the elderly and infirm. She felt almost faint. Their numbers would increase the population of Ilmenhith by half again! How was she to house them? Feed them? The farms were still recovering from the weather anomalies caused by the previous Archmage. Ilmenhith already teetered on the edge of a famine.
The panicked thoughts shattered at the thump of Davan's satchel landing on her desk. “Minna asked that I bring this for you. She'd flay me if I forgot.”
Firal swallowed hard. “Is Minna well?” Oh, Brant favor her if she was to feed all of these people.
Davan grinned. “Yes, Your Majesty. Tobias, as well. The two of them weren't eager to leave Core, but once they were on board, I thought Minna might leave me behind...”
The rest of his answer faded to a distant hum in her ears as she pulled the satchel near. Minna was dear to her, having acted like a mother hen when Firal first arrived in Core, but solving this new problem would require more help than what a mother hen could provide. She flipped open the satchel and dug inside. Her hand closed around what felt like a purse and she drew it out, brow furrowed. When she saw what it was, her heart fell to her stomach.
“I apologize, my queen. I did not mean to let your tea grow cold.” Medreal reached between Firal and the satchel to top off the forgotten teacup. Then she turned to face their guest. “Will you take tea, Davan?”
Firal dropped the purse back into the satchel and reached for her tea instead, grateful for Medreal's subtle intervention. “Yes, Davan, please. Sit, share a cup of tea with me.”
“I would enjoy it, Your Majesty, but I should not stay longer than our meeting requires.” A pinched look came to his weary eyes. “Food is in short supply after our trip. I must see to my people before nightfall.”
Of course food was in short supply. Firal nodded and forced a smile over the rim of her teacup. “I understand. I will see that supplies are sent to your camp as soon as possible. Tend to your men, and please send word when your officers are prepared to meet with me to discuss how we shall properly welcome you into the city.”
“Yes, my lady.” Davan gave an awkward sort of bow and started for the door.
“Oh,” she called before he reached it, managing a much more genuine smile. “And please tell Minna I said hello.”
He flashed her a warm but tired smile in response. “I shall,” he said as Medreal opened the door for him. He bowed to her as well and slipped out into the hall.
Medreal pursed her lips as she closed the door. When she turned, she cast Firal a frown. “My lady, I do not mean to question, but you hardly spoke—”
“We spoke enough,” Firal interrupted, returning her teacup and its saucer to her desk so she could rub her face with both hands. “All of Core! An entire army camped right outside my city, and this is the first I've heard of it. Why hasn't anyone told me, Medreal?”
Her stewardess looked uncomfortable. “I apologize, my queen.” She shifted on her feet and licked her lips. It was the first time Firal could recall seeing her nervous. “I'd heard nothing of the matter, myself.”
Firal stifled a sigh and slouched in her chair. It was no secret that Ilmenhith hadn't exactly welcomed her as queen. Were it not for the support and backing she'd received from the mages of Kirban prior to her coronation, she doubted the people would have accepted her at all. But the mages were as well-respected as her father had been. If the mages said she was their rightful queen, it was unlikely anyone would argue. Even so, the people meant to be subservient to her found new ways to disrespect her at every turn. She barely had control of the city. If not for the great amount of sway Vahn held over the military, due to his father's long history as a high-ranking officer, she might not have controlled it at all.
“I doubt our soldiers are concerned about having these visitors at our doorstep. Your husband would have heard something of it, otherwise.” Medreal took the teapot again and filled a cup for herself.
“Or perhaps he has heard something of it, and merely decided I didn't need another thing to worry about.” Firal couldn't help the bitterness in her tone. She reached for the satchel Davan had left and opened it again, just enough to see what else was inside. Her brow knit as she pulled out a small book and turned it over in her hand.
Medreal eyed the chairs before the desk, waiting for permission to sit. Firal granted it with a wave o
f her hand. The stewardess nodded her appreciation as she settled. “What is it, my queen?”
“A journal I kept when I was a mageling,” Firal said with wonder. She brushed her fingertips over the worn leather cover before she thumbed through its pages. “I didn't imagine Minna would send this. I didn't think I'd ever see it again.” She put it aside with a shake of her head and emptied the rest of the satchel's contents onto her desk. It held little; just a larger book on herbs and healing she'd written during her time with the Underlings, and three small purses. One jingled when she picked it up, the bumps and ridges inside familiar. It bulged with the unmarked gold coins she'd collected in Core, money useless to a queen. The sight of the other purses put a lump in her throat.
She didn't need to open them to know what they held. The smaller of the two contained a single lotus seed wrapped in layers of silk, the first gift she'd received from her husband. Her first husband, her real husband. Squeezing her eyes closed, she stood and shoved the purses away. Furry seed catkins spilled across her desk.
Medreal raised a brow. “Aspen,” she mused as she sipped her tea. “I've heard such a tree can live a thousand years.”
Firal shot her a glare. “A tree dies once you cut it down.” She picked up her skirts and hurried toward the door.
“Yes,” Medreal agreed, a smile in her voice. “But aspen grows back from the roots.”
Firal hesitated before the doorway for a long moment before she bit her lip and slipped into the hallway without another word. She didn't have time to think about such things, not with ever-growing problems ahead of her. There were enough troubles on her plate without stirring up those that had plagued her mind and heart through the long months after her coronation.
Firal hastened her step to avoid being stopped and only slowed when she reached the doors to the private quarters she shared with Vahn. It had been strange to move into the royal apartment after Kifel's effects had been packed away. Medreal had offered to let her sort through them, but it didn't seem right to rifle through the personal belongings of a man she'd barely known. She'd have to look at his things eventually, but she was in no hurry.