by Beth Alvarez
The knowledge made him prickle with irritation. Rune put the piece on the board before him and stared at it with his brows knit. He knew Lumia thought of her soldiers as puppets in some sort of game, but seeing the mark she'd branded him with etched into a piece from an actual game made him seethe. “Which piece is the pawn?”
“None of them.” Redoram turned a few stones over in his hand, pursing his lips as he inspected them. He selected a few and put the rest aside before he dug another handful out of his bag. “Each piece has its own strengths and weaknesses. Some move in the same fashion as others, some are like chess pieces, and others have their own rules. But there are no stones equivalent to a pawn, or a king.”
Rune glanced down at the stones the mage selected. The marks on their surfaces meant nothing to him. “If there is no king, how is the game won?”
“Well, that's up to the players,” the old man explained. “Before a game, you must agree on how many pieces must be taken to win. It can be as few as three or as many as all fourteen. Since this is your first game, I say we play to seven.”
“And this will help my speech?” Rune frowned, skeptical.
“Not at all, but it will make you pay attention and concentrate while we are talking, which will work to your benefit. Hurry and pick your runes. Do you have any questions for me? About the game, or about the city?” Redoram finished setting his stones and pushed the rest across the table for Rune to see.
“Captain Kaith.” Rune didn't look up again, focused on sorting through the unclaimed pieces on the tabletop. He didn't know what they did, nor did he recognize any other markings. Though he'd always known the runes Lumia used were foreign to Elenhiise, he'd never stopped to consider where she might have learned them. She had never spoken of her life before the Underlings. The thought she might have ventured beyond the island intrigued him, but he supposed it mattered little now. He chose his pieces based on which shapes were most interesting and nudged them around the board with his claws. “He does not like mages, but what of Sera? She is his half-sister?”
Redoram nodded. “Technically speaking, yes, though calling them half-siblings to their faces would be a great insult. The two of them come from a complicated culture, where families and even kingdoms are perpetuated by declaration instead of blood. When houses merge, the higher-ranking house takes precedence and all of its new members are considered part of that family from that moment forward. There is no jealousy over existing children when widows remarry. If you must refer to the two of them as siblings, say brother or sister, nothing else. Family is not always determined by parentage, after all.”
Rune caught the inside of his lip with his teeth. The words resonated with him, stirred the old aches of longing he'd never managed to quash. Kifel had always been a father to him. He regretted how he'd never understood that until it was too late. Now that regret ate away at him on the inside. Had he understood, perhaps he could have fixed the sour turn their relationship had taken before the end. Rune set his jaw as he collected the stones he didn't want from the table and returned them to their bag. “So the captain allows exception for his sister?”
“It's less of making an exception and more that he chooses to turn to her in lieu of trusting anyone else. You're right, he cares little for mages. You and I would be wise to tread lightly around him. But with the tensions between the college and the people of Aldaan, it isn't safe for the guard to be without a mage who can warn him of potential problems. Sera is the best choice, so instead of returning to the college to finish her studies, she remains here. Or perhaps he keeps her here.” Redoram moved a piece across the board and Rune leaned forward to see how he'd done it. He hovered a claw over his own pieces, uncertain. The old mage chuckled and pointed at Rune's stones. “That one moves like a knight, as I said. That one can move forward, either straight or at a diagonal, three spaces at a time. No less.”
“This will be a long game if I must ask before every turn,” Rune said, moving his piece and shifting to watch his new mentor's choice.
“Best get used to it, then,” Redoram replied cheerfully, dropping his stone into place with a click. “We have many games and lessons yet ahead of us.”
Swordplay, patrol training, magic lessons, language lessons. The rhythm of activity stayed the same regardless of the day of the week, though Rune's meetings with Sera were least frequent. He preferred his lessons with Redoram. Each passing day improved his understanding of the language and the game of runes they played. He even kept a small bag of stones he'd won from his teacher in his trunk of belongings now, though he kept the rune that matched his scar in his pocket and studied it when he had free time. A game of runes would have been preferable, today.
He didn't enjoy his lessons with Sera in the least. She shared Garam's impatience, and her tongue grew sharp when they butted heads. The tone she took with him when they disagreed reminded him too much of the Masters back at Kirban Temple.
“Stop resisting when I try to gauge your energies! I know well enough not to try to seize them again.” Sera glared at him when he rolled his eyes. Her hip cocked to the side and she crossed her arms. “Do you want me to teach you or not? I need to know what abilities you already have. Wild mages are hard to train.”
“Wonderful.” The sarcastic inflection of his tone made her frown. He ignored it and reclined on the bed in the room that was his new home. Lessons were a stage of life he couldn't seem to leave behind.
She puffed her cheeks and shifted her hands to her hips. “So?”
He glanced toward her. “What?”
She shot him a withering glare. “So, you're holding back and being vague and it isn't helping anything. Garam wants me to teach you control, and you’ve already been familiar with everything I’ve tried to show you. If you would just tell me your level of proficiency, everything would be easier. You're wasting both our time.”
“You say wild mages are hard to train.” Rune rolled onto his side, making himself comfortable. “Wild mages, or free mages?”
“Both. But the reasons for it aren't the same. Wild mages are those without any training, those who learn through trial and error. Free mages are those who can touch any source, unlimited by affinity.” She fluttered a hand as she spoke, a gesture she seemed to employ when flustered.
“I know.” His eyes narrowed and the corners of his mouth twitched with a suppressed smile when he saw the way she looked at them, noticing his vertically slitted pupils for the first time. “I am not a wild mage.”
Her face slackened with surprise as her gaze locked with his. Then she snorted and tossed her head, breaking eye contact. “What are you, then?”
The double meaning of the question made him bristle and he struggled to appear unruffled. It was a question he'd tried to find an answer to on his own—and an answer he still didn't have.
“I think that's enough conversation for today,” he said.
“I happen to agree.” Garam's voice from the doorway startled them both. Sera turned to glare as the captain stepped into the barracks. Her irritation was short-lived. He waved an envelope and her eyes locked onto it in alarm. The wax seal on the back was broken.
“This was waiting on my desk upstairs,” the captain said. “It looks like we have a small problem.”
Sera snatched the envelope from his hand and pulled the letter free. Her eyebrows worked up and down as she read. “A formal dinner tonight? Why would he send an invitation on such short notice? You are Captain of the Guard! We should have been at the top of the list.”
“I think we were on the top of the list,” Garam said, gesturing at the paper. “Keep reading. The handwriting is hasty. I think the whole thing was just thrown together, though I'm not sure why.”
She frowned. “And a dinner being thrown together is a problem?”
“No,” he shook his head and regarded Rune with a grim expression. “The problem is that I have specific orders to bring him.”
Rune blinked and drew back. “Me?”
&nb
sp; “You can't be serious! He was in prison until just a few weeks ago.” Sera's mouth tightened as she read on. “Why? He is nobody!”
Garam wiped his face with a palm. “Since I'm supposed to bring him, they obviously feel he's my responsibility. Which means I'd better find something to put him in. Even the poorest turkey can be dressed nicely for the table.”
Rune gritted his teeth and sat upright. They discussed him as if he weren't right in front of them. More reminders of the temple mages. He wasn't certain what a turkey was, but he didn't doubt it was an unpleasant comparison. “I can dress myself.”
Both turned to look at him, faces stern.
“And perhaps you should find an apple to stuff his mouth while you're at it.” Sera shoved the letter and its envelope back into Garam's hands and climbed the stairs to the hallway.
Garam turned after her. “Where are you going?”
“To get ready! If I'm to be embarrassed by being seen with the lizard, I'm at least going to look good.” Her nose turned toward the ceiling as she disappeared from sight.
The captain sighed and motioned for Rune to follow. He climbed the stairs and turned opposite the direction Sera had gone. “Come on. I'm sure I have something that will fit you. I hope you bathed this morning. We've barely got time for both of us to get ready before we have to be there.”
Rune said nothing and kept his jaw clenched as he followed Garam down the hall and up the staircase. It seemed he was destined to never have a moment's peace.
The captain's private quarters weren't as luxurious as he expected, though the simple functionality could have been as much a statement about Garam's personality as it was about his salary. Comfortable, but lacking frills, like most of the clothing hung in the wardrobe.
Rune didn't dare explore the man's quarters, but he craned his head to look on shelves and under the desk, searching in vain hope his father's sword would be out where he could see it. But it was nowhere in sight and he sighed in frustration as Garam held up coat after embroidered coat to his chest.
“I don't care what color it is,” he said at last, snatching a coat from Garam's hands. “Just give me something to wear.”
“I’m not looking at the color,” the captain growled, “I’m checking the size.” But he let it pass and put the other garments away.
It was a fine piece of clothing, a long, high-collared blue coat with elaborate white embroidery on the collar and sleeves. Though they were close in height, Garam was broader through the shoulders than he and it took some thinking to determine how to make the garment fit without a tailor's services. The simplest solution was to add padding in the form of more layers underneath. Rune peeled off his new uniform, folded it, and put it aside before he donned the first of the thin linen shirts. He caught Garam looking at the scars that decorated his back from the corner of his eye.
The captain cleared his throat. “Did my men do that?”
Rune looked away and reached for another shirt. “No.”
It took a few tries before he layered on enough undershirts to make the coat fit right, though they added uncomfortable bulk across his chest. It would be a bit warm, but with a chill in the air and his fond memories of Elenhiise's sweltering heat, he didn't think he'd mind.
Black trousers and a belt that fit were easier to come by, though his hands and feet were still bare when Garam said they had to leave. Rune didn't care, but the way the captain looked at his claws with disdain made it clear he felt otherwise. He adjusted his posture and moved with a stalking grace, keeping his steps silent as they left the barracks.
Rune expected a carriage would have been sent to collect them, but the street outside the barracks was empty. He'd never seen a carriage here, now that he thought of it; not within the city limits. He'd seen nobles carried in sedan chairs, from time to time, but never a carriage or horse.
With the sun sinking beyond the horizon, they walked the familiar curved avenue, though the trip felt altogether different this time. Knowing their destination was the palace, rather than the arena, made the familiar route seem fresh.
People in the streets paid them little mind. To go unnoticed was an unfamiliar experience, but a pair of men dressed as nobles were less interesting than a procession of guards with prisoners, Rune supposed, even though the bold red-and-gold coat and trousers Garam had chosen for himself stood out against the drab colors of the city's crowds.
Rune's eyes drifted upward as they reached the point in the curve where the arena and palace came into view, something he'd seen often in daylight, but never once at night. The difference stilled the breath in his chest.
The twisted spire of the Spiral Palace glowed white against the sky, its curving edge glistening with so many lights it seemed rimmed with stars. The colored banners and streamers shimmered in what had to be mage-light, each snap of the flags in the wind flashing like a crack of lightning.
Nobles clustered at the foot of the tower, though most seemed less than eager to move inside. They milled about the entryway and found excuses not to enter. The crowd parted for Garam—and Rune by extension—and allowed the two of them to the forefront. The doors to the palace stood flush with the ground, the transition from rough cobblestone to polished marble almost as jarring as the movement from cool mage-light to the ruddy glow of candles and mirrored lamps inside.
Aside from the dim hallways that branched off to either side as soon as they set foot in the palace, the first floor seemed to contain nothing but a great ballroom. Spiral fluted columns with elaborately carved bases supported a vaulted ceiling. Rune squinted as his eyes explored. The ballroom was bright, countless mirrored chandeliers casting reflections of dancing candlelight onto the gleaming floor below. The low hum of voices filled the palace, accented by the music of a chamber orchestra Rune couldn't see through the crowds. He straightened his coat and started forward, halting when Garam caught him by the shoulder.
“I'm sure this seems overwhelming,” the captain said in low tones, his voice almost lost beneath the noise of the people around them. “If you stay close to me, you shouldn't have to worry about—”
“Calm down.” Rune brushed his hand away. “Swinging a sword isn't all I can do.” He pulled away before Garam could protest and slipped into the throng, studying faces as he walked. With each step, he grew more relaxed, a cool facade of comfort settling over his face. He'd played this game enough times in the past, knew what behavior such affairs demanded. This language, he did speak.
Heads turned as he passed, nobles murmuring amongst themselves and averting their eyes when he looked their way. It wasn't until he paused to take a glass of wine from a tray carried by a servant that anyone spoke.
“Ah, the hero of the arena. You've come a long way in little time, haven't you?” The unfamiliar man claimed a glass of his own, looking Rune up and down with a sneer as he lifted the drink to his lips. He was positively unremarkable, as far as nobles went, draped in gold and jewels and fine silks and looking very much like the balding man behind him.
Rune lifted his glass just enough to catch the scent. “So I have. I'm touched by the city's hospitality. I would not have imagined nobles would be so eager to give me the honor of combat in their arena.”
“Honor?” The man barked a laugh. Wine sloshed over the rim of his glass. “Not a month past, you wore nothing but rags. Where is the honor in that?”
“What a man wears to battle means little, as long as he wears it back out. As I understand, only the wealthiest, most influential of men in the Royal City set foot in the arena more than once. By my count, I've battled more than any man here.” Rune smirked, sipping his wine as the nobleman's face fell. “So what does that make me, I wonder?”
“A man who would be wise to learn the limits of his station,” Sera said as she slipped from the crowd to stand beside them.
The nobleman gave her a dark look. “Indeed. I thought your brother had a tighter rein on his men. Or is his grip slipping?”
“Garam cannot be hel
d responsible for the loose tongue of a free man, Lord Fironan. As I recall, a loose tongue was the least of your nephew's faults when he served beneath my brother.” She lifted her chin and looked the man straight in the eye until he shifted in discomfort and turned away.
Rune watched with interest as the man disappeared into the sea of people, though whatever amusement he felt disappeared as soon as Sera turned her look of disapproval on him. “What?”
Her eyes flashed and she jabbed a bejeweled finger into his chest. “This is your first foray into the world of nobles and royals. Remember that you don’t speak for yourself. You speak for the guard, and through that, for my brother. Do not embarrass him.”
He drew back and let his face fall to careful neutrality. Agitation itched between his shoulder blades and he bit his tongue to hold a retort at bay. She stared at him expectantly and he inclined his head. “Of course.”
Sera crossed her arms and studied him for a time before she seemed to accept his word. Her posture relaxed and she turned her head with a jangle of gold beads and chains to look across the grand ballroom. Gems glittered in her hair, her white braids coiled at the back of her head and draped with precious metals. She looked every bit like a noble, he decided; her high-collared dress of green and gold brocade must have cost a fortune. A wide silk drape to match wrapped around her exposed shoulders. Rings of gold encircled her wrists, and green and gold jewels flashed at her throat. Garam's position came with rank, but he wasn't sure that explained hers. Once again, he wondered what he'd embroiled himself in.
Her head whipped about without warning and she glared. “What?”
Rune averted his eyes. “You don't look like a part of the guard.”
“Neither do you.” The glint in her eyes became something more playful as she looked him up and down. “You carry yourself well in a noble's clothing. One might be fooled into thinking you belong in it.”