by R. K. Thorne
Blue paint adorned the temple walls, and a white door beckoned to them beneath a black slate roof. Balls of evergreen adorned benches outside that would be more inviting were it not growing chillier by the hour, by the day. Nothing hung on the door of the temple, but the faint tinkling of bells and the sweet, spicy smell of incense reached her.
The lead of Aven’s escort—well, also her escort—approached the door and knocked three times.
The door revealed a dark-haired woman dressed in a black robe trimmed in bright cerulean. Her eyes grew alarmed. “Can I help you, sirs?”
“May I present King Aven Lanuken and his betrothed, Arms Master Miara Floren.”
The guards parted neatly as their leader bowed off to the left, leaving a wide berth between the woman and the two of them.
Miara tightened her hand around his elbow but tried to smile.
“Your Highness, may the goddess keep you and the Balance protect you,” said the woman, curtsying deeply, and again Miara wondered if she had ever breached that protocol at some point. She really ought to remember to inquire about it further, but they’d had so many other things to worry about.
“Greetings, my lady,” said Aven smoothly. “And who might you be?”
“Priestess Kawe, Your Highness. Is there some way our humble Sapphire Temple can be of service to you? We regularly receive noble worshippers at the Emerald Temple to the south. As I’m sure you already know, sire.” She added the last bit hastily, as if worried she might have caused offense.
“Yes, of course, and I’m sure our visits will take us there eventually. But for today, we are here. Priestess, we’ve heard there is an infirmary here. Is that correct?”
“Indeed, sire. This temple does not serve open worship but houses those in need, in particular the ill and injured. Not a place for someone such as yourself.” She had braced herself in the doorway a touch protectively, Miara realized.
“Ah, but I’ve brought a great healer with me, and she’d like to see if there’s any good she can do your patients.” She elbowed him in the back, moving as slightly as she could. His polite smile only grew to a grin. “That is, if you don’t mind a mage doing the healing.”
For a moment, the whole entry was frozen still, as if waiting to see how this bit would turn, how their luck would play out. How deep did the fear—and hatred—of mages go? Kawe’s dark eyes flicked from Aven to her and back again repeatedly, almost panicked. She hated mages, certainly, or she’d have answered quickly. But she had either gotten word of the new king’s mage powers or was starkly tempted to accept help, hatred or no.
“You can heal people?” Kawe said slowly.
“Some people,” Miara answered. “Injuries, especially. If you show me, I can tell you for certain.” Hopefully she could avoid explaining all her weaknesses to this priestess who likely hated her.
A long moment passed, and Kawe took a step back. “All right. Come in.”
“Is your high priestess here today, Priestess Kawe?” said Aven as they followed the woman into a white tiled entry.
The priestess smiled sweetly for him. Just like Renala had. He had a way of getting women to do what he wanted, didn’t he? It had certainly worked on her, now that she thought about it. Come to think of it, the only woman Miara could remember not quickly striving to please Aven was Lady Toyl—and perhaps herself, at least outwardly. Inwardly had been another matter, and even then she’d caved to teaching him. Funny how it took seeing him around others before she really understood this about him—and about herself.
“Yes,” the priestess said, attention fully on him now. “Shall I fetch her for you?”
“If you can see us to your patients first, we’ll look around and then I will speak to her about further work we can do for you when she’s ready.”
“Of course.” Kawe turned to Miara with a slight bow, her smile noticeably fading. “If you’ll follow me, my lord and lady.”
They followed Kawe, and to Miara’s surprise, two of the guards followed on their heels.
The infirmary was down a long, dim hall filled again with the sound of bells tinkling, louder this time. Kawe opened the door, and Miara peered inside. Two rows of cots, one on each side, holding maybe thirty. Not many, really. Blankets of faded and assorted colors covered each small cot, and cheerful plants sprung up between each patient. A few faces turned toward the door, but most slept. Natural light filled the room from a row of high windows, giving it the feel of an atrium.
“These are some of our ill,” the priestess murmured. “What is it that you can and can’t do?”
“Injuries. Cuts, breaks. Abscesses.” Wait, did humans get abscesses, or only horses? “I can’t heal things that occur naturally. Like aging. Getting old isn’t something anyone can heal.”
Now Kawe did smile slightly. “If only. I’ll return with the high priestess and to help if need be.”
“Yes, thank you,” said Miara. Aven had fallen quiet, studying the room carefully. “That will do fine.”
Two others in black robes trimmed with azure were bringing water. A boy and a girl. They bent over patients, murmuring to them and tending to basic needs.
She approached the first cot quietly. Aven stayed back, leaning in the wide doorway and studying the room. She examined the first woman as she slept. No visible injuries plagued her, and reaching out, Miara could sense nothing in particular either. Not a promising start. She glanced at the plant at the bedside, lively and green. A small purple bud peeked out on the right side, ready to bloom.
This late in the year? Hmm.
She glanced around at the other plants. All were lively. Unnaturally full and lush. Several held forth small pink and orange blooms, some as grand as springtime.
Miara cautiously let her senses sweep the room. Her eyes locked on the girl, who was keeping herself busy at the far end of the room, head down, fixed on the water basin she was refilling. A sandy-brown braid fell down her back, and her face was smudged with dirt here and there. Much dirtier than Miara would have expected a girl with her job should be.
“There’s already a mage here,” she said softly, glancing at Aven. He looked up.
The girl froze, then turned to peer over her shoulder. Her dark eyes were wide as if she were a mouse caught in a trap.
In a blink, she bolted. The pitcher she’d been pouring from crashed to the ground as she raced out. Several patients started in surprise from their sleep.
“Wait!” Miara rushed after her, jumping over the shattered pieces and darting into the far doorway. But it was too late. The girl had vanished.
Miara turned back, frowning. Aven had raced after her, and now he looked out the doorway too. Just empty street and alley back there, no fleeing girl.
The boy was staring at her, stunned. “How did you know?”
“Because I’m a mage too. Do you know where she lives? Where she might have gone?”
He mutely shook his head. Miara probed cautiously but sensed no spark of magic in him.
“If you’re done creating a ruckus, you could look at my leg,” grumbled an old man who’d eyed her from the first.
She glanced over her shoulder at Aven. He shrugged, as if to say, what’s done is done. They’d lost the girl. For now.
“I can take a look,” she told the man. He had a long, bushy gray-and-black beard and lively eyes. “But I can’t promise anything. Any injury resulting from age won’t be something I can help.”
He frowned. “Hey! My leg’s not old just because I am. It broke and didn’t heal up right, years ago. Aches every damn day. See for yourself.”
She took a step closer to the man but hated to admit defeat. She eyed the boy a moment longer. “What’s your name?”
“Reed,” he said simply.
“And hers?” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the alley.
“Wessa.”
“You see Wessa, you tell her I’m looking for mages. They can train to be healers too if they want. Got it?”
The bo
y nodded, but his face was pale, as if the mission she’d charged him with scared him.
Grudgingly, she stepped forward to examine the old man’s leg. “Gods, was this even set by a healer?”
“No. Long story. Skirmish on the Takar-Shansaren border, pretty far out.”
“I could heal it, but we’d have to rebreak it first,” she said, wincing. “I’m sure you don’t want to do that. It will hurt a great deal. And then it’ll hurt even more when I repair it. The healing works, but it’s immense agony while it lasts. Are you sure you’re up for that?”
He frowned. “I asked, didn’t I?”
“Does it hurt right now?”
“Damn thing comes and goes.”
“Your choice.”
“I can stand a few minutes of pain to make the nag go away for a while.” He locked his gaze, as if daring her to admit she couldn’t really grant him that.
Miara took a deep breath, hoping she was right in her analysis. She glanced at her two guards. “Which one of you wants to help me break his leg?” she said with a smile.
Their eyes widened, terrified. “We dare not touch a citizen like that, my lady.”
She frowned.
“Guess that leaves me,” said Aven, stepping up to her side.
She picked up a stool and pantomimed cracking him in the leg with it.
“Ah,” he said smoothly, taking the nearby stool from her hands and eying it speculatively. Then he looked to the man. “You ever have your leg broken by a king?”
“Can’t say I have, sire.”
“Not many can claim that, so cling to it, my good man.” Aven grinned.
Kawe had returned and was eying them warily from the doorway.
“Do you have something you do for pain?” Miara called to her.
Kawe fetched a round peg of wood bound with leather and handed it to the old man, who propped it between his teeth. “Ready when you are,” he said, muffled but still managing a grin. He grasped Kawe’s hand.
Grimacing slightly, Aven positioned the side edge of the stool’s base along the break, then backed up, holding out a hand to one guard. “Your truncheon? Unless you’d rather part with your sword?”
“Here you go, sire.”
Without warning, Aven swung the short club overhead and brought it down hard on top of the small stool.
The bone broke with a sickening crunch.
Barely realizing he’d already swung the truncheon, Miara hastily poured energy into the leg, inundating it with power. She snatched a bit from Aven along the way; the practice would be good for him.
“Hey, stop that. Isn’t there a chipmunk you can rob?” Aven grumbled.
“Try and stop me.” She grinned wickedly at him, but sobered quickly. Possibly not the best expression to have shortly after willfully breaking someone’s leg.
The old man, to his credit, didn’t scream. He hardly let out a shout. His face contorted, he dug his teeth into the leather and wood, but he didn’t attempt to knock Miara across the room.
A good sign.
Finally, the bone snapped back into place, nerve and muscle weaving themselves around it once again. The need lessened, then lessened again. She inspected the rest of him, shooing away a festering heat near his lungs. Otherwise, he now appeared in fine shape.
She took another apprehensive breath and inspected the wound. “It should be healed now,” she said calmly. “There may be some bruising, but the bone should be mended.”
The old man stared at his leg, rapt. He rotated his foot around his ankle, then bent it at the knee. “It seems… good as new.”
Miara nodded. “Yes, it should be. Well, close to it anyway.” Now did not seem the appropriate time to point out that he was not exactly new.
A cry came from the far room. Miara turned and rushed toward it instinctively.
At one end of the room, in a closet full of basins and other tools, Reed stood clutching his hand as blood oozed through his fingers.
She knelt and studied the boy’s hand, brows knitted. Odd. The shard looked as though it had been directly jammed into his hand on purpose. His eyes studied her, calm and intent. Then they flicked warily to Kawe.
Ah. He wanted a chance to speak with her quietly, alone, and was willing to stab himself with a shard of pitcher over it.
“Ah, Kawe, can you get me some towels for the bleeding, please?”
“Of course, my lady.” She hurried away.
As Miara closed her eyes and channeled energy into his little fingers, his cheek brushed hers.
“Wessa knows others. Mage friends. They meet sometimes. They keep hidden. The Third Temple will send Devoted after them if they know. They can’t reveal—” The words came out in a torrent and stopped abruptly.
It was just as well that Kawe had returned because the spell took hold. Reed gritted his teeth with admirable stoicism and watched eagerly as the wound healed up.
Miara accepted the towels from Kawe and began mopping up the blood.
“Allow me, my lady. I’ll not have it said that a future queen was forced to servant’s duty on my watch.”
Miara stood and faced her, returning the bloody towels. “I have been a servant my whole life. It won’t be the first time. But you can get rid of these for me while I look to more patients.”
Kawe raised her eyebrows and, after a moment’s slight hesitation, hurried away without a word.
Miara bent down to Reed’s ear. “If you see Wessa, tell her that everything is going to change. And take this.” She pulled two of the handkerchiefs out of her pouch. “If you need to see me, or she would like to be taught, come to the castle with that cloth, and they will bring you to me. Understood?”
He nodded, surprise and wariness darkening his eyes. Miara patted his head and headed back around the corner to her patient.
The old man was hopping around on the healed leg in the center of the room, grinning. “Well, I’ll be,” he kept muttering.
She caught Aven’s eyes and smiled. “One more,” she murmured. “Then we’ll have to come back another day.”
“Anyone else up for having limbs broken by the king?” He grinned. “No one?”
Miara, shaking her head, approached a nearby woman and began her inspection.
“Well, well. I had to see it for myself to believe it.”
Daes groaned inwardly. Seulka. He turned at her approach. Same as always, same perfectly constructed exterior with dark hair and satin gown. He forced a smile, giving her the slightest bow. Much slighter than he would have at Mage Hall, and even there it had only been a courtesy. They’d been equivalent in rank then.
Now, he surpassed her.
“Seulka. How fares Mage Hall?” he said as politely as he could muster. Marielle was right; there was power to be gained in friends, even if his natural style leaned more toward making himself useful rather than making himself liked.
“Crammed full of unenslaved slaves,” Seulka replied. “We can’t handle much more, you know.”
“I’ve told you, you can ship them off to—”
“Trenedum Palace is full too. Shall I start sending them here?”
“There’s probably somewhere closer. I’ll see what I can do.” Gods, couldn’t the Fat Master figure out anything on his own? He was probably too busy counting his coins.
She smiled sweetly. “You just don’t want your home ravaged by enraged, magic-wielding prisoners who are not interested in staying imprisoned.”
He frowned. “Since when is Mage Hall not my home? We plan to travel back within the week. And are you using the stones the Devoted sent or not? The potions?”
“We’re doing our best,” she said politely. “Which is enough. Most of the time. Have you made any progress in finding our brand, dear Daes?”
It might have been his imagination, but he thought Marielle’s gaze shifted toward them at those words. As if Daes could ever take an interest in anyone as ridiculous as Seulka when he had a queen like Marielle. What kind of fool would he have to b
e? One like Demikin, probably.
“We have excellent spies at high levels working diligently on finding its location. Have your mages found any further trace in the libraries?”
Her brow furrowed. “No. There are hundreds of volumes to search, though. They may still find something… Eventually.”
“Well, if all goes according to plan, we’ll flatten Akaria and track down the brand amid the ashes, eh?” He grinned at her, and to his surprise, she grinned back. What, no lecturing censure? No lengthy explanations about why he might be right but he might also be wrong and he should be very careful?
Of course, he had been right. Demikin had proven to all of Kavanar what a fool he was, even if he’d had a little helping from Daes. The star magic did exist, and the Akarian royal family wielded it happily. Everything he’d predicted and feared had come true, in some cases worse.
Still, the grin felt out of place, and when Marielle appeared at his elbow and oh-so-gracefully slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, he was glad of her presence.
“Lady Seulka,” Marielle said politely. “Glad to see your health has improved enough for the journey.”
Seulka’s smile took on a bit of mirth. “It has indeed. I regret I couldn’t be hear to see my old friend crowned consort, but I am so glad to see that he is happy in his companions.” She kept her gaze trained carefully on the queen, ignoring Daes’s eyes.
“And we are lucky to have him,” said Marielle.
“I hear you all have much to do, with the attack on Trenedum by those warlike Akarians. Kavanar must defend itself.” Seulka clasped her hands in front of her mildly.
“I have already sent troops to the border.” To her credit, Marielle owned the words and didn’t parrot them, even if sending the troops had been his idea.
“I am glad to hear it. Mage Hall is not far from Akaria, you know.”
“Yes, it was a lovely trip when I was last there.” Marielle’s eyes twinkled.
Some of the amusement drained from Seulka’s face, her smile suddenly forced. “Yes, I recall. The late fall really is the last good time to travel. Do you think you will be traveling for the war? Winter seems a bad time for it.”