by Mark August
“A tutor attacked me.”
“Cormac?”
“No. This was a new magic instructor. The fight was terrible.”
“You used your magic to kill another wizard?”
Vedette hid her watering eyes behind a drink from her mug. She blinked hard to force the tears back. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“You sent a message to all the houses about your strength. My mother pulled me aside after the council meeting and talked to me about the power of House Atros.” Her brown eyes held concern, and she reached across the table to lay her hand on top of Vedette’s. The squeeze was for confidence, and she didn’t let go.
“Never what I meant to do. I was just trying to survive.”
Vedette looked around the room. Maybe the Crossed Roses was a bad idea. Spies would know the children of the noble houses met here to get away from the politics that would consume their adult lives. She tried to figure out who was taking the most interest in their conversation. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, so Vedette pushed her next question.
“What did you find out?”
“I haven’t had much time since your last message. But everyone knows the man was a tough tutor.”
“Wait, he’d been to other houses to teach sorceratti?”
“Off and on, yes. Some houses wanted their sorceratti to have additional training when Magi Cormac wasn’t available.”
“You mean when he was with House Atros.”
Pietra let go of her hand, and Vedette regretted her sharp words. “I’m sorry. The fight haunts my dreams, and the power… I don’t know. It makes me feel different now.”
The sorceratti of House Gaelus relaxed, and she drank from her mug.
“I feel it, too. I can only imagine how it must feel when you used that much power.”
Pietra’s hands drummed the side of the mug. She wanted to ask something but wasn’t sure of how to bring it up.
“Pietra, what do you want to know?” Vedette eased her body away from the table and held the mug in her hand.
The drumming stopped, and Pietra pressed with her question. “What happened to Magi Cormac? The houses are concerned, and they are interested in everything going on in House Atros.”
Vedette’s lie came too easily and with conviction. “I don’t know. The last magic lesson I had was the one where I destroyed my tutor.”
“My father’s convinced the man was an agent from one of the other houses. Trying to get some advantage over your house. He thinks with the election coming up, there’d be an advantage now,” Pietra said.
Vedette’s brow furrowed. “Seems far fetched. Lots of other ways to manipulate election results. Heck, lots of ways to win. Why attack the youngest of a family?”
“That’s still the part that doesn’t make sense.”
They finished their drinks and placed them on the table. The servant made his way through the other patrons until Vedette waved him off.
“Do you think someone from the other houses was trying to kill me?”
Pietra’s mouth opened in immediate reply, but she paused as she considered the question's depth. “I’ve talked to most of the houses, and they have the same confusion as I do. I think it’s genuine.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, but I have to warn you about something.”
Vedette expected the flow of her discussion with Pietra, and she was ready for everything to this point. If she had another line of questioning, it was necessary.
“What are you hearing?”
“Magic did that damage to the carpentry shop in your district.”
Her father hadn’t shared much yet about the shop, but Vedette assumed this was the truth after the visit with the prisoners. She didn’t know if she could continue to lie to her friend, so she sidestepped the question.
“You heard that from the other houses?”
“Like I said, everything going on in your house is the focus of attention. But it’s worse. Did you capture another wizard?”
“I don’t know if he’s a wizard. But we have another prisoner.”
“What did you do with him or her?”
“My father isn’t sharing that with me.”
“Vedette, be careful. This is so much bigger than our schoolhouse education and training. Your house is under attack. You captured a wizard not aligned with a house. And you’ve already had to kill someone with your magic.”
“I know. But I can’t change any of that, Pietra. I’m putting the pieces together so I can understand the whole puzzle.”
“I’m glad you sent the messenger so we could meet. It’s good to see your face.”
“I needed to talk to someone who could understand. Thank you for the warnings.”
“Be careful, Vedette.”
They stood and shared a warm and personal hug.
Vedette felt alone as they parted ways.
Twenty-Six
Kincaid - Doubting Magic
Sentenced for execution.
Kincaid’s prison sentence provided ample time to consider his fate. He analyzed and overanalyzed each moment of the fight. He wondered about the fate of his sister and his master. All he remembered is the floor disintegrating and the bodies falling. How did the floor come apart?
When the thugs threatened his sister, Kincaid's blood boiled, and his soul sang with power. Was that magic? The strength of his blows amazed him. But what about his hands? Unscarred, unbroken, and clean.
He looked down at the hands that toiled in the dirt of the lands and then trained for woodworking art. His hands were tools for creation, not destruction. Those bodies. Broken. Shattered.
Execution for something he didn’t understand and couldn’t remember wasn’t high on his list of priorities. He worked over his story for when the Duke returned. A better story about the danger to the welfare of the craftsmen and merchants of the city. Surely the Duke understood lost profits hurt the noble families.
That wouldn’t change his sentence. The thought of running a carpentry shop suddenly became more appealing.
“I never expected another wizard to be sharing this cell block with me.”
Not now.
“I’m a carpenter, and I craft art with wood. I was a farmer when I was younger, but my sister and I left to reach Caesea. Not the stuff of magic and wizardry.”
“So you have some beliefs on magic? Perhaps people in long gowns with warts and big noses? Or men who come to steal children in the night for strange sacrifices?”
“I’ve heard those stories. But I can’t say I’ve met a wizard or seen magic to prove or disprove anything.”
“People will make up stories because they don’t understand. Myths arise out of a lack of knowledge. To explain the unexplainable.”
“What does this have to do with me?” Kincaid wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. The stuff of myths could be enjoyable over a beer, but he needed something as real as the iron bars around him. He needed to face his certain future with the executioner's ax, or whatever they did with accused wizards.
“You used your hands to create art?” The questioning tone in Cormac’s voice was annoying. Kincaid wanted to get back to his planning.
Kincaid rose from his straw pallet and grabbed the iron bars. His voice was strong and projected across the distance. “The best the city has seen in a generation. I would have been a master in the guild by year's end.”
“All before the age of…”
“Eighteen. I needed a couple more years of savings to buy my shop. I would earn my own commissions by twenty.”
“Sounds almost magical to me.”
Kincaid snorted at the chained prisoner. “Hard work, dedication, training, and sweat aren’t magical. They are the baseline of art.”
“But it comes to you more naturally than most, doesn’t it?”
“Not enough to make me go to prison for using magic.”
Cormac rattled his chains as he prepared to stand up. Kincaid watched the man uncoil his lim
bs, position his chains, and rise to his feet. Blue intensity returned to those eyes as they peered across the distance.
“The Duke is convinced someone used magic in your shop that night. When the guards dug through the remains, you emerged from the mix.” His tone was clipped, and each word had its own intensity.
“That may be true, but I don’t see how that equates to magic.”
“Your skill with wood. You mentioned that you were the greatest in this generation. You could craft and carve beyond your years.”
“Yes.”
“You found wood to work naturally in your hands. Designs appeared in your mind, and your hands made art.”
“That doesn’t—”
“The same talent that lets you work wood may also be the one that makes you a dangerous killer.”
Kincaid dropped his hands from the bars. The fool couldn’t be right. He fought in self-defense to save his sister and his master. His mind drifted back to the other fights. Hiram.
Cormac wouldn’t keep his mouth shut. “Kincaid, they accuse you of using magic. That’s a death sentence. You need to think about your defense. Or at least a good story. You won't see the inside of a courtroom. The Duke thinks you’re guilty.”
Kincaid stared.
“Are you listening to me?”
No.
“Did you use magic in the shop?”
Kincaid turned away from the older man in chains. The prison fell silent as the question hung in the air between them.
Twenty-Seven
Attius - Moving the Plan
“He’s rattled.” Attius glowed with his early performance. Energy returned to his step. With this wizard, he could place his efforts back on track.
Livia continued to sip her afternoon tea from delicate china. Her face was inscrutable as he paced the room. She arranged the cup back on the serving tray as her eyes tracked his path. “Wouldn’t you be scared? The Lord of a ruling house comes into the prison with a retinue of guards and threatens your life. You would rattle one of the leaders of the city if you did that to them.”
Attius stopped by the open window in their sitting room. The glass blown by masters from the city shielded the chamber from the brisk air. He stared out toward the grand square and the marketplace closing for the day. Merchants made their last push for a few coins. The trading season would end soon as travelers returned to their home countries for the winter.
“All true. But that doesn’t change the circumstances of his guilt.”
“You’re on edge.”
“No, I feel good because I can adjust where our plans went astray. With the correct pressure, I can get the Council off our backs, forge a new alliance, and hunt for these killers. If he breaks, he may make the job easy.”
“I’m glad to see your optimism returned.” With two fingers, she picked up a biscuit and nibbled on a corner.
“What do you want from me, Livia?”
“The same things I always do. You to be successful, our house to prevail, and our family secure.”
“Thank you, but that’s not what I mean.” He paced across the room with his hands thrust behind his back. She was skilled at concealing her emotions.
“This threat is unlike anything else we’ve faced. But you address the demands in the ways that you approach every challenge.”
Attius grew tired of her riddles and threw his hands up. “You mean the methods that work? The same ones that brought us to rule the Council?”
“I’m not your opponent, Attius.”
The Duke brought his emotions down a few steps. “I’m sorry, but I see the positive in this.”
“The men in our cages aren’t rational and calculating. They're scared. You have at least one wizard, and, by your estimation, likely two. Magic, which hasn’t been used so flagrantly in our city in thirty years, became a threat. Something is changing.”
“I think the young one is behind it. And even if he’s scared, he’ll break. That’s why Cormac is down there.”
Livia stood up and straightened her skirts. Attius noted after she nibbled on a biscuit, not a single crumb fell into her lap.
“The younger one may have something to do with the magic in the city. I agree. But I doubt a carpenter’s apprentice orchestrated an attack on our family. Is this all related? Maybe. I don’t like how I can’t see how.”
Attius stepped closer to his wife and took her hands in his.
“I think he knows he used magic. When we discover how he did it, we can work on questioning his relationship with other wizards. Our spies are working full time on who may have funded the assassin. But they haven’t come up with a lead. The young man is all we have.”
“I know…”
“Fear and honor are powerful forces in a person’s life, and they make people do things that appear to outsiders to be irrational.” Attius stepped closer and slid his hands up her arms toward her shoulders.
“Magic could change everything.”
“Then we will change it to our favor. We can control this force.”
“Be careful, Attius. This young man is different.”
“We don’t know that yet.”
She slid her hands around his waist and welcomed him closer. Attius loved her smells and cherished her warmth.
“Is the Council starting to ask questions?”
“Yes, about the assassination attempt. I’m emphasizing the threat to the families, and that’s buying me time.”
“Then we need an execution. You know that.”
“Yes. We have to uphold the laws. But I need the time to discover what the man knows. I need more than a chained wizard to help. I need our sorceratti.”
“Is she ready?”
“I think so.”
Twenty-Eight
Kincaid - Test
Kincaid avoided conversations with Cormac and slumped into his predicament. At least the older man stopped the grilling and let silence fill their cells.
He closed his eyes and replayed each moment of the struggle in Master Barnet’s quarters. The blade felt firm in his hands, and the first biting blow to the thug’s leg thudded in his grasp. The shock of impact tingled his arms as he sat on the prison floor. A rush of excitement filled his heart as he thought about taking the first one down. The pounding fists reminded him of being in command of his own fate, and he visualized the blood on his hands from his attacks.
The blood was gone. He didn’t wipe it off. The smell rushed into his memory, and the sight of his clean hands shocked his mind. Kincaid didn’t understand. Did he make this part up? The rest felt real.
Your power. Your destiny.
Words flooded his mind, and Kincaid gasped. Eyes fluttered open, and he saw Cormac standing straining at the edge of his shackles. His eyes gleamed with excitement as he observed.
Kincaid pulled in a breath to speak when pounding began at the door to the prison. Guards rushed from their room and fumbled with keys. Fear snapped across Cormac’s face as he coiled the chains and returned to his meditative sitting position.
The door slammed open, and the light was a welcome return to the prison floor. Kincaid guessed it was still morning. He wished he could remember the last time the door opened to calculate how long they had imprisoned him.
The only visitors were the Duke and the woman. Kincaid got to his feet to recognize their presence. His wounds were healing. His shoulder no longer burned with each movement, and some strength returned. His ribs would heal, and he even slept on his side some nights.
The noble entourage entered the room without fanfare. Guards took up their defensive positions and kept their weapons ready. The Duke frowned before he asked the first question, and his face looked haggard. The woman stood off to the side and behind them.
Kincaid glanced toward Cormac and caught the look between the woman and the older man. Kincaid saw the nod and the intensity burn in his fellow prisoner’s eyes. The woman turned her attention in Kincaid’s direction. He needed to know more about that relationship.
The Duke stood in front of his bars and focused his unrelenting gaze on Kincaid. The younger man wasn’t sure what protocol demanded of the doomed. He went with his heart. “My Lord.” He offered a slight nod. “Have you ordered my execution?”
People in power appreciate direct questions. The Duke was also surprised. “The guards must feed you well, and your strength returns. I expected more deference. Perhaps execution is in order to demonstrate enforcement of our laws.”
“My Lord, I apologize. When you returned with your guards, I thought my time was up. Do I have other options?”
The woman took a step forward to stand in line with the Duke. Her brown eyes had that blue flicker again, but she didn’t make a move to speak this time. Standing closer to the bars, Kincaid imagined a familial relationship. She was young, intense, and every inch a noble.
“Have you considered our last discussion?” the Duke asked.
“In exchange for my life, you want me to…”
“In exchange for nothing.” Emotion surged in the man’s voice. “You are not in a position to negotiate anything. As a prisoner, you should only be thinking about compliance. And hoping for a quick death.”
Kincaid nodded. He let out his breath in a deep sigh and stepped forward to grab the bars. Before his hands touched the cold iron, steel blades rang in the prison. Kincaid wondered what they expected him to do. The Duke and the woman didn’t flinch at his approach.
“I still don’t know what you want.”
“Start by demonstrating your ability to use arcane power.”
The woman’s head snapped to the Duke with these words. Her eyes widened, and her hands became rigid. In a moment, the intensity of her gaze locked back on Kincaid. Her eyes glowed, and her posture looked like a swordsman ready for battle.
Chains rattled out of Kincaid’s vision, and he didn’t like the tension in the room. He felt like a caged animal that would perform a trick for the paying customers. Except he didn’t know any tricks to get him out of the situation. Kincaid released his grip on the bars.