Royal Magic

by K. M. Shea

  Benjimir shook his head. “Never. I’m certain my mother would have had a fit if we attempted such a thing.”

  “That’s no good. Aunt Lorius is just as stuffy as Queen Luciee, and even she thinks one ought to have breakfast in bed every once in a great while,” Gwendafyn snorted. “That settles it—we must have breakfast in bed. You need to experience it.”

  Gwendafyn nudged him, and Benjimir slowly inched over, making room for Gwendafyn to plop back on the bed.

  “Breakfast in bed,” he repeated. “It sounds messy.”

  “Not any more so than sleeping in the clothes you wore the day before,” Gwendafyn said.

  Benjimir smirked and brushed off his wrinkled shirt. “A solid hit.”

  Gwendafyn busied herself with straightening her robe as Benjimir reached out to play with her loose hair. “Are you feeling any better?” she asked.

  “Yes—though I’ll feel even better once we capture the bandit leaders,” Benjimir said.

  “I was going to ask—do you mean to take Arion with you again?” Gwendafyn asked.

  “He’s my most competent colonel.”

  “Yes, but Braydynn is barely a month old,” Gwendafyn said.

  “Perhaps, but we’re still two weeks out from leaving,” Benjimir said. “And I imagine Tari will come along whether I want her to or not, which means the child will come as well.”

  “Is it really a good idea to drag Tari and a newborn to the western border?”

  Benjimir was still studiously playing with her hair. “I doubt we will be attacked—I’ll take an even bigger escort this time, though this time a wizard won’t be accompanying us. We should be safe. Besides, it would be good for that little family to leave Haven,” Benjimir said.

  “I suppose.” Gwendafyn rested her hands on her slightly bent knees. “Do you mean it will be good for the people of Calnor to witness Braydynn with their own eyes? Perhaps they should wait a little longer and then travel through Lessa, as well.”

  “I was more thinking that it might finally inspire Lorius to leave,” Benjimir said coolly. “If Tari, Arion, and Braydynn are not around, she has no real excuse to be here.”

  Gwendafyn tensed at her aunt’s name. I still haven’t had that private talk with her that she obviously desires. If I’m lucky, I can avoid it altogether. Maybe Benjimir is right, and she’ll leave before we return. Thought I doubt it. Visiting me to try and guilt me into returning is, I’m certain, at least one of the reasons for her visit.

  Benjimir leaned against the headboard of her bed. “I wish Seer Ringali would return with her.”

  “You don’t like him?” Gwendafyn shifted.

  “You do?” Benjimir asked.

  “Yes. He is a close relative—my father’s direct cousin. And I have always found him to be…”

  “Caustic?”

  “Refreshing,” Gwendafyn said.

  Benjimir shrugged minutely. “Of course you would think so. In truth, I do not mind the man so much, but I do wish he would stop referring to me as if I am some wild beast you have taken in out of pity.”

  Gwendafyn laughed. “That is merely Seer Ringali’s way. He compares Arion to a well-trained canine. Would you prefer that?”

  Benjimir ran a hand through his hair. “What I would prefer is that he would stop dripping insulting stories about me into your ear.”

  Gwendafyn snorted. “He has never done such a thing. Most of the time he observes how my defense skills are deficient or notes that my personality is wild.”

  “That is the cat calling the dog a pet,” Benjimir said.

  “Exactly so,” Gwendafyn agreed with a smile.

  There was a gentle tap on the door.

  “Enter!” Gwendafyn shouted without getting out of bed.

  The handmaidens tip-toed into the room, bearing trays of food: quail eggs, bacon, breakfast bread, and more. They studiously stared at the trays as they meekly set them on Gwendafyn’s mattress.

  “If you need anything else, Your Highness,” they murmured as they curtsied together.

  “We’re fine. Thank you,” Gwendafyn said.

  The handmaidens nodded, then hurried out of the room.

  “Fyn,” Benjimir said, practically purring as he leaned into her shoulder. “I believe you have ruined my reputation. No one will think me an innocent flower any longer.”

  Gwendafyn laughed. “Because surely I’m the swashbuckler out of the two of us.”

  “We are in your bed,” Benjimir pointed out as he offered Gwendafyn his plate of bacon. “And here my father kicked up a fuss, thinking I would corrupt you. Behold, how the tides have changed.”

  Gwendafyn swiped a piece of Benjimir’s bacon. “I have no regrets,” she announced.

  She was surprised when Benjimir pressed his lips to the side of her head. He said nothing, but they stayed like that for several long moments, until he pulled back as abruptly as he had invaded her space and set his attention to his breakfast tray.

  Gwendafyn glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, even though she had to work hard to seem nonchalant. I’m glad he feels he can trust me, and that I can trust him.

  12

  The Bandit Raid

  Gwendafyn hungrily took in her surroundings. The Endeleas Plains of Calnor spilled endlessly before her, interrupted only by herds of cows or horses, the occasional cluster of trees, and farms. It was both stunning and new at once. “It is so beautiful,” she murmured in Calnoric.

  King Petyrr rode at her side on his war horse. “I’m glad you think so!” he laughed merrily. “Some consider the plains to be rather boring—though I like them myself. There’re a few herds of wild horses that roam the plains—if we’re lucky we might see one of them!”

  “How could one say this is boring? We don’t have such plains in Lessa. We have valleys and farming areas to be sure, but nothing that stretches to such an expanse.” Gwendafyn shook her head and rested her hands on Nox’s neck. The black gelding snorted and made his bridle jingle when he stretched his neck out.

  “You honor us in your admiration,” King Petyrr said. “I believe most would think plains are quaint at best.”

  “It is likely a case of not seeing what you live amongst,” Gwendafyn said, thinking of the so called “breakthroughs” Benjimir had explained to her.

  “You do not see the beauty in Lessa?” King Petyrr asked. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “I saw it—and loved it,” Gwendafyn assured him. “But Calnor is so different.”

  King Petyrr chuckled. “You are a gem, daughter-in-law.”

  Gwendafyn smiled at him.

  King Petyrr had been her companion for most of the days of their journey west. He was a diverting companion, and he seemed to have less trouble than most in understanding her Calnoric. (Gwendafyn wasn’t sure if this was due to his longtime friendship with Celrin, or if it was out of sheer stubbornness because of his desire to communicate with his elvish daughter-in-law—particularly because Tari wasn’t always available to translate.)

  Gwendafyn briefly twisted in her saddle so she could glance back at Tari and Seer Ringali, who rode behind them.

  Tari had dropped her reins and was steering her horse with nothing but her legs as she adjusted the harness that kept Braydynn strapped to her front torso.

  Seer Ringali was mounted on a lovely chocolate bay mare next to her. He stared boredly at the countryside and idly twirled his parasol, but Gwendafyn did not miss the way he gazed around as if committing the scenery to memory.

  When Benjimir had invited the Evening Star to ride along, he had wasted no time in loftily agreeing to the request.

  “That’s why I’m so very happy you married Benjimir,” King Petyrr continued, unaware of Gwendafyn’s wandering attention.

  “What have you mean?” Gwendafyn asked.

  “Do you,” King Petyrr corrected with a wink. “What do you mean.”

  “What do you mean?” Gwendafyn asked, carefully correcting herself.

  “You are
special, daughter-in-law, in that you see things for what they really are, and you not only accept them but delight in them,” King Petyrr said. “Benjimir has never let anyone in. He has always behaved well—he appears polite, perhaps a little cold, but civil all the same.”

  Gwendafyn considered the observation for a moment. “Perhaps, but he isn’t afraid to speak his mind.”

  “Not since marrying you,” King Petyrr agreed. “He wasn’t always so open—even before his exile.” The portly king met her gaze, the light in his eyes reminiscent of Benjimir’s whenever he was revealing his cunning. “But he let you in. You are the first he has allowed to do so.”

  A muscle in Gwendafyn’s cheek twitched, but she made herself smile. “That cannot be true,” she said. “He and Yvrea are very close. He adores her.”

  “He does adore his bond partner,” King Petyrr said. “But do you really think he ever shared his concerns or worries with her?”

  Gwendafyn shifted in her saddle. “Perhaps.”

  “No,” King Petyrr said with absolute certainty. “There is a reason you are the first member of the Lessa Royal Family to see our lands, Gwendafyn. It is because Benjimir wishes you to be here, and he doesn’t mind if you see him for who he really is.” King Petyrr finally took his focus off her and seemed to gaze into the far-off horizon instead. “It was his desire to keep Yvrea from knowing him that got him into trouble…”

  Gwendafyn fussed with Nox’s reins. What can I say to that? It is true—his desire to separate Arion and Tari is proof. But he doesn’t let me see the real him out of any kind of adoration… It’s more that I saw his real personality first, so he felt no need to hide; and now that we are finally companionable, it is too late.

  After several moments of silence, King Petyrr turned around in his saddle. “Lady Tari, how is your little boy faring with the ride?”

  “He sleeps mostly,” Tari laughed. “I think he finds the rocking motion comforting.”

  “Once this raid is over, you and Sir Arion are going to stop by his family lands, are you not?” King Petyrr asked.

  “Yes, I haven’t seen his parents—or Eric, his brother—in months. And I’d like to introduce Braydynn to them.” Tari smiled down at her little boy and rested her hand on his head that was poofy with his dark hair.

  King Petyrr slowed his horse so he could ride next to Tari and continue their conversation.

  Gwendafyn would have been content to stare at the plains, but she was shocked when Seer Ringali nudged his horse forward to match Nox’s strides.

  “Seer Ringali,” Gwendafyn switched to Elvish and acknowledged her relative. “I hope you are enjoying this journey through Calnor?”

  “It’s an honor.” Seer Ringali glanced at her. “You are surprised I came?”

  Yes. Aloud, Gwendafyn said, “Not at all. Rarely have we elves traveled through Calnor. It is a delight to see the homeland of our dear friends.”

  “You do not believe I have spent an unnecessary amount of time in Haven?” Seer Ringali asked, surely baiting her.

  “Tarinthali Ringali is your protege,” Gwendafyn said. “It is understandable that you would stay with her after the birth of her child.”

  Really, Seer Ringali’s actions were slightly surprising. Evening Stars spent their lives in port cities, watching for the return of the High Elves so they could act—and attack—if necessary. Haven was far away from Lessa’s ocean coast. But perhaps it could not be helped. With Tari and Arion being what they were, it was more important that they stay in Haven and aid with communication, even if Tari was an extremely gifted Evening Star.

  Still, I would have thought he would have returned by now… Particularly given that Tari and Arion will likely spend a month or so with Arion’s family.

  “I came because of Tarinthali,” Seer Ringali acknowledged. “She is my apprentice, and I practically consider her my child. It was important to be present to celebrate the birth of Braydynn.” He nonchalantly twirled his parasol. “But I remain here because of you.”

  Gwendafyn blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You have High Elf magic, just as Tarinthali and I do,” Seer Ringali said coolly. “I have known it was so since you were a child, but during my stay here, it has become obvious to me it is different.”

  Gwendafyn’s blood turned to ice in her veins. “I don’t understand.”

  “I expect not,” Seer Ringali said. “As you know, only elves capable of magic can become Evening Stars, but magic is not the only qualification.”

  “Of course,” Gwendafyn said. “It was discussed whether or not I should have been trained as an Evening Star when I was a child.”

  “Yes,” Seer Ringali scowled. “In the end, my cousin decided tradition trumped personal happiness, and you were not selected. By all rights, your magic should have remained quiet, dormant. Those who have it but are not properly trained often lose it and no longer become aware of it, or they can only do fumbling, weak basics—nothing at all remotely useful or harmful.”

  “I am aware that it is so,” Gwendafyn said. “But I struggle to see what this has to do with me. Since I was not trained as an Evening Star, any magic I have should be dormant as well.”

  “But it’s not,” Seer Ringali said. “And though you are an adult, it seems to be growing stronger—not weaker.”

  Gwendafyn sputtered. “What proof do you have?”

  “Your fighting,” Seer Ringali said with such quick crispness that Gwendafyn got the idea she had asked him exactly what he wanted her to. “Normal humans—normal elves—do not learn as quickly as you have, My Princess.”

  Gwendafyn bit her lip. Do I dare confess? He is an Evening Star; if anyone would understand, it would be he. “I am not the absolute beginner you have been led to believe. I practiced for years in Lessa, at night.”

  “Without a teacher,” Seer Ringali said dryly. “And you cannot fool me. I was there for your first lesson. You were raw and untrained then. But in the span of a few months, you have advanced to the point where you can now best your teachers. That and your increased stamina, your agility—they are all indications of magic.”

  Gwendafyn was not completely surprised—what else could that looming door be holding back in her mind? But it was still slightly shocking to hear a confirmation from someone like Seer Ringali. “Do Evening Stars have such abilities?” Gwendafyn asked.

  “No,” Seer Ringali said flatly. “At least not in the quantity you have. And that is how I know the magic calls to you in a different way.” He narrowed his eyes and frowned thoughtfully at her. “It calls to you, does it not? Tarinthali and I have felt it pulsing within you.”

  “I swear I will never access it,” Gwendafyn blurted out.

  “I do not remain behind because I fear you will use your unusual magic, My Princess Gwendafyn,” Seer Ringali said dryly.

  Gwendafyn dug her hands into Nox’s mane. Then why…?

  “I stay because I wish to see what you become. You should have been an Evening Star, but you are not. As a result, you are the closest thing to a High Elf that this land has seen in a long time.”

  “That’s not a good thing,” Gwendafyn said tightly.

  “It is,” Seer Ringali said with such lacing anger, Gwendafyn glanced at him in surprise. “It is to our discredit as elves that we have cowered behind Calnor as long as we have, accepting their help and protection and doing nothing to reciprocate.”

  Seer Ringali’s dark eyes flashed. “Do not shrink from who you are, for you are not the monster you fear, but a hero. If you are willing to risk yourself, that is.” He pointed to the front of the procession. “They need help, Gwendafyn. He needs help.”

  Gwendafyn stared at the front of the line where Benjimir rode, smirking as Arion continued to harangue Thad, Wilford, and Grygg. (The Colonel found out about the fight ring that morning when a soldier accidentally let it slip while asking Gwendafyn eagerly over breakfast if she was still willing to fight for a price.)

  “We Evening Stars ca
nnot aid Calnor in this new fight it faces,” Seer Ringali said. “Our vows forbid us from battling humans. But you have no such limits. You are entirely your own person. And while you might torture yourself over your differences and allow others to criticize them, the truth is they are something you could rejoice in if you so choose.”

  He finished, apparently, for he dropped back to Tari’s side, leaving Gwendafyn to consider his words in silence.

  They made something in her move, but how could he be right?

  How can I help, when everything Lesser Elves stand for goes against fighting and violence?

  “And then he had the gall to accuse me of being less attached to him! He, Arion, who often acts as emotional as a clod of dirt!” Tari declared. Though the incident had happened years before, her voice was still hot with irritation, and she wrinkled her nose, clearly disgruntled. “Can you believe that?”

  “How romantic is the love of Lady Tarinthali and Sir Arion,” Evlawyn said innocently.

  Seer Ringali drolly rested his head on his fist. “I hope you are pleased with Tari’s recital of her and her dog-man’s love story, My Princess?”

  Gwendafyn laughed and leaned back in the wooden chair she had dragged out to the courtyard. “It’s nothing how I thought it would be.”

  Tari’s eyebrow twitched. “That is because my husband can be an unmovable idiot.”

  “Behold, the love that is said to have changed the very fates of countries,” Seer Ringali said as he inspected his empty mug.

  She couldn’t help it. Gwendafyn’s laughter bubbled forth even louder this time. She wasn’t sure if it was Tari’s storytelling skills, the beauty of the shaded courtyard they sat in, or just pleasure in her travels.

  They were staying at the largest—and nicest—inn of the bustling town of Neice. Benjimir, King Petyrr, Arion, and the rest of the humans had ridden out for the day in their pursuit of the bandits, but Gwendafyn and the elves had remained behind, enjoying the unusual sights.

  “Seer Ringali, you were there for much of it. Don’t you recall how stoic Arion was?” Tari asked.