by J. A. Comley
If the cold man is the real one, then I will have to find some other way to reach the Queen without making him suspicious.
Another memory followed on the heels of the High Lord. Starla swallowed hard and met her reflection's gaze. Last night, Baron Malion had knocked on her door claiming to want to apologize. She shook her head, trying to ascertain why, even now, the mere thought of him was linked to fear.
He stood against me during my trial, vying for my execution. That must be it.
She shook her head. She had turned him down as politely as possible. He had not pressed his point as she'd expected, nodding his head in return to her bow.
See? If he really were an unreasonable man, he would not have let a lowly stranger turn him away.
Instead, he had offered a parting comment as he left.
“For what it is worth, I didn't side against you out of malice. I did it to try and protect my people.”
Starla turned away from her reflection, leaning against the basin. She did not want to have any enemies here. Both the Baron and High Lord seemed to be on opposite sides of some old argument. The High Lord had stood with her, so the Baron had stood against her.
That is no reason to fear him. He cannot harm me now, anyway. The King freed me, cleared me of all charges. Not even the Baron could undo that, and if his words were true, he does not want to.
Still, she'd rather not be the bone they chose to fight over.
A quick rap at the door made her jump. She shook both men from her mind.
Hoping for some breakfast, Starla tied the inn's long gown securely around her and pulled the door open.
“High Lord!”
She stared at the revealed High Lord Larkel, looking impeccable in his form-fitting white robe, his raven-wing hair falling in curls to his strong shoulders, a silver circlet glittering on his brow crossing over just one of the many scars that ran along his face and neck.
“Good morning, Starla,” he said smoothly, seeming to conceal a smile at her surprise. His indigo eyes widened a little, travelling over her golden hair as it caught the light, flashes of red shining in the gold. “I did say that I would be here early,” he added, bringing his gaze back to her face.
She nearly slammed the door shut, feeling her body react to the magical power that formed an aura around him, screaming out at her to run, but instead, swallowed back the instinctual fear and remembered to bow instead of curtsy.
“You did,” Starla said, trying to sound more composed. She had already decided that magic was not a good basis to either trust or fear him.
“May I come in?”
Mia's voice sounded in Starla's head, chiding her about impropriety. Starla half-smiled at the memory it belonged to. Starla and Pierre had been closeted away in Father Joe’s office pouring over some books he had brought back with him from Rome.
The High Lord tilted his head to the side, looking curious, and Starla fought down her easy blush. Was there less ice in his eyes today? He seemed more relaxed, his face, less harsh.
“Yes, come in.” She moved aside, for the first time noting the package dangling from his right hand. She left the door wide, unable to completely shake her lessons on propriety and unwilling to give anyone any reason to gossip. A wave of fear and hatred already seemed to follow the High Lord everywhere. She didn't want to add scandal to the mix.
While the High Lord moved over to the bed and began to open the package, Starla took the opportunity to close her eyes and calm herself again. Her mind's reaction had not at all matched the instinct that had caused her blood to surge with adrenaline. To her, this man was his presence when they had linked minds. He was intelligent, warm, and kind, and it flooded her body with a different urge.
She shook the thoughts away, breathing out all the tension, wondering at her reaction. She didn’t know the man. She had always taken pride in being a well-educated, sensible young lady.
Let's not embarrass ourself, okay?
Nodding firmly to herself, she moved over to the end of the bed, keeping several paces between herself and the High Lord, her sillier emotions under firm control.
“Your Galatian tunic and shoes, Miss Starla,” The High Lord said, waving his hand over the bright red garment he had spread over the bed and the black leather shoes on the floor. “Well, the shoes are new and yours to keep, the tunic is on loan.”
Starla fought down a pang of guilt as his tone reminded her of Raoul's playful formalities.
She watched his quick eyes pick out her reaction and turned her attention to the tunic, feeling her lips turn down in dismay. It had thin straps and an oval neckline that looked far too deep to be decent. It also wouldn't hide the Star's necklace, and she didn’t want to give anyone any reason to ask about it.
“Isn't this style for the upper classes?” Starla said, lifting the gown, looking for a pocket similar to those she had seen on some of the ladies at the hearing yesterday.
Larkel nodded, seeming impressed by how much attention she had been paying, despite her circumstances.
“Yes, but the King has cleared you, made you his guest. Therefore, it is appropriate that you wear the style of the minor nobles.”
Starla turned away from the High Lord's penetrating gaze, not wanting him to see her doubt at his words.
I’m the King’s guest?
“Thank you, High Lord,” she said, forcing politeness and moving behind the partition.
Larkel watched her move away and slide the partition closed. “You're welcome,” he said. He had guessed that she would probably not like the style, but she'd been even more dismayed than he'd thought.
Perhaps once she has it on, she'll feel better about it.
The High Lord shrugged. Everything he had learned about her from her mind showed her to be someone who can get beyond a little discomfort. She would last the day and have her own tunics, of her choice, to wear by the end of it. He moved to close the door and then over to the window to lean against its frame so that his back was to the room and partition.
Movement in the small garden below caught his attention. He felt his pulse quicken, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Even in the shadows of the tall shanebury bushes, he could make out the figure of the Baron surrounded by a group of people standing at the far end of the garden.
Larkel counted eleven others in the circle around the Baron listening to him as his lips moved urgently. He debated briefly using a spell to listen in but concluded that it would be too risky. The Baron was breaking no laws, whereas using magic to eavesdrop was certainly not allowed, and he knew Braxton would happily take any opportunity to blacken his name further.
Stifling his frustration, the High Lord concentrated on trying to identify some of the others in the Baron's group. He recognised Keeper Adonil Thorten, one of the witnesses from Starla's hearing, as well as several others who were minor nobles, including the Baron’s fiancee, who had wanted a conviction for Starla before the trial.
The flash of a white robe beneath a dark cloak caught and held Larkel's attention as one of them moved. The Makhi had his back to the window and was talking to Braxton. Quickly, Larkel swung away from the window and flat against the wall just as the Baron turned to look up.
That’s right, keep it up, Braxton. One day, you’ll slip up, and I’ll have enough to stop you.
Starla eyed herself in the small mirror above the basin. The red tunic came very low, the boning inside cleverly supporting her bust and creating twin swells just above the neckline.
How do the women here feel comfortable wearing this? Starla wondered, turning sideways, even as another part of her mind noted that the clothing was far more comfortable than her own fashion. The soft fabric didn’t leave her feeling like her ribs were bound in iron, nor were her hips bearing the weight of heavy fabrics and half a dozen petticoats.
Conceding the point, Starla tucked the Star into a small, but deep, side-pocket she had found, along with her baby bracelet, which was still attached to the chain. Taking a steeling breat
h, she stepped out from behind the partition.
The High Lord had his back to her and was looking out of the window, his muscles tense. In the next moment, he had thrown himself sideways with a look of deep irritation on his face.
“Are you alright?” Starla asked, eyeing the High Lord curiously.
He pushed himself off the wall and took her in slowly while she tried hard to imagine that she was in respectable attire. She noticed the door had been shut and felt her heart race up another notch in response.
So much for trying to avoid scandal.
“I am well, thank you,” he said distractedly, eyes returning to her face. “You'll need a belt.”
He held out his left hand, and his staff flashed into existence, drawing a soft gasp from Starla.
Giving her a wry smile, he tapped his own belt and held his right hand outstretched.
Starla watched a glowing line form and thicken, resolving into a copy of his belt. She felt herself frown.
“The wrong colour, I know, but as I am your guide, it will do,” he added, handing the belt to Starla, forestalling her protest. “Here.” The High Lord waved his staff in two back-to-back crescents, and a floor-length mirror appeared beside the bed. The mirror was beautiful. Like the inn’s, the glass was perfect, without blemish and flat, but this one was held in a wrought metal frame depicting birds in flight between twisting vines. That he could create something this beautiful from one moment to the next was still more than her mind could fully grasp.
Moving to stand in front of the mirror, Starla felt herself blushing as she realised just how form-fitting the tunic really was. Apart from the low cut, the fabric seemed to cling to her from bust to hips, like a second skin. Thankfully, it flared a little after that. Her golden hair shone in the sunlight, glittering beautifully, falling in soft waves down to her waist. Feeling self-conscious, she peeked back at Larkel, who appeared to have taken a great interest in the light-yellow curtains.
Smiling at his gesture, she turned her attention to the belt. Each of the seven stars that made it up was perfectly formed, set point-to-point, but Starla found no clasp on the two end-stars to fasten the belt with. Feeling silly, she tried touching the points of those two stars together. As expected, nothing happened.
“A little help, High Lord?” She held the belt out to him as he stepped towards her.
“My fault,” he said, shaking his head. “I wished to see if you could do it without guidance. This belt requires magic in order to fasten it.” His lips curled up on one side as she raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Here, let’s see if you can do it with some guidance.” He took the belt and motioned her to face the mirror again.
She resisted a laugh at his new test. He seems as curious about me as I am about him.
Starla watched his reflection, her flash of mirth becoming apprehension as the High Lord closed the remaining distance, his breath moving strands of her hair, his magic enveloping her in an electric wave. With the wave of magic came his scent, billowing gently over her, something close to a forest after the first summer rains, earthy and cool.
She kept her eyes down and thought she heard him sigh as he slowly placed the belt against the small of her back and brought it forward, circling her waist until the two outer points met. As the tips fused together seamlessly, Starla felt a strange tugging inside her mind.
“There! Did you feel it?” he asked, his intelligent eyes locked on her reflection as she glanced up at him automatically. Starla managed a nod, not trusting her voice.
Silently, the High Lord brought his hand around her waist and tapped the newly-fused points, never taking his eyes off hers.
Again, Starla felt a tugging in her mind as the two stars separated.
The High Lord took a step back, and Starla released the breath she'd been holding as the pressure of his magic faded. Something dark flashed through his eyes, but he held the belt out to Starla.
His magic doesn’t scare me, not on anything other than an instinctual level. I should try and show him that. If I want him to trust me, I’ll need to trust him too.
“Now, you try. I can guide you if you like,” he added as Starla eyed the belt uncertainly.
“How?” she asked, accepting the belt and trying to guess at the emotions he hid so well.
“We'll link, sort of like we did at the hearing.” He placed his fingers lightly on the bare skin of her shoulder. Starla felt a tingling jolt shoot through her as the High Lord touched her.
Stop it! she scolded herself, certain it had nothing to do with the imminent spell. Quickly she schooled her thoughts as a now expected bubbling warmth spread from his fingertips.
Twisting the belt, she turned back to the mirror, and as the warmth spread, she looked to her mind, finding him there. The silver light that she recognised as the High Lord was unchanged from before and lacking any of the coldness his face usually held. Everything she could feel pointed to someone decisive and quick-witted, but kind and caring, too. She shoved the tingly feeling away before he noticed her reaction. Like at the hearing, Starla was aware of him in her mind as well as by her side.
Following his sent instructions, Starla let her eyes focus on the mirror. She slid the belt around her waist and allowed the two points to meet and fuse. It felt almost as if she had willed them to do so, given them a nudge in the right direction, to shift from what they were to what she wanted them to be.
“Well done,” the High Lord said, stepping away from her and out of her mind. “You make a lovely Galatian.” He held her gaze for a moment before turning towards the door and twirling his staff, letting the mirror vanish.
Starla felt her cheeks warming at the compliment and scolded herself again.
What is wrong with me? Just because he isn't as cold and distant as before is no reason to lose sight of reason.
She had enough problems without utter foolishness to add to them.
She watched him turn the handle and wondered if he was being plagued by the same question that was looping in her mind.
How had she done that? She was human, she had no magic.
Taking a steadying breath, Starla reordered her thoughts. She had to find the Queen, then her family. Finding out about magical abilities could wait. Not for the first time, though, she found herself wondering if Gaby had given her a boon after all, or if Rya had been onto something and the magic was the amulet’s and not hers, another gift to help her here, just like when it had taught her to speak and understand Pareon.
She turned to the man waiting at the door, the sunlight glinting off his inky hair.
“Thank you, High Lord. What is first on the tour you've planned?” she asked, desperately trying to pretend that she couldn't still feel his fingers on her shoulder.
The High Lord turned to face her. His eyes took her in, up and down and back again. Starla felt her discomfort grow, knowing her cheeks were burning bright enough to match her dress.
He seemed to debate something then waved his staff, the package he had brought rising from the bed and floating towards him.
“Here, I got you this as well,” he said. He reached into the package and pulled out a light grey, unadorned shawl. “I thought that, well, the women here only wear these in cooler weather but in your memories, the women's clothing wasn't … like this. I thought perhaps this would make you feel more comfortable.”
Starla stepped forward, a genuine smile brightening her face.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the shawl and shaking it open. She felt a brief moment of discomfort as she realised that by being in her mind, he knew her far better than this brief acquaintance should allow. It faded as she wrapped the shawl around her shoulders, thankful that it not only covered her cleavage but was also long enough to cover her to the waist.
Larkel nodded to himself, making the empty package disappear. He had been worried that using things he had learned about her through her memories would upset her, give her a reason to mistrust him. Now, watching her smile and her blush fade, he
was glad he had taken the risk.
Yet, even with the knowledge of her upbringing, he couldn't quite understand her reluctance. He had never met a woman of such obvious beauty who wished to hide it. Even now, she was holding the shawl shut with one hand as she sat to do up the clasp on her shoes, trying to manage one-handed.
“We will look for a brooch to hold the shawl in place while we are out, if you like,” he said, talking to the wall so that his eyes would not be drawn to the twin swells that appeared as she gave up and turned both her hands to the task of tying the clasps.
“Really? Thank you, that would be fantastic,” Starla said, sounding happier as she stood, pulling the shawl shut again. “But how will I pay?”
He waved a hand, once again admiring the way she seemed able to stay above what was no doubt a strange, and perhaps frightening, situation. From the memories that had not been concealed from him, he knew she had been ripped from her home and dumped in the middle of a war, without warning or true intent. It took a lot of strength to get beyond that and remain calm, even more so to be able to grasp so much of a vastly different world.
“That won't be a problem. The King has given an allowance towards getting you properly dressed. But first, breakfast,” he said and opened the door for her.
Starla gave a small nod of thanks and headed down the stairs ahead of him.
“High Lord!” a timid voice called to them as they were leaving the inn.
“Ah, the innkeeper. I'll just be a moment,” Larkel said, touching Starla lightly on the shoulder again before leaving her in the doorway.