by M. J. Scott
"Is that for scrying?" she asked, nerves making her throat catch.
Madame Simsa nodded. "You shouldn't be able to break this one."
Sophie studied the water. A rough, stone-edged teardrop, it seemed almost as though it was a natural depression in the earth. The narrowest end was closest to the door. That seemed like the logical place to stand if she was to attempt to scry again. She wasn't going to voluntarily immerse herself in the inky darkness. Hopefully standing would be all that would be required.
Not waiting for yet another order from Madame, she moved to the edge of the water, keeping her feet clear of the lip of the stone as she breathed slowly, pushing the fear away. She wanted to learn this magic. She had to learn this magic.
The water moved slowly, and she let her gaze follow the lines of reflected light, trying to clear her mind as she had in the practice room.
Think of Cameron. That was what Madame Simsa had told her to do.
At first all staring at the water and trying to conjure Cameron's face seemed to do was rouse every other worried thought in her brain. The emperor. Anglion. Her family. The future. Elarus. But gradually, as she breathed in the cool damp air, her mind began to ease, the thoughts slowing, as though synchronizing with the patterns on the water. The glimmering light and the dark water blurred and shifted. Then faded away. In their place, she saw Cameron. Sleeping in their bed in their room upstairs, the rise and fall of his chest reassuring.
Safe.
But even as she thought the words, the image changed again. Cameron. Awake. Standing next to what looked like a mast, his expression urgent and alarmed. Before she could try and take in what was in the rest of the image, it blurred again. And again. A series of images ran though her head. A chain, heavy and black. Her mother, red eyed and exhausted. The palace at Kingswell, part of the tower rebuilt.
A horse rearing.
Then Domina Skey, smiling coldly before her lips parted to speak.
Sophie flinched from the image, and it changed again. A giant tree rose before her, strong and tall and lush, its leaves dazzling green. She didn't recognize the species but the sense she had was one of peace. Of rightness. Until her gaze moved down and she saw a body beneath the tree, beneath the ground, in fact, as though it floated in the earth itself. A woman, red hair loosened and rough with dirt, face covered with black lace. The tree’s roots pierced her body, as though they fed from her. Some were pale and white, but others were darkening, near black.
That seemed wrong. But there was no time to contemplate what it might mean before the vision shivered, narrowing in on the body. The lace covering the woman's face dissolved and Sophie was left staring in horror at Eloisa. The queen's face was peaceful but starting to decay and sink into nothingness.
"No!" The scream of protest was instinctive. The revulsion was enough to break whatever state of mind Sophie had fallen into, and she blinked and found herself several paces from the edge of the pool, cold and shivering.
"What did you see, child?" Madame Simsa said. "You cried out."
"I—" Sophie hesitated. The shock of seeing Eloisa's face was still echoing through her, fear speeding her heartbeat. And, on the heels of fear, caution. "I'm not sure."
"You must have seen something," Madame pressed.
"I think I did," Sophie said. "Cameron asleep, maybe. And then..." she paused again, sorting through the tangle of images in her head. "My mother, I think. She was crying. That's what startled me. I was thinking of Cameron. I wasn't expecting to see anybody else." That much, at least, was the truth.
"It is only natural that you think of those closest to you," Henri said. "It is a common thing, among beginners."
"Is what I saw real?" Sophie asked. Her voice quivered, and she rubbed her arms, fighting off the lingering fear and panic the vision had left in its wake.
Henri hitched one shoulder. A very Illvyan gesture. "It is difficult to say. You are untrained. And not all who do water magic gain much from scrying. There is a skill to it that can be learned, but like most things, some have more aptitude than others and will have greater success. What you saw may be true. Or it may merely be a fear lurking in your mind that you have brought forward. The only thing that will tell is time itself."
Not a helpful response. Sophie stared down at the water warily. What she had seen had felt completely real. Felt like truth, of a kind. But she didn't think Eloisa lay buried beneath a tree. The emperor would surely be hustling Sophie back to Anglion on the next possible ship if there had been even the slightest hint that the Anglion throne stood empty.
So perhaps the image was merely a reflection of fear as Henri suggested. Her mind behaving as it would in a dream whilst she had been in the trance.
Based on what Henri was saying, there was no way she would know for sure other than to let time pass and see what happened. Not a terribly useful form of magic, in that case. Though maybe more experienced water mages were better at knowing if what they had seen was real or not.
[You have knowledge] Elarus's voice in her head was soft. [You know water magic. I gave you knowledge.]
[Yes. But I need to know how to use that knowledge.]
[I can show.]
Sophie was glad the sanctii was behind her and couldn't see the wince that flickered across her face at the suggestion. She'd gotten herself into enough trouble already. The Academe had been her sanctuary, and they were already unhappy about her bond with Elarus. If she suddenly started going against Henri's warnings and using the magic she'd been granted without knowing the risks, then who knew what might happen?
Nothing good, she suspected. And contemplating that set of unpleasant possibilities only made her acutely aware of her lack of sleep. For a moment the room wavered around her, and she took an involuntary step forward.
Henri stepped forward and caught her arm, steadying her. "Sophie? Are you unwell?"
"Tired," she confessed. "Perhaps the scrying...."
"It is tiring at first," Madame Simsa said. "Like learning anything new. But you should practice."
The hairs on the back of Sophie's neck lifted at the thought, and she almost took a step back. She wasn't ready for another vision.
Not until she knew more about what the first one might mean. She had let the Academe and everyone else in Illvya tell her what to do for weeks now since they had arrived. She valued what they had to teach her and the refuge they offered. However, if she didn't start to stand up for herself, then she was going to become a pawn in the game of power here, as she had been in Anglion—a prize to be owned and controlled. And while she might not have any desire to be a queen, she also knew that she had lost any taste for being the lowliest player on the field. Her powers were valuable to the Illvyans.
She was valuable.
So, she should value herself.
"Not today," she said, drawing herself up to full height, which was somewhat taller than Madame Simsa. "Enough for today. I will return tomorrow, and we can continue, but for now, I want to rest. And see how my husband is recovering."
Madame Simsa lifted one gray eyebrow, but the objection that Sophie expected was not forthcoming. "If you must. But we will start again in the morning. Straight after breakfast."
Sophie nodded. "Yes, Madame." She hurried for the door before anybody could change their mind.
Chapter 3
By following the glow of the earth-lights and her sense of the direction guided by the ley lines, Sophie found herself back above ground quite quickly. Elarus had followed her from the scrying room but had vanished as Sophie began to ascend the stairs. As much as Sophie still wanted to talk to the sanctii, she was glad to be alone for now. She needed to breathe and shake off the lingering unease from her vision. And then she needed to sleep to shake off the bone-deep weariness that had made every stair she climbed feel like half a mountain.
As she stepped out of the building, she realized she didn't know exactly where in the grounds she was. But there was a path cutting across the small swathe of gras
s and she followed it until she came to a well-oiled iron gate and found herself nearly at the Academe's main entrance.
The hum of people and carriages and horses from the street was unexpected and she halted, startled by the sudden change. It was the first time she'd been near the front gate unaccompanied and the temptation to open it, step into the stream of people and vanish for a few hours—or even forever—flared like a quick-struck match. A few steps and she could disappear. Find herself a new start and an ordinary life.
But the thought guttered as quickly as it had sparked. Even if she had thought that vanishing might be truly possible—that what Elarus had told them the night before was wrong and that the empire's mages couldn't track her magic, there was Cameron. Who she could no more leave behind than she could her own right arm.
She started to turn toward the front door, intent on joining Cameron in bed and going back to sleep, when a carriage clattered up to the gate. The pair of jet-black horses pulling it snorted agreeably as they came to a halt. The carriage door banged open and a cheerful, "Lady Sophia, just the woman I was looking for," came from the gloom within.
Sophie turned back, heart sinking, to see Imogene du Laq descending from the carriage, waving off the attention of the driver who had leapt down to assist her. The duquesse smiled at Sophie, one hand straying up to pat the expertly piled riot of black, brown, and red curls on her head.
Sophie curtsied. "Your Grace, good morning."
Imogene flipped a hand. "My, so formal. Good morning, yourself." Then she grinned, deep blue eyes flashing. "I hope I haven't caught you about to make a run for it?" She raised a brow. "That was quite the spectacle in the throne room."
"Spectacle is one word for it," Sophie agreed. Not the one she would have used, but there was nothing to be gained from correcting the duquesse before Sophie knew why Imogene had come to see her. "But no, I wasn't planning to run."
"Not without that handsome husband of yours, at least. That would be a mistake for any woman." Imogene grinned again. "But let's not stand on the street talking, when we could be comfortable inside."
Cameron submitted to Rachelle's probing fingers with gritted teeth. His head no longer felt like he'd been kicked by a whole herd of horses as it had the night before—thanks partially to the healer's services—but the bruises were still tender.
"Do you have a headache?" Rachelle asked, fingers pressing a path across his right cheekbone.
"Nothing of any significance." He felt only half-awake, but he attributed that to the fact he had yet to eat that day or have anything civilized like tea to clear the fog from his brain. He wasn't entirely sure what had jolted him awake earlier. He'd tried to go back to sleep at first but had given up when the memory of the previous night had rushed back, the shock of it enough to drive him from bed.
He'd found a note slipped under the door, instructing him to present himself for an examination at the healers when he woke. His aches and pains had been enough to convince him that would be a good idea, and he'd made his way across the Academe to submit to their ministrations. Maybe not at his best, but alive.
Rachelle made a humphing noise under her breath but didn't reply, merely pressed harder on the highest point of his left cheek. He winced.
"Sore there?" She pressed again.
This time he managed not to react because he'd been expecting the pain. Why healers insisted on prodding a man's sore bits over and over was something he'd never understand, but he was used it. Serve in the Red Guard long enough, and it was impossible not to become far too familiar with healers. "Some?"
Her humph was louder. "Lord Scardale, I appreciate that you are a blood mage and a soldier and a man, but if you have half a brain left after being tossed onto the street from an overturned carriage as you were, I trust that you are sensible enough to know that it is wise to speak truth to healers. We can't help you if you don't."
Clearly he wasn't going to get away with anything less than a full accounting with this particular healer. "It's sore," he admitted. "Not overly so. I had a broken cheekbone once. This doesn't feel like that."
"Nor should it after the effort we put into you last night," Rachelle said tartly. "But that is good to hear. Maybe we can speed this process up, given you are accustomed to minor wounds and injuries. Does anything else hurt in a way that would suggest something unusual to you?"
Did emotional pain count? His head didn't ache from the carriage accident, but his mind spun as though he was still tumbling through the air.
Aristides had offered Sophie the throne of Anglion. She had refused—thank the goddess—but he doubted that would be the end of it. He'd only known three monarchs in his lifetime. One king and one queen and now, one emperor, but even from such small acquaintance, he'd learned that those who reached the highest seats of power were generally used to getting what they wanted.
And determined to walk the paths they decided should be walked to get it.
Clearly Sophie was a path Aristides was considering taking to reach whatever destination he had in mind for Illvya's relationship with Anglion.
Making the game that Cameron and Sophie were caught up within ever more dangerous. And he had no idea how he was to see her through it safely. Staying seemed risky. Fleeing—after what Sophie's sanctii had told them last night—didn't seem to be an option.
But if he told that to Rachelle, she would probably think his brains had been rattled too hard by his accident. He doubted the emperor's offer would become public knowledge terribly quickly. The only ones in the throne room when Aristides had so casually offered to place a crown on Sophie's head had been members of the emperor's inner council and his court mages—and Henri Matin of course. He couldn't see how any of them could benefit by leaking the information and tipping the emperor's hand before he made his play.
Cameron needed to keep his own cards close to his chest. "Nothing unusual," he said to Rachelle. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine. A head injury, even one tended to quickly and healed, is not to be underestimated, Lord Scardale. You need to rest for the next few days. Maybe a week. I will inform M'sille Marignon that you are not to train with the blood mages until I tell her otherwise. If you get pains in your head or your eyes or any numbness in your face, then you should come to me immediately. Understood?"
It would be easiest to just agree with her. Not necessarily comply if it became necessary to disobey her orders, but he'd never found much profit in arguing with healers. It always resulted in finding yourself confined to quarters until they were satisfied that you weren't going to do anything idiotic and make things worse.
He wasn't exactly sure how he might be confined to quarters here at the Academe but given the number of mages far more skilled than he that filled the place, he didn't think it would be overly difficult. He couldn't protect Sophie if he was unable to leave their apartment.
"I understand," he said, aiming what he hoped was a trustworthy smile at the healer. The effect might have been slightly lessened by the loud rumble that issued from his stomach as he started to slide down from the stool he'd been perched on during the examination.
Rachelle finally smiled at the sound. "Well, that at least I can offer a quick solution to. I recommend the dining hall. Immediately."
Sophie preceded Imogene into the Academe, not exactly sure where to take her. She didn't want to wake Cameron if he was still sleeping. Somewhere in the buildings were private parlors students could use to study or socialize. But Sophie had yet to have time for the latter and, for the former, she'd used the libraries. The result being that she wasn't entirely sure where the parlors were.
The simplest solution would be the dining hall, where at least there would be food and tea. But simplicity came with no privacy. Taking tea with an Imperial mage could only set tongues wagging. Perhaps the best approach would be to find out what Imogene needed to discuss before deciding where to hold the conversation.
"Do you have a message from the emperor?" she asked. She hoped not.
A summons from Aristides so soon was unlikely to be good news.
Imogene shook her head. "No. I came to see how you are. There has been much...excitement in the last few days, and while everyone is busy figuring out the political ramifications, they tend to forget that there are people involved in these small dramas."
Sophie didn't for one second believe that Imogene wasn't also calculating the political ramifications. One didn't become the wife of a Duq and confidante to an emperor without considerable skill in the game of power. Nor was Sophie sure assassination plots and attempted suicides should be described as 'small' dramas. Though maybe, in the day-to-day politics of the Illvyan court and the empire, they were. But still, perhaps that view was overly cynical, and she should accept concern where it was offered.
"Shall we have tea, then?" Sophie said. "There will be some in the dining hall. And food, if you are hungry." She wasn't entirely certain how much time had passed during her lesson, but the dining hall catered to the sometimes-irregular hours kept by the students and maistres. There were set times for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but in between there were always tea, chilled drinks, and various simple dishes—soup and sandwiches and stews and such—to fill the bellies of those who may have missed a meal. Magic, after all, took energy to work, and mages and witches generally had hearty appetites.
But Imogene knew that, she realized. Imogene had been a student here once.
"Tea would be most welcome," Imogene said. "We've had so little rain recently that the streets are filled with dust."
There wasn't a single speck of dust on the stark black fabric of Imogene's uniform or her gleaming black boots. Perhaps dust didn't dare sully the boots of Imperial mages? They hadn't taken more than fifty steps towards the dining hall when a squawk and a hiss of feathers in the air alerted Sophie that Tok had tracked her down once more. The raven swooped over her head, then alighted on the nearest earth-light.
"Hello to you, too," Sophie said, which earned her another caw. She shook her head at the bird. "There's no need to take that tone. I was having lessons."