by M. J. Scott
Sophie's face went blank in a way he was starting to recognize as her talking to the damn demon. He supposed he would get used to the idea in time, but for now it was a complication.
"She's watching, but she's not in the carriage," Sophie said.
Watching? What did that mean? He rolled his shoulders, trying to relax. Granted, it was some comfort to know that Elarus was with them and that she would protect Sophie if needed, but still, it was a queer sort of comfort. Besides which, now he had to learn about water magic. He was fairly certain he had no talent for it himself, but he needed to understand how Sophie's bond with the sanctii worked.
He could feel Sophie through the bond he shared with her. Now that Sophie had showed him how. She was simply there, like a melody in the back of his mind or a distant pleasing hum. Something he had become used to. He rarely felt more than that unless Sophie did something big with her magic.
He'd felt the joining with Elarus clearly enough. It had been hard to miss.
But he didn't feel the sanctii though, or any change in his connection to Sophie. Whatever bond Elarus had formed with Sophie seemed separate to the one they shared. Did Elarus feel Sophie? Know when something was wrong? Or did she actively watch? From this realm? From the demon realm? Not knowing made him uneasy, like there was a weakness in his defenses, like a squad missing from formation. He wouldn't know how to factor Elarus into his plans until he knew how the bloody water magic worked.
More goddess-damned study.
It was all they had done since arriving in Illvya. His skull was crammed full of more new knowledge than he could handle, and it still wasn't enough to keep Sophie safe. Not when he was dealing with emperors with wild schemes, assassins, and goddess-damned demons. Who, in this bloody country, weren't so goddess-damned after all.
A soldier's job was to defend. As was a husband's. He was going to his damned job.
He rolled his shoulders a second time. Focus on the task at hand. Then go onto the next thing. The immediate problem was what had happened to Sophie. She was watching him, muscles tense, eyes wary.
He hated that she looked that way. That she had anything to worry about. That he couldn't fix it all for her.
"All right. So, what happened next? You attempted to scry?"
"They wanted me to try," Sophie agreed. "We were in the practice rooms. I was using a bowl filled with ink—I think it was ink—but when I tried to scry the bowl broke."
"Broke?"
"Cracked into pieces," Sophie said. "I think I used too much power.”
His brows shot up. Breaking bowls sounded like blood magic. Something that, technically, Sophie shouldn't be able to do. Was this another complication of their bond? Or something water mages did as a matter of course? "And then?"
"They took me to a room beneath the Academe. There was water there, a...pond, no, a reservoir of some sort I suppose it is," Sophie said. "I don't think there's a river under the Academe, but I didn't ask where the water came from."
At this point nothing about the Academe should surprise him. "Water mages need water, I guess," he said. Worry about the source of the water later. If there was some sort of underground river or even pipes feeding it, he'd like to know how and where. He'd devoted quite some time to understanding the layout of the Academe, though he hadn't been able to scout all the rooms and buildings yet. He'd known there were basements. He hadn't known there was water. Water needed entry and exit points. Something to consider should they need to leave the Academe in a hurry.
"I tried scrying again. Using the reservoir."
That seemed...advanced? Not the first time his lack of knowledge of water magic was going to trip him up. Maybe the size of the surface used didn't matter. Maybe Madame Simsa and Henri had only taken Sophie to this underground whatever-it-was to make sure there were no more exploding bowls. But something in his gut told him that power amplified in odd ways. Blood mages could strengthen their magic with blood or strong emotions. Earth witches were always strongest with their feet on the earth itself. He had no idea what those who used the Arts of Air called upon to amplify their powers, but it seemed logical that for water mages, water would be the element that applied.
"What happened the second time?" He asked.
Sophie closed her eyes briefly. "I saw...something."
He waited. She didn't seem keen to tell the tale, but he needed to hear it. Particularly if it was causing her ongoing harm by triggering attacks like the one she'd had in the temple.
"I saw you, at first. You were sleeping. That was all I was trying to see. You. But then...there were other things."
Her voice had gone quiet. Not a good kind of quiet. More the “I don't want to remember this” kind. The same tone he'd heard men use after they'd been through a battle or killed someone for the first time.
"Tell me," he said gently. If he'd learned anything from the Red Guard, it was that those who kept such things to themselves—the experiences that had frightened or scarred them—those were the ones most likely to break in the end. And Sophie wasn't going to break as long as he had breath to hold her together.
"I saw darkness. Pain. Mama crying. And Eloisa—" she broke off, biting her lip.
"Eloisa?" Every muscle in his body tensed. The first time Sophie tried to scry, and she saw the queen that Aristides would see her overthrow? That couldn’t be good.
"She was dead. Or looked dead. Buried beneath a tree, rotting. It was—" Sophie sucked in a deep breath, let it go shakily as her body shuddered. "It was wrong, Cameron. Terribly wrong."
"But it might not be real," he said. "It was your first attempt. Perhaps you saw Eloisa because she was on your mind."
"Why would I see her dead?" Sophie whispered. "I don't wish that on her."
Cameron shifted in his seat. If Aristides ever forced Sophie down his mad path, then it was entirely possible that Eloisa's death could be the outcome. In Anglion history, not many overthrown monarchs survived. Eloisa's own family had taken the throne by force.
But perhaps they did things differently here in the empire. After all, Aristides couldn't be everywhere in the continent at once. He needed people in place to rule for him. Perhaps he worked with those he conquered. And that added more Illvyan history to the list of things he needed to learn. "Maybe not dead. Maybe it was a symbol. It was a vision, after all. What did Madame and Henri say?"
She shook her head, the light coming through the carriage window glinting redly over her hair. Redder than ever. Though, in several places he fancied it was growing darker than before. Chloe de Montesse had hair like flames and night, a record of the magics she had used once upon a time. It marked her as a stranger, a refugee, and one to be distrusted in Anglion. Would Sophie's hair eventually tell that same story?
"I didn't tell them," Sophie said. "I said I saw you. I didn't mention Eloisa. I didn't want them telling Aristides. Not until I know more about what it might mean."
Logical. With the emperor's offer hanging over her head—an offer that Henri Matin had witnessed—it would be foolish to announce that her very first vision had showed the Anglion queen lying dead.
"What did they say about scrying? Is it always true what you see?"
"No. They said not."
He blew out a breath, not entirely comforted. "Then it could be nothing."
"Perhaps." She looked unconvinced. "Perhaps. But when I stepped into the temple, I saw it again."
He'd been expected her to say it. But that didn't mean hearing it didn't chill his blood. "Saw what exactly?"
"Eloisa. The tree. The darkness. It turned my stomach."
That much had been plain. "But you weren't trying to scry then."
"No," she said. Her knuckles were white as she toyed with her wedding ring. "So why would I see it again? If it's not true?"
"I don't know," he said. "Usually I would say you should ask somebody, but I agree that it doesn't seem like the safest thing to share." He paused. "Damn. This is where we need Madame de Montesse to talk to."
Unfortunately Chloe—Henri's daughter—was an ocean away in Kingswell. He didn't know for sure that she was a water mage despite the colors in her hair. Her father was, but as an Illvyan refugee in Anglion, she'd never advertised what skills she might have in arts other than earth magic. And she didn't even use that. She owned a magical supplies shop near the port, but the temple would not have allowed her to do more. But she'd been raised and trained in Illvya. She could have helped them.
"There's always Elarus," Sophie said tentatively. "She may know." She glanced around, as though half expecting the sanctii to appear.
Cameron hesitated. He'd rather understand more about Elarus and her motivations for wanting to bond with Sophie before relying on her for anything as potentially dangerous as this. "I—"
Sophie sighed. "You're going to say we should do some research, aren't you?"
"I think we should proceed carefully. We don't want anything to force the emperor's hand at this point. So I'd rather understand what your vision means before anyone else finds out about it."
"I agree." Sophie bit her lip. "We need to talk about options again. If this could force his hand, we need to make a decision."
“We’re not going to break our—”
Sophie stopped him with a finger to his lips. “Let’s not say not. Not yet. We need to talk about it." She cupped his cheek. “I know you don’t like it. I don’t either. But we need to consider all our options.”
He pressed his hand over hers. He’d sworn to keep her safe. So she was right. “All right. But not here. Once we’re back in our rooms.”
Sophie braced herself as they passed through the doors of the Academe. When they'd first arrived in Illvya, its walls had offered protection. But now, as things became more complicated, they were starting to close in.
More rules. More expectations. More obligations. Each one narrowing down their future to a pattern that may as well have been the bars of a prison cell.
Unless she and Cameron could find another pattern for themselves. She knew he didn't want to run. Or at least, not if the only way to do it safely would be to break their bond. But she was starting to think they had no choice. His hand was clasped around hers, his grip almost painfully tight as they headed for their rooms. But they were only halfway there when Lia and Magritte rounded the corner.
"Sophie," Magritte called, pale blue eyes lit with curiosity. "Where have you been? We missed you in lessons today."
Magritte had not yet manifested, but she was always one of the first to hear any gossip in the Academe. Was she fishing for confirmation? Sophie was glad she was no longer wearing her new robes. Her new status would be public knowledge soon enough, but right now she didn't want to be interrogated all over again.
Which was only one more reason why she would be a bad queen. Queens were supposed to be good at politics and subterfuge and dissembling. To enjoy them.
"I was not feeling well earlier," Cameron's voice came smoothly from her side. "Sophie stayed with me."
Magritte raised one brow. "That is unfortunate. Though, you must be feeling better to have left the grounds." Her tone was arch. The blonde was not exactly Sophie's greatest admirer. Her manner had thawed some from their first meeting back on the first morning they'd arrived at the Academe, but she still held an air of being distinctly disgruntled that an upstart Anglion refugee had attracted so much attention within the school.
What she might say if she knew of the emperor's offer didn't bear thinking about.
"Rachelle thought some fresh air and sunshine might do me good," Cameron said before Sophie could think of how to politely get rid of Magritte.
"Healer's orders. It's best to follow them," Sophie added finding her tongue as Lia tilted her head at her as though silently questioning what had really happened. Unlike Magritte, Lia did have her powers, and she might have felt the bonding last night. But if she had, she held her tongue, merely glancing sideways at Magritte with imperfectly concealed exasperation.
"Have you come from dinner?" Lia asked. The summer sun was starting to lower, the light through the windows falling golden across the patterned tiles on the walls.
"No," Sophie said. "Is that where you're going? Aren't you going to study?" She really didn't want to have to wriggle out of an invitation to join the two girls for dinner.
Lia grimaced. "Eventually. But I'm starving. Early dinner for me tonight. I swear Maistre Jordain spent an hour on one single day four centuries ago where, as far as I can tell, not much happened other than the investiture of a new librarian here at the Academe. After that I need food—preferably dessert —before I can even think of opening another book." She smiled. "You could come with us. We can tell you what lessons you missed today and what you need to catch up on."
The very thought made Sophie's head throb. She opened her mouth to decline, but Cameron beat her to it.
"Perhaps at breakfast," he said smoothly. "Unfortunately I have been confined to quarters. More rest after my outing. The healers said they would send our meals to our room."
Magritte shuddered. "I hope it's not their famous healing broth. I had that a few months ago when I was unwell. It was..."
"Terrible?" Lia suggested.
"Exceedingly dull," Magritte corrected. "Like the blandest chicken soup you can imagine."
"I'm sure Rachelle won't starve us. After all, I'm not sick, and if she has any understanding of men, she should know that he would have no shame in stealing some of my food if he was hungry,” Sophie said.
"Not all of it," Cameron protested, with a smile. "But you are smaller than me." He squeezed her hands, perhaps wanting her to keep up their pretense of normality.
She summoned a smile of her own. "Yes, but you've lazed around all day. I studied this morning."
"You did?" Magritte pounced on that tidbit of information. "You weren't in our lecture on distillation of herbs. Did you have a special lesson? Something to do with the commotion last night, perhaps?"
Magritte might be disagreeable, but she wasn't stupid.
"Was there a commotion?" Sophie asked, widening her eyes.
Magritte narrowed hers in response. "You know there was. It's been the talk of the—"
Her words cut off with an “oof” as Lia jabbed an elbow neatly into her ribs. Her blue eyes slitted with displeasure.
"Sophie doesn't have to tell us where she was," Lia said. "And whatever happened last night, she is free to discuss it or not as she chooses. Either way, if Cameron is unwell, we should leave them in peace, Magritte. Come along, I'm hungry. And don't you dare say that I'm always hungry, that's impolite."
"You are always hungry," Magritte said, still looking annoyed. "Telling the truth is not impolite."
"And they say the islands are uncivilized," Lia said, rolling her eyes. "Telling the truth can be most impolite. Especially when it is unnecessary. Now, come along. Perhaps a piece of cake will sweeten your mood. I'm sure I smelled lemon cakes when I passed the dining hall earlier. You know they always go quickly."
"Yes, you wouldn't want to miss lemon cake, Magritte," Sophie said, hoping the lure of a favorite dessert would tempt Magritte away from further questions. "But, you will have to excuse us, we must return to our apartments. We will see you at breakfast, perhaps."
She nodded at the girls and tugged at Cameron's hand, beginning to walk. Which was perhaps, no more polite than Magritte, but if they didn't move, they would be having the conversation forever.
"They know," she said softly as they reached the bend in the corridor and turned right toward the final staircase that would take them to their apartment.
"About Elarus?" Cameron said. "Well, yes. No one here would think bonding with her should be secret. Which is why Madame Simsa gave you those new robes."
"What if they know more than that?"
"I don't think that's likely,” Cameron said, "Not yet." He spoke in a low tone. They were alone on the staircase, but of course, that only meant that there were no other mages. There could be ten sanctii
listening to their conversation and neither of them would know it. She felt no chill on her skin, but that didn't necessarily mean they weren't being watched.
"Things will change once people know," Sophie said. They reached the door to the apartment.
"Things have already changed," Cameron said, holding the door open. "What matters is us, not what others think of us."
That wasn't entirely true. Yes, they could hold to their own picture of what their life should be. But unless they took action to bring that picture to life, then what others thought of them-what they thought she and Cameron should be—would be the only thing that mattered. She locked the door and laid a hand to the wards.
When she lifted it again, she hoped Cameron wouldn't see that it trembled. "I want to ask Elarus more about hiding our magic."
Cameron scowled. "You mean ask her about breaking our bond."
"Yes. So we can decide what we want to do. Imogene wants to take us out of the city. That seems like a chance."
"A chance to run."
"At worst. At best, a chance to find out more about what the country is like outside the city. Where we might get away should it be needed."
"We might not need to," Cameron said. He moved closer, held out a hand. "Aristides might calm down if Eloisa does nothing more to provoke him." He stared down at her. "Your hands are shaking, love. Come, sit. You're upset. This vision of yours—"
"Visions," she corrected.
"Visions. They've spooked you."
"Yes." She didn't bother to deny it. Cameron wrapped his arms around her, and she pressed her cheek into his chest, trying to breathe him in, let the bone-deep sense of safety he always gave her wrap around her. But it didn't ease the knots writhing in her stomach. "I don't know what they mean but I don't like how they felt. I don't like any of this."