by Beth Alvarez
He hadn’t felt it. He hadn’t known. All that time, he’d felt as abandoned as she had.
This time she reached for him, and laid her hand on his shoulder in an attempt to offer comfort. Her fingertips brushed something beneath the thin fabric of his shirt and her heart jumped in concern. Before he could stop her, she jerked up his shirt and exposed the delicate lacework of crisscrossing scars that decorated his sun-kissed skin. Her stomach lurched.
“Your back,” she choked.
He shrugged away from her touch and pulled his shirt back down. “Neither one of us is so perfect as we used to be.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Thinking of the pain he must have endured made her ill. What sort of person could do that to another? She pressed her lips together. No, she knew. Someone like Envesi wouldn’t bat an eye.
“What difference would it make?” He shifted, adjusting the way his shirt rested on his shoulders.
She touched his arm, concerned.
“I don’t like the way it feels,” he murmured. “The fabric on the scars. I notice it sometimes. It’s a reminder of all my failures, everything that led to them.” He met her eyes, then turned away with a shrug. “Better not to think of them at all.”
Another time, she might have scolded him for his self-deprecating words. But there was a sincerity in the way he spoke and the way he sat, baring his thoughts and feelings.
She’d been unfair. As much as she’d struggled, things had been no easier for him. And while she’d thought him changed, she began to see traces of the person she knew. Still there, but buried beneath his struggles and locked out of sight, leaving only anger to swim on the surface. The man beside her was hardened, jaded, but those were new facets cut into him by time. A wrong cut could break a man, just like any flawed stone. But in a gem worth keeping, sometimes a cut that first looked wrong proved vital for exposing its brilliance.
Firal didn’t know why he’d come to see her. Caught up in her own emotions, she hadn’t thought to ask. He’d said nothing, offering quiet support and then baring his soul just when she needed that most. At heart, it seemed he was no different than she remembered. And—uncomfortably, she realized as she looked at him in the dark—that momentary connection made forgotten feelings stir in her chest.
Yet the quiet moment of companionship seemed contrary to all their interactions in recent days. He’d done nothing but needle at her, provoke her to anger. She couldn’t fathom why he’d want to offer comfort now. He was a mystery, it seemed. As always.
She forced herself to turn away, swallowed hard and tried to make herself focus on pressing matters. Now that she’d settled, perhaps she’d be able to think clearly. But no ideas came, leaving her as useless as ever. She fiddled with the hem of her skirt. Why did he have so many dresses at the manor? She grimaced and tried to banish the thought. Why did it matter? His life was his own.
“So what now?” she asked quietly.
“I spoke with Garam before coming to see you.” He rubbed the back of his neck, then smoothed his hair. “We go to the Grand College in the morning. We’ll meet up with Kytenia’s group instead of trying to bring them here. Arrick leaves at sunrise to get things ready for our arrival. The Triad’s alliance with the island remaining intact gives us a few advantages. For one, the college mages will still be welcome in the temple and Ilmenhith. Vicamros forbade Arrick from letting his mages get involved, but if anyone chooses to flee the island, the college can pass along information on where they might go. If people can get through the Gates, we’ll be able to escort them out of the Triad.”
“Where would they go?”
He hesitated, then bowed his head. “We’ll figure that out. Right now, their safety is more important. And if we get that started, we can get important information out of the college mages who visit Elenhiise. As well as any from refugees they’re able to bring over. If Envesi is going to have control of Ilmenhith, she’s going to need to stay in or near the palace. That means keeping high-profile captives nearby.”
Which meant someone might see Vahn or Lumia. Firal exhaled and smiled weakly. It wasn’t ideal, but it was good news. “Who all is going?”
“Alira and Rhyllyn will be staying here, in the Royal City. I doubt he’ll be happy about me leaving again so soon, but it’s safer if we keep him away from where he might be discovered. The college mages likely wouldn’t think to mention his existence, but who knows how many temple mages will be coming and going from the college while the agreements for the renewed alliance are drawn. Other than that, just Garam.”
“He seems very invested in all of this,” she mused.
“Getting bored in his old age, I suppose.” Rune shifted to get up. “In any case, you’ll want to rest. We’ll Gate to the college, but it’ll be another big day of politics, and today’s been rough on everyone.”
Firal caught his sleeve. “Rune?”
He froze.
“Thank you.”
His eyes flickered. Colors other than the familiar, soothing violet danced in their depths. Then he pulled away. “Get some rest.”
As she watched him stalk through the doors and disappear into the suite, she lifted her hands to rub her arms.
She still held the handkerchief.
Unfolding it from its crumpled ball, she drew her fingers over the neat edges. It was unadorned, plain ivory fabric. It smelled of him, faintly; a sweet sort of musk that brought back dozens of memories in a moment. She held it to her face and closed her eyes.
After so many years, how could he give her butterflies again?
3
An Obstacle to Progress
“There’s been a... complication.” Envesi’s lips pressed to a thin line as she spoke, the closest to a frown she’d allow herself to come.
Ennil’s eyes narrowed. He’d been caught off guard when he answered her summons and found her perched on the throne, but he’d regained composure quickly. She doubted the statement surprised him, but he gave her a calculating look. A shrewd man; one of many reasons she’d always found him a useful contact to keep. He clearly assumed the worst, but said nothing. Instead, he motioned for her to continue.
“I believe your son’s wife is safe,” Envesi said. “But, as near as I can tell, she’s been removed from the island.” In truth, it was a relief. It had not been her intention to harm the girl. She couldn’t recall ever losing control of her temper. With the changes to her power, things were different. She felt the stirrings of chaos sometimes, strong emotions spurred to new heights by the constant connection to power she now had. It was an interesting finding, if unexpected. Perhaps this explained Lomithrandel’s seemingly constant anger. She’d always had the impression he was perpetually on the verge of losing control. She feared the same outcome, but she was stronger. There was no way she’d let those raw feelings get the better of her again.
“By whom?” Ennil didn’t sound concerned, but the pinched look at the corners of his eyes gave him away.
“The father of her child.”
“And this just happens to end with you on the throne?” Skepticism oozed from his words.
Envesi shrugged. This was where she had to tread carefully. Ennil stood no chance against her. He could never be a physical threat, but he was more than just useful. If not for her connection to him, she never would have made it back to the island. He’d helped reunite her with her loyal followers, granting the power she needed for her mission. His keen mind for politics made him a precious asset for her success. As long as she had his family’s backing, the island would come to accept her work. Even with the shadow of murky reputation she’d left behind.
“It’s called a seat of power, but it changes occupants so easily. Like a child’s game of circling chairs.” Envesi stood, beckoned him and motioned toward the empty throne with an open palm.
He stared at it, contemplating. Then he stepped onto the dais and sank into the throne. His hands hovered over the arms for a moment before they settled. He lifted his chin and gazed out across the
empty hall before him.
“It could be yours,” she murmured. “You already know I don’t wish to rule. I require resources the crown can provide, but I have no time to devote to watching over a country. My work, as always, comes first.”
Ennil drummed his fingers against the arm rests, his lips pursed. He shook his head and stood. “It belongs to my son. He is the only legacy I have.”
“And that legacy will grow, Lord Tanrys.” She chuckled. “So long as his woman is safe.”
“A wife can be replaced,” he said dryly. “She hasn’t proven herself useful in that regard.” The disgust in his tone made it clear he didn’t believe they’d tried for children. He thought the marriage a sham and always had.
Envesi didn’t care whether it was or not, but she understood his concern. “I suppose that’s true. You’ve already taken measures to ensure the throne would pass to him first, haven’t you?” In fact, she could think of several women who would make adequate replacements as queen.
Grunting his displeasure, Ennil stepped down from the dais. “We’ll have to bring him back to the capital. With Vahn and the girl back in the city, things will settle. How fortunate for us that Kifel’s boy left behind such a reputation.”
Envesi did not reply. She’d last heard whispers of Lomithrandel when she’d been exiled. He was to be executed then. She’d always assumed they’d gone through with it after her departure. As result, she’d washed her hands of that loss some time ago.
Encountering him here had been an amusing surprise.
Milking information from the palace serving staff hadn’t been hard. There was a girl full of apparent knowledge who spilled everything with little coercion.
According to hearsay, he’d been living on the mainland since her exile began. There was even some tale about his remarkable status in the Triad’s Royal City, something about a title of Champion and a position on the king’s council. It was ironic they would land in the same place, but it seemed his rise to glory started well after she’d escaped the Triad and begun to worm her way back into the island. She assumed she would have heard of it otherwise. A man like him was hard to miss.
“What are you thinking?” Ennil asked.
Just like the man to know when something weighed on her mind. His attentiveness was one of the many things she liked about his nature. “We will settle Vahnil in Ilmenhith before nightfall,” she said. “Make him and the girl comfortable. Then make it known that I have entered negotiations to be welcomed by the temple, and do what you can to make it clear the throne backs my goals.” With fortune, that would distract Vahnil long enough to keep him from leading a crusade to save his wife.
Lomithrandel was an interesting piece to have back on the table, and Envesi wasn’t ready to let him be taken so easily.
The peaceful stillness after the Gate closed left Arrick sighing in relief. He prided himself on having the trust of King Vicamros. Earning it had been no small feat, given the war his predecessor had waged against the rest of the Triad. But trust meant expectations. He didn’t object to the orders the king gave him, but he already knew the college would be scrutinized until things settled.
That was just what he needed. Year after year, the college shrank. Its reputation gave mages a bad name, and though he’d spent his tenure as Archmage trying to repair the Triad’s perception of the school, he often wondered if his efforts had any effect.
For a time, the alliance with Kirban Temple had elevated the status of college mages. Regardless of the stigma the college had in the north, temple-trained mages were revered on the island and at least appreciated in the south.
But if the temple had been conquered by a lunatic, as their young Archmage implied, Arrick didn’t know how long the association would be a benefit. He didn’t mean to question his king, but Vicamros was far more calm about the situation than Arrick thought he should be.
Especially if this woman had fueled the war in which the king had earned his stripes.
A mageling in lavender robes popped around the corner before he’d had a chance to right himself. “Archmage Ortath, there’s a visiting mage here to see you.”
Arrick could have groaned. Another visitor was the last thing he wanted to deal with. He still needed to meet with Kytenia and her mages to go over their findings in the college records. “Where?”
“Waiting in the auditorium, Archmage. Shall I tell her you’re coming?”
“Yes, yes.” He smoothed his short crop of white hair and followed the mageling into the hallway. “Go ahead, I’m coming.”
The mageling dipped in a curtsy and scurried on ahead.
Few visitors needed the Archmage, but ego meant every visiting Master inevitably demanded an audience with him. He couldn’t risk the college seeming unfriendly, so he obliged them as often as he could. Of course, he also tried to escape and shrug them off onto other college Masters as often as possible. This time, at least his need to speak with Kytenia offered a valid excuse.
Arrick hurried to the auditorium, rehearsing his greeting and quick escape in his head.
The moment he stepped into the auditorium, the words fled.
“Archmage Ortath, I assume?” The sense of the woman’s power overwhelmed him before she even looked his way. She smiled, though the expression was strained and never touched her frigid, snake-slitted eyes.
“Yes,” he said slowly, his gaze traveling from the stern black ink that rimmed her eyes down to the glittering claws on her white-scaled toes. Dread knotted his stomach. Willpower was all that kept him on his feet. “I was told you requested my presence.”
She swept her white skirts to the sides in a grand gesture. The silken fabric shimmered as it fell back into place. A display of wealth; in the college, mage robes—even white ones—were made of spun cotton or wool. “I did. I am Archmage Envesi, founder and leader of Kirban Temple. I’ve come to speak to you regarding the future of the college and your connection to the temple.”
“Mages throughout the world have been allies for centuries, regardless of location.” He chose his words cautiously, hoping he sounded as cordial as he tried to be. “Our relationship is not unique, is it?”
“No.” Envesi smiled, though it was with smug satisfaction. “In fact, I’ve come to ensure it isn’t. I understand the Grand College faces reduced enrollment numbers.”
“As do many schools of magic across Ithilear,” Arrick agreed, letting his disappointment show. “From my conversations with your...” He hesitated. Would she have recognized Kirban’s other leaders? “With your temple’s interim Archmage, I understand even Kirban has been affected.”
She spread her clawed hands in a gesture of indifference. “To an extent, though it will be remedied. As I’m sure you know, the blood of mages flows strong on Elenhiise. It was the reason I chose the island as my headquarters in the first place.”
An interesting piece of information, that. Arrick cocked his head to the side, curious. “I knew of the island’s abundance of mages, but I didn’t realize you’d chosen it.”
“After a fashion.” Envesi paced to the bottom row of the auditorium’s seating. “I initially planned to work from the Grand College, as I was trained here. My arranged marriage to Kifelethelas of Elenhiise was a minor inconvenience, but I was presented with the option of returning to the mainland. The number of mages on Elenhiise swayed my opinion. Will you sit?”
He cast a worried glance around the auditorium. It was open at all hours between lectures. Crossing through the auditorium even provided a shortcut through the college’s primary building. Both Masters and magelings in colored robes filtered through, sometimes in small, chattering groups.
Envesi sat as if she didn’t notice.
“Wouldn’t you prefer to speak somewhere in private?” Arrick suggested.
The woman chuckled. “I appreciate the offer, but one of my mages suggested the time for secrecy was past. I believe she may be right. If more of us were consciously united in our work, we would have made conside
rably more progress. Let them hear. I understand the decomposition of magic is more commonly known in the Triad.”
“Known, but not frequently discussed.” He took a seat nearby, leaving more than an arm’s length between them. “Regarding that issue, the Grand College has held a unique position. We’ve done our best to continue to preserve our knowledge, if we cannot preserve our abilities. The Aldaanan mages opposed us every step of the way.”
“Disappointing,” she murmured. “I did not expect otherwise, but if they wish their Gift to expire with them, it is a wish that can be granted. They are no longer necessary.”
Arrick studied her for a time, allowing himself to feel her power while he observed her white scales. “You’ve become a free mage, haven’t you?”
This time, the smile that wreathed itself on her face was pure pleasure. “I am. An imperfect solution, obviously.” She extended a hand and flexed it. Like Rune, the Royal City’s Champion, she had only four fingers. Unlike him, there was a caution in the way she moved. She was too conscious of her claws, like a noblewoman with enameled fingernails. But she did not appear to be offended by the way he studied her.
He licked his lips and wondered how many questions he’d be allowed. “I sense the wildness in your Gift. I have interacted with the Aldaanan mages in the past and none of them bore it. There was an order to their power. The mutations to your body—they result from your new power?”
“A corruption,” she confirmed, drawing her hand to her chest and studying it herself. “I’ve been unable to eliminate it thus far, but only one generation needs to suffer. The offspring of a corrupted free mage appear to be normal.”
“Offspring?” Arrick’s brows climbed his forehead. Memory of his meeting with Kytenia regarding the queen’s stolen daughter flitted to the forefront of his mind. A free mage for a parent, Kytenia had said. He hadn’t made the connection before, hadn’t had time to give it thought. Before now, he’d never noticed the Arena Champion spoke the Old Aldaanan tongue with the same accent as the island mages.