by Beth Alvarez
The girl bowed her head. “Yes, Archmage.”
Envesi sniffed. “What are you waiting for, then? Go!”
Shymin jumped, then bowed her head and hurried out of the room.
When the door clicked shut, Envesi released a slow snarl of a breath.
She should have protested when Vahnil demanded he be taken to the college. The place was in an upheaval of her design; she should have guessed it was too soon. Now he’d be tangled up in mainland politics and who knew when he would return. She needed Vahnil, loath as she was to admit it. His presence made the Gifted girl-child more tolerable, and did the same for Envesi’s time in Ilmenhith.
The city did not want her, for all she’d once been its queen. Envesi hadn’t wanted the title, had believed it would hinder her efforts. Now she wondered if rejecting it had been a mistake. She wouldn’t have needed the help of a Giftless wretch to walk freely in a city that should have been hers. No doubt she wouldn’t have been loved as queen, but she would have been feared, and often that was more effective.
It didn’t matter now, Envesi reminded herself as she opened a Gate. As Archmage over the entirety of the known world, she answered to no one.
Breathing deep as she stepped through the portal into the auditorium of the Grand College, Envesi rendered herself calm. She would not let them get the best of her. If the leaders of every school of magic in the world opposed her, it meant they had to be replaced.
Just as how if none would volunteer to have their magic unbound to ensure the survival of magic, she would have to select mages and make them willing.
Envesi took comfort in the thought of her work as she paced the halls of the Grand College, seeking the offices she knew the councilors would occupy.
They might think her a villain before all was said and done. Her name might live alongside curses on tongues and songs could be written of the horrors she caused.
It didn’t matter. In the end, her name would live on in history books. Centuries from now, perhaps millennia, the world would sing her praise and see her for what she was.
A hero. A savior.
The one who saved their magic.
“That’s two more. At this rate, we’ll hear from all of them in the span of a year.” Stal buried his face in his hands and worried his coarse white brows with his dusky fingertips. “There’s simply no better way to reach them. I don’t know what else we can do.”
Bracing both hands beneath her heavy stomach, Sera squirmed to the edge of her chair and stood. “The best we can. No one expects you to work miracles, my love.” She waddled around the desk and kissed his temple. Her hands settled on his shoulders and she worked her thumbs into the tight muscles of his back.
Stal grunted, though his shoulders did relax. “Even with these responses, that’s one tenth of the Collective. How can I speak for the whole when I haven’t heard from half?”
She dug her fingers in harder and grinned when he jerked. “Simple. You say no, since you already know that’s the only way we can answer.”
He craned his neck to look at her over his shoulder. Sera smiled innocently in return.
Her husband wasn’t often so dismal. She liked him for his even keel, found it a good contrast to her passion. Few things riled Stal, and even those that did were normally met with a calm face and cool head. But like most men, he had his weaknesses. No matter how steady he seemed, he was not impervious to fear.
“We’ve come this far, love.” Again she kissed his temple, then rubbed her hands through the short crop of white hair that curled tightly against his scalp. “What’s one more hurdle for the Archmage of the Umdal Collective and patron of House Kaith?”
Stal caught one of her hands and brought it to his mouth to press kisses between her knuckles. “You put a great deal of faith in me, wife.”
“It hasn’t led me wrong yet,” she teased.
He stood and guided her back to her chair. It was a tall-backed thing with thick padding, one of few places she found any comfort so late in pregnancy. Her hand wandered over her stomach again as the child stirred.
They’d rebuilt her family’s empire together, sparking alliances between several of the small trade kingdoms beneath House Kaith’s banner. Their first daughter had ensured the family’s survival, but every child had helped increase their standing. As mages, they were blessed in ways many weren’t. Mages were no longer common in the trade kingdoms. Compared to their peers, Sera and Stal were still young and vital, able to bear many more heirs to help bring their home country back to prosperity. Sometimes she wondered if her rivals thought that was all her many children were—heirs, a means for power. Few were likely to believe she simply loved being surrounded by family.
“We still haven’t discussed names.” Sera sank back into the plush cushions with a smile.
“Really? I thought we had.” Stal knelt beside her and rested his palms on her stomach. When the child kicked beneath his hands, he glowed. “I like Kasma.”
She snorted. “And who says it’s a girl?”
“We have five girls already and only one boy. I think we’ve already proven we’re predisposed to matrons for House Kaith.” He grinned and shifted his hands to follow the baby’s movement.
“The odds are always half and half. I think it’s a boy.”
Stal laughed aloud. “Fine, then. We can call him Garam, after your brother.”
“Certainly not!” Sera protested, though she grinned. “I would never hang that sort of stoic shadow over my child.”
They laughed together and their hands met. Their fingers twined as if by their own accord. Sera smiled, though the moment was bittersweet. They would have so few happy moments like these in the coming weeks.
“I like Eben,” she murmured at last, tracing the shape of Stal’s broad hand with her fingertips.
He caught her hand and kissed it again. “It’s a fine name. Eben for a boy. Kasma for a girl.”
“Perfect.” She stroked his chin, savoring his warmth. Then something pricked at the edge of her awareness and the moment was over.
Stal turned his head, sensing the same thing.
“No.” Her face crumpled. “Not so soon.”
His gaze returned to her and for one brief, terrible moment, she saw the fear in his eyes.
“Sera,” he sighed in the sweetest, most infuriatingly loving tone.
She pressed a finger to his lips. “No. We face this together.”
Grasping her wrist, Stal wrestled her hand from his face. “Any other time, I would agree. But this is not just you, Sera.” His free hand slid over her stomach in a slow, loving caress.
She could have strangled him for being right. “Come with me. We can send a missive to the rest of the Collective from anywhere in the world. It doesn’t have to be here.” Again she touched him, stroked his strong cheekbones and springy white curls.
“I am Archmage. I will not abandon my people in their moment of need.” The vivid blue of his eyes darkened to the color of cold steel.
“Even if it means abandoning your wife and child?” Sera regretted the words the moment they left her mouth, but he took them in stride. He was a good man. Far more level-headed than she deserved.
“It is not abandonment if I choose to stay behind so that you can go.” Stal kissed her brow and pulled her to her feet. “Now, go. Hurry across to the chapter house before she sees you, or it will be too late.”
She hugged him tight and lingered for as long as she thought she could, then stole one more kiss before she went.
She couldn’t run, not in her condition, but Sera laced her hands together beneath her stomach and waddled out the study at as brisk of a pace as she could manage. Instead of making for the door, she cut a path through the service access hallways.
The narrow passages were numerous in her home, a relic from the days when House Kaith had been one of the ruling houses in the trade kingdoms. They could have reclaimed such a title, but she had no interest. Besides, it was best if high-ranking ma
ges were kept separate from the political power of royals. As long as there was peace, she was content.
Her family had sought refuge in the Triad in her youth, when wars splintered the alliances between the many small trade territories. The ruling houses had tried to control the mages, withholding aid and healing from those who stood against them.
Sera’s parents had cooperated for a time, until cooperation resulted in her father’s death. Even then, her mother struggled nearly a decade more before she gave up the fight. After she remarried to a Giftless man, her family was more vulnerable than ever. Sera had been the first sent north, the trip disguised as a means to further her skills by enrolling in the Grand College.
For a second time in her life, it seemed the Triad would provide refuge.
A liveried servant encountered her in the hall near the back of the house, his face solemn in the feeble light of the candlestick he held. Sera met his eyes and nodded; he nodded in return. Then he swept away, soundless and graceful in the night.
A second servant met her at the back door, a drab cloak and a small basket of hastily-gathered personal effects hung on her arm. She pushed the basket into Sera’s hands and draped the cloak around her shoulders, then kissed both her mistress’s cheeks.
“The children?” Sera asked.
The maid lifted a finger to her lips. “They’re being gathered, mistress. They’ll scatter like leaves and be sent along from different locations. You go on first, mistress. I’m afraid you’re the slowest.”
Sera couldn’t help but smile. She patted the girl’s cheek and pulled up the cloak’s hood, then slipped into the kitchen and crept out the back door.
Positions of power came with great danger. They’d rehearsed different flight patterns a hundred times, but never needed to use them. Sera hugged herself and her unborn child as she wove through the narrow alleys between grand mansions of orange plaster.
Umdal’s chapter house wasn’t far from her home, its windows aglow with inviting lantern light and its doors open to welcome the cool night breeze. Few mages called the chapter house home, but there were always enough members of the Collective coming and going to keep the place fully staffed.
She kept composed as she marched across the street and ignored the blur of white that stole through the front door of her house. How long would Stal be able to hold her off? He was a skilled diplomat, but if Envesi had returned so far before their agreed date, the time for diplomacy was past. There was no mistaking the sense of energy behind her. Sera had met many free mages before that woman, and they all felt the same. Wild and frightful. But there was something else in the self-proclaimed Archmage’s presence, something Sera had only felt in two others. A sense of wrongness, of a Gift sullied by corrosive power.
In Rune and Rhyllyn, that foul tinge had never bothered her.
The mages in the chapter house greeted her with surprise. Some looked past her as if confused to see her alone.
“A Gate to the Spiral Palace,” Sera ordered. “I carry an important message on behalf of the Archmage. He’ll be along with instructions before long, I’m sure.” That would eliminate any questions or suspicions. As Stal’s wife, he trusted her with everything.
She stood tall and regal as the mages assembled to fulfill her demand, but her hold of that composure slipped as the first shards of reality fell away from the portal. Somewhere in the city behind her, she felt the numbing tingle of a power flare.
So soon after her departure, she assumed it was a ward. Erected far more forcefully than a ward required, but that was something Sera noticed when they’d last met with Envesi. She had no finesse with her new power, striking with a war hammer what might have been toppled with a twig. It gave Sera a new appreciation for the dexterity and skill of the two mages she hoped she’d find in the palace.
Speaking to Vicamros about Envesi’s presence was important, but all Vicamros could do was offer her sanctuary in the Royal City.
The Gate before her stabilized and Sera made herself breathe. No matter what happened next, news would come from Umdal.
Gripping the access stone she always wore around her neck, Sera steeled herself and strode through the portal.
She arrived with her chin up and her bearing proud, but the acrid stench and choking dust in the air made her wrinkle her nose and gag.
“So sorry, Lady Kaith.” A handful of Masters waited around the archway kept in the mage quarters for Gating. She assumed they were there to greet her, having felt the Gate open, until her eyes followed the dust to its source.
More mages clamored around the doorway to the sitting room where the mage-barrier was anchored. Most held cloths to their mouths and fanned away dust with their hands.
Sera pushed them aside to find the source of the mess. Her mouth dropped open when she saw the rubble and a hole in the wall as large as the Gate she’d just come through. Her eyes dropped to the pair on the couch beneath the gap and her surprise faded.
“You two can’t be left alone for a second!” She squeezed between the mages and hurried across the room to catch Rhyllyn by the ear.
The boy yelped and twisted in his seat to lean closer to her.
“What in the world are you doing?” Sera demanded, shooting Rune a glare. She shouldn’t have expected anyone else.
He glared back. “Attempting to have a conversation!”
“Expanding the mage-barrier to encompass as much of the Triad as possible,” Rhyllyn answered at the same time. He pried her fingers apart with his claws and rubbed his ear as he escaped.
“Or trying to,” Rune added. “But that doesn’t matter right now. Rhyllyn, what you said—”
“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?” The boy looked downright offended. If not for what she’d just escaped, Sera might have been amused. For the moment, she couldn’t feel much more than a nagging sense of worry that fluttered in her stomach.
Rune looked at her again and she expected another protest, but instead, his brow furrowed. He stood, then paused with his hands spread to aid his balance. When it didn’t fail him, he moved closer. Concern painted his expression. “What are you doing here?”
“Envesi broke her word. She did not give us the promised time. Stal is with her, but I’ve come to warn Vicamros there may be a problem.”
Before either of the free mages could speak, magic flooded the adjacent room. Sera shivered at the sensation as another Gate opened.
Rune raised one clawed finger to indicate she should stay behind. He patted her shoulder as he went to investigate.
She wasn’t about to wait. She waddled behind him to stand on tip-toe and peer over the heads of the Masters still at the door.
Sera didn’t know what to expect, but the handful of magelings in dirty robes that poured through wasn’t it.
“I come bearing an urgent message for King Vicamros,” a Master in likewise dirty clothing said as she herded the magelings forward and the Gate closed at her heels. The magelings flocked around her like chicks under a mother hen.
“Vicamros is locked in council,” Rune said, presenting himself in front of the woman. “I am Councilor Rune Kaim-Ennen, Champion of the Royal City Arena. I can deliver your message.”
The woman looked at him and grew pale. Rune didn’t seem to know her, but there was no mistaking the recognition in her eyes. She shrank back.
Sera heaved a sigh and worked her way through the mages again. “Vicamros is firm in his policies. We can escort you to the door of the council chamber, but you will not be admitted. Tell the councilor what must be said.”
The Master’s eyes never left Rune. “Queen Firal,” she asked in a hoarse whisper. “She is alive?”
Rune’s brows knit together and he gave the woman a closer inspection.
Sera examined her, too. The woman had the golden complexion common in Elenhiise natives. A messenger from Kirban, then?
“I thought Kirban Temple was under Envesi’s control,” Sera remarked, startling the woman out of silence.
> “Y-yes,” the mage stammered. “As is the Grand College. We fled Elenhiise and sought refuge in Lore, but arrived to find Archmage Arrick Ortath deceased. We had hoped to petition the college council after organizing ourselves, but...”
“But?” Rune prompted.
The mage’s eyes drifted back to lock with Sera’s. “The council is dead.”
Sera’s heart skipped a beat. “All of them?”
“We left the college as soon as we heard about Archmage Arrick,” the woman continued. “We stopped in the city to eat and, as I said, organize ourselves to petition the council. We were found by one of your king’s councilors, Redoram Parthanus, and his mages. There was a bit of confusion. He mistook us for his party and came to join us. It worked out well enough in the end.”
“At least we know Redoram’s doing a good job of gathering mages in Lore,” Sera murmured. “And your group sought the council?”
The Master shook her head. “Councilor Parthanus sent one of his Masters in hopes of arranging a meeting outside the college. The Master discovered the college in a frenzy. One of the councilors was unmade right in front of him.”
Sera shuddered along with the other mages. Only Rune remained still, his face stony.
“He tried to flee,” the mage added, “but there were mages from Elenhiise pulling down the permanent Gates that led from the college to the shore. Had Councilor Parthanus not sent a Master with a water affinity, he likely would not have returned to us. He pulled a wave up the side of the college and escaped into the water.”
Rune shifted then, folding his arms across his chest and narrowing his eyes. “If only one of you saw, how do you know the council is dead and hasn’t just turned traitor?”
The woman wiped her face with one hand and her shoulders slumped. “There was no mistaking that. The wrongness lingers in the air when something—someone—is taken apart. It clung to him as surely as the seaweed on his robes.”