Sworn To Transfer c-2

by Terah Edun

  “What I want is an ever-burning fire, an inferno that will not die,” he said softly.

  “I can’t do that,” the Weather Man said honestly, turning to look over at the convalescent Fire Mage.

  “Oh, I know,” the Shadow Mage said with glee, “but here is what you can do.”

  When he finished his instructions, the Weather Mage closed his eyes.

  Chapter 9

  As they left the party and walked into the court gardens side-by-side, Ciardis couldn’t let the peace of the moment slip into her consciousness. Oh, she wanted to, how she wanted to, but all she could think of was the woman named Lily and what could have possibly forced her to give up a life as magnificent as the one Ciardis had now—death threats aside.

  “Why would she leave?” Ciardis questioned with fierceness. “My mother had to be forced to. She had to be.”

  The duchess chuckled. “My dear, your innocence—your love—of the Imperial courts is charming. The glamour, the politics, the history – it is all glamorous. You’re too young to see it, but the life here is a monstrous beast that will consume you. You think you have troubles now? They’ve only just begun.”

  She paused and looked over at Ciardis. Brushing an errant curl back from the girl’s face, she gave her a smile that a mother would give her daughter. It was a sad smile, the kind of smile that said hope for the best, but expect the worst.

  “Your mother had been planning to leave for years,” she said. “I should know—I was going to go with her.”

  Ciardis stared at her, disbelieving. Recognizing her disbelief, the duchess said, “Let me tell you a story. A story of life in the courts under Emperor Cymus. The late emperor was a large man. Robust in his taste for life and his taste for women. His courts were magical for a young noblewoman. Parties every night until dawn, extravagant dinners for every occasion, and salons for just about everything you could think of.”

  She sounded wistful. Ciardis couldn’t blame her; it sounded wonderful.

  “Court then was very different than it is now. Emperor Cymus ruled with a lax hand; nobles did as they pleased, mages knew no restrictions, and the court treasury was like the emperor’s treasure chest. He would gift loyal friends with gold and jewels in the morning and hand them titles at night. It was because of this lax hand that Algardis is in so much debt now, and I think the reason for the current emperor’s tight-fisted rule. But that is not of concern right now.”

  She cleared her throat and continued, “Your mother, Lily, was born into this world of extravagance. She was the last, at that time, of a long line of powerful Weathervanes with a talent that made others green with envy. Her beauty, her power, and her grace made her the first on the list for every invitation and soirée. When she officially debuted at the courts, she was requested and accepted a position as lady-in-waiting to the empress, the current emperor’s mother. I, at the time, was Mistress of the Robes for her household and in charge of all of the ladies-in-waiting. Your mother was a vivacious young woman. We became inseparable. Even with our fifteen-year age difference we understood each other in many ways.”

  Looking off toward Swan Lake, she said, “And in many ways, we didn’t.” The salon was still in full swing and laughter rang out over the lake.

  “What do you mean?” prodded Ciardis in an attempt to get the Duchess of Carne back on track.

  “Your mother wanted to leave the Imperial courts from the moment she got there. To put it simply, she detested it: the fakeness, the frivolity, the life of a spoiled noblewoman. She wanted adventure. At least, that’s what she always said,” the duchess continued with a chuckle. “Make no mistake, she was a consummate actress, charming all of those who met her and making them feel as if they were the only person in the world when she spoke to them. She made sure her feelings about her life here were well hidden, and only discussed them in private under the cover of darkness.”

  “Would it have been so bad?” Ciardis whispered. “If people had known? And she had left for a season or two?”

  “Oh, my dear,” said the woman beside her as she resumed walking. “You sound so young. You are young. But Lily was your age when she joined the courts, and she knew well what the dangers were. But growing up in the Courts of Sandrin, she had to.”

  Firmly, she continued, “You have to understand two things. The first is this: Your mother would have never done anything to disgrace her family name and leaving court, particularly the service of an empress, would have done that. And second: Emperor Cymus was a lax, generous, and bountiful ruler. But he was also spiteful, selfish, and ornery. He didn’t like it when his courtiers strayed too far from his side—what he liked to call his ‘orbit.’ If all of the noblemen and mages were present in court, drunk and satiated, it was easier for him to keep an eye on them. To make sure they weren’t plotting against him.”

  She pursed her mouth in distaste. “I can’t say his plan didn’t work. Throughout his rule, he never had any trouble with uprisings or conflict. Not from the wealthy, anyway.”

  “Soon, like everyone else, he began to fall in love with your mother,” she said with a heavy sigh. “And that’s when her troubles began.”

  “Your husband mentioned something about another dragon,” Ciardis said.

  The duchess gave her rueful smile. “I had not forgotten, child.”

  “But the dragon—the dragon I know less about. He came to court and set it a flurry with his surprise visit. He was beautiful, the kind of elegance you see only in stone statues. A living tribute to the gods. His eyes were different than the Ambassador’s but brilliant in their own right. A vibrant golden with green specks.”

  Pausing, she asked thoughtfully, “Do you know what those specks mean? What their eyes say?”

  She didn’t wait for a response. “All male Sahalians have those eyes. When born, their eyes are a warm brown color. They slowly lighten as they grow into the golden hue. Sometime during childhood is when the green specks appear. He told me that.”

  No need to ask who “he” was. From the tone of her voice, Ciardis could assume it was the beautiful male dragon.

  “But he also mentioned a lot of other things,” said the duchess with a shudder. “Things I will not mention here. But know this: it is rare for a Sahalian dragon to consider humans as their equal. Then and now they are our allies. But you can hear it in their voice, see it in their stride; they consider us beneath them. Mere playthings for their entertainment, and that was what the dragon considered your mother: an entertaining diversion.”

  Her tone dipped into a coldness that Ciardis didn’t think the duchess was capable of, “But your mother didn’t want to play. Unlike the courtiers who constantly surrounded her, the dragon could read her emotions, and, she told me, hear her thoughts, as well. As much as she tried to avoid him, he still knew when he saw her that she was lying, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. He couldn’t see why she wouldn’t worship him as all the others did, and he poked at her, trying to push down the barriers she was erecting before him. That same season, she disappeared.”

  “Well, what happened?” Ciardis said.

  “All I know is one night she came into my room in tears,” the duchess said. “She wouldn’t wait the three months until the ship we had planned to run away on was coming to port. She was leaving that very night and nothing could stop her. I couldn’t leave so soon...I wouldn’t leave so soon. She disappeared that night, and I never heard a word from her after that.”

  Ciardis sighed. Another dead end.

  “But,” said the duchess, “before she left, she gave me something to give to a minstrel who played in a local tavern frequented by the wealthy noblemen of the court.”

  “What was it?” said Ciardis breathlessly.

  The duchess looked at the young girl standing before her. Eager and smart but naive. The Duchess had a look on her face as if she was seeing a vision – a vision of the past.

  “You know you look very much like her and you’re so much less cautious. You s
hould be wary,” she said while staring at Ciardis, “But this is what you seek.” She raised her right hand and called in her magic. In her palm appeared an oval locket. It was simple and carved of wood.

  Ciardis took it tentatively from the duchess’s outstretched hand. The outside was glossy and she could see hinges on the side with a straight line running along the curve of the oval. She tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Who was this minstrel?”

  “A friend—a friend of your mother’s who still plays at The Blue Duck Inn on the east bank of the Sandrin River,” the duchess replied. “Every night,” she added significantly.

  “Thank you,” said Ciardis.

  As the girl walked away cupping the locket in her hands, the duchess thought, Don’t thank me yet, child. I’ve given you more questions than answers. More mysteries than resolutions. If only you could see that.

  Ciardis quickly went to her room and changed into something more reasonable. Head rushing with hope she grabbed the first tuk-tuk she could find and instructed them to take her to The Blue Duck Inn. It was dusk now and night was falling. The minstrel who played there should be preparing for his performance.

  As she walked in the door, the old dark wood creaked between her feet and rafters soaring above her head. What looked like a three-story building from the outside was actually just one large room. On the main floor were chairs and round tables strategically placed to face the large main stage. Along the wall was a huge bar that curved the length of the room, with three bartenders strategically placed to take orders.

  The room was empty except for a few early drinkers. The bartenders knew most of the goings-on of the patrons and performers at any inn. Picking the one currently shining mugs and glasses, Ciardis walked over and ordered a cup of hot cider.

  “Will the minstrel be playing tonight?” she asked as she handed over two shillings and took her mug.

  “Aye, every night. He’s up first on stage,” said the man with the final wipe of a glass. “You should stick around for the jugglers, though,” he continued, tossing the towel onto his shoulder. “Their fire act can’t be beat. Not another one in town.”

  “I’ll be sure to,” said Ciardis while walking away.

  She took a seat off to the side. Close enough to the stage to take in the details of the minstrel, but far enough into a dark corner to not catch his eye. She wanted to see him first, to know more about him before they met. And they would meet tonight; she had no doubt about that as she fingered the locket in her pouch.

  Before an hour had passed, the inn and tables had filled with patrons. Ciardis hoped Terris wasn’t too worried about her. She’d have to fill her in later on why she’d left the gathering earlier than planned.

  And then he came on stage. With curly black hair and a small goatee, he looked like many of the minstrels who’d come to Vaneis in traveling caravans. They’d played in the village inns, accepting coins and a free meal for their performances. As many of them did, he carried a lute, a small string instrument with a melodious overtone. But as he began to sing, Ciardis saw why he performed every night, regardless of the fire-tossing jugglers. His voice enraptured the crowd and his ballads brought back memories of times of old.

  As he bowed and came offstage, Ciardis maneuvered herself so that she could intercept him on his way to the bar. Coming up to him, she said, “Good sir, may we speak just for a minute?”

  “Now for pretty young woman such as yourself, I have quite a few minutes,” he said with a lecherous wink.

  Ciardis decided to ignore the lecherous look and speak plainly.

  “You knew my mother,” she said simply.

  “Your mother, aye?” he said, continuing on to the bar, “I’ve known a lot of women.” Taking a glass of water from the bartender, he said, “And a lot of women have known me. What’s it to you? You my daughter?”

  Ciardis grimaced. “I hope not. But I was hoping you could help with some information on her.”

  He snorted. “Well, who was this mysterious woman?”

  “Lily,” Ciardis said quietly. “Lily Weathervane.”

  He turned as pale as a sheet. “You...you cannot be here.” With urgency in his tone, he turned his full attention to her. “Be gone.”

  “I can’t,” Ciardis said. “I need to know what you know.”

  Ignoring her protests, he opened his instrument case and reached in for a cloak. “Take this and go. I’ll be in my room, number five, in a half hour. Meet me there.”

  “I’m not meeting you there,” she protested. “Tell me now.”

  “If you truly want to know about your mother,” he said grimly, “you’ll do it.”

  Then he walked back onstage without another word.

  Chapter 10

  Ciardis had no choice. She was not going to miss a chance to get answers from him. But she wasn’t foolish enough to meet him alone. She stepped outside The Blue Duck Inn and took out the mechanical lighter Stephanie had given her. Holding it down by her waist and shielding it from view, she flicked it open and closed it, hoping the girl would come.

  Ten minutes passed, then twenty, and suddenly a cloaked figure emerged out of the evening fog. Walking toward Ciardis with a confident stride, the figure pulled the hood back and Ciardis could see her clearly. It was Stephanie in tight pants, a white shirt, and, oddly enough, with a sword at her waist.

  “Thank you for coming,” said Ciardis.

  “Let’s go inside,” said Stephanie, looking around the street quickly.

  Going in, the two grabbed the nearest table. A waitress came up immediately and asked for their order. As she was preparing to go back to the kitchens, the waitress snapped her fingers at Stephanie to get her attention, “No hidden magical weapons. Tavern rule.”

  Stephanie didn’t comment. She simply took out the dagger out of her sleeve and placed it on the table. The waitress didn’t seem interested in making any further fuss and left to get their order ready.

  Stephanie traced the edge of the blade with her fingertip. “Why’d you call me here?”

  “There’s a minstrel here. He knows my—”

  “A minstrel? Is he trying to kill you?”

  Ciardis lifted a brow. “Well, no, not precisely.”

  Stephanie sheathed her dagger and got up to leave.

  Rising quickly, Ciardis latched a desperate hand on her sleeve. “Wait!”

  Stephanie looked pointedly at her grip and Ciardis released her quickly—she might lose her hand otherwise.

  “I said to only contact me in an emergency,” she hissed, “What about ‘emergency’ don’t you understand?”

  “He knew the last Weathervane. Apparently pretty well,” Ciardis said.

  “You mean your mother?”

  Ciardis nodded, “And the duchess of Carne said I should see him.”

  At the mention of Leah of Carne’s name, Stephanie paused. The duchess was one of the most influential women of court and one of the most diabolical. She had her fingers in every pie and was crafty like a spider sitting in a web. Stephanie had yet to figure out if she had been behind Princess Heir Marissa’s scheming, but she suspected so, and so did the Shadow Council. The Princess Heir and Leah were close friends as the Princess Heir grew up and had bonded while the duchess was in the empress’s service. Would that woman be after Ciardis Weathervane? Not unless she had something she wanted.

  “All right,” Stephanie said reluctantly. “What’s his name?”

  “I don’t know,” said Ciardis, blushing red in embarrassment.

  Stephanie didn’t bother commenting.

  “But he’s agreed to meet us in his room in five minutes,” Ciardis rushed to add.

  “Then let’s go.”

  When they reached the ministrel’s room he was already there, waiting with the door cracked. As Stephanie pushed open the door with a cautious hand he looked up from where he was re-stringing his lute on his bed. He stood up slowly and set the lute in his case.

  “So you
are the one they call the new Weathervane?” he said, “Or at least that is what you’d have me suspect. And who is your partner?”

  He looked toward Stephanie, whose hand loitered dangerously close to the sword pommel at her waist.

  “Doesn’t matter. Just think of me as an interested party.”

  He raised his eyebrows and looked back at Ciardis.

  “I could ask you the same question,” she said.

  “It’s you who has sought me out.”

  “There is only one way to prove I am a Weathervane.”

  “A way that would not work on me. You can’t enhance something that I don’t have. I believe your mage kind call us ‘mundane,’” he said, wiggling his fingers.

  “My eyes aren’t enough?”

  He gave a sharp smile, “Can be faked.”

  “Would this convince you, then?” Ciardis said, opening her hand to display the locket.

  He turned as pale as a ghost and shook his head. “That...that is a locket I haven’t seen in over thirty years. Where did you get it?”

  “From another interested party,” she said.

  He swallowed and sighed. “What do you want to know?”

  “Why was she planning to run?”

  “Why wasn’t she, you mean? Your mother had enemies,” he said. “Just like you.”

  Ciardis frowned. “The duchess said that she was loved by everyone.”

  “The duchess? Which duchess?” he said in a voice as cold as frost.

  Ciardis exchanged a glance with Stephanie before saying at last, “The duchess of Carne.”

  “And she sent you here?”

  Ciardis nodded.

  He began muttering to himself.

  “She knew where you were,” Ciardis said. “She was only trying to help.”

  “If you think that woman was helping, you need your ears checked.”

  Stephanie interrupted, “What do you know about her?”

  “I know the Duchess has been scheming for the throne since the last emperor’s reign.”

  “Can you prove it?”