“I don’t think you can hold my hand while I’m being Tristan. People will begin to talk, and I genuinely think that Avall isn’t ready for it if it's not even up to women's liberation yet.”
“That’s a shame.”
Memory smiled as Roen loosened his grip, but instead of letting go completely he quickly, and surreptitiously, kissed her hand.
Memory blushed. Roen didn’t let go of her hand.
“So, what are you going to do now?” Memory asked, pretending everything was normal and her heart wasn’t racing. “Oh! You should totally dress up as a girl and go to my etiquette classes for me.”
“I should. I agree, I’d make a good-looking girl.” Grinning wickedly, Roen looked down at himself and nodded as though he liked what he saw. “I’d call myself Roena. She and Tristan could court.”
Memory laughed loudly in reply. He’s just joking, right? She and Roen always joked around, but she started to wonder if it was something more. The way he looked at her was warm, his eyelids half closed, smiling widely.
Then he let go of her hand as though she’d burnt him.
Memory turned around to see Waylan, Hayes, and Eloryn heading their way. Eloryn looked stunningly feminine in an A-line, dusty pink gown with her long hair loose and set in neat curls. Memory felt increasingly self-conscious in boy’s clothes. I really am just one of the boys to Roen, compared to her.
Eloryn blushed and stared at Memory and Roen, but Waylan and Hayes were engaged in an argument and didn’t notice them.
Waylan puffed as he waddled, the effort of debating and walking at the same time clear from his flushed round cheeks and beads of sweat on his bald head.
“I think all this talk of Sir Ewain building an army is drummed-up nonsense,” he said.
“Are you questioning the reliability of my intelligence contacts?” Hayes replied.
“Yes, frankly,” Waylan said with confidence.
Memory smiled. Waylan had been one of the few people to back her up in meetings, and she loved seeing someone stand up to Hayes.
“From what I’ve heard,” he continued after a pause for breath. “He’s just gathering support to get the Wizard’s Council back to their normal role and hasten the reestablishment of proper government.”
“A proper government with himself on the throne. My contacts are reliable, Waylan.”
The trio reached the doorway Roen and Memory stood beside. Hayes barely glanced at Memory, not recognizing who she was enough to care, and instead scrutinized Roen and the look he shared with Eloryn. Memory whispered a goodbye to Roen and ducked into the classroom before Hayes could work out who she was.
“So you say.” Waylan stopped and gave a short bow to Eloryn. “I want to talk to you more on this, but have a class to run now. Your Majesty. Councilor Hayes.”
Waylan followed Memory into the room, and she could see Hayes lead Eloryn away without a word to Roen who left in the other direction.
There were already a dozen students sitting quietly in the classroom. They ranged in age from about thirteen to twenty-five from what Memory could tell and were all finely dressed. Even the youngest of them wore neat suits with stiff-collared shirts, ties, and tailored coats. Everyone sat at attention and seemed keen to be there. She imagined it must be a big deal to be allowed into this level of education after having it unavailable for so long. There was something snooty about their manner, and Memory wondered if she just thought that because she knew they were all from noble families. Some of the boys whispered and stared at her as she entered. She took a seat at the back with a sense of satisfaction. Even if I’m not fooling anyone, they’re all too chicken to do anything about it.
The room shared the same pale limestone walls seen in most of the university. Waylan had made his way to the front of the classroom where a grand wooden desk was piled in a large collection of weighty books. A few crates were stacked to the side, full to the brim with more age-yellowed texts, but a seamstress dummy still stood in the corner as a reminder of the room’s previous assignment.
Waylan put on some glasses that pressed into the chubby sides of his face, then looked over a note on his desk. “I see we have a new student, Tristan Faerbaird.” He looked up, pulling the glasses down his button nose to inspect the room and nodded briefly when he confirmed his new addition. Memory gave a timid smile back, but he barely glanced at her. The glasses went back up and he started talking, scrawling illegible words on a blackboard as he did.
“We’ll continue on from where we were, Tristan. We can catch you up if needed, but this is all very basic theory thus far. We’re starting simple, considering the last sixteen years, you understand.”
Waylan underlined something on the board that looked like “The Spork of Cowchicken.”
“This Spark of Connection-” Waylan said.
Oh, that makes more sense, thought Memory.
“-was granted to those in Avall at the time of the Pact and has been passed down ever since, becoming a hereditary trait of humankind so that everyone in Avall can connect to magic.”
A boy in the row in front of Memory whispered to his friend, “Not everyone.”
Waylan didn’t seem to notice and continued drawing a rough body shape on the board with a star in the center, then energetically scribbled lines directing out from the person. Memory smiled to herself at the comparison between his artistic merit and his enthusiasm. “The Spark of Connection doesn’t give a person power unto themselves. It simply allows a man – or woman – to become a conduit for magical energy. We all understand behests, that the words of the magical language must be correctly spoken to make requests from a required object or natural force. But the request isn’t always enough. An object can have a will to fulfill your request, but not the power to do so. I can say the words to ask this desk to shatter into a thousand pieces, but it needs something more. The Spark of Connection becomes a channel for pure magic to enable these requests.”
Memory thought over the times she’d seen Eloryn use magic. A body may want to be healed and respond to the request, but of course it would need something more, something to give it the power to do so. Same with clothes shaking themselves clean or objects flying through the air.
“But where does that magic come from?” she muttered to herself.
“Good question!” Waylan barked, surprising her that he heard. He looked overly pleased at having a student interacting with him.
“There is an energy that flows through us all, the energy of life. It moves through the blood of all living things, through the blood of the very earth. It is a powerful force and that is what is channeled to harness the behests we speak. It is also the lifeblood of the fae. It is speculated that this energy does not exist in the fae realm, Tearnahn-Ohg, which is why they require an earthly home.”
Waylan looked at her expectantly like she should respond to his answer. “So magic is from living energy, and it channels through blood, but isn’t blood also full of iron? Wouldn’t that be poisonous to the fae?”
The same boy in front that had talked before spoke up. “Only forged iron, pure iron changed by the hand of man, is poison to the fae. Everyone knows that.” He didn’t turn around completely to speak to her, and she figured he had no idea who she was. Some of the other students looked at him shocked, like a battalion of guards was about to appear and arrest him for being sassy to the princess.
“That’s right.” The prospect of a class debate had Waylan grinning ear to ear. “Otherwise we would not be able to call a wisp for our lights, as they are beings of fae energy. They would not come close to forged iron, although that point is purely theoretical since the Purge.”
Yeah, theoretical. Memory did a mental face palm. So many times she’d tried in vain to cast the light spell, all the while having her iron knife nearby.
“Any more questions before we continue?”
Memory raised her hand hesitantly. She felt like she was taking over the lesson, but had so much she wanted to know, and Waylan no
dded for her to speak up so she asked her question.
“Behests are just meant to be requests, right, and requests that can be denied. So how can behests that kill people work?”
Some of the boys at the back who were chatting shut up. Everyone stared at her. Waylan looked at Memory, more with concern than anything else.
“And why would you ask that, young man?”
“I don’t want to know how to do it. I just want to understand how it’s possible. I mean, it’s not like you could use a behest that would ask someone to die.”
“Yes, clever of you to realize that.” Waylan didn’t look pleased and answered through thin lips. “No, one could not ask another’s body to simply die. But your body is not all your own, you understand. There is a behest that calls upon disease, bacteria, and life forms on and within the body to attack and kill the host. They rapidly degrade internal organs and shut them down, causing the person to die almost instantly. Such magic exists, but only members of the Wizard’s Council are allowed to learn that behest, and then it’s only to be used in extreme and dire situations.”
Waylan took no more questions, and instead read aloud from one of his books for the rest of the lesson. Dull was an understatement of the quality of the text, but Memory already felt as though she understood magic far more than she had before.
When the class finished and the boys left, Memory hung back to speak with Waylan, another question nagging at her that she hoped Waylan could answer, a question she couldn’t ask as Memory. As Memory she felt like an anomaly to be studied, but as Tristan she was just a normal Avall student, eager to learn. It surprised her just how eager she was. She wandered to the front of the classroom.
“Thanks, that was an awesome lesson,” Memory opened with, wincing at how stupid she sounded.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Waylan nodded as he cleaned the blackboard, small clouds of chalk puffing under his hand. “I can tell from your constant questioning in class that you’re going to be a clever and challenging student.”
“I actually have another question, is that okay? I was wondering if there was some way that something, like some spell, could change a person’s Spark of Connection?”
Waylan stopped clearing up and peered down at her over his glasses. “Princess Memory, there’s no need to keep up this pretense.”
“Oh.” Busted.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to turn you in. It is a sincere pleasure to have you as a student. I am already impressed by your insight and curiosity.”
A strange sensation struck Memory. Is that what pride feels like? Memory looked at her feet.
“Rest assured, young princess, you are always welcome in my classroom. It’s wonderful that you’re making an effort to learn more, regardless of where some may consider your place to be.”
“Right? Man, I thought I was only one to think Hayes is getting a bit pushy about where a princess’s place should be.”
Waylan shook his head. “Hayes may seem harsh sometimes, but we do follow him for a reason. It was his diligent leadership that saved us and kept us hidden all those years. But I must admit, I do have my concerns with how he is running things. I find myself challenging him more and more during Council meetings, and not just over matters pertaining to the school. I’m afraid that it goes far deeper than that.”
Fired up by finding a co-conspirator against Hayes, Memory had to cut off her next comment regarding things that go far deeper and Hayes’s ass when another Councilor walked in.
Waylan stood and gave the man a hearty embrace. They looked similar, both bald and wearing glasses, but while Waylan was round and chubby, the other Councilor was stocky, solid, and tall enough to make his weight intimidating rather than endearing. She’d seen him at some Council meetings but didn’t know his name. He always stayed quiet and looked grumpy.
The wizard glanced at her and bowed briskly. “Princess.”
“I’m really not convincing anyone, am I?”
“Memory, this is my brother, Bedevere.”
“Taking some interest in exploring your magic ability?” Bedevere said. By his tone, Memory didn’t think he expected an answer, and he continued too quickly for her to give one. “If you’ve become amenable to investigating your powers and past, I would be very interested to assist. I’ve many questions I’d love the chance to direct to you.”
And there it is, back to being the lab rat. Memory tried to keep the groan out of her reply. “What kind of questions?”
“I know you must be keen to study your own powers, but to be honest I’m more interested in learning about the technology of the lands you grew up in. I’m in possession of some fantastic schematics, brought in as imports from a fae supplier last century. My colleagues tell me they are fakes I paid too highly for and that there couldn’t be such fantastical devices existing outside Avall, but I feel theoretically they should work.”
Memory blinked a few times as she tried to understand the stream of information.
Waylan cleared his throat. “My brother has somewhat of a fascination with the world that we left behind. He has some rather… controversial views on the matter.”
“Like maybe I didn’t grow up in Hell after all?”
Bedevere smiled for the first time. “Indeed.”
Memory smiled back.
Eloryn and Memory took the aerial walkway that connected the newer palace to the old keep on their way to the Round Room, trailed by Eloryn’s usual entourage. Eloryn had read all about Caermaellan Castle as she grew up, studying its floor plans and dreaming about what it really looked like. She knew all its history and admired how her family and architects had worked to preserve the ancient stone keep at the heart of the palace when they came to expansions. The gray slabs of stone were at odds with the decorative grandeur built up around it, but somehow it worked.
Rain washed the windows on both sides of them, making the view streaked and blurry. Barely mid-afternoon, Eloryn felt ready for bed rather than her fifth meeting for the day. The crinoline cage under her scarlet gown felt too heavy and her bodice too tight. She rubbed her eyes and tried to keep pace with Memory, who skipped ahead, full of energy.
“The meeting isn’t even to start for a while yet. I never thought I’d see you so keen to be there,” Eloryn said.
“I don’t care about the meeting,” Memory laughed like the idea was crazy. “Waylan said he’d be there early, and I wanted a chance to talk to him.”
The twins stepped out of the walkway into a hall that lead up to the Round Room. Roen was walking toward them and Memory ran up to meet him. They whispered together, and Eloryn didn’t catch what they said as she caught up.
At the end of the hall, Waylan could be seen through the entryway into the Round Room. Memory waved to him. She gave Roen a soft punch in the shoulder. “You two kids stop and have a chat. I’m going ahead to see—”
A thunder crack of sound shook through Eloryn’s skull.
A powerful explosion blew outwards from the Round Room. The rumble of flame deafened Eloryn as her mind caught up with the situation around her. Shards of exploded furniture and stone shot toward them.
“Beirsinn fair nalldomh!” Eloryn yelled, unable to hear her voice over the ringing in her ears. Tapestries flew off the walls, creating a barrier that the projectiles thudded against like hail. Small, sharper fragments of wood and glass cut against the fabric, some pieces piercing through. Air rushed past the barrier, hot and pungent, filled with chokingly thick smoke.
One of her guards grabbed Eloryn from behind and tackled her to the ground softly. Others shouted around her.
“I’m fine. Off me,” Eloryn ordered, but the smoke made her voice raspy. She cleared the vapor from the air with a behest and the guard helped her to her feet.
Beside her, Roen had Memory shielded in an embrace. A rage of jealousy fired through Eloryn, until she realized that Memory was forcing herself forward, trying to push past Roen who was holding her tight to keep her from running into the
Round Room, or what remained of it.
“Is everyone all right?” Eloryn called out, her voice muffled in her ears.
“We have to help Waylan,” Memory said, desperately trying to get out of Roen’s grasp.
“I don’t think you can,” he said.
The guards tore down the tapestry barrier and hobbled over the crumbled landscape to assess the damage. Red splashed the stone entryway to the room, and Eloryn looked the other way.
When she did, she met the gaze of a man watching from further up the hallway. He wore a servant’s uniform and had terror all over his face. The man backed away, breaking into a run. His escape was blocked by Hayes marching toward them, walking cane held out like a weapon in front of him. She heard the words of Hayes’s spell with a grim realization.
“Guidhe beag lugha ob ciorram greim-bàis...”
“Stop, hold your words,” she cried.
Eloryn dashed toward them. The shining bolt of Hayes’s behest hit the man as he ran and he fell to his knees, then face, his life twitching away.
Eloryn stopped, stunned at the action. Hayes reached her and gave her a firm embrace.
“Your majesty. Thank the fae you’re unhurt!”
“Hayes, what have you done? Who was this man?”
“A traitor against you. I was informed of a plot – an assassination attempt. I tried to come as quickly as I could.” Hayes stared at the damage down the hallway. “Evidently not quickly enough.”
Hayes knelt beside the corpse, patting the man down and searching pockets. He produced a piece of paper folded into a small square. He stood and read it, glaring at the note.
“This man was just a tool, and here is the proof of the man who wielded him. This is a writ, your majesty. A payment letter, signed by your uncle.”
Eloryn’s head drifted slowly side to side. Her ears still hummed, and a weight of sadness settled on her, making the whole world feel underwater. “He would do this?”
“Forgive me, Majesty, but I warned you he was dangerous. Still, you are safe. It’s a mercy that the room was not occupied.”
Memory's Wake Omnibus: The Complete Illustrated YA Fantasy Series Page 37