by Beth Alvarez
The room fell silent again, but this time it was with an air of agreement. Nondar allowed himself some slight relief. The greater his burden grew, the more often he had to remind himself to unclench his jaw and let tension seep from his shoulders.
“And what of the problem of the king's son?” Edagan asked, the question adding another weight to Nondar's mind. She leveled her eyes with his, her expression stony. “After all, we've never stripped a mage of Master rank before. We all know he wasn't ready. He is a tool to her, nothing more. A way to control Kifel.”
“He is more ready than you may think.” Nondar smiled grimly. “Envesi cannot use him. She cannot control him, so how would she use him?”
“Unless his allegiance lies with his father, he is a threat to our cause,” Anaide argued. “Or do you claim to know his loyalties?”
Nondar hesitated, his gaze drifting from the table.
“Yes or no, half-blood,” Edagan said. “It isn't a hard question.”
“But the question assumes there are only two sides contending in the matter.” He stared at the wall beyond his two peers and the slew of unfamiliar mages they'd brought with them. “He does not oppose his father, but he doesn't oppose Relythes, either. However, it isn't hard to see his resentment toward the Archmage. That is all that concerns us.”
“The enemy of our enemy is not always a friend,” Anaide murmured.
“And a friend is not always enemies with our foe.” Nondar tried to sound indifferent. “Regardless, the boy is the least of our concerns now. If he takes a side, it will surely be at the behest of the mageling we lost to Lumia's faction. That woman may think she operates in secrecy, but she hasn't been forgotten. Her attempts to manipulate events do not go unnoticed.”
“That woman should have been silenced by the temple a long time ago,” Anaide said, rubbing her temples. “The abominations she performs with her magic never should have been allowed.”
“And who are we to speak of abominations?” Edagan laughed bitterly, rising from her chair. “Had we not assisted Envesi at the very beginning, none of this would have happened. I agree with Nondar in that we should be led by council, at least until the dust settles, and that a faster split is better. I've had enough for today. I will organize my students and be ready for the Gate at moon's zenith. I suggest all of you organize your mages, as well.” She cast a meaningful eye over the Masters present. Her gaze lingered on Nondar and then shifted to Anaide, and she sniffed in displeasure before she left.
Nondar mulled over her suggestion and the number of mages who answered to him. As Masters of their Houses of affinity, Nondar, Anaide, and Edagan held more rank than the other white-clad mages in the room, but only under Envesi's rule. It was hard to predict how power would shift among them once they split from the temple. Nondar suspected each affinity would still need to be led by an individual. A council was best for the mages as a whole, but how could a mage with an earth affinity speak for matters of healing? The Houses would have to remain self-governing, even beneath a council.
“Edagan is right,” Nondar said, checking the wards yet again as the door closed at the woman's heels. “We should be preparing. All of you, organize what mages and magelings you know can be trusted. Have them ready themselves. As planned, we depart at moon's zenith tonight, and not a moment later.”
There was a murmur of assent among the gathered Masters, and he released the wards as they left. He did not look to see when Anaide excused herself from his company, unwilling to subject himself to the glowers he expected she threw his way. He did not need to borrow trouble; there would be plenty after the fracture. The mages would be looking to the three of them—Anaide, Edagan, and himself—for guidance, and he did not look forward to determining who among them was best suited to give it. But he was given little time to brood over it, as a knock sounded at the door only moments after the last of the Masters took their leave.
“Excuse me, Master,” Rikka said, peeking into the room. “I don't mean to interrupt, but I was hoping to speak to you. It's about my family in Ilmenhith.”
Nondar waved the mageling girl in. “Of course, child. Your needs are never an interruption.” He set new wards in place as Rikka stepped into the now-quiet meeting hall and shut the door. It was fortunate the girl really did have family in Ilmenhith. Aside from the phrase being an ideal code, the existence of her family meant the frequent letters she received from the capital were unlikely to raise suspicion.
“So, tell me,” Nondar said. “What did today's letter say?”
He sensed her prodding at the wards before she spoke. Her caution pleased him, but he'd woven them carefully, creating a bubble around the two of them that shrank as she came closer. Even aware of its presence, she kept her voice low.
“I didn't read it yet. I wasn't certain it was my place to open it.” Rikka pulled back a chair and settled beside him at the table. She held out the folded letter, the wax seal on its surface intact.
“Of course it's your place.” It had been her place since he'd caught her in the dovecote, the night the Archmage had announced the temple's secession. Rikka and her friends had begged forgiveness, but Nondar had been there for the same reason, a message for the king in his hand. “You have been an excellent confidant and messenger throughout this ordeal. We trust you, though I appreciate your concern for secrecy.” He turned over the letter and broke its seal. It hadn't been tampered with, the paper's folds still as crisp as when the king's fingers pressed it.
“Do you still mean for us to leave the... the temple tonight, Master?” Rikka faltered over the words, though he couldn't blame her. They had not determined what to call themselves now that the physical temple had been left behind, a ruined husk of its former glory. There were times he felt their congregation was little more than a husk, itself.
“Yes, and you'd do well to be prepared for it. I trust you and your friends will be ready?” He did not look her way again, his mage-blue eyes skimming the simple letter. It was little more than a quick note, but its contents were a relief. The chapter house in Ilmenhith was ready to receive them, Kifel's loyal court mages having made all preparations. It would be easy to rebuild there.
“We are ready now, Master.” Rikka clasped her hands in her lap. “Though I did have a question.”
“Ask away, child. We mean to keep no secrets from the mages who come with us. We are not like the Archmage in that respect.”
She studied his face for a long moment before she spoke. “What will happen to mages like Firal? Those that left the temple or were sent away? Will they be welcomed back, or will they still be exiled from both halves of the temple?”
Nondar pursed his lips. They'd not discussed the possibility of rogue mages returning after the fracture, and he was reluctant to give an answer that might be taken as committal. “Their choices are their own,” he said slowly, testing the words. “We will address each situation as it arises, but no one can or will summon them back to the flock. If they are happier as free mages, living without bonds to the temple, then so be it.”
Rikka seemed satisfied by the answer, or at least, she did not press the matter. But she did lean against the table, wringing her hands. “I'm worried about how many mages are going with us, too. I know so few of them, and even some of the Masters are people I've hardly seen before. How are we to know if we can trust them?”
“I would not worry about that, my child. They risk much in being a part of our rebellion, especially the Masters. If they did not want to be a part of us, they would not be moving with us.” He offered a soothing smile and waved a hand. “Now, get on, then. I shall see you tonight when the Gate is opened. Until then, it's best for you to carry on with your duties. The longer you are here with me, the more likely it is that something will be noticed.”
“Yes, Master.” She gave a stiff curtsy as she rose from her chair and smoothed skirts on her way out of the room.
Nondar turned over the letter in his hands until the door closed behind her. Alon
e, he allowed himself to frown. The capital was ready to receive them, perhaps, but there were still many issues to be resolved. It was well and good that the magelings thought they would steal away in secrecy, but a part of him felt shamed that would not be the case. He wore a brave face for the magelings, but inwardly, he thought of the onslaught they were sure to face and prayed they had enough Masters to hold the barrier.
Tense, Firal clutched at the pommel of her saddle as the Gate opened. Though she had passed through Gates only a small number of times, the sensation had been unique enough that it embedded itself in her memory and stirred every time she stood before one of the portals. Despite knowing the Gate-stone made this one different, she couldn't help that instinct. Still, a sense of wonder stole through her when they crossed the Gate without so much as a tingle.
Their ride through Alwhen had been quiet, the city's people uninterested in more travelers. Solemn and silent, Daemon's sour mood had kept Firal quiet, too. Not far past the city's edge, he had reached for the Gate-stone, signaling the end of their journey.
The outermost walls of the ruins now sprawled ahead of them, so similar to those just outside the temple that for a moment, homesickness stirred in her chest. The Gate slid closed behind them without a sound. Daemon didn't seem to notice, but Firal craned her neck to look over her shoulder.
“I'd still like to know how that works,” she murmured. “It stores so much energy for such a small thing, but it's so much more stable than any energy source I've ever seen.”
“If it was something that easy to explain or understand, the temple mages probably would have made more of them.” Daemon rolled the Gate-stone in the palm of his hand before he put it in his pocket. “As it is, I don't know that the mages themselves understand how they work. Some artifacts the mages possess came from the mainland. Who knows how old they are.”
Firal nodded thoughtfully. She had read about some of the temple's artifacts and was inclined to agree. She'd never encountered the Gate-stones in the books she'd read, but many of the artifacts the temple held were ancient. Many struck Firal as useless trinkets, too, but perhaps she would have thought the same of a Gate-stone if she'd come across it and not realized what it could do. Which planted a new question in her mind. Daemon had not explained how the stone had come into his possession, or how he recognized what it could do. Her worries churned up anew.
“Come.” Daemon said as he started into the ruins. “We have to return the horses.”
Unlike the corridors nearest the temple, this part of the labyrinth was clean and well-maintained, but the twisting path was narrower. The horses couldn't walk side by side, so she let her mount follow a few paces behind. Perched in the saddle, she could just see over the tops of the crumbling walls. The maze sprawled to the horizon. For the first time, she realized how futile it was to try and make a map.
“You have questions,” Daemon said softly.
The observation brought her up short. She couldn't refute it; her mind had been turning since they parted ways in the king's receiving hall. “Yes.”
“You're allowed to ask.”
A thousand questions burned on her tongue, but she tempered her desire to unleash them all. “Asking just doesn't guarantee an answer.”
“No,” he agreed. Yet the calm way he voiced the single word seemed amicable, almost inviting. Perhaps this was what she'd hoped for—a sign of trust.
Firal stifled the questions that first came to mind and dug for something less intrusive. “How long were you at the temple? You seem to know a lot about it.”
“I was born there. Spent the first few years of my life there. They kept me close for study. I was useful and interesting, until they realized they couldn't fix me.”
“When you were born, were you...?” She trailed off, unable to finish.
“Normal?” He flexed his fingers, his horse's reins between them. He still wore his gloves, hiding the strange, vivid green scales she'd grown accustomed to. “I've never been that.”
Firal shook her head. “I lived in the temple my whole life. I never saw you there.”
“Maybe you just didn't know what you were looking for.”
Maybe she didn't. The mystery of what hid behind his mask still needled at her. Relythes had recognized him. As her jumbled thoughts drew together, a painted image prickled at the back of her mind, etched into her memory by the boy-child's vibrant eyes.
“You're him, aren't you?” The words tumbled free before she could stop them.
Daemon stopped his horse and turned his head until she saw just a sliver of his mask. One violet eye watched her, its luminescence eerie in the daylight.
She swallowed and went on. “The boy in the painting, the one in Kifel's palace. The child in the stories. The child he lost. That's you, isn't it?”
He nudged his horse forward again.
A thread of ice ran through her and she bumped her heels against her mount's sides, desperate to get closer. “Daemon?”
“You don't know as much as you think,” he murmured.
She steeled her resolve. “Take off your mask.”
“Not now.”
“Why? Because the king's scouts would recognize you?” Her heart thundered in her chest, her pulse loud in her ears. “Is that what you wanted to speak to me about the other day?”
“Not now,” he repeated, sharper.
They rounded a corner into a circular room with a fire pit in the middle. The handful of men crouched around it all but leaped to their feet. A few tents stood at the edges of the space, several horses grazing contentedly on the thick grasses between them.
Firal's racing heart quieted as it sank. The last time she'd heard Daemon angry had been their confrontation after the temple burned, what now seemed an eternity ago. The heat in his voice now left her uncomfortably cold.
One of the soldiers—sentries, Firal realized, as she recognized one of the men who had brought the horses before—came to take their mounts. “News?” the man asked with hope clear on his face.
“News,” Daemon agreed. He swung down from his horse and cast a look in Firal's direction. One of the other men hurried to help her down. “I trust Core is waiting to hear it?”
“Yes, sir. Half the city will be gathered in the great hall as soon as you get there, I'm sure.”
Firal smoothed her skirts as she reached the ground, murmuring thanks to the soldier who aided her dismount. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the shadowed glance Daemon sent her. She raised a brow in response.
“Make sure the horses are seen to,” Daemon said as he removed his bags from the saddle. He jerked his head in the direction he was headed, indication Firal should follow.
The soldier beside her offered her bags. She snatched them from his hands and chased Daemon around a corner. “Are you really going to make these men wait to hear what happened?”
He shrugged. “I'm making you wait, aren't I?”
“They won't be able to reach Core before we do,” she said. “They won't be there to hear the announcement.”
“Word travels. They're sending word to Core that we're coming. Their messenger will carry word back.”
She pursed her lips, though she chose not to press any further. Instead, she watched his back and walked, and wondered at all the pieces that began to fit together.
He wouldn't answer her question. That, in itself, told her enough. The history between the temple and the royal family was murky, bathed in secrecy and protected by the way the Masters treated it as taboo. But the king had commissioned the temple for something, and as she walked a handful of paces behind Daemon, she began to suspect what.
They'd always emphasized the strength of mages in numbers and pushed to train as many as possible, though few bore the power necessary to qualify for complete training. The Masters bore a mission, a responsibility to the king, and while no one was allowed to speak of it, the quiet grudge between King Kifel and the Archmage had always been palpable.
Firal shifted h
er bag to keep it from sliding off her shoulder. Daemon blamed the mages. They'd made him into what he was, then failed to restore him to what he'd been. Try as she might, she couldn't recall the hands and feet of the boy in the painting in Ilmenhith. The child in the image had been tucked between his parents, where the folds of his father's cape and his mother's skirt hid his limbs.
And oh, his mother. Her ice-blue eyes burned in Firal's memory. Mage-blue, she'd been sure of it. Yet she hadn't stopped to consider what that meant. Mages were warned against practicing their craft while pregnant; it was a lesson all magelings were taught early. An unborn child was fragile, its delicate strands of life too easily disrupted by the flow of power through its mother's body. She had assumed the risk was miscarriage. What if it was corruption, instead?
Firal rubbed her temples as she tried to put her thoughts in order. So many things she'd been taught seemed trivial until this moment. Now, she questioned everything.
Despite the Gate-stone in his hand, Daemon chose to walk most of the distance back to the heart of the ruins. Firal didn't argue, nor did she try to converse. Tangled possibilities spun in her head and she struggled to catch and unravel them. The solid ground beneath her feet offered needed reassurance and stability. And the exercise helped her stiff legs and aching backside. A single night in an inn wasn't enough to let her recover from the long ride. After a good night's sleep, perhaps the puzzle wouldn't be so difficult.
The sun hung low in the sky by the time Daemon pulled the Gate-stone out for one last use. “Most of Core's people will be gathered before the throne by now,” he said, answering her unspoken question.
She frowned. “Does Lumia know what news you bring?” Though she hadn't seen him slip any notes to the sentry when he'd passed over his horse's reins, she wouldn't discount the possibility.
“She'll know soon enough.” He led her through the portal and into the familiar clearing surrounding the spiral path that led down into Core.
The underground city's marketplace was strangely quiet, no one present but the merchants who wouldn't leave their stalls. Firal watched them as she passed. As they walked, Daemon once again adopted the stance and air he'd carried when they stood before Relythes. It reminded her of the first time she'd seen him display such elegance, leading her through dance steps in the king's ballroom. She'd wondered at his grace then. Now, she couldn't believe she'd missed the obvious air of nobility he'd tried to hide. Seeing it now cemented what she was already sure she knew, and with that certainty came a hint of shame.