by Beth Alvarez
“Kytenia?” His voice cracked with the question. When his eyes finally focused, the dim light from the lantern at the guard's station was just enough for him to see her grin.
“Take it easy, you oaf. I can't heal you now or they'll know we're down here. There are several hundred mages upstairs, fresh back from Alwhen, who would sense me doing it.” She held him still until the irons on his ankles were undone.
More carefully this time, he pushed himself to his hands and knees. His eyes scanned the floor twice before he saw the narrow band of gold Medreal had left behind. He caught it with a claw and clutched it in the palm of his hand. “Where is Firal?”
“Out in the courtyard,” said the other familiar voice from his other side, “seeing the mages brought in. They're about to exile the Archmage.”
Rune turned his head. Vahn's extended hand hovered beside his face. He clasped it and groaned as his friend hauled him to his feet. The moment his legs were under him, his knees tried to buckle.
“Come on, now. Stay standing.” Vahn draped Rune's arm over his shoulders and hefted him up with a grunt. Though they were close in height, Vahn was slimmer and lighter. They wouldn't be able to move fast.
Kytenia hurried to the narrow hallway between cells and peered out before she motioned them forward. Rune stumbled more than he walked and Vahn all but dragged him out. Kytenia took up his other side, her small, warm hands wrapped tight around his scaly wrist to hold his arm steady over her shoulders. “Rikka and Shymin are distracting the guards. They won't be able to give us much time. We have to hurry.”
Angry cries and helpless pleas rose from other prisoners as they moved past. Hands grasped at their clothing and caught Kytenia's skirts more than once, but they pushed on.
“The guards won't hear us down here,” Vahn said. “Shymin put a ward around her and Rikka before we came down here, made it look like they were gossiping. No one will know she spun it out over the guards, too.”
Rune nodded. The idea was clever; it was only too bad she hadn't found a way to make a mask for their magic as well. Perhaps then Kytenia could have done something for the wounds the whip had left on his back, or his exhaustion, at least. His whole body ached. He tried to focus on the ring in his hand, the match for the one they had not removed from his finger.
When they reached the stairs, Kytenia returned the keys to the jailer's empty desk. They struggled up toward daylight together, pausing twice to catch their breath. When they reached the courtyard, Vahn motioned for them to stay back as he slipped Rune's arm off his shoulders and crept ahead to peer into the courtyard.
“Nothing,” he whispered. “I don't know what Rikka and Shymin did, but they did a good job.” He returned to Rune's side and together, the three of them emerged into the courtyard and cut toward the wide gardens that stretched to the palace walls. Hundreds of voices echoed from the city beyond. “The city is so crowded that no one will notice you, as long as you're careful,” Vahn said as they inched across the cobblestones. “Everyone's distracted with the Archmage being cast out. No one will know you're gone until it's too late.”
Rune grimaced. “And when they know?”
“I'm pretty sure we can peg your disappearance on the Archmage, too. I'll take care of it, don't worry.” Vahn led them toward the back of the gardens, where the flowering trees grew.
A figure rose in the shade beneath the trees and, startled, Rune dug in his claws to stop.
The hooded woman turned toward them, her arms full of cloth, and when a sad smile wreathed itself on the old stewardess's face, he allowed himself to relax.
Medreal closed the distance between them with short, quick strides. “Best get steady on your feet, boy. You've quite a trek to make before people begin to look for you.” She passed the bundle to Kytenia and pressed a hand to Rune's cheek. He shuddered and gasped, the transfer of energy unlike any exchange he'd ever felt. Instead of the cold, ice-water sensation that came from other mages touching him with power, Medreal's magic zinged through him like a shock. His feet grew more solid beneath him and he shrugged away from Vahn and Kytenia's help. The old woman patted his cheek affectionately, her dark eyes troubled despite her reassuring smile. “I'd do more for you, but I fear we'd be noticed. As it is, that may be enough to draw them.”
Kytenia separated the pile of cloth into several garments and pulled a tunic over Rune's head so fast, he barely had time to shove his arms through the sleeves before she threw a cloak around his shoulders. Vahn helped fasten it at his throat while Kytenia thrust strips of linen into his pockets. “For you to bind your hands and feet later,” she said. “Better if they think you a leper than a... well, easier if they avoid you than try to kill you.”
Then Medreal stepped close, balancing a burlap-wrapped bundle in one arm as she held out a small leather purse. Rune gave her a questioning look.
“Coin for the trip,” the old woman said. “I would Gate you myself, but I know nowhere to send you, so we cannot do it without involving Masters. They'd never let you leave.”
His stomach dropped. “Where am I going?”
“You can't stay on Elenhiise, Ran,” Kytenia murmured. “Relythes means to close his borders. The Masters want Firal to flush the Underlings out of the ruins and settle them in a proper city, and you certainly aren't safe in our territory.”
Medreal closed his fingers around the purse. Coins clinked inside. He tried to push it back into her grasp. “I'm not leaving Firal here alone,” he protested.
“You don't have a choice!” Vahn hissed in a whisper. “They'll kill you, do you understand? Firal can't protect you. She can't save you. They'd be as likely to hang her for trying.”
“At least this way we have a chance for things to settle,” Kytenia said. “A chance for her to rule in peace.”
Medreal crept toward the wall, drawing Rune along with her. “Your best bet is to make your way north, to the harbors. Find a ship destined for the mainland and buy passage.” She pulled up the hood of his cloak with her free hand. “There's enough money there to pay for food and the trip, but not much else. I'm afraid that's all we can offer you. There was no time for anything else. That, and this.” She thrust the bundle in her arms into his hands.
Rune folded the burlap back just enough to see the gleaming black hilt of his father's sword. He tried to return it. “I can't take this. The sword of the king belongs to Firal by right.”
“I'm certain he would want you to have it,” Medreal said, stepping back. “Now, go.”
Swallowing, he looked from Medreal to Kytenia, from Kytenia to Vahn.
“Go,” Kytenia whispered.
Vahn nodded. “Go, Ran. While you still can.”
Everything in him objected, fought against what he knew made the most sense. Rune turned to the wall. Everything he wanted lay behind him, but his only chance at survival lay ahead. His grip on his father's sword tightened. “Vahn, Firal—”
“I'll look after her,” Vahn reassured him.
Rune closed his eyes. “Promise me.”
“I swear,” Vahn said, clasping his friend on the shoulder. “Anything I can do to protect her, anything to keep her safe, I'll do. I promise.”
Nodding, Rune forced himself to move. Medreal had tied the sword's coverings with loops of rope. He slid his arm through one and dug his claws into a gap between stones in the wall. He reminded himself to breathe as he pushed himself upward. His energy was back, but the pain lingered. It took every ounce of strength in his body to scale the wall, reach the top and drag himself over its edge. But looking back—at the solemn faces of his friends below, at the palace he'd grown up in, now belonging to the woman he loved—looking back and then leaving took everything he had.
Setting his jaw, he turned and slid down the far side of the wall before they could see the tears in his eyes.
28
New Life
A small tapping at the office window made Firal pause and lift her pen. The reestablishment of the temple and its chapter h
ouses was more work than she'd expected, but writing formal letters to the Eldani nobles was a simple task. Time-consuming, more than anything, but time was something she had.
“Another messenger pigeon. They must have closed the coop again.” Medreal sighed and pushed herself from her chair. The white-feathered bird strutted on the window ledge, pecking at the sill with a single-minded intent. “Well, at least it's not another ugly crow. I'll see that it's let in. Shall I bring you anything when I return, my queen?”
“Some mint tea, perhaps,” Firal said, flicking the feathered end of her quill against her chin. “All this stress has me feeling ill again. I've not the fortitude for politics, not of mind or stomach.”
Medreal eyed her strangely, but nodded before she made her way out.
The office had already been rearranged to suit Firal's liking, though she had only taken it a few days before. She preferred simple furniture in warm tones, but had allowed some of the lavish blue-cushioned couches and chairs to stay beside the windows. Medreal spent a great deal of time in Firal's office, helping with what she could, even if it was just providing a fresh cup of tea. Firal appreciated the older woman's company; Medreal's presence was calming.
Ilmenhith still bustled with activity, though with the coronation postponed, it now prepared soldiers to gather mages from Alwhen and return to the temple. The same soldiers would scour the land for the king's killer, turned loose by the Archmage during the fit of rage that preceded her exile.
Firal didn't buy that story for a moment, though she and her loyal Masters were content to let the rumor spread. She'd known it was a lie from the moment Vahn told it, only minutes after they pushed Envesi through the Gate that carried her back to the mainland. Her court Masters had never left the Archmage's side. Their hold on her power had never faltered. Firal herself had barely let the woman out of her sight once Relythes had returned to Alwhen. But if Rune was gone, she had a suspicion she wouldn't see him again. As for how she felt about that, she was not sure.
“Come in,” she called absentmindedly as she dipped her quill. The knocks came so frequently that she almost didn't hear them anymore. It took a moment, sometimes, for her to distinguish it from the sound of the clock that ticked above the mantel.
Nondar shrugged the door open and cleared his throat as he stepped inside. Cane in one hand and a piece of paper in the other, he wore a puzzled frown. “I received this note from your desk first thing this morning. I've read it a dozen times, but I'm not entirely certain I grasp what it's saying.” He made his way to her desk and nodded his thanks when she gestured for him to sit. He dropped into a chair with a sigh. “I realize that as our queen, you have every right to name the next Archmage, but I cannot help but question this decision.”
Firal penned the rest of the sentence she'd started before she put her quill aside. “As your queen, I'm not sure you have the right to question my decisions.” Her words were softened by a smile. She folded her hands together at the edge of her desk. “I can't think of anyone better suited for the role, Nondar. You may not be as strong in your Gift as the others that head Houses of affinity, but you are undoubtedly the right choice.”
He inclined his head in respect, though his expression was troubled. “I am honored, my queen, no doubt, but I fear this will cause quite a stir among the mages we've drawn back into our fold.”
“I couldn't care less what they think.” She expected there would be some fuss, since Nondar had been the Master in charge of her training. The cries of favoritism would be rampant, but her fondness for the old man had nothing to do with why she'd chosen him. “With Melora and Alira removed from headship over their affinities, I need someone I can trust to raise Masters to their places. I don't feel that's something I can ask of Edagan or Anaide. Anaide is far too self-serving. Edagan might make a fair choice, but I think her friendship with Anaide makes it easy for her opinion to be swayed. On the other hand, your loyalty to my father never wavered.”
Nondar shook his head. “The right course of action should be its own reward, my queen. I have no desire to earn rank or privilege for doing what any subject of the king should have.”
“That isn't the only reason,” Firal said. “Since the temple's founding, Envesi has been its only Archmage. Our kind are very long-lived, Nondar. One should not lead for an eternity.”
His thick brows knit together. “You mean for me to take power because I will soon die?”
Though she grimaced at the way he made it sound, she nodded. “Yes, to put things simply.”
“And after I die?” he asked, stroking his long beard with one knobby hand.
“There are other half-blood mages who can be trained to take your place. I trust you're capable of seeing they receive a proper education. You still have quite a few years left in you. We'll have to make the most of them, breaking down any reservations the others might have. If the other Masters really do want me to remove the Underlings from the ruins, that means integrating them into my country. Intermarriage will happen. Half-blood mages will become more common with time.”
Nondar pondered her words with a distant look in his mage-blue eyes. At last he nodded, though he gave her a rueful smile. “I suppose it's best for me to accept, then. As my queen bids me, I obey.”
Warmth lit her face and she leaned across the desk to touch his hand atop his cane. “Thank you, Nondar. I can't say how much it means to me to have you on my side.”
Another knock interrupted the conversation and Firal sighed. “Come in!” she called, settling back in her chair as the door opened. She wasn't surprised to see Vahn with a message tube. No doubt Medreal had waylaid him in the hallway and told him to deliver whatever news the carrier pigeon had borne.
“Sorry to bother you.” Vahn glanced between her and the Master mage. “I have a letter. Should I just leave it?”
“No, no.” Firal waved him in. “You might as well wait. So much correspondence comes and goes now that I'll likely need you to carry a response back to the coops.” She drew a fresh sheet of paper from the stack at the side of her desk. It was a wonder no one had ever found a way to use magic for communication, other than the demanding sensation of the Calling the mages reserved for emergencies.
Vahn handed over the tube and shuffled back, letting his eyes roam the office. He was uncomfortable in her presence now, the easy banter they'd shared at the temple long gone. She imagined it was difficult to decide how he should behave around her now that she’d gone from the best friend of his intended to being his queen.
Firal popped the seal from the end of the tube and fished out the rolled parchment with a fingertip. It wasn't very big, as expected by nature of its delivery. She skimmed it, and when she read it more closely a second time, her brow furrowed.
“What is it?” Nondar asked.
“It's from Minna. Well, from her husband, but I recognize her handwriting. She's one of my friends in the ruins. It says they received the message I sent. I asked to meet to discuss moving them from Core and recognizing the Underlings as a part of my country, but it says they have something to do before we can.” Her lips felt suddenly dry. She licked them before she went on. “They ask if Daemon... Ran, that is... was successful in his attempt to stop the army before there was battle.”
Neither Nondar nor Vahn said anything, their faces as grim as her own. Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. His attempt to stop them? She'd thought he'd sent the army, thought he moved in retaliation for Lumia's death and in attempt to seize the throne. He'd tried to stop the retaliation? Blinking rapidly, she read those words again. She tried to find something she'd misread, something she'd misunderstood. But the words were simple and straightforward. She laid the note on her desk and stared down at it.
Nondar's brow creased. “Your Majesty?”
“A misunderstanding,” Firal said. “The battle, Kifel's death, Ran's sentence, it was all a misunderstanding.” Her fingertips searched her left hand for the ring that wasn't there. She cursed herself for t
aking it off. It was gone, now. Gone like Kifel. Gone like the man she'd loved.
“Will you send a reply?” Vahn asked, interrupting her thoughts.
Firal drew a breath and steeled herself, putting painful emotion aside. There would be time for tears later. Still, the idea that she could have done something nagged at her from the back of her head. She’d come to Ilmenhith to stop him and her own folly had kept her from even trying. If she hadn't misunderstood his intentions, she could have done something. Helped things end differently. If she'd not doubted him, doubted when he'd told her there was nothing between him and the Underling queen, doubted when he said he didn’t want the throne. She knew better than that, but still let it get the best of her.
“Yes,” she said at last. Her fingers trembled when she took her quill and she stared at the paper in front of her for a long time before she penned a simple note. Perhaps the anger she'd directed toward Lumia was misplaced. If not for the destruction of the temple, nothing ever would have changed. She'd still be Firal, mageling of Kirban Temple. Not Firal, queen of Ilmenhith and half of Elenhiise isle. “We'll arrange to have the remaining officers of their military brought here to discuss things. I'll have to convince them to select a new leader. Perhaps Davan. He's level-headed enough, and worked closely with Daemon when he served as general.” Then she lifted her head and glanced toward the door.
Since her arrival in Ilmenhith, Firal found herself more aware of the presence of other mages. She'd heard that Masters could always feel the presence of others with the Gift, that one knew they had neared their full potential when they stopped focusing so much on their own strength and began to be aware of the strength of those around them. She attributed her growth to the training sessions she'd held with Rune. Toward the end, some lessons had tested her skill as effectively as his.