The Lantern-Lit City

by Vista McDowall

  The mist-folk started their cries again. Pushing his back against the wide tree trunk, Sandu plugged his ears and ignored them. They took Galen and Jagger, but they wouldn't take him. He sent up a silent prayer, to Autorus or the gods or whoever actually listened: Take care of Jagger for me. Help me get out of these forsaken woods.

  Part Two

  Chapter Thirty

  Seanna

  "DO TRY and remain civil, Seanna," Henrik said. He waited impatiently at the doorway with an extended arm while Seanna slowly adjusted her crown in the mirror and admired her reflection. She didn't look at him.

  "Please, just try to be an obedient queen. I want no discussion of the Exalt, the trade disputes with Dedaria, or anything at all controversial. Speak politely of the weather, the upcoming Masque, parties you've attended, anything that can't be used against you. Rask is watching the both of us, and you cannot be the weakest leg of the throne." Henrik sounded tired, as if the woes of the kingdom followed him no matter where he traveled. Seanna spared him a glance, pursed her lips, then placed a hand in the crook of his arm and fixed a smile on her cheeks.

  Henrik didn't move. "Seanna," he said in a warning tone. "Tell me that you will say nothing foolish tonight."

  "I promise to say nothing to embarrass myself," Seanna said. "For once, we agree. Rask is no man to be trifled with." Inwardly, she promised to ruin the old earl. First, though, she must learn his weaknesses; then, she could exploit him.

  Egil Rask had finally arrived in Riverfen for the Masque. He was the last of the earls to grace the Strilu doorstep, and so Druam had arranged a feast to officially welcome all the highest lords in the land. Not one had declined his invitation.

  The king and queen were the last to arrive in the feast hall, appearing the joyous couple that many still believed them to be. They smiled and waved at the courtiers before proceeding to the crowded high table to join the earls and their wives. Egil Rask had been given the seat of honor to Henrik's right, with his wife beside him; next to Lady Hjalder were Druam and Gwen. Earl and Lady Stonetree were seated to Seanna's left, and Seanna's father, Ulmer Aylmer, the Earl of Stillmeadow, sat at the end of the table.

  Seanna paused at her father's seat to give him a swift kiss on the cheek; it had been a long time since she had seen him. Nearing sixty, he was still a stout man, though his hair and beard had turned grey.

  "Is Mother still ill?" Seanna asked, lingering behind him. Her mother had not come to Riverfen, electing instead to stay in their home city of Brin.

  Her father patted her hand. "That's the claim she made. Your mother is the healthiest woman I've ever met, and gods only know why she mysteriously turns ill whenever an occasion comes up that she has no interest in attending." He winked at her, and Seanna returned it before following Henrik to her seat.

  Egil Rask nodded to Seanna, then proceeded to ignore both her and Henrik. Henrik frowned, but then plastered on a wide smile and stood to address the crowd. They quieted as he raised his hands.

  "Our friends, lords, countrymen! We have gathered from all over Dotschar to celebrate a hundred years of peace in our kingdom." A round of applause followed this. Nobles clapped each other's backs and raised their cups. As if they're the ones who did anything to keep the peace these hundred years. The only one with any sort of claim to long term plans is Rask, Seanna thought derisively. Henrik continued, "Many thanks to our generous host, Earl Seastone, and a congratulations on his new marriage; may she bear you many sons." There were some murmurs amidst the polite clapping. In a somber tone, Henrik said, "But there is growing strife in our kingdom. We have noticed the deaths from plague and the fear surrounding the rising threat of the prowlers. We have heard the cries of our people and seen the graves filling our cemeteries. In this historic moment, we will do all we can to speak with your people, to meet with lords great and small, and to work to create another hundred years of peace!"

  It was a good speech, Seanna granted him that. She smiled serenely, as a good queen should, while the nobles downed their wine and mead. Henrik sat back down with a hint of smugness, then dove into his food. Picking at her own plate, Seanna let herself daydream about Maeria. She could see the blonde woman in the crowd, laughing and joking with those around her. It delighted Seanna to have such a beautiful young lady in her circle, and to have the ears of Maeria's friends in court. During the days while the men sat in council, the number of ladies gathering at Seanna's side grew and grew. Seanna eyed Rask's diminutive wife. Gain her trust, and I'll have an ally close to my enemy.

  Seanna was pulled from her thoughts when she heard her name.

  "–Queen Seanna is certainly a beauty, though I think that will fade as soon as the baby comes," Rask said, loudly enough for the whole high table to hear. "Not one of my wives retained their looks after childbirth, but at least they had wit to comfort me on cold nights!" He gave a barking laugh.

  Seanna smiled as blithely as she could, though inside she fumed. Henrik didn't look at her, but he also didn't laugh nervously with some of the other lords. Instead, Henrik said to Rask, "Your daughter was both a lasting beauty and possessed a becoming wit, Earl Hjalder. I wish she had borne me sons to carry on our combined bloodlines."

  "Yes. A pity." Rask's frown turned sour. "Though, given her past difficulties, I would not be so sure of your current queen's ability to produce any heir, much less a son. How many miscarriages has it been now? Three? Four?"

  "Two," Seanna muttered, rubbing her stomach protectively. Damn him, why won't Henrik stand up to this foul man?

  But Henrik merely sipped his wine. "The gods have their plans, Egil. I gratefully accept what is given to me, and pray that it is to the benefit of my kingdom."

  "Bullshit," Seanna's father sputtered, dribbling mead into his beard. "Have a spine, man! My daughter the queen is no worse than yours, Rask, and you damn well know it. Insulting her to her face as if she's supposed to lay down and take it? Fleta was a dreadful flirt, and quite rude to those she deemed beneath her. Much like her troll of a father."

  "You're drunk," Seanna hissed at her father. To the table at large, she said, "This is a day of celebration and joy! Why quibble over the past when we can look to the future?"

  "What future? The one your Eadron spawn will drag us into?" Rask tore into a chunk of meat, his expression clearly showing that he wished to similarly tear into Seanna's flesh. "I'll be damned before I have one of those brown bastards as my king."

  "You'll be dead before then," Seanna spat at him.

  "I've outlived every wife, and I'll outlive you, too. Many women die in childbirth. And then who shall our king marry? Some guttersnipe with a pretty face and wealthy father?"

  "Enough," Henrik said. "You reach too far, Rask. Let bygones be bygones, and enjoy the meal Druam has so kindly paid for."

  Druam, who so far had remained quiet, acknowledged the king's words with a small toast. He looked worn through, like clothing that had been laid in the sun every day for a decade. Seanna had not spoken to him since she had lied about Gwen's affair; had he had a falling out with his wife? But Gwen smiled and laughed next to him; so why did he look so troubled?

  The high table returned to idle banter. Seanna half-listened to the conversations. Earl Stonetree stood to make his rounds among the lords, and Ulmer soon took his seat. His nose had turned red, his cheeks rosy above his bushy beard. His breath smelled of mead.

  "I'm sorry that that man treats you so badly," Ulmer said softly; Seanna strained to hear him over the crowd.

  "Rask? He is a worm, nothing more."

  "No, not him, my dear. The king. We shouldn't have married you off to him so young, and him still mourning poor Fleta. He's never healed from her death, and he's a bad husband now because of it."

  "Hush, Father," Seanna warned, glancing at Henrik. Fortunately, he paid them no heed. "I am finely treated."

  "You're miserable. I've only seen you smile once tonight. A real smile, I mean. I worry for you, Seanna. I thought your sister had the worst mar
riage to that dreadful Vladimir fellow, but they suit each other. You and Henrik are too similar, I think. Stubborn to a fault." He paused. "Lesser men than the king have beaten their wives to death."

  "He's not going to beat me to death."

  "No? Have a history book read to you, then. King Iverran executed three wives over the years. Do you think any court in this land would touch the king if the same happened to you? Hm? No, they would simply force him to pray for forgiveness, then give him a new wife to spit out his heirs."

  Seanna glanced away from her father's concerned look. Henrik wouldn't have the nerve to kill her, even in his rage. Taking Ulmer's hand, Seanna said, "Trust me, Father. I won't die by such a common thing. I carry the king's son, and when I have given him an heir, I will be untouchable. Though sometimes I wish I could have had as happy a marriage as you and Mother, this is the lot the gods have given me. Sometimes we must sacrifice happiness for power. I fully intend to use my role to widen our family's reach."

  "I have failed as a father," Ulmer said, "if that is what you believe this life to be about." He tottered drunkenly away, and Seanna wondered if she had seen a tear in his eye.

  Later that night, alone in her bedchamber, Seanna thought about Rask. She had tried to win him to her side, but he scorned her and insulted her. Well, if that was how it was to be, she would play his little game. She called her most trusted servant and said, "I need you to do something for me, Ralston. Find out all you can about Egil Rask: his family, his connections, his opinions on matters great and small...everything you overhear, bring it to me. There will be extra gold tallied to your payment each deshe if you do this correctly."

  The servant nodded, bowed, and darted away. He was a man in his middling age, good at his job and perfectly unnoticeable. No one would think twice if they saw him scurrying about.

  Though midnight quickly approached, Seanna wasn't tired. She brought a steward to her drawing room, and there ordered him to write dozens of invitations, letters of welcome, congratulations, and regards. These she marked with her signet and sent off. When she finally went to bed, Seanna imagined Rask and Henrik kissing her feet as she drifted to sleep.

  The next morning as Seanna ate, her reliable Ralston gave his first report. "My eyes and ears are still looking into Earl Hjalder, but I have heard dissenters speaking against you in the corridors, Your Grace. Lord Kellag of Haversdeep and Lady Fawin of Olwer both claimed you to be weak-willed and pathetic for supporting Predicant Manderly. I have since learned that Lord Kellag is a known gambler and lost half his estate to a merchant; no one knows except his servants. Lady Fawin is pregnant, but her aging lord husband is not the father; rumors say that she slept with the steward on multiple occasions."

  "Excellent." Seanna sipped at her wine. "Anyone else?"

  Ralston smiled. "How much time do you have, Your Grace?" He spent the next half a candle detailing the affairs, failures, and secrets of a dozen nobles, all of whom had spoken out against Seanna in some form or another. Seanna memorized every one.

  "Where did you get this information?" she asked after he had finished.

  "Servants, kitchen girls, guards...I have spent my working life hearing these rumors, and I remembered them all. For people such as Earl Hjalder, I will have to take more time and finesse to eke out the scandals, but rest assured, it will be done."

  "Good. Find out all you can about Rask. Report to me each morning."

  "It will be done, Your Grace."

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Gwen

  EACH MORNING Gwen woke feeling a vigor she had never known before. It had been over a quinn since she showed Druam her magic, and she practiced every day. As she cast more workings, her Gaiar grew from an ember in her belly to a near-constant fire that she felt every waking moment. Pulling from it now was much easier, and she had quickly progressed to some higher workings. She had grown beyond Mavian's own skill, so he merely studied her: her technique, her chants, her slurred words – everything she did, he made note of.

  After kissing Druam, who still lay sleepily on the bed, Gwen dressed in a simple gown and hurried to the old wing. She found Mavian already there poring over a new tome. He looked up when she entered. "Look here – I've found a book in this wing. It mostly has cantrips, but there are a couple of higher workings that you could try. One of them is fascinating: it allows you to open a 'door,' so to speak, and step from one place to another. You could travel from here to your rooms in the span of a second."

  As she read over the working, Gwen noticed the many lines of chanting as well as the materials required. "This is more advanced than anything I've done before. Look how meticulous it is: each material is used during a specific place in the working, and there are two pages of chanting. I don't know if I'm ready for it."

  "But you don't always use the materials required," Mavian said.

  "How do you mean? I thought I always cast my workings as near to written as could be."

  "Well...not precisely. There are some I gave to you that I rewrote without including the materials. You still successfully cast those." Perusing his notes, Mavian pointed at a page. "See here? I noticed that you managed the cleaning charm without using the feathers that were called for. And here, I presented the 'passing unseen' working to you without telling you that it needed a live ant to be carried by the caster."

  "Wouldn't that simply suggest that the workings were written incorrectly? That anyone with magic could cast them as I did?"

  "Not necessarily. I've been reading more and more, and I don't think that you're a mage."

  Gwen snorted. "Then what, pray tell, am I?"

  "A sorceress." Mavian's eyes lit. "Look, I copied a passage here from Ultar's Methods of Gaiar. He said that mages and wizards, of any Gaiar, must precisely follow the instructions of a working in order for it to succeed. However, he noted that the sorcerers he'd studied could redo the working in their own style, allowing their more innate powers to guide the spell. It's how new spells are discovered or created: not by wizards, but sorcerers. They can manipulate their Gaiar to a greater extent, accessing Earda's magic in a unique way."

  Gwen skimmed his cramped handwriting. "So...because I can cast the workings in a different way, that means I'm a sorceress? You said I could use magic in a unique way...how so?"

  "I don't know. There have been very few sorcerers in our time, and the ones from the past like Dabolen Far-Seeing or Titania the Great were quite protective of their secrets. No one has found any of their writings. I met the king's sorceress, Milena Haubin, before she died a few years ago, but she refused to tell me anything more than what I've learned here. I don't know of any other sorcerers in Dotschar."

  "Hm. What use is this knowledge if we can't use it? We might as well continue as we were and hope that we find someone who can teach me more."

  "Indeed. Do you want to try this working?" Mavian said, referring to the door spell. Gwen set the book in her lap. She whispered through the words, not letting her Gaiar loose just yet. When she felt confident she was pronouncing it correctly, she stood and walked a few paces from the table. With the book in one arm, Gwen lifted her hand and pointed it at a spot in the air. She started the spell, letting the cadence of the words dictate the notes she sang as she went.

  The first page went smoothly, her Gaiar easily flowing from her as a rend in the air grew wider and wider. It led into blackness, its edges cracked with flashes of light. As she deepened the working, the spell's words tugged at Gwen's Gaiar, pulling it from her faster than she could stop it. She grew breathless, the words coming now in a faster and faster rush. Her wide eyes sought Mavian and she shook her head. I can't finish this spell, she thought in a panic, her Gaiar burning as it left her body.

  Mavian stepped quickly to her side and said, "Repeat that last phrase. Hold your Gaiar – don't let the spell take it from you."

  Too scared to disobey, Gwen said over and over, "Yraftei honild ir por, yraftei honild ir por, yrafteir honild ir por." Her Gaiar paused, rustli
ng beneath her skin. The working hung in the air, crackling and popping, and she could feel that her magic yearned to go to it. She kept repeating as Mavian put a hand to her arm and chanted a working of his own.

  As Mavian spoke, Gwen's Gaiar churned within her, the spell faltering ever so slightly. He fed his scant magic into her. Gwen took it and thought only of severing her tie to the failed working. Mavian's magic traveled down her arm, gathering at her hand. Gwen felt her connection to her Gaiar strengthening. She pulled her magic back into herself, using his working as a conduit. As she did, the portal collapsed in on itself, leaving a pocket of silence. Gwen fell to her hands and knee, gasping. Mavian removed his working – she felt his magic recede, leaving an intangible hole in her – and sat down beside her.

  For a moment, neither said anything. Once she had regained herself, Gwen rocked back onto her bottom. She asked, "What working did you use?"

  "A spell of ending. It's meant to help end failed workings before they consume the caster," Mavian said, his voice raw. "Most casters won't attempt anything too difficult without a fellow mage there to help if it goes too far. Every curate and predicant I know has learned it by heart."

  "Thank you," Gwen said. "I felt my Gaiar being taken from me, but I couldn't stop it."

  "No one caster can stop their own Gaiar once it escapes them. You were lucky; there are others who have died losing their magic."

  Movement at the door caught Gwen's attention, and she looked up to see Druam in one of his finer tunics. He quickly took in both Gwen and Mavian's exhaustion, then bent to look closely at Gwen. "You've over-exerted yourself," he said.

  "Yes," Mavian answered for her. "I doubt we'll try that one again for awhile."

  "Have you forgotten the date, Gwen?" Druam asked, helping her to her feet. "We are to attend Lady Stonetree's birthday festivities."