A half hour later he and Kostas were back in the whitewashed room with Abbot Demetrios. “I wish to make a donation to the abbey,” Matthias said without ceremony. “A yearly donation, with more added if you need it.”
He mentioned an amount, and the little abbot blinked. “That … is very generous of you, majesty,” Demetrios said. “Rest assured that your generosity will assist a great many Hellene fishermen and their families.”
“Good. And if Lu—Brother Jonas requires anything, please send word to Hellaspont and her majesty will arrange for it to be sent.”
The abbot nodded. “I think what Brother Jonas needs more than anything is a measure of peace. Did he tell you the provenance of the spirit that haunts him?”
The broken, furious ghost of Hanne. Matthias’s throat tightened. “Yes. If there is a way to free the spirit and let it go on to the afterlife, I’ll see that it’s done.”
“Good. We shall remember you and your family in our prayers tonight.” Demetrios raised his hand and Matthias bowed his head to receive the blessing. “Go with the gods, and may the sea carry you safely home.”
“Thank you, your grace.” Matthias paused. In his heart of hearts, he knew he wouldn’t be returning to this island again. “Watch over my son.”
Demetrios nodded. “Watch over my queen.”
“Agreed.”
Another donkey cart returned them to the harbor around noon. To Matthias’s untutored eye the Aegis had been reloaded with supplies and was ready to leave. “How quickly can we get back to Hellaspont?” he asked Andros once he was aboard.
The captain squinted at the sky. “If the weather holds, I can have you back in eleven hours.”
Matthias calculated the time. “Make it ten and I’ll make you a rich man.”
Andros grinned at that. “I’m already a rich man, majesty. But I’ll get you back to the queen in ten hours if I have to beg Lis to pull the ship herself.”
****
After a year of being stymied by Pelas’s treachery, Danaë found that taking the adept’s test was something of an anticlimax. In order to graduate to the rank of magistra, three high-level spells had to be performed without error. The first, unsurprisingly, was StormCaller. Danaë understood her new tutor’s reasoning; if she could cast the spell that had become associated with the feelings of guilt over her father’s death, casting the other two spells would be simplicity itself.
Still, it felt wrong to stare up at the deep blue sky, feeling out the humidity riding on the air currents. “Magistra, are you sure we have to start with this one?” she asked.
“I’m sure,” Ife said, arms folded across her chest. “Remember, the cloud only needs to produce rain. You don’t need to be extravagant with its size.”
“Yes, Magistra.” Instead of the cliffs overlooking the Eastern Sea, Danaë stood in her favorite palace garden, a small one surrounded by an elegant peristyle. The guards had been cleared away, and she and Ife were alone in the space.
She sent her elemental power upwards, feeling for the heavier clumps of moisture in the air that could be drawn together. Under her breath she started a rolling chant, the words forming a channel for the magic and directing it upwards into the sky.
At first, nothing happened. Then a wisp of vapor began to form high over the garden. Shepherding it with the greatest care, Danaë added more moisture to the nascent cloud until it was white and puffy.
She continued to grab humid air and pack it into the cloud, holding everything together while she increased the moisture level. The cloud spread out along its bottom, turning grey as droplets of water began to form inside it.
Now she funneled energy into the cloud, concentrating it. The effect was much like squeezing a soaked sponge. Glittering crystal drops of rain fell down from the cloud, dampening Danaë’s hair and watering the garden.
“Enough,” Ife said, and Danaë could hear the satisfaction in her voice. “Now dissipate the cloud.”
With care, Danaë reversed the process until the cloud had dissolved and the sky over the garden was clear once more. She checked the currents to make sure that no lingering influences were there, then sighed in relief. “That felt good, Magistra.”
“As well it should,” Ife said. “You’re finally using your magic in a proper fashion. Now,” she turned, studying the dry fountain in the middle of the garden. It featured a marble statue of a girl with an amphora on one shoulder. It was obvious from the design that water was supposed to pour out of the amphora and into the catch basin in which the statue stood. “Yes, that’s a good one. Make the water flow.”
Danaë considered the fountain. It had been fed by a spring that had dried up years ago after an earthquake. She would need WaterFinder for this. Extending her senses downwards, she began reciting the spell as she probed the earth underneath her for the dried spring. Sometimes a failed spring could be brought back to life by linking it to another nearby water source, or clearing away a blockage that had cut it off in the first place.
She discovered that the fountain spring was in the second category. Its outflow channels had been blocked by rocks and sand that had shaken loose by the earthquake. Directing the water to push aside the debris, she concentrated its power until the gentle spring was more like a geyser.
There was a loud belching noise, followed by a rumble. Brownish water spurted from the water bearer’s amphora, turning clear as the debris settled out of the flow. It splashed down into the catch basin, stirring up the few dead leaves and twigs there.
Ife walked to the edge of the fountain and peered down at the water, lips pursed in thought. “Very nice,” she said. “And now, your final test.” She reached into her robe’s pocket and drew out a small wooden cup. Holding it in the burbling stream, she filled it with water.
Then she drew out a tiny vial from the same pocket. Prying out the cork with a thumb, she poured it into the cup and handed it to Danaë. “The water has been adulterated. It won’t kill you, but it will make you very ill for days. Purify the water in the cup, then drink it.”
Danaë’s lips parted in shock. “Magistra, if I get it wrong, the wedding ceremony is tomorrow.”
“Consider yourself lucky, then. In the old days they would adulterate the water with poison.” Ife folded her arms again, nodding at the cup. “Right. Off you go.”
Apprehensive, Danaë considered the fluid in the cup. A faint, sickly sweet smell rose to her nostrils. She recognized it as an herbal extract that was a very effective purgative. If she didn’t neutralize all of it, she would be spewing from both ends for a good day or so.
Calm. You know how to do this. Focus.
Centering herself, she concentrated on the water and began the Purify spell. It was important to work from the top down as the spell turned the water itself into a filter that squeezed out anything dissolved in it—minerals, flavorings, drugs, poison, et al. As she worked she could see tiny grains of what she assumed were minerals settling on the cup’s bottom. An oily layer of the extract soon joined them. She ran through the spell one more time for safety’s sake, then formed a rime of ice over the impurities, locking them away from the rest of the water.
There was nothing else to do now but test her work. She cleared her throat. “Well, then,” she said, trying for a bright tone. “Bottoms up.”
Saluting Ife with the cup, she drank the remaining liquid. It tasted stale, like purified water. Licking her lips, she said, “Did I pass?”
Her tutor peered into the cup. “Since you aren’t vomiting, I think it’s safe to say that you passed.” She looked up with an approving smile. “Congratulations, Magistra Aqua Danaë.”
Reaching over, she touched a finger to Danaë’s adept’s band. It parted and fell off, landing on the grass.
Bending down to hide the sudden tears in her eyes, Danaë scooped up the curve of gold. “Thank you, magistra,” she said, her voice husky. “For everything.”
She could have sworn that she saw Ife’s eyes glistening as well. “Use
your power wisely and with fairness, child,” the mage said. “That’s all I ask.”
****
The rest of the afternoon and evening passed like the best of all possible dreams. Danaë attended a final dress fitting, then met with the Guild of Anglers to receive their wedding present, a beautiful knitted shawl done in the traditional patterns used by Hellene fishermen, and dined with Darius, Ife, and a hand-picked selection of Hellaspont residents. And not once did she stop smiling.
Her body was present at all these events but her mind was far away, soaking in the elemental magic that was her birthright. The removal of each restraining band had opened her senses in incremental steps, but now the world seemed more vivid, colors brighter and sound more exquisite. She watched with rapt fascination as a bead of sweat formed on Darius’s brow, the perfect crystal drop throwing off the tiniest of rainbows from the light of the oil lamps.
Finally, Ife had to squeeze her hand to get her attention. “I think you’re a bit overwhelmed, majesty. It might be best if you retired early and got a good night’s sleep,” she said in an amused murmur.
“Sleep. Yes, that sounds wonderful.” As if gliding on a cloud, Danaë made her apologies and wafted from the dining hall. She couldn’t wait to stretch out naked on her bed and feel the silk of the sheets and the warm sea air caressing her skin. It would be even better if Matthias was with her, but he wasn’t likely to return before tomorrow.
She stopped outside her chamber door as a wonderful idea came to her. You can use the sea to find the Aegis now. Perhaps he’s peering over the side, or standing in the bow looking up the stars. You can watch him all the way home.
Grinning, she nodded to the guard, who opened the door. Head full of plans, she sailed through her now-tidied audience room and into her bedroom, noting that the bed was turned down and ready for her. For some reason one of Matthias’s nightshifts had been laid out on it, and she marveled at the fineness of the weave and the way it bore the faint imprint of his body. Shedding her clothes, she stepped nude into the adjoining bathing room to clean her teeth before bed.
And saw Matthias lounging in her tub.
****
Matthias had every intention of finding Danaë as soon as he arrived at the palace, but when one of the royal guards informed him she was at dinner with guests he decided to go up to their room and sluice off the worst of the salt and sweat from the day first. Mohrs was in full agreement with this, chivvying him through the audience room into the elegant royal bedroom.
“What you need more than anything is a bath,” his valet grumped. “Begging your pardon, majesty, but I can smell you from here.”
Matthias sniffed his armpit and winced. “Gods, that’s rank. All right, bath first.” He turned, locating the only other door in the bedroom. “Through there, perhaps?”
“One would think so,” Mohrs said, long-suffering. He preceded Matthias through the door and stopped. “Oh, my!”
Matthias peered over his shoulder. Oh my was an understatement. The royal bathing chamber was a palace of sybaritic delights. One long wall featured a tiled booth with an odd silver flower suspended overhead. Next to it was a wooden door that Matthias recognized as a sweat room. The other side of the room contained a long counter with two deep sinks and a staggering array of unguents, oils, and other cleaning implements that Matthias didn’t recognize. At either end of the counter was a plain white door. Grinning, Matthias opened one. Inside, as he expected, was a solid marble stump. It had a large hole running vertically through it, and the top of the stump had been carved to fit the outlines of a human bottom. A pipe ran up along the wall to a gold-chased water box, and a handle on a chain dangled from the box.
In his last letter from Cresus, the man had been raving about his new sanitary convenience and how it was a huge improvement on a garderobe. I’ll have to ask Danaë how it works.
The far end of the chamber was taken up by a huge octagonal tub carved from veined marble. It had been sunk into the floor, and steps constructed from the same marble allowed easy access to the tub. Two taps in the shape of swan’s wings and an arching faucet in the corresponding shape of a swan’s head and neck jutted over the tub, and a veritable garden of greenery hung suspended from the ceiling around its periphery. Matthias could imagine lounging there, breathing in the freshness of moist greenery and the sea air that streamed into the room from cunningly constructed windows that would allow those in the tub to look up and out without being exposed to curious eyes.
He jumped a bit when Mohrs leaned past him, twiddling one of the golden wings. Water spouted from the faucet into the tub. He tried the other wing and the water ran faster now, steaming. “Oh, this will be a treat,” the valet said, satisfied. “Right, then. Let’s get you clean, sire.”
Twenty minutes later Matthias was half-floating in warm water that no one had had to haul up from the kitchens. Mohrs had shaved him with precision, discovered that the tiled booth was a kind of indoor waterfall, suggested delicately that Matthias use it to cleanse the dirt and salt from his body, then shooed him into the tub. “I’ll lay out one of your nightshirts on the bed, sire,” the valet said. “Will you need my services after you finish bathing?”
Matthias climbed up the stairs and began lowering himself into the heated water with a grateful sigh. “No, you can go. And thank you, Mohrs. For everything.”
A small but genuine smile of pleasure creased the valet’s face. “It’s an honor to serve you, sire. I wish you a good night.”
He left and Matthias relaxed further into the warm water. Oil lamps situated in niches around the room had been lit by one of the palace servants, and their mellow glow lent the room a rich topaz light.
The door opened, and a naked Danaë stepped inside. Matthias’s heart, battered from the events of the day, swelled with love. “Hello, little bird,” he called.
She stopped, face lighting up like a beacon as she spotted him. “You’re back! When did you get home?”
“About an hour ago. I thought I’d wash off the stink of dead fish before I came to you, but since you’re here now….” He held out a wet hand. “Join me?”
“Oh, yes,” she said softly, padding to the tub and slipping in. “Yes, I will.”
11
THE MORNING ROAD
The next morning they shared a light breakfast in the audience room while Danaë explained the day’s schedule. “It’s traditional for Hellenes to get married in the afternoon, so we have the bulk of the morning to get prepared,” she said, nibbling on some fruit as she read from the scroll that the Master of Ceremonies had delivered that morning.
Matthias leaned over, taking the opportunity to nuzzle her shoulder, bared by the slipping shoulder of her robe. He stopped in mid-nibble, focusing on what had been written on the scroll. “Do we really need three hours to dress?”
“Mohrs should be able to dress you in an hour, but I’ll need the whole three hours. Just wrapping my gown will take at least an hour.”
His eyebrows crept up. “Wrapping?”
She chuckled, giving him a brief but sweet kiss. “You’ll see. Then we’ll be presented to the people afterwards, and two chariots will take us to the Fisherman’s Chapel to make an offering to Lis. After that, we’ll head to the cathedral for the wedding ceremony proper, after which will be the triumphal parade through the city where you’ll look besotted with your new bride.”
“That’ll be easy enough,” Matthias murmured, brushing his lips over her shoulder and up along her neck. “I’ll be the most besotted groom in the entire world.”
Their joining the night before in the tub had been slow and sweet, with a banked need that burst into fire at the end. Afterwards, Matthias had dried them both before sweeping Danaë into his arms and carrying her into their bedroom. Tucking her into the massive bed, he had climbed in beside her and held her close.
He’d told her Lukas’s story quietly, without fanfare. She’d cried into his shoulder, both from grief for the little boy who’d been
so ill used and rage at the woman who had stolen his innocence and turned him into a weapon against Matthias.
“I can’t kill her, that’s the worst of it,” he’d said. “I want to, but she didn’t kill Lukas, and there are some who would even argue that he wasn’t harmed by the experience. The best I can do is have her stripped of her title and banished to the coldest, bleakest matriarch house I can find. The blow to her ego might even be worse than actual execution.”
“One can hope,” Danaë said fiercely.
“And then there’s Hanne.” He had told her about the revenant ghost of his first queen, asking if there was some way to lay her spirit to rest. Danaë promised that she would speak to Ife about it. After hearing Matthias’s story she had been reluctant to share her good news, but he’d noticed the absence of the gold band on her wrist. At his gentle demand she’d recounted the story of Pelas’s challenge, Ife’s true identity, and Luna’s new status.
He’d sat up at that, incredulous. “My granddaughter is a mage?”
“A powerful one at that,” Danaë confirmed. “And I suspect Ife’s taken an interest in her if she wants to help pick Luna’s tutor.”
Matthias fell back on the pillow. “My gods,” he said. “Are you sure you still want to foster her?”
“Who better to foster a mage than another mage?” Danaë had snuggled close again. “Besides, I’m tempted to give her a duchy for what she did to Pelas.”
Matthias had cupped her cheek, gazing at her. “Did I remember to congratulate you, Magistra?”
“No, but we were rather busy.”
“Mm. Congratulations, Magistra Aqua Danaë of Hellas.”
“Thank you, your majesty. Now come here.”
Smiling, Danaë turned her thoughts back to the morning. “You’ll make a superb besotted groom,” she said, kissing Matthias on the nose. “As soon as Schrader confirms that your ceremonial guard is ready, however, you need to start getting dressed.”
“And the nagging begins,” Matthias said good-naturedly. “I think—“
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