by Jasmine Walt
“Well enough,” I muttered, even as my mood turned sour at the very thought. I hated the lessons, mostly because Loranian was so damn hard to learn. I took a deep breath. “I received a letter the other day, from Isana ar’Rhea of Castalis.”
“What?” Iannis’s head jerked upward, and our gazes clashed. There was a short pause, fraught with tension, and then those violet eyes narrowed. “You appear to be fully aware of that name’s significance,” he said at last. “I take it that, against my advice, you have been digging into your family history?”
“Yes,” I said, squaring my shoulders. I wasn’t going to let Iannis make me feel guilty about this. “I enlisted Janta’s help, and I found out that Haman ar’Rhea is not only my father, but also the High Mage of Castalis.” I gave him a dry look. “I also learned their line is directly descended from Resinah. Guess that makes me pretty special.”
“Indeed.” Iannis sighed, looking resigned. “I suppose you have a right to this knowledge, though I doubt it will do you much good right now. I hope that your investigation is not what drew Ms. ar’Rhea’s attention to you.”
“No, as a matter of fact, it wasn’t.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Apparently, Isana saw my face in the paper and noticed a resemblance. She wants to come to the wedding, probably to see if we really do have a connection.”
Iannis pressed his lips together. “Please show me the letter. I would like to read it myself.”
I went back to my room to retrieve it, trying not to be annoyed. After all, I knew Iannis would react this way. When I came back, he was sitting on the couch, his face turned toward the empty fireplace. I handed him the letter, then sat down on the opposite side and waited for him to finish reading it. Once he was done, he folded it up, then stared into the empty grate for a long moment.
“Well?” I demanded, unable to stand the silence any longer. “What’s going through your head?”
Iannis turned his head toward me slowly, his eyes hard. “It could be that this girl—your half-sister—has an unusually enlightened attitude toward shifters, but I suspect that this letter was not young Isana’s idea at all. More likely, it was dictated to her by one of her parents.”
“Her parents?” I recoiled at that thought. “You mean it’s possible that my father told her to write that?” But why?
“Yes, or even worse, her grandfather, the former High Mage of Castalis.” Worry entered Iannis’s gaze, and he reached for my hand, squeezing it hard. “Haman’s father-in-law is utterly ruthless, as he amply demonstrated during the century he was High Mage himself. He may have stepped down officially, but I suspect he is still more powerful than Haman. If he knew or suspected that you were related to his daughter’s family, he would go to whatever lengths he deemed necessary to remove you as a threat. You may not know this, but Castalians are strongly prejudiced against shifters, and Haman’s entire family would be considered disgraced if your existence were discovered.”
“Yeah, Janta told me about how one of the previous High Mages drove all the shifters out of their borders.” My lip curled in a sneer. “If that’s how they still feel about shifters, then I don’t want anything to do with them anyway.”
“Good,” Iannis said firmly, covering my hand with his own. “So long as that’s your attitude, you should be perfectly safe. I strongly recommend you avoid contact with them if at all possible. As for Isana’s letter, you should write back that the resemblance is simply a coincidence. Sometimes a lie is necessary to save everyone untold trouble. Including Isana herself.”
“And what about her request to attend our wedding?” I asked. Was it really wise to snub a member of the ruling family of another country?
“Tell her she is welcome to visit if she likes, but that things are still in an uproar because of our recent troubles with the Resistance, and that it would be safer if she waited until things had calmed down. That should dissuade her.”
“True,” I said, biting my lip. I’d be dissuaded too, if the country I was planning to visit turned out to be dealing with a huge rebel problem. Would we ever be free of the Resistance? I wondered, staring out the window. Or were we forever going to be dealing with them, like a persistent illness that we just couldn’t shake?
2
I arrived early for lunch at the Winter Garden, a private dining room in the Palace used to entertain important guests. It was hexagonal-shaped, with a trio of windows toward the back that overlooked the Palace Gardens. A table for two was set near those windows, and one of the servers pulled out the chair as I approached. I had to stop myself from scooting it forward, instead allowing him to push in my chair like a real lady should.
Hopefully this meeting won’t be too awkward, I thought as I studied the winter landscape mural that stretched across the walls of the circular room. It was hard to imagine that it might go well, though. I had spent the last ten years hating and resenting the matriarch of the Baine Clan, and with damn good reason. Now we were about to sit down to a civilized meal, and the fluttering in my stomach told me that I wasn’t entirely ready for this.
There’s no choice but to be ready, I told myself firmly. I’d already committed myself, and it would have been cowardly to back out. I would never show weakness to Mafiela Baine. Vulnerability was something you only showed to people you trusted, and to say that I didn’t trust her was the understatement of the century.
I caught Mafiela’s daffodil-and-steel scent, and turned my gaze toward the entrance. The double doors opened, a servant announcing the arrival of my aunt, and I stood, careful to keep my expression neutral as I surveyed her.
“Good afternoon,” Aunt Mafiela said, inclining her head. My back stiffened in surprise at the respectful gesture—it was as close to a full-on bow as she would come to for anyone except perhaps the Chief Mage. “It is good to see you well.”
“And you as well,” I said, returning the gesture with a nod of my own. The air crackled with tension as we both stood for a long moment, sizing each other up.
“I can’t remember the last time you wore a dress,” Aunt Mafiela finally commented, mild bemusement in her yellow eyes as she regarded me. “It, ah, suits you quite well.”
“Thanks.” I smoothed my hands over the silk skirt of my chartreuse gown, trying not to show my nerves. Unfortunately, Mafiela could smell my anxiety, so it didn’t really matter. It did make me feel better to know that she was nervous too—not that you could tell from looking. She was perfectly coiffed and dressed, her blonde hair swept up into a graceful knot, her makeup done tastefully but not over the top, the pearls gleaming at her wrists and throat an indication of wealth without being ostentatious. The Baine Clan owned a large share in the local fishing fleet, and therefore Mafiela was very financially secure. With the way she dressed and acted, no one would ever guess that beneath her pale pink gown and manicured nails still lurked the cunning and savagery of a beast.
But then again, she was a shifter. Even though we were part animal, we were also part human. And that manifested itself in different ways.
“Why don’t we sit?” I finally asked, gesturing to the table. “I’m sure you’re as famished as I am.”
“Yes,” Mafiela agreed, finally crossing the rest of the distance to our table. As soon as we were settled into our chairs, the servants brought out the first course—a grilled chicken and arugula salad garnished with nuts and cranberries. My appetite had been dulled by the ball of nerves in my stomach, but the scent of the chicken brought it roaring back again. After all, food was food, and I’d never refused an opportunity to eat in my life.
“I know that you and I have not been on the best of terms in a long time,” Mafiela said, her voice subdued. “But I hope we can move past that, and perhaps come to a reconciliation of sorts.”
“Is that because you’re sorry for how you treated me, or because you want to take advantage of my new position?” I challenged before I could stop myself. I hadn’t intended to go down that path—after all, attacking her wouldn’t get her
to open up about my father—but I just couldn’t help it.
Mafiela stiffened, drawing herself upright as if she were about to scold me for being impudent. My fingers clenched around my fork, ready for a fight. But then she let out a breath, as if remembering herself, where we were, and who I was now. With visible effort, she relaxed.
“If I’m being honest, a little bit of both,” she admitted. “Watching you survive and prosper, despite the overwhelming odds against you, surprised me. But what convinced me that I have misjudged you was when I watched you go out of your way time and time again to help the shifter community, even though you do not owe Shiftertown your loyalty.”
“I owed Roanas my loyalty,” I said quietly, and my chest ached with an old, familiar grief as I thought of my dead mentor. “As the Shiftertown inspector, he would have wanted me to help.”
“Yes,” Mafiela said. Her eyes grew distant as her gaze shifted to the window. “Roanas was a good man. I was sad when he died so suddenly.”
Anger burned in my chest as I recalled that Mafiela hadn’t even bothered to inform me of his funeral date, but I decided it wasn’t worth bringing up. We were finally heading in the right direction, and bringing up every single item on my laundry list of grievances wasn’t going to help.
But there was one thought that still niggled on the back of my mind, and I couldn’t move on until I had it answered. “Did you really kick me out of your household because you couldn’t stand me?” I asked her. “Or was it because I reminded you too much of my father?”
From what I understood, Mafiela had always strongly resented my unknown father for giving my mother a child out of wedlock and then leaving her to deal with the consequences.
Mafiela shook her head. “No,” she said. “That has nothing to do with it. I never met the man, so how could you remind me of him? Despite your propensity for getting into mischief with Rylan, you were not a bad child. And it was not your fault that your father did what he did.”
“Then why the hell did you do it?” I snapped. To my horror, tears began welling at the corners of my eyes, and I blinked hard to force them back. That old hurt is done and over with, I told myself. I was a grown woman now, and a kick-ass one at that.
“It wasn’t personal,” Mafiela insisted, but I could scent her guilt. “I had to get you away to protect the rest of the clan. As an illegal magic user, you were a liability to us. That constant threat of discovery, coupled with my anger and grief toward your mother for leaving us so soon, drove me to force you from the clan.” Shame filled her gaze, and she dropped her eyes to the tablecloth in a submissive gesture that I almost gaped at. The clan matriarch I’d grown up under never would have done such a thing—it amounted to groveling.
“It was wrong of me to banish you from the clan in the manner that I did. I should have ensured you were taken care of, at the very least. I owed you that, as my sister’s daughter. I am sorry.”
Something in my chest lightened, and I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “Thank you,” I said tightly, reaching for my glass of water. “I appreciate you saying that.” It wasn’t enough to make up for what she’d done, not by a long shot. But it was a start.
I drained my glass, then continued once I’d regained my composure. “What can you tell me about my father?” I asked. “Now that I’m attracting media attention as Iannis’s bride, it’s only a matter of time until I am forced to deal with my father’s side of the family.” I chose not to tell her about the letter I’d already received, or the research I’d done. “The more I know, the better prepared I will be.”
“I don’t know very much,” my aunt warned. “Your mother was secretive about the affair from the beginning, and she never brought him home. But she saw him for two months, and I could always tell when she was thinking about him because she would grow dreamy-eyed and was often lost in thought. I warned her not to get involved with a human so close to her Heat, but she did not listen. I believe she was in love with him, or at least she thought she was.” Mafiela’s voice darkened with anger, and her yellow eyes flashed. “Foolish, and by the time she discovered she was with child, he had already gone.”
“Did she ever tell you who he was?” I pressed.
“Yes. She asked for my help in tracking him down, and I was hardly going to refuse her considering the circumstances. It took some time to find him, as your mother had assumed he was human, and knew him only as Haman. By happenstance, we discovered a shifter who had witnessed your father changing his appearance and masking his scent. He followed him for a time, and discovered that he was living with a mage by the name of Ballos—studying under him, in fact.” Mafiela’s cheeks colored with fury. “It turned out that he was Haman ar’Rhea, a powerful mage from Castalis, and the next in line to become their new High Mage. He was also engaged.”
“Yes, I know,” I said evenly, though I was angry about that myself. It had been a shock when I’d learned that from Janta. “I had the Palace librarian do some research, and then I went to speak to Ballos myself. But you’ve confirmed for me, at least, that the affair wasn’t just some quick, spur-of-the-moment thing.”
“It would have been better if it had been,” Mafiela spat. “Then Saranella wouldn’t have…” She cleared her throat, realizing what she was about to say. “I apologize.”
“No, I get it.” And really, I did. It would have been better for the clan if I’d never been born. And yet, here I was. “Did you know that Ballos agreed to bind my magic in exchange for my mother’s silence?”
“Yes. That was the only reason I allowed her to stay in the clan with you in the first place,” Mafiela admitted. “I loved your mother very much, but I couldn’t afford to put the whole clan at risk for a hybrid child. But after her far-too-premature death, your magical episodes got worse. One night, after you turned twelve, you had a terrible nightmare and nearly burned down the house by hurling lightning around in the bedroom.”
“Oh.” I squinted my eyes as I tried to recall that, but I didn’t remember much more than being frightened, along with flashes of Mafiela’s angry voice and the rotten-eggs stench of her singed blonde hair. “That was a long time ago.”
“That was the final straw. It was all I could do to keep the servants from talking about those incidents, and I couldn’t let it get out that you had magic. I had done my best to overlook your previous episodes, but that one had gone too far.” Mafiela sighed. “I know the way I handled it was wrong, but I was at my wit’s end. And I was still angry at your mother and the choices she made.”
So angry you would hold that against her even in death? I wondered. But aloud, I said, “I understand. You were thinking of the clan first, as you should.”
The rest of the lunch went smoothly. We discussed my wedding plans, as well as the progress of the Shiftertown rebuilding project. Tensions between Shiftertown and Maintown were still very high, especially now that word was spreading that the Resistance had planned to turn on their shifter members, and the shifter population in general, once they’d overthrown the mage regime. The council was still divided on how to deal with this rift, but they were planning to meet with the Maintown council in a few days in an effort to repair relations between the two sections of town.
I wondered if Iannis was aware of the rift, and if he planned to do anything about it. But then again, he was still busy dealing with the Resistance itself. Besides, for the most part, the Mages Guild had always left the other sections of town to govern themselves. He would step in if it was necessary, but it was probably better to see if the two races could sort themselves out first.
“Lunch was delightful,” Mafiela said once our dessert plates were cleared from the table. “Thank you very much for inviting me to the Palace. Next time, you must come to share a meal in my house.”
“You’re welcome, and I will,” I said, and I meant it, though I wasn’t planning to do it any time soon. As she made to rise from the table, I held up a hand. “Hang on a moment. I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?” she echoed, her eyebrows winging up.
“Rylan,” I called in mindspeak, turning toward the doors. He was standing just outside, disguised once again as my tiger-shifter bodyguard, and he came in immediately at my signal, closing the door securely behind him. Mafiela frowned, puzzled, and Rylan touched a pin attached to the lapel of his uniform, which was tied to his illusion. Iannis had decided to allow Rylan to turn it on and off at will, instead of relying on us, since we might not always be at hand.
“Rylan!” Mafiela cried, jumping to her feet as the illusion faded, revealing Rylan’s true form. He still wore the same blue uniform, but his long blond hair had turned black again, his face reverting to the same edgy, handsome features he’d been blessed with since childhood, his orange tiger-shifter eyes lightening to jaguar yellow.
“Mother,” Rylan said gruffly as he approached. His steps were wary, as if he feared she might rebuke him. I wouldn’t be surprised if she did—she’d been furious at him for joining the Resistance over three years ago, and I was pretty sure they hadn’t spoken since.
I held my breath as they stared at each other in stunned silence, then let it out silently in relief as Mafiela embraced him. The gesture might have been automatic, judging by the look of glassy shock in her eyes. But at least she had done it.
“You’re here. You’re alive,” she said, pulling back to look at his face. “How is that possible? Last I heard, you had been captured and were awaiting sentence. I thought you might be dead or, at the least, suffering in the mines.”
“It’s a long story,” Rylan began, then broke off as tears began to run down her face. “Oh, Mother, please don’t. I’m all right. I’m sorry I made you worry.”
I slipped out of the room to give them privacy, a smile on my face. Rylan might not be able to come out of hiding any time soon, but at least he could reunite with his mother and repair their damaged relationship.