The Sorcerer’s Wife

by Dolamore, Jaclyn

  “Do you like it?” Sorla asked. “I tried it on first to make sure it would fit a Fanarlem.”

  “It’s—it’s beautiful,” Velsa said uncertainly. “But everyone will be able to see my stitches.” The dress bared her neck, elbows, and wrists. “Do you think it’s all right?”

  “I didn’t think about your stitches,” he admitted. “I guess I’m so used to you, I half forget what flesh and blood women look like. But you’re beautiful. I don’t think we need to cover you up.”

  “You’ll look so stunning in it,” Sorla said.

  Although they were probably two of the last people in the world to give an unbiased opinion, she relented. Sorla helped her get the dress over her head and fastened the hook and eye clasps at the back. Grau had bought slippers to match the dress, although he should have gotten her new stockings too, because this dress bared her ankles. Too late for that. Hopefully the lighting at the party would be dim enough that no one would notice. Sorla fixed her hair, and then Grau’s, too.

  Somehow, even her eternally disheveled husband managed to clean up for the party. He hardly looked like himself, with his eyes lined in black and earrings shaped like silver tears; Daramon fashions that he usually never bothered to sport. Some men came off looking very affected, but with Grau already a little weatherbeaten, it gave him a strange fierceness, like a famous pirate. She very much approved of his simple but well cut gray and black outfit as well, and the slightly heeled boots that gave him another inch of height.

  She suppressed a mischievous impulse to jump on his back, pull his braid right out of place again, and whisper in his ear just how good he looked until maybe they didn’t make it to the party at all. But tonight, of all nights, she was a lady.

  They walked the short distance to the Palace of Blessed Wings. The palace glowed with warm light, its towers cutting striking silhouettes against the moonlit clouds. Doors were thrown open; attendants pointed to vividly lit inner halls. Music echoed from a distance. From the main entrance it sounded like they were, in fact, crossing to another realm.

  Down a long corridor with a soaring arched ceiling, the music grew louder—almost too loud, but boisterous. It was like the Cake Walk she heard on the phonograph back at the border camp, blossomed into its full promise.

  They stopped in the doorway and gaped.

  Couples clustered around the band, their bodies scandalously close as their feet tapped and their arms waved in boisterous dances. Smoke from pipes and cigarettes formed a haze. Drinks hovered in the air, enchanted to float, and colored lights did the same, casting tinted shadows on faces and walls. The room was already packed with people and the din of laughter and voices, and so warm that the windows were thrown open.

  And it was a huge room. Grau looked like he was considering turning around before anyone noticed him.

  “Don’t be shy!” A young man in slim pants and a vest came their way. “Join in. It’s overwhelming at first, but believe me, you’ll be glad to be on the list. I’m the General’s party planner.”

  “That must be quite a job,” Grau said.

  “A most delightful madness,” the man agreed. “The flying drinks are my signature.”

  Grau waved at someone across the room. “He’s the head of the potion-making division,” he told Velsa. “I worked under him in my old position.” He led her over to a man with graying hair; of course while his hair conveyed some age, magic kept him looking young.

  “So this is the wife!” the man said.

  Velsa gripped Grau’s arm nervously; she hoped no one looked down on Grau for having a Fanarlem wife.

  “We’ve heard so much about you,” the man said, quite kindly, and she relaxed a little, thinking that Grau must have found a way to explain her in complimentary terms.

  But another man standing nearby, a burly auburn-haired fellow with the look of a lumberjack or a hunter who had just cleaned up for this party, looked at her with surprise, and then scrutiny. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize your wife was—when I made that joke yesterday.”

  “It’s fine…,” Grau said.

  “She’s lovely,” he said, as if this surprised him. “Bless you both.”

  Velsa wasn’t sure all these blessings people kept offering were complimentary.

  Now a younger man inserted himself into the conversation. “I don’t know, I’ve heard Fanarlem girls are better than real ones.” He winked at Grau.

  “I can’t speak for all Fanarlem girls, I just know that Velsa is the best girl in the world,” Grau said, putting an arm around her protectively.

  At least Grau had improved his response from the party in his hometown where he said she was ‘worth every coin and then some’. But the defensive, vulnerable feeling inside her was still the same.

  “How did you meet her?”

  “The clothing market in Nisa. She worked there, and I needed a new coat. I couldn’t stop talking to her and when I learned that she was flesh-born, well…I didn’t think I could leave without her.”

  “True love, eh?” the woodsman said, looking kindly at Velsa. “You must have been so happy.”

  “I—I was,” Velsa said, but she knew what he meant was really, You must have been so relieved that someone was able to look past what you are.

  She only relaxed when the conversation moved on to work matters.

  I thought it would be so much better to be thought of as flesh-born, but…

  She still was not accorded as much respect as a real woman, and she still had constant reminders that only her fake story gave her value. She had expected that Grau would invite pity by claiming her as his wife, and sometimes she had a twinge of unreasonable anger at him. It wasn’t his fault, but it grated on her sometimes, that whether concubine or wife, she would always be something he had decided to bestow generosity upon. She felt she had been every bit a good partner to him, but no one would see that.

  As soon as the conversation turned to the latest magical developments, Velsa moved toward the food tables and picked up a square of some dense chocolate confection. It had been too long since she’d tasted chocolate.

  “Hey,” said a voice behind her.

  Velsa turned to see another Fanarlem girl.

  She must be a true flesh-born Fanarlem.

  Velsa’s eyes were sweet but seductive with thick lashes, and her mouth was small and red with corners that were very slightly upturned, so even when she was angry she looked secretly pleased. In that way, her face could betray her. It was a face that gave her master permission to impose his will on her. Maybe she should have changed it, but it was her face, and one of the things that allowed her to trust Grau from the start was that he didn’t want to alter any part of her.

  The girl had obviously not been made to be a concubine. She had a rather sullen expression, a frowning mouth. Her eyes were dark and intense; eyes that didn’t pull punches. A fringe of black bangs almost covered one of them. The shadow of a real person lurked behind her features. She was dressed in a plain gray dress with black stockings and black boots.

  “I’ve heard about you,” the girl said. “I’m surprised that no one felt they just had to introduce us yet.”

  The girl must be appraising Velsa as Velsa appraised her; would she think Velsa was too pretty? Would she see that Velsa had never been anything else but this?

  “We don’t have to be friends just because we’re both Fanarlem,” the girl said.

  “We certainly don’t have to be friends.”

  “I just wanted to make that clear, because I know some people will think we should be friends.”

  “I would never be friends just because someone else said so.”

  “Still, we should get it out of the way,” the girl said. “I’m Parsons Belvray.”

  “Parsons?” Velsa repeated, to make sure she’d heard the unusual name correctly.

  “That’s what I said.” Parsons sounded impatient.

  “I’m Velsa Thanneau.”

  Parsons crossed her arms and looked a
t Grau. “I heard your husband killed a dragon.”

  “He did.”

  “I like dragons,” Parsons said.

  “He does too,” Velsa said. “But it was attacking us, so he had to do something.” She wasn’t sure what Parsons wanted from her.

  “How did you meet him?” Parsons asked.

  “I was working in a clothing merchant’s stall. He came to buy something, and…we got to talking.”

  “A merchant’s stall? I can’t believe a powerful man like that wouldn’t want an heir to pass his powers down to.”

  “Some people fall in love and they don’t really care about heirs.” Oh, Velsa had known girls like this before. Maybe Parsons liked being the only Fanarlem girl around and wanted to put Velsa in her place from the start.

  A skinny man with eyeglasses popped into the conversation and put a hand on Parsons’ shoulder. He held his other hand out to Velsa. “My goodness, look at you. Making friends?”

  “He wants to shake hands,” Parsons said, when Velsa hesitated.

  Velsa was used to bowing a greeting, but she took the man’s hand. He shook it gently and then squeezed it a little to feel her bones. “Wood?”

  “Of course,” Velsa said.

  “There is a new aluminum skeleton for Fanarlem that is far superior,” he said. “Parsons tested it and it works like a dream, doesn’t it, my dear?”

  “It’s an improvement,” Parsons said.

  “It’s lighter than a good quality wood but much stronger.”

  “It’s probably very expensive,” Velsa said.

  “I could get one of the prototypes for free,” he said. “Come by the house sometime.”

  “Papa, you haven’t even introduced yourself,” Parsons said. “And you don’t know her name either.”

  “Of course I do. Velsa Thanneau. The Peacock General told me all about you.” He finally let go of her hand. “I’m Trosiran Belvray; I head up Lord Jherin’s development team. But improving the makeup of Fanarlem is a side hobby of mine. Anything for my little girl.”

  Parsons rolled her eyes. “Okay, Papa, go away. You’re interrupting us.” She shoved him, and he ambled off in that direction like a ball being gently rolled away.

  “It’s true,” Parsons said. “The metal skeletons are much better.”

  “Swapping a skeleton is a big job…” The only time this had ever happened was when Velsa moved to taller bodies as she grew. In adulthood, she didn’t expect to ever swap her skeleton, only to replace broken parts. All of her seams would have to be split and all her stuffing re-secured around a new frame. She had just gone through some of this when Flower had her tossed into the river, and her stuffing was soaked and warped. She didn’t relish the vulnerability of having her entire body messed with yet again.

  But then she thought about Sorla.

  “Could I keep my old skeleton?” Velsa asked.

  “I’m sure you could. What would we do with it?” Parsons paused. “It would be interesting decor…”

  If Mr. Belvray gave her a new superior skeleton for free, then once she bought Sorla, she could give the girl her own top-quality wooden skeleton and that would easily end her slow, clumsy movements.

  “I’m interested,” Velsa said. “If he means it.”

  “He loves this sort of thing,” Parsons said. “It’s so rare that he meets another flesh-born Fanarlem. Only five of those skeletons have been put into use so far. But,” she added, “it still doesn’t mean we need to be friends.”

  The music stopped. Everyone glanced around to see if there was a reason.

  The entire room’s attention turned to a side door, where the Peacock General entered with Irik in leopard form prowling along beside him. Everyone drew back and gasps sounded from all directions. Irik seemed almost as nervous as she had in the conservatory—her ears were lowered, her tail swishing dangerously. Grau edged back to Velsa’s side.

  The Peacock General smoothed his hand gently along Irik’s head. “It’s all right, Princess…” He smiled at the nervous partygoers. “It’s not a party at Lord Jherin’s without a surprise, is it?”

  “What intriguing magic,” one of the sorcerers said.

  “Magic? A magic leopard? How so?” asked a lady with a fan in her hand.

  Parsons had turned away to get a drink, apparently uninterested.

  “This is a genuine shape-shifter,” the Peacock General said. “From the Kaalsons, the Princess Irik. She has come to Nalim Ima so we may learn the secrets of true shape-shifting. But—please, don’t touch her, and remain calm. She is young yet, and so, in animal form, she lacks control.”

  “This seems like a fantastic idea,” Grau muttered.

  A woman in a scarlet coat was the first to come forward to look at Irik more closely. “I don’t know about this, Cal…are you actually working with her or are you just enjoying the show?”

  “We’re working. But that’s for my department to know.”

  “I knew you’d say that.” She crossed her arms. “So much for teamwork.”

  Velsa kept staring at Irik, wondering just what was in her head when she was in animal form. She looked so frightened. Why had Calban brought her to a party with at least two hundred people to put her on edge and possibly fall victim to her claws?

  A girl in green silk started asking the Peacock General if she might be able to shape-shift into a bird someday.

  “Never say never,” he said, lifting his glass.

  Another woman walked over and ran her fingers along Irik’s back, despite the instruction not to touch her. Irik bristled and slunk away from the touch, but she didn’t attack.

  Velsa tried to relax as Grau asked her about Parsons. She told him about the aluminum skeleton.

  “Lighter is good,” he said. “Lighter and stronger.”

  “Because you’ve always thought I was too heavy.”

  He put his hands under her arms and pretended she weighed too much to lift. “Hrrrngh…”

  “Oh, stop it!” She was laughing but cut off abruptly as Irik began to growl. The people were crowded around her now, and judging by the way several of them had their hands snapped back, they had touched her a few too many times.

  The Peacock General glanced at the leopard and Velsa caught something calculating in his eyes before the cat launched at the nearest woman, knocking her to the ground. Screaming guests scattered as Irik tore around the room, making an attempt to climb the filmy drapes but her claws shredded them.

  “Irik!” the Peacock General shouted. He took a crystal from his pocket, shoving someone out of the way to get to her.

  “What in blazes are you thinking?” the woman in the scarlet coat shouted at him. “You brought her in here without being sure you had her under control?” She rushed up to try and help him just in time for Irik to dash forward again, slinking around the edge of the room. Velsa lost sight of her, especially since Grau kept trying to keep himself at the forefront.

  “My dress!” someone shrieked. A child started crying; Velsa had not even realized any children were present. Grau had his crystal in hand too, but both he and the Peacock General held back, as the crowd very carefully moved away from Irik. She was hiding under a table in the corner.

  Velsa concentrated her telepathy on Irik and felt not just panic, but determination.

  Was Irik trying to escape?

  Irik… Velsa reached out to her, only to meet strange, flailing emotions. Irik the girl struggled behind the leopard, almost as if they were two different entities.

  Help me, Irik’s mind pleaded. Too many people…too much…need to get out!

  Is the Peacock General making you do this? Velsa asked.

  Calban isn’t making me do anything! He is a good man! But Irik seemed more agitated by the question. She let out a warning growl as Calban tried to approach.

  “Come on, Princess,” he urged gently. “Can you change back?”

  Naked…shame…

  “She won’t,” Velsa said.

  Calban’s
eyes snapped to her. “What is she telling you?”

  “She doesn’t want to be naked in front of everyone. And the crowd scares her. If everyone steps out into the hall, I think she could change.”

  “Very well,” he said. “Everyone, out—out the doors, come on now. Lisandra, herd them, will you?”

  “I’m not your sheepdog, Cal,” the woman in scarlet said, and Velsa realized she must be the Red General. Her name was in the papers, too. While Calban was known for his study of sorcery among the Four Generals, Lisandra was a tactician. The two of them usually stayed close to Kalan while the other two of the famous Four Generals spent more time in the field.

  Despite her griping, Lisandra began pointing people to the door. Parsons left only after Lisandra insisted. Velsa tried to leave too, but the Peacock General held up his hand.

  “Not you, my dear. I want you here to speak to her.”

  He crouched next to Irik and held out a hand. “Come on now, my girl. You have to master this. You know it’s in you, and think of the power you will have…”

  Scared…

  Pain…

  Medicine?

  “She’s asking about the medicine,” Velsa said.

  “I could have guessed that,” he said. “But she must learn to do without the medicine.”

  “She’s only a girl, Cal,” Lisandra said. “You don’t think you’re pushing her too hard?”

  “She is twenty-two years old,” the Peacock General said. “At that age I was a soldier in the War of the Crystals. I’d experienced my share of pain, and surely I am sparing her as much pain as I cause. There is too much at stake to consider her fleeting feelings. And when she is human, she agrees with me.” He glanced at Velsa. “Can you soothe her as she changes?”

  “I’m not sure why Velsa needs to be involved with this,” Grau said. “She’s not a trained telepath. Why didn’t you bring a Halnari with you?”

  “We need more telepaths than we have,” the Peacock General said. “They must rest sometime.”

  Velsa’s telepathy had been trapped within her all her life, finally set free just in time to bring her this unwanted attention.