She felt her heart sink, but the Mirror Servant was not done quite yet.
“Now, having said that, it is a fact that Sebastian has not killed anyone.”
“He hasn’t exactly had the opportunity,” she demurred.
“Pish, he could easily have killed you,” the Servant chided her. “If you please, I am trying to research a Path out of this dilemma, failing being able to break the magic on him. Now, may I continue?”
She apologized. He peered at her as if to determine whether or not the apology was sincere. When he decided that it was, he picked up where he had left off.
“You will recall that we had determined that this was done to Sebastian by means of magic — though whether it is a curse-spell, or an actual curse, which does not require a magician to set it. Correct?”
Since the face waited patiently after this, she assumed she was supposed to respond. “Yes, I have been told that this was a curse, and that you hadn’t — Wait, what is the difference between a curse and a simple spell?”
The face beamed. “Now, there you are! That is the real question, isn’t it? The difference, my dear sorceress, is passion!”
She gave this careful thought. The Servant allowed her to take her time. Evidently there was no one else clamoring for it — or perhaps it, too, had apprentices, who could take over the more mundane task of telling callers, “I am sorry, but the Godmother is unavailable. Would you care to leave a message?”
“Sebastian has been quite adamant that I am supposed to keep emotion at bay when I work magic,” she said slowly, “because emotion interferes with control.”
“Yes,” the face said, smiling genially.
“He’s right. When I get upset, or worried, I can’t concentrate.” Or when I happen to notice how Sebastian’s eyes take on a stormy-gray color when he’s unhappy, and a green glint when he’s — Bother, not now! Think this through!
“Indeed,” the Servant encouraged.
But was there ever a time when emotion had made it easier to concentra —
“When Eric tried to bully me, just before I was bitten, I was truly angry. And it made me sharper. I knew exactly what to say, and how to say it. I was able to figure out from how he stood and the expression on his face what he was likely to do next. And when I was frightened, when those poachers attacked us, that made me very sharp, too. I knew instantly that I couldn’t get to my knife, and it wasn’t as if I even thought about it. My hand went right to the quiver, I got a crossbow bolt and I used it like a knife.” She paused. “I think I would have to say in both cases I was very passionate.”
The face bobbed. “And there you have it. Fear, anger, hate, pain — all these things can create a single-mindedness that surpasses everything a trained will can do. Not everyone has this sort of mental quirk. Many — I would say most — people become more confused when they are consumed by passion. But those who possess this same talent as you are able to cast curses. This is why incredibly powerful curses can be cast by the dying and the desperate. The Tradition, of course, has a lot to do with this, as well — it responds to an exceedingly well-worn Traditional Path and puts all the force of its power behind the curse. But before The Tradition can feel this, the passion itself must be single-minded. If it’s not, if the passion does not have a single object and a single goal in its focus, then The Tradition can’t sense it.”
She shivered, despite being cozily close to the fire. “It’s like this giant slug, isn’t it? Incredibly powerful, but so stupid that it will always follow the path of least resistance, and always be attracted to — ” she paused, feeling a moment of startled epiphany “ — what it feeds on?”
“Very good.” The face beamed at her. “You are going to make a quite outstanding magician, I do believe. Yes, we think that The Tradition feeds on, derives its power from, emotion, at least in part. So this may explain why it does what it does — it ‘knows,’ as a slug knows, that if it forces matters into this shape, there will be a richer reward. So it does.”
“All right, so what does this have to do with Sebastian?” she asked.
“It means that he didn’t have to actually do something that he remembers to cause someone to hate him enough to cast a curse. It means that for all we know, it could have been something completely out of his control. But that, in turn, means that we — or more precisely, he — may be able to alter the curse. Casting a curse on the curse, so to speak.”
“But why can’t the Godmother — Oh.”
“Exactly. She has a hundred concerns as pressing as Sebastian. There is no way she can muster enough passion. Only Sebastian himself can.”
“Or the person who cast it, I suppose,” she said thoughtfully. Sapphire moved over to the fire and threw a few pinecones on it for the pleasant scent. “If we could find that person and persuade him of the wrong he had done Sebastian and make him sufficiently remorseful.”
The face bobbed in agreement, but grimaced. “That is why the original caster can remove a curse when no one else can. And that is why it is so rare for him to do so. Or her, since females are extremely good at casting curses. You are very passionate creatures. Males are told from childhood to restrain their passions. Females are not. Now it is true that for most magic, control is what is important. But that is not true in curses. In a curse, it is the passion that creates the powerful curse. Females, therefore, are better at casting curses.”
It was her turn to grimace, at a memory of one of those moments when she had realized just how unfair life was. It had been another child’s tenth birthday fete when she was very young and her mother had still been alive. The event had been enormous, for the father of the birthday child was fabulously wealthy and his father wished both to demonstrate that wealth and indulge his child with the most insanely elaborate party anyone in the city had ever seen. Not even the Prince’s birthday fete the next week rivaled it… People were still talking about it to this day.
In fact, the Prince’s celebration had been quite modest by comparison. Just the usual distribution of food and blankets to the poor, and free wine to drink the Prince’s health in all the taverns. Presumably there had been a party for the boy, but only a choice few had been invited.
I wonder if that was allowed on purpose, she suddenly thought. The Prince and Darian Errolf were the same age. And if I were King and wanted to deflect the ire of evil magicians and the attention of The Tradition from my child, I think I’d welcome some idiot throwing a fete that was fit for a Prince.
Come to think of it, Darian never was the same after that. He was always doing dangerous things and sneaking off to learn sword work… No matter what his father did, he never would settle down to learn the business, and two years ago he stole a warhorse and vanished. Good thing he had a younger brother who would have turned himself inside out to please their father or there would have been no one to become the next Errolf of House of Errolf. I wonder what the ending of that tale is going to be?
Well, the point was, there had been races on ponies for wonderful prizes, but not just any ponies. These had been colored up in every shade imaginable by magic — Illusion or Transformation really didn’t matter for the effect — and of course every child wanted a ride. And of course, many fell off, because not all the children were good riders, or even riders at all. And she remembered two children who must have been the same age, sitting on the grass of the racecourse — also softened by magic, because it wouldn’t do for anyone’s child to get more than a bruise or two — crying after being thrown almost identically. One was a boy, and one a girl. The girl had been picked up by her nanny, petted, cooed at and taken off for cake. But the boy had been pulled up to his feet by his caretaker, his shoulder had been given a shake, and he had been told in no uncertain terms that he was shaming his father and he was to stop crying and be a man.
And he had.
And she had known at that moment, with complete astonishment, that the world was unfair. Sometimes it was worse to be a boy.
“On the ot
her hand,” the face went on, “when a man can muster up the passion to cast a curse, all that repression generally makes him twice as effective as a woman.”
“Lovely,” she said dryly. “So what do you think Sebastian and I should do?”
“You won’t be able to break the curse, but if he can do this, if he can either find the leverage or the emotional energy, he can alter the curse, and the best alteration would be the one you wanted to find The Tradition for. The protective were-beast. The werewolf curse takes his mind away. If he could keep and control his mind, even if he can’t control what his body becomes, he wouldn’t be a danger anymore.” The face bobbed with satisfaction. “Now, the way to get this result, would be to concentrate on what he wants as he is actually transforming, because that will be when the curse is the most vulnerable. And make it as simple and direct as possible”
Not asking for much, are you?
“If it was easy, everyone who was cursed would be able to do it,” the face said, quite as if it had read her mind.
“All right, I’ll go tell him,” she said, as her stomach reminded her that it had been a very long time, and quite a lot of vigorous exercise, since breakfast. “And thank you,” she added, a little embarrassed that she had let momentary annoyance interfere with what should have been gratitude that the Servant had done all that research for them — and given her what amounted to another magic lesson to boot!
“You are welcome,” the Servant said politely, but with an encouraging smile. “Best of luck to you.”
She hurried down to dinner, to find that Eric was back, and deep in conversation with Sebastian. Disappointed that she wouldn’t be able to tell Sebastian her news right away, but not wanting to interrupt what looked and sounded important, she just gestured to the Spirit Elemental waiting at her place to serve her. She didn’t even notice what she was eating, she was waiting so impatiently for the two of them to end whatever their discussion was about.
“…does seem like a delicate situation,” Sebastian was saying with a frown.
Eric shrugged. “That’s what the Factor says. I’m not sure that delicate is the word I would use. The King and his Council are all sitting on the fence. The problem with being on the fence is that if you aren’t careful, you’ll get knocked off and trampled on.”
“And the Prince?” Sebastian asked. “I don’t remember him as being indecisive.”
“Wants to take the army to the border and present a united front against Waldenstein. Won’t move until his father says to, though. The King thinks sending some sort of diplomatic party to take the lay of the land is the better idea, and he’s not all that enthused about supporting Lorraine.” Eric’s lip twisted a little, but Bella couldn’t make out whether it was contempt for diplomacy or contempt for Lorraine. Maybe both.
“But Lorraine is our ally!” Sebastian objected, waving his fork wildly in the air. It was a good thing it was empty.
“So is Waldenstein,” Eric reminded him. “And Waldenstein has a bigger army.”
Sebastian rubbed his temples. “This is not good. Is the Godmother involved?”
“How would I know that? You tell me, you’re the magician,” Eric retorted. Then added, “I’d be surprised if she wasn’t, though.”
Sebastian muttered under his breath; Bella couldn’t make out what he was saying. Then he spoke louder. “What we need is a nice thaw along the border to make things mushy,” he said. “That would buy us time. Waldenstein has a lot of heavy cavalry, and they can’t move in the mush.”
“Why don’t you arrange that?” Eric’s tone made it clear he was joking, but Sebastian answered seriously.
“I just might be able to. I’m already the most powerful magician in this part of the country, and with Bella to help, it would be easier. Not easy, magic never is, but easier.”
Eric looked astonished. Probably as astonished as Bella felt. Sebastian was more or less assuming she would help with a major Work! That was incredible! She could scarcely believe he was trusting her with any part of something this big so early in her studies. Anytime you mucked about with weather, it was major. So many things to go wrong…so many things you could unbalance…
“I’ll have to consult with the Godmother first, of course. But if it’s a good idea, she will probably get others to join the effort…” Sebastian pushed away from the table, and Bella caught a flicker of satisfaction on Eric’s face.
It surprised her. Why would Eric be satisfied that Sebastian was going to undertake some major magic? This sort of thing needed days, weeks to set up in advance, and if you added more magicians to the mix, it would get even more complicated and add more time.
And he wouldn’t have any time to do anything else. This was, after all, a priority.
This might be another reason why Father has been looking so worried, and not just about me. War is never good for trade.
“Maybe you had better go back to the city and keep me informed,” Sebastian continued. “You’ve got my note making you my representative — that will get you access to the Court, or at least, the King’s officials. Take a lot more pigeons with you.”
Eric nodded. “I can do that. I’ve got ears everywhere.” He grinned. “Lots of them are attached to pretty little heads, too. There is nothing like a chambermaid for hearing what’s really going on.”
“You’ll need money for bribes and tips.” Sebastian pulled a small square of paper out of one of the capacious pockets of his over-robe, and took out one of his enchanted pens that made their own ink from a special holder on the left side of his chest. He wrote out something in tiny, meticulous letters, then waved the paper in the air to dry it. “Here. I’m authorizing the Factor to release as much as you need from the surplus.”
Eric folded it and put the paper into his pocket. “That will help. Palace servants aren’t cheap, only negotiable.”
“And accurate information is worth whatever you have to pay for it.” Sebastian stood up. “I need to go talk to the Godmother.”
“I’ll go pack for a longer trip.” Eric glanced over at Bella, and grinned. “And Abel will be the new Gamekeeper for a while, eh?”
Something about the way he said that, gave her an odd feeling. She couldn’t quite place what it was. A vague unease, but why?
“Don’t see why not,” she replied. “Have you spotted my collection of snares? I left them hanging in the barn on their own pegs so you would see them.”
He grinned. “I have. Keep up the good work.”
And with that, he pushed away from the table, leaving Bella to finish her dinner alone.
When she had, she went straight up to the workroom. She found Sebastian sitting in front of a mirror just about big enough to allow someone to walk through it if they stooped. Until they had consulted the Servant together the other day, it had been covered by a drape. At the moment, it was black.
He looked up at the sound of her footstep. “It seems the Godmother is already in the capitol consulting with the King. The Mirror Servant said that he would give her my message about using a thaw to make it difficult for Waldenstein to move its army on the border.” Then he frowned. “It’s odd. The Servant didn’t act as if the situation was as urgent as Eric thought.”
“Maybe the Godmother already has a solution in place,” she suggested. “Eric couldn’t possibly have known that, if he left the city this morning.”
“I suppose that’s possible — ” Sebastian brooded for a moment. “Perhaps the Mirror Servant just doesn’t think the possibility of warfare is imminent. But Eric did seem impatient to get back and find out what was going on.”
Or maybe Eric just wants to get back to the city and have a good time spending all that money you gave him access to. She thought that, but she didn’t say it. In the first place, it was none of her business, and in the second, he had been confined here just as long as Sebastian had.
That letter making him Sebastian’s representative… He would get what he had wanted for a very long time now. The respec
t of the nobles. And if he somehow made himself useful to the King —
Having a wizard you can call on as fast as the pigeon flies might do that —
Then the King could do what no one else could. He could ennoble Eric himself. Grant him a title of his own. “Knight” might be too much to hope for, but he could certainly get “Esquire.”
Of course, if the country went to war, “Knight” was not out of the question, either, provided you were useful enough. Much higher titles than that had been granted to bastards and even commoners who proved their worth to the King in war.
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