by Ana Mardoll
"Aye." The woman gave a brisk nod. "And designated successors until the queen bears a child of her own. Or so we're told; she cycles through her favorites and we bow to her will in all things."
Caran blinked at this piece of information, surprised to have it so freely given and in such an insubordinate manner. "I see. And if I should be one of these lucky chosen?" nee asked the brusque woman, tilting ner head with curious interest. "Would I know your name then?"
"No."
"Why not?"
The woman's reply was as cold as the northern wind. "In that case we wouldn't be friends, witch."
"I see." They had reached the riverbank and Caran knelt in the mud to cup ner hands with water and splash ner face. "You aren't afraid I'll repeat any of this, are you?" nee observed, looking back and up at ner jailer.
The woman, whose armor was in much better condition and more expensive than that of her peers, snorted at the question. "There are reasons why I'm assigned to the ass-end of the Eastborne wall, witch. Now drink up and wash yourself while I tend my horse. Remember, dive into that river and my archers will make sure you never come up for air."
Caran watched her stalk away, the setting sun glinting from the woman's armor and striking ner in the face with as much force as the words. Nee had encountered bluster in taverns on the road, but more often than not copious quantities of wine had been required to provoke such candor. Sober talk such as that required power behind it to keep the speaker alive, and armor like hers suggested wealth also.
In any other kingdom Caran would have set her down as disgraced nobility, the minor sort who were too much trouble to kill and useful to keep alive if they pledged their skills in service to the crown. Here in Northnesse, however, nobility was determined by magical talent. Ner jailer had none, Caran was certain; even if ner senses lied, the woman would have been caught in the purges. Without a trace of magic, she could never be noble; unless, Caran realized with a sharp breath, she was a child of mages and born without talent. They were rare, these magicless babies, but they did exist. A noble child lacking magic might well have escaped the purge but kept their heritage, if they were lucky.
Caran felt a stab of pity for the woman, even as nee knew ner feelings stemmed in part from a need for distraction from ner own dire situation. Nee sighed and bent to drink from the river, letting ner gaze sweep the bank where nee knelt. A wealth of reeds and flowers blossomed beside the life-giving water, but the specimens which met ner eyes were valuable only for forage or healing, or crafting into bedding or baskets or paper; no miracles sprang from the ground into ner hands.
Dejected, nee turned to stand and hobble back to the cage. Yet nee was distracted by a profusion of bright yellow flowers drinking in the last rays of the sun: maiden's joy, they were called back home. Caran used to bundle them into posies in the spring and sell them to lovers eager for pretty tokens to give their beloveds. Then nee frowned. It was late autumn edging into winter, and even if the season had been right the locale was not; maiden's joy was a southern plant which craved warmth above all else.
Three archers glared at ner back, arrows at the ready. Nee shuffled ner knees closer to the water and hunched ner shoulders forward to shield ner hands from prying eyes. With the utmost care, a murmured prayer to the southern goddess and her consort, and as much magic as nee could muster, nee pinched a stem with ner fingernails. Thick white pus oozed out and a slow stunned smile spread over Caran's face.
Quick as a flash nee went to work, plucking the stems and stuffing them in the pockets of ner cloak, murmuring charms to preserve the plants and prevent their sap from spilling out. Clearly, miracles did spring into needy hands for here, blooming in the orange dusk by the banks of the river, grew a rich profusion of king's favor.
They reached Erivale castle as the moon climbed over the high stone walls. Caran pulled ner cloak tighter around nerself as the wagon rattled over the drawbridge and passed under the largest barbican nee had ever seen. Two towers stood on either side of the fortified gatehouse, and soldiers peered at ner with a mix of fear and fascination in their eyes. Nee heard whispers of "Witch!" and "A real one!" as tiny blue gems studded in the stone walls and cobblestone path glowed in ner wake like the train of a wedding gown.
The night was cool, for which Caran was grateful; nee had an excuse to clutch at ner cloak and prevent the precious cuttings of king's favor from shaking out of the lined pouches sewn in ner clothes. Chilly breezes promising a bitter winter stirred fields of fat grains growing just outside the massive stone walls. These would soon be harvested and stored, feeding the castle inhabitants throughout the long winter. If provisions ran low the queen would presumably move her court to another castle and feed off the denizens there. Caran knew of at least three large castles within the Northnesse borders, and an untold number of noble country estates which had passed to the rapacious crown.
It was a shame, Caran reflected, that the young queen had inherited so much only to burn it all to the ground. A system of monarchy and nobility based on magic had drawbacks; the constant bickering and maneuvering for power had blighted the land. On a more personal level it had harmed people like ner jailer who were considered unfit to rule through an accident of birth, despite qualifications otherwise. Yet magic built these high stone walls, this towering barbican, and the imposing keep which held court at the center. Mages had fertilized the surrounding fields, instilling in them the power to produce fat bounty untroubled by weeds and pests. Without magical healing and plentiful food, many would suffer and the weakest would die.
The wagon rattled to a halt in the shadow of the keep, the moon blotted from the sky by the vast structure. Ner jailer dismounted from her horse, tossing the reins without a second glance to the sleepy-eyed stableboy who promptly appeared at her side. "On your feet, witch."
Caran struggled up and shuffled to the door. Ner jailer stooped over ner feet and nee heard the scraping of a key against iron before ner manacles fell away, clattering to the cage floor. The armored woman reached in to lift ner down to the ground. "Come on, down you go. You're not as light as you look, are you? Makes you wonder what witches eat."
"Small children," Caran deadpanned, finding ner balance in the darkness with the help of ner captor. Nee looked up into her face, wishing the moonlight were strong enough to see her eyes. "Aren't you afraid of me, or worried I'll run off? It'd be a shame to lose your prisoner so close to your destination."
The woman gave Caran a light shove on the shoulder to get ner moving. "Into the keep and mind the stairs. We're going up. Should I be worried, witch? You said yourself you were the weakest witch I would ever meet. Anyway," she added in a grim tone, "you're in the queen's territory now. If you're strong enough to escape her keep, no chain would hold you and no guard could keep you against your will. Myself included."
Caran nodded, feeling ner way up the stairs. Torches were set into the stone walls, but they were more likely to blind anyone who looked directly at them than to cast light. A shiver ran down ner spine, unrelated to the cold autumn air; deep magic filled this castle, laced with death. "May I ask what will be done to me?"
"I told you." Her voice was low behind Caran, a quiet murmur in the darkness. "You will be chosen by the queen or you will die."
Ner bowels felt watery and nee wondered for a useless moment if nee would be allowed to use a latrine before execution, but shook the thought away. "Were your parents chosen, or did they die too?"
A soft hiss in the dark. "What did you say?"
"Your parents." Caran kept climbing, going as slowly as nee could. "They were mages, were they not? I saw your armor—"
"My father was a healer," the woman cut in, her tone sharp and angry. "My mother was a princess, cousin to the queen. They met on the battlefield and married soon after. How they died is none of your concern."
"I'm sorry," nee told her, stinging at the rebuke. It was true that Caran was prying, but even a hint of what to expect at the top of these stairs was priceless to ne
r. "Please forgive me. Fear made me speak out of turn. If I must meet a princess of the royal blood in this castle, I would far prefer it to be you."
The soldier's voice was no warmer than before, but there was a hint of sour amusement. "I'm a lady by birth and nothing more. If anyone here has a claim to royal titles it would be you, oh weakest of witches. If I don't like the fact that my talentless blood means I rank lower than a foreign-born spy who can barely cast a cantrip, I can comfort myself at night with the fact that I'm alive. That's worth all the glowing blue gems in the crown jewels to me."
"Ever thought of emigrating?" Caran tried to match her dry tone. "There are folk in neighboring kingdoms who would see your worth; it's hard to miss, in fact."
"Are you offering to run away with me, little witch? I don't see that working out well for either of us."
"I, uh, wouldn't mind trying. Better than the alternative awaiting me upstairs."
She laughed, but there was no mirth in the sound. "True enough. But this is my home. We're here."
Caran didn't understand what she meant with those last two words until ner foot lifted automatically for the next step and found only empty air. Nee would have sprawled forward but for the steadying hands of ner guard. Torches partly illuminated the wide landing they stood upon and the heavy iron doors that led to ner fate. Nee took a hesitant step forward and then looked back.
"If I don't ever see you again, my name is— was Caran."
Shadows danced over the face of ner escort, her thoughts impossible to guess. "Janeida, little witch," she said, taking up a stance by the wall to wait. "Lady Janeida. Farewell."
The closest nee had been to a throne room was the Magic Guild's receiving hall in Linlea. Leaders of the guild had met with Caran prior to ner expedition, sitting around a low circular table in a brightly-lit hallway which led off into rooms on either side, each filled to the ceiling with books arranged by category of study. Nee had not felt entirely at home in the scholarly place, but it had a peacefulness nee could not deny.
In contrast, the throne room in Erivale castle was dark and imposingly vast. Thick carpet marked a path from the iron doors to a dais at the other end of the hall, where two thrones inlaid with gold and glowing blue jewels glittered in the light of braziers ringed about the raised platform. The place must have been built with sorcerers in mind, for in addition to the fire-pans ringing the dais, two streams of water flowed in gutters on either side of the carpet path, air rushed in from windows nee could not see and made the flames dance, and rectangular columns of earthen bricks added the fourth natural element to the room.
It felt wrong. The sides of the room disappeared into shadow, untouched by the flickering light and making Caran feel claustrophobic and choked despite the size of the room. The numerous braziers made the room too hot even as the cold northern wind bit into ner flesh. Through and over and under it all was the thrum of death and old magic, the feeling of a place where too much badness has happened over too long a time.
"Welcome. Come in, come in. Closer." The voice was light, almost cheerful. A young woman lounged in one of the golden thrones, her eyes fixed on Caran with intense scrutiny. "It has been a long time since I've had to conduct such an interview. The last one they brought me was months ago and that was a false alarm, more charlatan than fortune-teller. But I've seen how you light up my little gems. Do come closer."
Caran stepped reluctantly onto the carpet path, feeling the blast of heat as nee approached the braziers. A fleeting fantasy of tipping over the flame-pans and burning the castle to the ground tempted ner, but the witch-queen of Northnesse could surely bend flame to her will, especially when her throne room was fitted to the needs of an elemental sorceress. Who else could benefit from the earth, fire, water, and air in the room when every other sorcerer in the kingdom had been put to death in the purge?
"Your majesty is too kind to greet me," Caran managed to utter, ner voice dry against the heat. "I was apprehended by your soldiers in Silvercrest. I only wished to sell my herbal teas on the other side—"
Laughter cut ner off, a tinkling giggle like ringing a string of bells. "Please spare me such fictions. You are a spy, my dear; though I don't know who sent you. Would you like to tell me?" Bright eyes flashed in the firelight. "Not that I particularly care, I confess. I don't even mind if they send more, so long as they're one at a time like this. Very accommodating of your masters. You are alone, aren't you?"
Caran blinked at the woman, surprised to hear a discordant note in the question. "Yes, I am alone, Your Majesty." This would have been ner answer even if nee did have a partner; nee had no interest in confessing names on a torture rack.
The queen seemed to read the same conclusion in Caran's face, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. "I don't know that I believe you; all the more reason not to dally."
Nee braced nerself for the call, a shout for the guards to come and drag the prisoner away. Instead the queen leaned back in her seat and tilted her head, studying Caran with a wisp of a smile on her face. Nee waited, confused, and then choked as cold air shot between ner teeth and thrust down into ner lungs. The sensation was like water when drunk wrong, the heaving coughing sensation of liquid where none should be. Yet it was air, icy and merciless, squeezing the life from ner chest. Nee reeled and slammed into an earthen pillar, hand snaking up the rough sun-dried brick in search of an anchor to steady nerself.
"Tell me," said the queen, her voice mild and curious, "do they have magic thieves in your part of the world? We're mages of a sort but, instead of doing magic of our own, we steal the magic of others." She giggled again, rolling her shoulders in a shrug. "Of course, I'm almost everything now: witch, wizard, magus, sorceress, enchantress. You name it, I've eaten it, but I started life as a thief."
The queen was too far to reach but Caran stumbled towards her anyway, one hand clutching at ner throat while the other clawed at ner cloak in a panic. Nee had thought to be more composed in the face of death, but faced with the loss of all air there was only raw fear and clumsy movements. The queen watched ner approach without alarm, head tilted again as she studied Caran's lurching steps with a detached manner.
"We're put to death in Northnesse," she mused. "It's the law. Can't have thieves running around stealing a king's power, can you? It happens in other places too, though I hear elsewhere it's by private assassination rather than public execution. But my mother and father were king and queen, and they hid me away; kept me safe until I could assume the throne." A shadow of a smile flitted over her face. "I'm afraid I may have sped that part up, but I had to. They thought we should tell the people what I am, and risk the danger. I disagreed. You'd have done the same in my place; anyone would."
Caran's head jerked from side to side, but not in denial. Nee sought fire in a room which was growing increasingly dark to ner eyes. Yet if nee couldn't see the fire, nee could seek out its heat; Caran reached out ner hand as nee stumbled forward.
"You don't think you would?" The queen was still talking, almost to herself, her words an indecipherable babble in Caran's ringing ears. "I think you're lying again. You see, a prophet swore at my birth that I would be killed by another mage—two mages, to be precise—and I intend not to be killed at all. So, while I was very grateful to my mother and father, I couldn't take the risk. What are you doing?"
Heat. The edge of the metal brazier burned Caran's hand, but nee was past caring. Nee yanked handfuls of king's favor from the folds of ner cloak, trusting to ner herbal charms to keep the sap contained in the stalks rather than seeping into ner skin. Caran thrust the lot into the fire and kept ner fingers there until nee was certain the blossoms were aflame. "What is that? It smells foul—!"
A battery of choking coughs echoed through the chamber, but this time the rasping rattle for breath did not come from Caran. As suddenly as a bucket of water splashed over a dreamer's face, the queen's spell was broken; ner sight was sharp as a blade just in time to witness a cloud of white smoke spreading out into the room
from the burning coals. With the last of ner strength, Caran grasped the searing edges of the pan and pushed the brazier over onto the dais, coals scattering around the queen's feet and the white smoke billowing up to envelop her.
Caran dove to the floor, gasping for the last pocket of clean air while nee shoved the edges of ner cloak into the little water gutter nearby. Thirsty wool drank deeply and Caran stretched the wet cloth over ner nose and mouth, gobbling lungfuls of breath through the makeshift filter. When nee looked up, the witch-queen knelt among the burning embers, doubled over and retching. Between hacking coughs, her words spat at Caran as nee scrambled back from the dais. "What... did... you do?"
A real herbalist would know or strongly suspect what poison was in her system, based on the orange hue, the shape of the blossom, and the deadly white pus that vaporized into smoke when it touched flame. When the witch-queen absorbed the power of the Northnesse herbalists, she must not have taken their knowledge. Nee would not rectify that now, deeming silence the wisest response. Caran's own charms would protect ner as long as nee did not stray any closer to the deadly fog.
Ignoring the pain in ner hands, nee struggled to ner feet and moved backwards into the shadows to wait. The queen's clouding eyes followed ner movements as she collapsed to the floor. "You can't kill me," she rasped. The coughing fit had passed but blood dribbled from the edges of her lips. "The seer swore I would be killed by both man and woman working in unison, two witches ending my life with magic. You're just one spy."
Caran considered pity, but the scratch in ner throat was too raw. "I am one spy, Your Majesty. I'm also both man and woman. I have been so since birth, and my magic allowed me to handle the plant that is now killing you." Nee sighed and shook ner head, feeling more tired than triumphant. "I never had any intention to harm you, until you captured me and forced my hand. You murdered thousands, only to be slain by a hedge-witch whose talents are just adequate to harvest poisonous plants. Was it worth it?"