by Beth Alvarez
She nodded. “And suffered greatly for it. If I have my way, no village anywhere on the island will have to go without a mage’s presence.”
“Including the settlements inside the ruins?”
She cast a shadowed glance over her shoulder. Despite the ruin-folk's allegiance to Firal, many of the temple mages still looked on them with disdain. “Anywhere.”
Though the palace soared above the rest of the city, it still looked like something created with a child’s blocks. Heavily fortified and thickly walled, it could have withstood any siege Vahn could imagine. The gates stood open with a pair of white-robed mages beside them, rather than guards. That struck him as odd, but no odder than the rest of his morning, and he nodded in response to their quiet greetings.
None of the mages seemed troubled by his appearance, or even surprised. Either word had moved through the city like quicksilver after his arrival, or he’d been suspended in mage-sleep for longer than he thought. He’d never heard of mage-sleep, come to think of it, but it would have been foolish to think anyone knew all the tricks mages had. Even a king.
Shymin led him up the stairs and into the palace, where both of them had to stop and blink while their eyes adjusted to the dimmer light.
Years of smoke from sooty lamps stained the walls and ceiling, dulling the illumination cast from mage-lights cradled in iron sconces. The great hall was nothing like the palace in Ilmenhith, or even like the darker, heavier furnishings his father preferred. It was low-ceilinged and square, with long, empty fire pits and longer tables running the length of the room.
Mages clad in every color of robes packed the space. They bustled about with papers in their hands, jerking the skirts of their robes away from servants carrying polished silver pitchers and trays of pewter cups. Papers, maps, and books covered the tables. Mages of every age hunched over them, lost in study.
At the head of the table, seated in a great throne of waxed oak, was not the former Archmage Vahn expected. Instead, the throne held a young man with dark hair and a worried face. A crown of twisted gold rode low on his brow.
“Who is that?” Vahn asked in a murmur.
Shymin leaned close to reply. “Mathen, the king. The grandson of King Relythes, who ruled when you were crowned.”
He frowned. “My father said Envesi rules here.”
“She does,” she said, pushing her way into the crowd. “After a fashion.”
The mages didn't notice them at first but, after they did, they moved aside with their heads bowed in deference. Most of them bowed lower as he passed. Despite where they were, it seemed they still bore him allegiance. The peculiarity of the situation clashed and tangled in his head. Once he had Lulu safe in his arms, he'd need a lot of quiet time to think.
“King Mathen,” Shymin called over the din.
The young man raised his head, searching the room with a frown. His brows lifted when he saw them.
She spread her skirts and dipped in a curtsy. “Where is the Archmage?”
Vahn bristled at the title.
“Upstairs,” Mathen said, half rising before she gestured for him to stay seated. He sank back into his throne. “In her parlor, I believe. I just sent some charts for her to review.”
“Excellent.” She smiled. “Favorable results or useful discoveries?”
“We'll see, depending on what she thinks after she reads them. Who is this?” The young man nodded toward Vahn.
Shymin stepped aside. “This is King Vahnil of Ilmenhith. He's come to see his child.”
“Ah!” A grin split Mathen's features and he rose with his arms spread. “The soldier king. An honor to meet you, though I do wish it were for happier reasons.”
Vahn accepted the embrace of greeting, restraining his puzzlement and mustering a smile. “I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you've heard of me, what with so many mages present. I must apologize, I didn't expect the ruler of Alwhen would be...”
“So young, I know.” Mathen chuckled, rubbing his chin. He was barely out of boyhood, really, his father's crown too big on his head. “It's been two years since my father passed. I, myself, wish he'd had more time to impart knowledge before he left us. Disease is cruel that way. One of many reasons all this is so important.” He waved a hand toward the dozens of mages in the room, then righted the jeweled rings on his fingers.
“Healers could have made a difference for both his father and grandfather,” Shymin said. “One more reason that wall needs to come down.”
“Metaphorically speaking, of course,” Mathen said. “A defined border is useful for maintaining the peace, but construction of roadways linking the kingdoms is certainly a priority.”
Vahn's smile became strained. “A shame Firal and I have had no opportunity to discuss the matter with you.”
“All in time,” the young king said, brushing away the topic as if it were meaningless. “Shall I see the two of you upstairs myself?”
“No need,” Shymin said. “It looks like you have your hands full enough here. If you can convince everyone else to give us a bit of privacy, though, it would be appreciated.”
Mathen nodded and returned to his throne. “Of course. I will have quarters arranged for King Vahnil, as well. I'm sure he'll want to rest after this reunion.”
Shymin dipped in another bow as they took their leave. She jerked her head toward the back of the room, where wide wooden doors opened to branching halls and stairways that led both upward and down.
The pathways through the palace were simple and straightforward, the halls lined with tapestries and carpeted in the rich vermillion of Alwhen's colors. Vahn didn't think it would help him escape, what with all the mages downstairs, but he memorized the path they took anyway. They came to a halt outside a pair of doors carved with wolves, foxes, and stags, animals he recognized from books but which didn't otherwise exist on the island.
“Here we are,” Shymin said breezily, knocking once before she pushed the doors open wide.
His heart leaped into his throat. Standing in the center of the room, surrounded by furnishings luxurious enough to shame his own quarters in Ilmenhith, was his daughter.
Behind her stood a monster.
14
New rumors
No matter how many times Kytenia stood at the window and looked across the temple's expanse from the tower, it still felt surreal.
A large portion of her life had been spent as Archmage, leading and overseeing the mages who milled in the courtyards and gardens below. Despite her knowledge and experience, she still sometimes thought it all a fluke or some horrible mistake. She had gone straight from mageling to Archmage, skipping the years as a Master she always thought she'd have. For that matter, she'd barely worn blue, having graduated to the highest mageling rank only weeks before she became leader of the entire temple.
Yet no one had contested her position. There had been a fuss among some Masters, namely those who had coveted the position for themselves, but it passed within mere days. Kytenia had proven herself knowledgeable, responsible, level-headed and determined. Even the two Masters of affinity who remained from the temple's founding had eventually acknowledged her capability, though she suspected they still envied her position.
Why, then, did she feel like an imposter every time she stood at the peak of the Archmage's tower and looked down at the people in her care?
Kytenia rested a hand against the pale stone that rimmed the glassless window. Her eyes unfocused until the colorful mageling robes below blended into the bright flowers of the gardens.
“Have we done them a disservice?” she asked quietly.
Behind her, the shuffle of papers stopped. Edagan, Master of the House of Earth, made a soft sound of displeasure. “Who?”
“Everyone.” Kytenia pulled herself away from the window. Edagan was the only other mage in the office. Only a few weeks prior, that would have been unusual. Envesi and Nondar had reserved the office and parlor beside the Archmage's quarters for their personal use when t
hey held the position, but Kytenia didn't like the idea of so much space to herself. Her upbringing had made her conscious of waste. Growing up in a crowded house, few things were so precious as space. She enjoyed sharing the office with the other Masters, but she hadn't crossed paths with them in days. She missed them—particularly her sister and Rikka, her girlhood friend.
Edagan pursed her lips and put her papers aside. “That's very broad, Archmage.” She spoke the title without venom, but Kytenia always thought the Master came across as short. Edagan was old enough to be her grandmother and, while she was respectful, she had little patience to spare. Even for the Archmage.
“My entire tenure as Archmage has been spent pushing mages to the far reaches of the island. As many as Firal will allow me to send. We have mages from coast to coast now, all the way to the wall beyond the ruins. Now I wonder if that was the best decision.” Kytenia paced to the edge of the wide table where the older woman worked. She laid her hand on the back of a chair, unsure if she wanted to sit. She was restless, yet weary. An unpleasant combination.
“I fail to see how it could be anything but beneficial,” the Master said.
Frowning, Kytenia pulled the chair back and sat. “I am a healer. My first lessons were with Nondar, and one of the first things he told me was to learn when healing was prudent. Such a Gift is beneficial in emergencies, yes, but we've spread mages far and wide to be sure everyone has access to mage-healing. How many plagues do you think we've prevented?”
“Hundreds.” Edagan waved one gnarled hand with a small laugh. “Thousands, maybe.”
“And what damage has that done? How will the people we serve manage when all mages are gone? When the last epidemic is so far lost in history that none know how to treat it, or how to save the afflicted?”
The old Master grew quiet. As a rule, they did not discuss the waning existence of magic. Though his time as Archmage had been brief, Nondar insisted the decay of power was best kept out of common knowledge, and Anaide and Edagan had only taught her of the matter because of its role in the temple's founding. Nondar had passed before he could teach Kytenia everything she needed to know. As the only two Masters remaining from Kirban Temple's founding days, it fell to Edagan and Anaide to complete her training. Kytenia had never found their lessons lacking, but she often wondered how much knowledge had died with Nondar—and how much would die with her.
“Self-doubt is a luxury the Archmage cannot afford, dear girl,” Edagan said at last, gentle and respectful despite the diminutive endearment. Her tone caught Kytenia off guard. The withered old mage was often brusque in manner. Had Kytenia not been looking at her as she spoke, she might not have believed the words were Edagan's at all.
“Though it is justified, isn't it?” Kytenia rested her elbows on the table. Her shoulders sagged as she exhaled.
“It always is.” Edagan tidied her workspace and pretended to be distracted.
Kytenia watched her sort through her notes and papers and gathered a few pages of her own, just to have something to do while they talked. “What would you do? If you were Archmage, that is.”
The old mage blinked at her. “Why should I have to do anything? Regardless of what's happening on the mainland, the temple has served the island for hundreds of years. It will continue to do so for several millennia. The best thing I could do as Archmage would be to make efforts to preserve knowledge.” She paused, and a gleam came to her brilliant blue eyes. “And perhaps encourage the Master of Healing to increase studies in non-magical healing.”
Restraining a smile, Kytenia bowed her head. “Yes, that does seem to be a good idea. Perhaps I could speak to Arrick and collect medical knowledge from the mainland, as well.”
“Or have one of your Masters do it,” Edagan said. “We are high-ranking enough to speak to Headmaster Arrick on your behalf, you know.”
“I know. I'm just not sure I want everyone speaking to Headmaster Arrick.”
Edagan sat back in her chair and peered at her. “Does Balen's loose tongue worry you that much?”
Kytenia snorted. Balen had been chosen to lead a House of affinity just before she became Archmage. The Master of the House of Fire couldn't keep a secret to save his life, but that was one of the reasons she trusted him. A man with no secrets was a man who could cause her little trouble. “It's not the secrets he knows that worry me, Edagan.”
“But the ones he might learn.” Edagan nodded.
“Precisely. And that's why it would have to be me. Or you, or Anaide, perhaps.” The thought made Kytenia frown. She liked both women perfectly well, but Anaide often seemed combative. Kytenia suspected the woman had never come to terms with being passed over for rank of Archmage, even if she seemed content to follow Kytenia's lead.
The Master of Earth raised one white brow. “You've forgotten your Master of Wind.”
A hint of color rose in Kytenia's cheeks. “I haven't,” she said in a rush. “But you know how the mainland mages feel about my age. It's bad enough they have to deal with an Archmage as young as I am. I'm afraid they wouldn't take Rikka as seriously as they ought.”
“If you want me to do it, girl, just ask.”
Though the offer was tempting, Kytenia shook her head. “No, I'll tend to it myself. But if you would, keep your ears open.”
“Whatever for?”
“Secrets.” Kytenia's face darkened. “From mouths that shouldn't be able to speak them.”
Edagan's eyes narrowed. She smoothed her hair in its bun. “You suspect temple involvement in what's going on with the girl.”
“There are few of us who have worked with Lulu closely enough to know the nature of her Gift,” Kytenia said. “If lips within the temple were closed, how could Envesi have learned about it?”
“She has her ways, but I do see what you mean.” The old mage hesitated, then added, “I am honored that you trust me.”
“You should be. There are few people I can.” She tried not to think of Anaide again. Was the old woman petty enough to turn against her?
Edagan chuckled and pushed herself up from the table. “Well, we'll see if I can't add a few more to the number. Give me a handful of days, Archmage. Wherever the leak in our dam may be, it will be plugged.”
Forcing a smile, Kytenia turned her attention to the charts on the table. She'd have to go through them eventually. She'd promised Firal she would review where her mages had been and who had searched their regions for the missing girl. “I certainly hope so, Edagan.”
If the leak of information wasn't found, she didn't think the temple would survive.
Garam winced as he reached the bottom of the stairs and rested a hand against the wall for support. He’d left his cane in his room. Not out of a desire to appear strong before strangers, as he might have been inclined to try in his younger days, but out of sheer forgetfulness. Age crept on him in a number of ways, stealing his peace, making his life more difficult. His knees had begun their protest when he was only halfway down the staircase, but by then it was too late to do anything except carry on. Not for the first time, he regretted the hard life he’d led in service to his king. He didn’t regret the service, but most of his peers had retired young. He never saw the councilors his age suffering with arthritis.
The lower kitchens loomed ahead of him, their doors open wide to let an assortment of appealing fragrances waft out. There was another kitchen upstairs, which he’d explored first, but the scullery maid cleaning the cool hearth explained it was used only for preparation of formal meals and directed him to what she called the ‘everyday’ kitchens, nestled below. He’d thought it odd placement at first, set halfway below ground, but as he walked, he’d decided it made sense. The island exhibited a tropical climate. If not for the cooling shelter of the earth banked against the kitchen’s walls, work in the kitchens would have been unbearable.
Ignoring the aches and pains that came from movement, Garam started forward again, this time with a bit of a limp. The kitchen was busy, though the sculle
ry maids and serving girls clustered at the far end of it and chittered like a flock of sparrows. They cast furtive glances toward the front of the kitchen, then whispered furiously, as if their behavior didn’t give them away. The rumor mill was already turning, it seemed. Garam tried not to roll his eyes. His target sat alone at the small table near the door. He carried on with a quiet grumble.
“I wish they’d just killed me.” Rune didn’t so much as look at him, hunched over the worn table with his forehead braced against his hand.
Garam didn't wait for an invitation before he pulled out a chair for himself. “You never were one to take the easy way out.”
“But it sure would solve a lot of my problems.” Rune reached for his glass and grunted in displeasure when he lifted it and found it empty. He raised his head just long enough to refill his drink with pungent amber liquid from a dark bottle. Emptying the last drop into the glass only rendered it halfway full.
Hard as the wooden chair was, it was still a relief to sit. Garam's knees ached and his legs burned, yet the days they'd marched miles together didn't seem so far behind them. He stifled a sigh and planted his elbows on the table. “But it wouldn’t help that little girl.”
Rune swore under his breath. He nestled his forehead into his scaly palm again and tilted his hand to shield his eyes.
A maid swept by to remove the empty bottle. Garam watched her leave, half expecting her to come back with another bottle of liquor. She didn’t.
“You believe she’s mine?” Rune asked in a murmur.
Garam raised one thick brow. “Do you?”
He was hesitant to reply. “I don’t know.”
“I suppose they could have painted her eyes any color. Though there is a bit of something in her face. The shape of her nose, I think.”
Rune snorted, then sipped his drink. “You're right. They can do anything they want in a painting. My father had me painted with blue eyes. I imagine they don’t have that one up in the hall anymore.”