Mage's Blood (The Moontide Quartet)

by David Hair

  It was odd to watch Lorenzo courting Cera. The queen-regent’s young mind was too full of law and politics to care about small talk and dance-steps. At least she enjoyed his company, as they perambulated about the gardens while the court looked on and rival suitors simmered. Elena, always close by, found herself admiring his face and manner more and more, and witnessed Cera’s polite indifference with puzzlement. Hel, I’ve never been forward with men, but I’d take him on if I were in her shoes.

  ‘So, what do you think?’ she asked one evening as she set the wards.

  Cera, her skin gleaming bronze in the candlelight, pulled a nightdress on and shook out her hair. ‘About Lori? I can’t take it seriously.’

  Elena snorted. ‘I think he senses that.’

  ‘Is he offended?’ Cera asked, looking concerned. ‘I can’t afford to lose the friendship of the Kestrians.’ She scowled. ‘Though they’re neutral on the shihad – they’re supposed to be my allies.’

  ‘They think that after the bloodshed, neutrality is best for our people. But they remain loyal.’

  Cera sniffed and observed, ‘If Timori was dead, they’d hold enough votes to gain the throne.’

  Elena was shocked. ‘Cera, these are the Kestrians – they are the truest of the true.’ She was a little worried; her protégée was increasingly seeing plots everywhere.

  Cera harrumphed irritably. ‘Anyway, I don’t wish to marry him, but his courtship prevents me from dealing with all the others sniffing around.’ Her voice was tinged with disgust.

  Elena sighed. ‘Lorenzo understands that.’

  Cera frowned. ‘Am I that obvious?’

  Elena laughed. ‘To me, perhaps.’

  Cera giggled. ‘Poor Lori. I do like him – I had a crush on him once.’

  ‘Once – but not now?’

  Cera lifted her head a trifle pompously. ‘No, I think I’m well past that part of my life.’

  ‘Listen to you!’ Elena laughed. ‘Just like an eighteen-year-old, to think you’re all grown up.’

  ‘I have to be grown up,’ Cera insisted. ‘I meant what I said: I won’t marry until Timi is king.’

  Elena frowned. ‘But some kind of alliance with the Kestrians—?’

  ‘Ella, I’ve had all that from Pita and Piero and the others, I don’t expect it from you. The Kestrians are with us anyway, so why make concessions when we already have what we want from them?’

  Elena looked at her, a little surprised at her maturity and dispassion. ‘Someone should warn poor Lorenzo so you don’t break his heart.’

  ‘Oh, I doubt he’ll be so affected as all that,’ Cera said dismissively. She looked at Elena with amusement. ‘I see you’re wearing makeup tonight, Ella. Maybe you hope to catch someone’s eye?’

  Elena threw up a hand. ‘Just making sure no rumours reach Gurvon that I look unwell. I’m already worried enough that my absence from your side these past weeks will have been noted.’

  Once she had set the wards, Elena retired. She slid between the sheets and closed her eyes as she conjured a handsome face before her, one that smiled intently as it looked into her eyes. The small illusion wasn’t taxing and it gave her something to focus upon as her hands slid down her body. She took her time as her sighs became gasps and it felt like a small dam burst inside her as she climaxed.

  She woke next morning feeling better than she had for weeks.

  Lorenzo’s courtship continued to fascinate and puzzle the court, which had thought to witness a blossoming romance and instead saw distant politeness and a young queen-regent whose eyes remained firmly on the issues of the day. ‘What’s wrong with the girl?’ they wondered. ‘Has she no juices?’

  ‘Some people blame you,’ Tarita told Elena boldly one morning.

  Elena smiled at the young maid’s frankness. ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, some say you are overly protective, and using spells to shield Cera’s heart.’

  Elena grunted. ‘Is that all they say?’

  ‘Oh, others think you have seduced her yourself!’ Tarita giggled.

  Elena snorted in disgust. Have these people no originality in their filthy minds?

  Tarita grinned. ‘Everyone is scandalised by you! They think your short hair is barbaric, and proves you’re safian. Others say you want Lorenzo for yourself.’

  Elena raised her eyebrows and fought to keep the blush from her cheeks. ‘They do?’

  ‘I started that one myself.’ Tarita snickered proudly. ‘I tell them you’re randy as a goat for him.’

  ‘Tarita!’

  ‘You are – your sheets sweaty as a brothel. I have to change them every day. And people see you watching him. They think it’s funny.’

  She felt a flash of anger. ‘Why funny?’

  ‘Oh, only that you’ve shown so little interest in men until now.’

  ‘Men have hardly shown any interest in me either.’

  ‘That’s not true – everyone says half the knights tried to bed you when you arrived. There was a barracks wager among them, who’d be first to seduce you.’ She laughed aloud. ‘The men boast a lot amongst themselves, mistress. They don’t mean all that they say; it’s just expected, that’s all. It’s normal for them to compete with each other.’

  Elena flexed her fists. ‘Well, if that’s all they think of me, they can all go to Hel.’

  ‘It was just men’s talk, mistress – you should take Lorenzo as you find him, not on hearsay.’

  ‘I’m not planning to “take him” at all,’ Elena replied crossly, and stomped off to the queen’s morning session with the Regency Council.

  Being in the same room as Lorenzo and seeing the way that he too was growing into his role didn’t help her much. He spoke well, displayed awareness of the strategic situation, displayed wit and gravity as appropriate. At times his eyes would meet hers, and she could tell that he’d forgiven her. He jested about claiming the kiss she’d promised him that deadly night, and teenage insecurities and flutters of the heart plagued her, she who had thought herself beyond such emotions.

  You are ridiculous, Elena. Don’t make a fool of yourself. He’s two decades younger than you and you’re hardly the prettiest woman at court. But she couldn’t help herself.

  Massimo di Kestria was still in his brother’s ear though, and he was determined Lorenzo would uphold family honour – so Elena found herself walking through the ornamental gardens on Massimo’s arm yet again, their eyes on Lorenzo and Cera while the baron bored on about his many children and the sun slowly fell toward the horizon, turning into a discus of pinky-orange light as it descended.

  Massimo was about to launch into another diatribe when he froze, his mouth hanging open. Elena followed his gaze to see Lorenzo suddenly down on one knee before Cera in a pretty little rose bower.

  His voice carried clearly: ‘Queen-Regent, Cera, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

  Cera’s face remained composed. ‘Alas, Lorenzo, I cannot accept,’ she replied in a measured voice. ‘Though your company pleases me and your family are very dear friends to the Nesti, I have vowed to remain an unwed virgin until my brother attains his majority. Please respect this promise, and know that you have my utmost respect.’

  Good Kore, she sounds closer to forty than twenty, Cera thought, her heart pounding with some kind of relief that she daren’t examine.

  Massimo’s face had turned purple and he looked flummoxed. Elena whispered in his ear, ‘Massimo, please give us some privacy,’ and the baron backed off uncertainly.

  Cera turned to Elena. ‘Elena, I must rejoin our guests. Could you please ensure that Milord di Kestria is comforted and vouch for the veracity of my oath and of my feelings?’ She bowed lightly, looked down steadily at Lorenzo for a second and then turned and walked away.

  Elena stepped into the bower, conscious suddenly that she was alone with Lorenzo. ‘Er … are you all right, Lori?’

  Lorenzo climbed apologetically to his feet. ‘I am sorry, Elena, that you have witnessed my disco
mfort.’ He gave a cautious smile. ‘I have never suffered rejection before.’

  ‘Have you proposed marriage often then?’ Elena asked drily.

  Lorenzo gave her a crooked grin. ‘In truth, my previous proposals have not been of marriage.’

  Elena plucked a rose from the bower and pinned it to a buttonhole on his doublet. ‘From what I have observed, there are many women about court who will not provide you much of a challenge when you get over your disappointment.’

  ‘But it could be that I prefer a challenge,’ he returned, looking her full in the face. ‘When I get over my disappointment, of course.’

  ‘You don’t look that disappointed to me,’ she remarked severely.

  He suddenly looked uncertain again. ‘Donna Ella, are we friends again?’ He cocked his head as music started up. ‘Shall we dance?’ he asked, bowing in invitation. ‘That is, if Rondian magi dance?’

  She felt a dangerous heat in her breast. ‘Not today – but we do apologise occasionally. I’m sorry for yelling at you. I know you meant well.’

  He bowed again. ‘Apology accepted. May we talk then?’ He indicated a seat among the roses.

  Elena smiled. ‘All right, but not here. It’s too public, and if one of Gurvon’s agents is out there and notes us talking, you will be a target.’

  ‘I’m Captain of Cera’s guard, so I’m a target anyway, but I take your point.’ He looked about the bower and she did too, suddenly enjoying the delicate scents and vivid colours. The city was blossoming, with frangipani and marigolds coating the green spaces in white and orange splashes of colour, filling the air with lovely scents.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘my courtship is over.’ He smiled and admitted, ‘I am relieved. She had no interest and if my brother wasn’t being such an ass over it we could have spared everyone the fuss.’

  ‘You should probably grieve publicly for a while,’ Elena suggested awkwardly.

  Lorenzo laughed. ‘Truly there is no one like you, Elena Anborn. In this whole world I’ve heard of no one like you. Even your fellow magi women do not fight like you, with weapons as well as gnosis.’

  ‘I know this – I’ve heard it from many men. What point do you wish to make?’

  ‘Just that it does not repel me – and neither do your past sins, or your strange skills. Nor the scars on your body or your soul. I believe I see past them to the woman beneath.’

  ‘I am twice your age, and I am a foreigner.’

  ‘Yet you risk your life to remain here.’ He looked back at her, the setting sun catching his face, painting it bronze, like the statue of some hero. ‘My family despair of my ever settling down, but I have several brothers, and my brothers have many sons. I’m not needed at home.’

  There was a restlessness in his voice she could empathise with. ‘Is “settling down” what you want?’

  ‘No: when this danger has passed, I wish to travel again,’ he told her. ‘I love to see new places.’

  ‘I thought what I wanted was a manor beside a lake in Bricia.’ With Gurvon beside me. ‘But now I’m a traitor to my people and outlawed throughout the continent of my homeland. I have no home at all.’

  ‘Then perhaps you too will find solace in the open road, Donna Elena?’

  Her mind’s eye showed her an image of herself, dressed in strange robes, standing in an exotic temple, with Lorenzo at her side. It wasn’t an unpleasant thought. She swallowed slightly. ‘Lori, if we live through this, who knows?’

  He smiled softly at that. He had a nice mouth and she could remember the way it tasted. But …

  She clenched her jaw. ‘Lori, I need to tell you something.’

  His face tightened. ‘I sense it is something I won’t like.’

  ‘You won’t. After the Noros Revolt, the Church commissioned Gurvon to destroy an enclave of magi who’d gone into hiding and were fighting on. It was a test – the Inquisitors could have done it themselves, but they wanted to see if Gurvon could be trusted to go after his former allies. They’d fled to a castle town in Schlessen. The population was sympathetic, they sealed off part of the keep and held it secure – with gnosis, defence is often stronger than attack, so they couldn’t easily be taken.

  ‘They thought themselves safe, but first Gurvon struck those he could reach, human outsiders, and used them to lure the magi out of the keep, singly or in small groups. Any we took were broken and sent back, barely alive, needing the gnosis to keep them living. The city folk began to fear interacting with the rebels. The magi had to pour increasing energies into keeping the injured alive and it quickly broke them down. They split up and we picked them off one by one.’

  ‘And you think he will do the same here?’

  ‘I know he will. Those closest to Cera and me will be the first targets.’

  There was no fear on his face, only quiet determination. ‘Where did you launch your attacks from?’

  ‘We were hidden within the town. No one knew we were there.’

  ‘And your role?’ he asked bleakly.

  ‘Gurvon likes to have someone inside. My role was to subtly sow discord and misinformation.’ She sighed. ‘These were old comrades; it wasn’t hard. They believed I was one of them right till the end.’

  He looked thoughtful. ‘So you think he will attack this way: isolate us and pick us off.’ He exhaled heavily, and she could see the fear now, the disquiet of a commander afraid for those in his charge. ‘Is there an insider already among us?’

  ‘There will be people at court he has already got his claws into. Wherever he goes, Gurvon finds out people’s dirty secrets; he will be blackmailing courtiers and servants over their thefts, their adulteries and indiscretions.’

  Lorenzo’s eyes met hers. ‘How may we best counter this, Donna Elena?’

  ‘By sealing off part of the keep for our own protection. By restricting access to the safe area and constantly rotating who may enter. By being vigilant. We can make it hard for him, but that won’t be enough. We must also counterattack where and when we can. We must use the eyes of the community. We will need Mustaq al’Madhi.’

  ‘Mustaq is not to be trusted. He is the head of the largest Jhafi crime syndicate in Javon.’

  ‘Then he is ideal. He will have eyes in places we cannot reach. Gurvon is probably already here, with the rest of his gang. Most of those I worked with are dead. I won’t know most of the new ones. He may have found a new body for Sordell too.’ All at once the shadows, even in the sunlit bower, were stirring like waking panthers. ‘Let us go in.’

  Lorenzo gripped her shoulder as she went to pass him. His hands were big and strong: a swordsman’s hands, and they were warm through the cloth. ‘Ella – what about us?’

  They were the same height. She met his eyes, trying to read him. ‘Is there an “us”?’

  He didn’t answer, at least, not with words. His other hand cupped the back of her head and he pressed his lips to hers. Her gasp of surprise became an open mouth that tasted his. Heat and wine and sweetness and a tongue that invaded her mouth, tasted hers then withdrew. She stiffened against him, and found she had no will to move away.

  ‘So,’ he breathed, ‘you tell me, Ella-amora.’

  Amora: lover … Her heart thudded. She felt horribly exposed before his soft brown eyes. She wanted to flee, to hide, to not deal with this. ‘Didn’t you just propose marriage to someone else, Lori?’

  He sighed. ‘It was pretence and you know it. What I feel for you is not.’

  She swallowed awkwardly. ‘Lori, for you to court me so soon after Cera would invite scandal, and it would invite Gurvon like a corpse invites the jackal. We cannot be seen together.’

  He stroked her cheek. ‘Then we will not be seen.’

  The thought made her blood thunder.

  ‘Must I woo you like a knight-errant?’ he breathed in her ear. His arms stroked her shoulders, firmly, invitingly.

  ‘I don’t do poetry and dances,’ she replied, trying and failing to make her voice light.

  �
�What do you do?’

  She made herself meet his eyes, summoned all her will and hardened her heart. ‘I don’t do anything at all.’

  He sighed softly, not in the least put off. ‘You still owe me a kiss, Elena.’

  ‘You just had one.’ And it was delicious, she admitted to herself.

  ‘But I didn’t need to ask for it,’ he replied. He flashed a smile, bowed and walked away.

  Cera had retired to her rooms after rejecting Lorenzo’s proposal. Elena joined her there. Cera was looking wan. ‘Ella, where have you been?’ she asked. ‘I don’t like it when you’re not with me.’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine. It’s Massimo who’s put out, not me.’ Cera shrugged. ‘He’ll get over it.’ Her face was shadowed with suspicion. ‘They have always been honourable,’ she whispered as if to reassure herself. She looked up at Elena with a sour expression. ‘So tomorrow all the young men will be vying for my attention again. How tiresome!’

  Elena studied her. ‘What’s wrong, Cera?’

  Cera slumped onto her bed, plucking absently at her gown. ‘Me – I’m what’s wrong!’

  Elena sat beside her and put an arm about her. ‘My darling, what could you possibly imagine is wrong with you?’

  Cera rubbed furiously at her eyes, pulled herself from Elena’s grip and sat facing her. ‘It was what Massimo said to me after I’d rejected Lorenzo – he took it back immediately, but I knew he meant it!’

  Elena pursed her lips. ‘What did he say?’

  She hung her head. ‘He asked if my father knew the kind of safian bitch he’d bred.’

  Elena stared, speechless. Why the arrogant, hidebound prick – I’ll rukking geld him—

  ‘I don’t dance, or make silly conversation with their young knights like the other women do, so they make crude jokes about me.’ Cera’s face tightened. ‘They think any woman who is not some vacuous broodmare is unnatural. Why can’t they see I’m just trying to protect the kingdom?’

  Oh Cera, welcome to my life, darling girl. Men are never slow to scorn women who insist on wearing swords. ‘I have heard such things all my adult life, Cera,’ she said softly. ‘People – men particularly – feel threatened by those who do not conform to the norms.’