"It would surprise me if he made the leap to the idea of Lesser Magics in Dalasham," Destiny said. "But I wouldn't put it past him to waylay you, try to study you, discover how you could accomplish what no one else did."
"Would putting a guard on her raise his suspicions more or provide her a measure of safety?" Darien asked, drawing their attention. "A claim to seeing to her well-being after speaking against the Prince, when in truth, he kept her out of Marcus' reach?"
Destiny leaned back, wrapping her hands around one knee despite the slight hampering of her gown. "He'd accept that," she decided. "A frightened girl requiring the protection of a man. Of course, if Marcus really wanted to take you, he'd use magic rather than open force. But the presence of a guard might make him hesitate."
Emily wore a look of speculation, and Destiny waited for her to object to the idea of a protector. But when she spoke, Destiny could almost believe Emily hadn't heard Darien's fears or desired precautions.
"What do you know about the time before Henri's Rebellion?"
Destiny blinked, trying to wrap her mind around this new topic. She wondered where the question had come from.
"Very little," replied the wizard. "If it didn't pertain to expanding his power, then my father didn't bother to explore, or teach it. Nor I to learn it later, truth be told.
"As I understand it, Henri wanted the throne of Dalasham, and hired himself a coterie of wizards to help him take it. After his defeat, Dalasham no longer welcomed wizards." Now Destiny frowned, her thoughts going down paths she hadn't considered before. "And perhaps some event during that Rebellion created an aversion in wizards to ensure that they didn't visit this kingdom overlong. Mayhaps altered the flow of magic itself?"
"Mayhaps," Emily allowed a small smile, then stood. She nodded to Darien, signalling she had finished with the prisoner. But then she paused, peered at Destiny again.
"Would it surprise you to learn that, before the Rebellion, women stood as equals to men? That male and female shared both corporeal and magical power? That the concept of a female wizard would raise no questions?"
Destiny stared at her blankly for a moment, oddly unable to grasp the thought.
"It would indeed," she managed. "I have seen no evidence of this."
"Nor had I," Emily said gravely. "Perhaps, if circumstances allow, I might show you something we found in the library."
Emily turned to Darien.
"Her trial starts tomorrow."
And with that, Emily walked away, leaving Destiny both flummoxed and intrigued.
Chapter 8
Destiny expected many things at her trial; prejudice and fear, hatred and ignorance. She awaited the lies of Whillim and the cunning conniving of Marcus, who would no doubt try to spirit her away for Nathan if given the opportunity―likely when he came to bind her magic so they could escort her from this cell to wherever Stefan would hold the proceedings. She expected derision and closed minds to walk hand in hand, should she make it alive as far as the trial.
She did not expect fairness or respect, and certainly not the consideration of her comfort. Destiny had resigned herself to an unpleasant and uncomfortable session among men who would see her destroyed, before Darien arrived with a maid bearing an armload of clothing. Destiny blinked uncertainly at the sober-faced woman as she bustled in, deposited the clothing on the hard bench beside Destiny, then left. She returned almost immediately with water and cloth, soap, a brush.
"Let's get you cleaned up, presentable and all," the maid said without a trace of fear, and in a tone that brooked no nonsense. "Get a decent meal into you before you stand before the King."
When Destiny merely continued to stare, the woman huffed out a breath, took her hands from her hips and gestured impatiently for Destiny to stand.
"Come on, child, we haven't got all day. Unless you want to keep the grime and sweat of the last few days clinging to you, get out of those clothes."
Darien had disappeared, though Destiny suspected he waited around the corner. She had no reason not to do as the maid suggested and several reasons to want to obey, her own stench and the itch at her scalp being merely the top two.
In short order, the maid had Destiny scrubbed as much as a couple of buckets of water―one warm and soapy, the other cool and clear―could manage, her hair washed and brushed, and a fresh sable coloured linen gown draped over her. One of Destiny's own frocks at that, a simple and practical garment rather than anything ostentatious, and likely something she might have chosen herself given the opportunity. The maid, while not chatty, somehow made Destiny feel comfortable while she worked, quickly and efficiently. Destiny had never had anyone treat her that way―respect for her person yet no fear, courteous without obsequiousness or cringing―and it put her off balance.
When the maid swept out, taking Destiny's worn gown and the filthy water buckets with her, she left with a nod and a grim smile of satisfaction. Darien quickly took her place. He brought in a small table and placed it in front of her stone bench, setting foot inside her cell for the first time. His movements and posture remained relaxed, but Destiny had no doubt he fostered any ignorance of this change. Somehow, she didn't think he would see it as making himself vulnerable to her. Or he simply understood that she had nowhere to go, no way to escape without him. Still, he hadn't hesitated to enter her tiny domain.
He retrieved his stool from the door, bringing it into the cell and setting it next to the table, so that he sat opposite her. He had also brought in a tray with fruit and tea. Destiny bit back a smile when she recalled serving this very meal the morning she had summoned Darien to her chambers to discuss both the disappearance of the Royal Proofs and Emily. By the glint in eyes the colour of the sea as he settled himself, Destiny knew Darien had intended the reminder, forcing her to harken back to the day she had discovered a measure of respect for this surprisingly formidable man. She shook her head, a hint of admiration sparking through her, as she reached for a strawberry.
"A last meal before sentencing?" she asked, popping the berry in her mouth.
"A courtesy," he replied, taking up a cup of tea. "To bolster your strength for the upcoming trials. Some will listen with an open mind; the King for one, certain other influential nobles. Others will cry for your blood."
"Marcus, for one," she murmured.
"The Prince and his sycophants for another," Darien agreed. "Emily's observations yesterday, from what I gather, will weigh in your favour in some circles, however, in others ..." He trailed off.
"In others, they will hear one woman speaking for another against royalty," Destiny finished for him.
"Even so."
"Why do you do this?" she asked, not for the first time. "Why do you try to defend me?"
Darien studied her silently for a long moment, his tea cup balanced on his lap.
"You helped the Prince with a scheme he devised. Without you, he would have found another way to turn against the King, likely one that would have led to far more bloodshed. Too many people will overlook that if we simply sacrifice you as the one solely culpable. I defend you so that Whillim does not escape justice."
Destiny returned his scrutiny, oddly touched by his honesty.
"Fair enough," she finally said, chewing on a piece of melon as she contemplated the near future. "When does the game begin?"
Darien smiled. Setting his tea aside, he reached into a pocket and drew forth a pair of bracelets linked with a thin chain on one side.
"Put these on when you've had your fill. Then we'll head up to the Greater Audience Chamber."
Destiny took the bands, studying them with a frown. She met Darien's gaze with suspicion.
"You would give me a gift?"
Darien laughed, his surprise putting her more at ease.
"They aren't a gift, Destiny," he said, the hint of a grin still lingering around his mouth. "More an extension of the cell, a part of the magic. They will shackle you as much as this place." He waved a hand negligently around her prison. "
The cuffs bind your magic so that we can move you without fear out of this room." He regarded her another moment as she examined the bindings more closely. "Each pairs with an individual cell, and we have three to choose from," he said, then shrugged his shoulders as he stood. "It seems a better method of having you reach your own trial, alive and unharmed, than trusting to Wizard Marcus' powers to keep you bound through the halls of Dalasmar. Chain out, facing me."
Destiny nodded absently as she closed the bracelets around her own wrists. They sealed shut without a trace of any seam. Dalasham, it seemed, had even more secrets than she'd guessed. She peered at the adornments.
"The significance of chain out?" she asked as she stood and moved around the table, meeting Darien's scrutiny.
"A small measure of protection," he replied, taking her arm and escorting her into the hall where a guard waited in the corridor with drawn sword. "The chain facing in will allow magic to reach you while keeping your own powers bound. Facing out will deflect any outward magical attacks. With a wizard more intent on delivering you to your brother than in serving justice attending the proceedings, I intend to take all precautions. Call me a cynic."
Destiny managed a slight laugh even as she took her first breath of relative freedom in nearly a week. Curiosity had her reaching for her magic once past the threshold; grudging respect for the shackles binding her wrists when she still couldn't touch her powers kept her snarl at bay.
The sooner she could throw off the indignity of her helplessness, the quicker she could flee her humiliation and take back control. Her mind worked on plotting any means of escape while her feet took her further from the cell and closer to a trial overseen by a man she had nearly helped to destroy.
She didn't intend to return to that prison, whatever the cost.
***
Marcus hated it here. He had never intended to remain in Dalasham so long, and every day stuck inside its capital just made him more irritable and edgy. But he couldn't leave without Girl, and he didn't know where they had taken her.
When he had arrived in Riverbend with Lord Prichard and those two guards, when he had lowered himself to accept the demands of a non-magic user to use his powers to their benefit, he had done so with his own goal in mind. When he had finally encountered the prostrate and unconscious body of Girl, curled unceremoniously on the floor of a spartan room with a strange black chair, he had eagerly bound her for these plebeians, waiting only until they felt themselves safe. Once they had taken Girl away, Marcus had intended to simply wait until Stefan―the King, at that, and not just some upstart scholar as he had led Marcus to believe―had dropped his guard, and then spirit the traitor away.
It hadn't worked out that way. Shortly after they had removed her, Girl had disappeared from Marcus' senses. At first, he thought they had killed her, but then he came to understand that they held her somewhere with the intention of putting her on trial. The idea made Marcus laugh; even with her stolen power, how did these mundanes expect to hold, let alone presume to judge, someone like Girl? Yet hold her they did, and in some fashion that kept her hidden from Marcus. That infuriated him.
Diplomacy didn't suit Marcus, but he had lowered himself enough to try it. No one he had questioned had known where to find her―he suspected that information resided solely in Stefan's mind, and the King never left himself alone with Marcus―and no amount of magic could cajole what people simply didn't know. He had done everything except cause physical harm to learn where they had put Girl, to convince them to release her to his authority, all to no avail.
So he had bided his time, waiting for this day, when they would bring Girl to this ridiculous room, go through the farce of a trial. Today, he would finally take what belonged to Nathan, and escape this uncomfortable kingdom. He had already sent word to the other wizard, a simple statement: I will have Girl by the end of the day.
In fact, he thought to himself as he scanned the room from his customary seat just far enough from the middle of the proceedings to remain somewhat unobserved as he endured this tedious delay, but enough in the mix of things that he would miss nothing, why wait until they begin? If he simply took Girl, Stefan and his guards would try to stop him, but what if he incapacitated everyone first? Cast an immobilization spell over the entire crowd when they brought Girl in, knock everyone unconscious and take the prize at his leisure.
He narrowed his eyes as he watched another entrance, this one surprisingly problematic. That librarian girl, Emily, followed closely by one of the men who had journeyed with her to Bakaana. Something about her statement yesterday, about her claims at breaking a complex spell. She obviously didn't have any magic, unless she, too had stolen it as Girl had. How else could a woman manipulate forces beyond her control?
He frowned as he remembered the absurdity of her trying to mimic Stefan's guards at their sword practice on the road from Bakaana to Dalasmar, how she somehow managed to copy them in an odd state of perfection. He recalled the strangest feeling, as though she called upon some innate skill to so accurately match men so far above her, as though her memory of the actions guided her motions rather than any actual ability. A use of memory that had, according to her statement, enabled her to overcome what Girl had wrought.
But Marcus hadn't felt any sense of magic from around this Emily, either while they travelled or now. That didn't preclude a supposition he had come to the day before, one that made him uncomfortable even while it opened up so many possibilities. What if this librarian girl could somehow filter outside powers? Even perhaps serve as some sort of conduit, a funnel to augment strength or abilities? If she had any latent potential, she might also prove a valuable asset for Nathan. So Marcus might acquire two prizes for the powerful wizard he longed to return to, all with one paralyzing spell.
Again, Marcus allowed his gaze to roam the room as he worked out logistics. The golden haired Prince stood absent from this morning's farce―as Girl had remained sealed away from the testimonies presented against Whillim―but otherwise, the same men would sit in judgement from their lofty perch above the crowd. When Marcus' scrutiny paused on the men milling up on the dais, on the empty seat the King would soon occupy, his thoughts swirled anew and his brow drew into a deep V of concentration and new possibilities.
Why stop at two prizes? If he immobilized the entire room, why not then go on to secure it? Why simply spirit away the traitor and a potential conduit, acting like a thief in the night, when he could hand Nathan an entire kingdom? Once they brought Girl in and secured the doors, the power of Dalasham would reside in this room with Marcus, vulnerable to his spell. In a kingdom lacking magic, they would stand helpless against him. Why not take advantage of that? If Nathan didn't want the castle, he could simply throw it away; just take Girl, and with her, vengeance. But if the notion of his own kingdom would amuse Nathan, how could Marcus resist? He might even provide a puppet King in the form of the Prince, locked away in his prison, should Nathan desire a figurehead to deal with the tedium of rule.
Marcus wondered that no one had thought to try this before. Surely even with the existence of the Peace Accords and the Enforcers charged with upholding those Accords―ostensibly intended to safe-guard non-magical kingdoms from wizards who ought rightfully to rule them―someone would have thought to slip in and tie a magical noose around a mundane monarch. In her incompetent way, hadn't Girl tried just that? Where she had predictably failed, Marcus would not. No Enforcer had appeared to curtail her clumsy attempts, and none would know to interrupt Marcus' own accomplishment.
But he must work quickly. Even as he began reciting the necessary words in his mind, envisioning the proper gestures to encompass the whole of the Greater Audience Chamber, Marcus suddenly became aware of Girl. Wherever they had hidden her, however they had continued to shield her presence from him, he felt her now. It wouldn't take long for someone to shove Girl through those doors, and Marcus would stand ready, spell in hand and a cruel love twisting his heart. He would enjoy proving the superiority of
wizards to this unsettling kingdom.
***
Darien had spoken to Prichard regarding Em's safety―confirming Em's suspicion that the Chief Librarian knew of Prichard's role as spymaster in the kingdom of Dalasham―and Prichard in turn spoke with King Stefan. Em learned this when she answered a knock on her door the morning after she had spoken with Destiny. She had already made ready for the day, stood reaching for the handle with the intention of finding some breakfast in the small dining hall the librarians used, when someone tapped on the door.
She had opened the door, expecting one of her colleagues. Instead, she greeted an unexpected acquaintance with some surprise.
"Ambrose!" she had exclaimed. Ambrose numbered among the group who had travelled west with Em in search of a solution to the Destiny Seat. She hadn't seen the ash-blond man with his pale blue eyes since the night they had captured Destiny, and had certainly not expected him at the door to her chambers.
He had blushed faintly even as he grinned, then quickly explained his presence.
"I'm your guard, so long as Wizard Marcus walks these halls. We figured he wouldn't question someone he's seen you with, so here I am."
And he had stuck with her; through breakfast, through her short stint in the library as she filed and tidied, and now as she made her way to the Greater Audience Chamber for Destiny's trial. He walked beside her, wearing the clothes of a guard, but not the obvious colours of the King. If one didn't know him, one might not suspect he guarded Em. They might look, Em speculated with a mix of amusement and embarrassment, like a young man courting a younger woman. Marcus would recognise Ambrose, recall his role, but others would see the lack of official uniform and assume Ambrose stood with Em by choice. A brilliant ploy, but it made Em a little uncomfortable. No one had ever courted her before, and she didn't know how to behave.
"Just act normal," Ambrose murmured quietly at her side, as though reading her thoughts. "We're just giving Marcus something to think about besides how you broke Destiny's spell. With luck, he won't even notice us at all."
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