There was a great procession through the town when they all arrived, a long snake of riders and carriages, guards and servants and wagons, which took hours to toil up the hill to the Hall. I thought of Deyria, receiving all these high-ranking guests at the Kellon’s side, and wondered how she was coping. I hadn’t seen her since the trial, but that wasn’t a surprise. Nor had the Lady Bellastria sent for me. I was very much out of favour now.
The address chamber was packed for my second trial. Every seat was taken, and more people stood at the back, or crouched on the steps. I had never seen so much coloured silk, so many twinkling jewels, such elaborately draped scarves and embroidered skirts.
The room was rearranged slightly, with extra chairs in the centre. Three justices, who would manage the trial, sat on the chairs previously occupied by the Kellon and his heirs. The Kellon now sat to their right, while the Drashon, wearing his heavy golden collar, sat to the left.
This trial took much longer because every detail had to be described for the justices. The Kellon himself talked for quite a long time, explaining the drusse contract, how he learned of the fake spellpage, his discussion with me about it and the discovery that Deyria’s womb was spelled. Then Deyria told her story. The mages were called to describe the spelled womb, and the remedies they had attempted to alleviate it. The justices asked many questions, and had various parts of the story repeated.
Then it was my turn. Again, I was asked to tell the whole story from beginning to end, and the justices asked questions. Once the Drashon himself interrupted.
“So you are saying that your sister asked you for the spellpage?”
“She did, Highness.”
“She suggested the idea to you?”
“Yes, Highness.”
“And you say that you were reluctant to do so? Why was that?”
I thought back to that time, two years before. It was hard to remember what I felt, what we said so long ago. I tried to put myself back there in my mind, sitting by the open window in Deyria’s room, with the scent of moonflowers wafting up to us.
“I didn’t like to scribe a fake spellpage,” I said slowly. “I was training to scribe true ones, and the practice pages are very carefully dealt with. There are all sorts of precautions. It seemed wrong to me to write a false one and then burn it in a crucible, just like a true one. I was uncomfortable about it.”
“What changed your mind?”
“She was very fearful. Our older sister had barely survived giving birth just ten-suns before, so of course Deyria was afraid. I thought the fake spellpage would help, bring her comfort.”
Then, when I was talking about the paper, ink and pen I’d used, he said, “So it was your mother’s paper, not yours?”
“Yes, Highness.”
“Is there any way your mother could have procured enhanced paper or ink?”
That was an interesting question. I knew the paper I’d used hadn’t been enhanced because it didn’t glow with magical energy, but that wasn’t what he was asking.
“I don’t know how she would have got hold of any, although... we did have a scribe staying in the house once, several years ago. I suppose it’s possible some materials got left behind.”
He nodded. “Very well. Carry on, if you please.”
The trial dragged on until mid-afternoon. I was allowed to stay in the chamber this time, so I got to hear everything I missed or learned about second hand before.
The mages interested me most, because their evidence was so pivotal. They both agreed very firmly about the spell on Deyria’s womb, and that it was very strong, which Cal had confirmed. They had tried several spells to remove it, including one or two I’d not encountered before, but to no avail.
But only Meristorna thought I was lying when I said the spellpage I’d written was fake. Yandroz gave no opinion, even when asked directly.
“I can’t see clearly,” he said. “It’s muddy, all mixed up.”
At the end, the Drashon stood. “I shall consider everything I have heard,” he said. “I will give my decision in the morning.”
~~~~~
During the evening board, a messenger came to the mages’ house. I was summoned by the Drashon. Cal went with me to the Hall, but I went alone into the Drashon’s private rooms. I was led into a large room richly furnished, with a round table at one end and comfortable sofas at the other. The Drashon stood before a stone hearth where a low fire burned despite the summer heat, a crystal goblet of wine in his hand. Several other people I didn’t recognise were scattered about the room, not talking, just watching me.
“Ah! Come in, my dear. A little wine?” A servant rushed forward from the shadows beyond the lamps with a glass and jug to pour it, and I took a sip.
The Drashon was probably much the same age as the Kellon, but he looked older, with hair almost entirely grey and a worn face, his wrinkled hands covered in dark spots. Where the Kellon seemed like a kind but stern uncle, the Drashon was a genial grandfather, smiling benevolently at me. Without his retinue, no one would think he was the ruler of the whole realm.
“You know, Kyra – may I call you Kyra? Well, Kyra, you have set me rather a puzzle.” He paused, his eyes twinkling, as if he were talking about some trivial domestic matter, and not my future. My life, perhaps.
Then, to my surprise, he waved me to a seat and began in a different direction.
“Have you ever thought what qualities a Drashon needs to rule over a – hmm, a fractious realm like this?” Fortunately, he didn’t wait for me to answer. “I have few skills, Kyra. I cannot shoe a horse or carve a chair. I can read and write, but I rarely need to. I cannot roast a hog or sew a shirt. I can wave a sword around, but without my guards I would be helpless against any self-respecting pirate. What I can do, Kyra, is understand people. When two Durshalons come to me both claiming the same scrawny valley, I have to decide between them very quickly. What sort of people are they? How likely is their story? What evidence supports it? What are the consequences if I take one side or the other? Not just for the two concerned but for everybody. Do you understand? It is never easy, but that is what I have learned to do. So I have become very good, over the years, at knowing when people try to deceive me.
“So when you stand before me, as you did this sun, and tell me that the spellpage you wrote for your sister was fake, I see no shred of deception in you. You are a very straightforward person, I think, Kyra, not subtle or devious, like some of the people I meet. It is a simple tale you tell, a plausible tale and it rings true to me.”
I felt relief wash over me. He believed me! The Drashon himself. I was safe now, surely. But he hadn’t finished.
“But then I hear other evidence. Your sister is magically damaged, that is beyond doubt. My own mages have confirmed it. She tells me she has not used any other spellpage but yours. So how is such a thing possible? My mages have laboured to produce an explanation consistent with this evidence, without success. Do you have any idea?”
“No, Highness.”
“None at all? Nothing occurs to you?”
“No. I don’t understand it at all. No one could have spelled her without her knowledge, and even if I’d scribed a true spellpage, the effects should have dissipated by now. It makes no sense.”
“Indeed. Logically, it makes no sense at all. So let us abandon logic and look at people instead.” He smiled genially at me.
“Let me tell you a story, Kyra, one I have just made up.” He held out his goblet and a servant materialised in a heartbeat to refill it. “Once upon a time,” he began, “there was a woman – a very young woman – who was offered an enticing opportunity. A very important man was interested in her, and she liked the idea of being important too, so she agreed to be his drusse, and perhaps his wife later, if things went well. But there was one problem. She was terrified of childbirth – the pain, the risk of dying, all the disagreeable things that might result. So she wanted to prevent herself becoming pregnant. There are herbs for that sort of thing,
of course, but she wasn’t allowed to take those, and besides, if she took them secretly and the important man found out, there would be disagreeable consequences for that, too. But magic, she thought, was undetectable. She could buy a spellpage and no one would know. But there was a problem with that, too. The important man wanted her to have a child and when none appeared he would be bound to ask about it. So the very young woman needed some story to give him if he asked questions. So she asked her sister to write her a fake spellpage and...”
“No,” I said in a whisper. “No. Deyria wouldn’t betray me like that. Besides, where would she get the silver for a true spellpage? More than one, perhaps.”
“Her drusse allowance would be more than enough. She would only need a fresh spellpage twice a year or so.”
“And the first time? She had no money of her own, she never saved. She never left the village – how would she get a spellpage anyway?”
He lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. “There are always ways. Friends who travel...”
I was silent. I didn’t believe it, not for one moment. It was too planned, too calculating for Deyria. The Drashon might understand people in general, but I knew my sister. She was no more devious and underhanded than I was.
“Do you know any of this?” I asked eventually.
“All I have done, Kyra, is concoct a plausible story which is consistent with the evidence.”
“But it would mean she’d lied to everyone. You’d know that, wouldn’t you? You said you’d know.”
“Well – one can never know, not beyond doubt. She is genuinely distressed about the situation, certainly. I think she is desperate to retain her position with Lethon.”
“The best way to do that is to have a baby,” I said acidly.
“You are still thinking logically.” His tone was cold now, no longer genial. “Logic is not the answer. This matter revolves around people, people with human frailties. I do not imagine I am the only one to put together a story like this. If you spoke the truth, then your sister must have lied, that is self-evident. That is logic, if you want it. But logic does not tell us why. And logic is not enough. Even if my little story is true in every detail, no one can prove it, and so I must find a way out of this impasse that does not involve your sister.”
“But if you believe that she lied...”
“What I believe is irrelevant. The truth is irrelevant.” My eyes widened. “That shocks you, I see. But Kyra, your sister is the drusse of a Kellon, perhaps his wife, in time. Her welfare is important because it affects his, and his welfare affects the realm, or at least the small part of it that he rules. I cannot hurl accusations at her. Unless there is evidence against her or she speaks openly, I cannot touch her. But there is a way for you to set this matter to rest which protects your sister from further speculation, and minimises the damage to you. If you admit that you lied...”
“But I didn’t!”
“Whether you did or not, if you say that you did and display the proper degree of remorse, I can give you a lenient sentence and no one will wonder about your sister. This is what my job is all about, Kyra – compromise, making adjustments to achieve the best result for everybody.”
I thought about it. Could I do that, for Deyria? For Deyria who, perhaps, had tricked me into this position in the first place? For Deyria who, perhaps, had deceived her drusse-holder right from the start? For Deyria who had lied and cheated and was now untouchable? Or for Deyria, my little sister, desperately unhappy and trapped in a web of her own making? For that Deyria, perhaps I could.
But something stopped me. I rose to my feet, and the Drashon rose too, his face impassive.
“I can’t do what you want,” I said firmly, looking him in the eye. “I’m a scribe, and respect for the law is at the heart of what I do. I can’t show such contempt for justice and rightness and honour as to stand in that chamber and lie. I’m not that kind of person. You said I was straightforward, and I agree with you. I’m not devious enough for court intrigue – compromises. I must adhere to the truth, Highness.”
“Then I must punish you accordingly.”
“You must do what you believe to be right, Highness.”
“As we all must,” he said sorrowfully.
10: Punishment
As I walked home with Cal, I told him exactly what had passed between the Drashon and myself. I couldn’t help it, everything was churning round in my mind, pressing on me, and I had to tell someone. He was there, so I talked and he listened. I’d expected glibness or indifference or impatience, but he showed me nothing but kindness. He held my hand, when I stopped gesticulating for any length of time, put his arms round me when the tears came, and said nothing at all until I’d wound myself down to something approaching calmness.
“Did you never suspect her?” he said eventually when I fell silent. “It must have occurred to you.”
“It crossed my mind,” I said, although I was reluctant to admit it. “It was one possibility. But I never believed it.”
“Everyone else did,” he said casually.
I stopped dead. “What? You mean – people thought Deyria lied?”
He turned towards me, and I saw the surprise on his face. “Well, of course. Oh, not necessarily that she dragged you into things deliberately – you need a particularly devious mind to come up with that – but everyone assumed she’d bought a true spellpage herself and lied to cover it up.”
“But why? Why would anyone think that of her?”
“Kyra, no one who knows you could possibly believe that you stole from the scribery and wrote an illegal spellpage. She must have done it to herself.”
I was astonished. All this time I’d thought that no one believed me, I’d felt alone and abandoned. I’d thought Drei was my only friend.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I said, as we began walking again. It was hard to breathe.
He hesitated. “No one likes to spread rumours about the Kellon’s drusse. The man has no sense of humour about things like that. And if anything was said to you, you might have told Deyria. Or the Kellon, even. You’ve got no concept of self-preservation, you know. Besides, no one thought anything would come of it. The Kellon must have worked things out too, but he has to go through the motions – find you guilty but just impose a fine or some such. Something trivial. Even when he referred it to the Drashon, it seemed he was just making it look proper. Now, I’m not so sure. I suspect he still thinks his beloved drusse is a perfect little lady who would never do such a thing.”
“I think so too,” I said defiantly. He turned to stare at me. “Really, I find it very hard to believe that Deyria would do such a thing. She’s a bit thoughtless sometimes, but she wouldn’t let me take the blame for her own mistakes.”
He looked away from me, and then said quietly, “It can happen. Sometimes people drift into a situation... you make a decision, with the best of intentions, and then you find you can’t get yourself out of it.”
The way he looked at me, it was as if there was some deeper meaning, but I didn’t understand what.
“Kyra, didn’t you ever wonder why I was so horrible to you?”
The blood drained from my face. That was deliberate? “I just thought – that you were a horrible person,” I squeaked.
He laughed, a sharp bark nearer to hysteria than amusement. We were inside the mages’ gardens by now, so he ushered me off the path to a small wooden shelter set amongst bushes almost tall enough to be trees. In front of us the vast crescent of the new moon hung just above the rooftops, washing us in a cool, silvery glow. We sat and he took my hand in his.
“I was the youngest person to become a mage for years,” he said, his voice subdued. “All the others had a spouse or a drusse. I had no one. I’ve never been very good with people. But I had to have someone, so I took on a pupil. She wasn’t as good a scribe as you, but she was hard-working and willing and no trouble. I shared her bed sometimes, and she never made a big deal of it. No fuss. But after the rene
wal, she changed. Became clingy, said she loved me, all sorts of – well, embarrassing things. I couldn’t bear it, so I sent her away. So then I had Raylan. I thought I’d be safe with him, but you saw how that turned out. He was even worse, refused to go. Jealous, too. Following me around. Watching me all the time. So with you I decided I’d do it differently. I set out to push you away. I was rude to you, ignored you. I—”
His head hung low, and his voice wobbled a little. “I treated you abominably, I know. I’m not the easiest person in the world, and I can be a beast sometimes, I acknowledge that. Arrogance and selfishness come with the rank, and I never even tried to overcome that. But with you – I was the worst I could be, always. I wanted you to hate me, and I think I succeeded, because when we had the renewal you didn’t fall in love with me afterwards like the others. Actually—” He took a quick breath, almost a sob. “Quite the reverse. I fell in love with you. Who would have thought it?”
The Fire Mages Page 10