by M. J. Scott
“What’s a familiaris majus?” Sophie asked. She knew familiaris sanctii. And familiaris, on its own, was the formal term for a familiar. But she didn’t know what majus meant.
“Anglions,” Madame Simsa muttered. “I don’t know what your country thinks it’s achieving by keeping the people uneducated.” She straightened in her seat, making Riki chatter at her. She stroked the monkey’s head soothingly. “A familiaris majus is not a common thing but water mages sometimes attempt it. The sanctii . . . well, in the place that they come from, they are not alone. There are other less powerful creatures there. A familiaris majus is made from bonding an animal and one of those creatures. When it works, the familiar becomes more powerful and more intelligent. Not on the level of a sanctii but still useful. I’m not sure what happens to the creature on the other side. They do not take a physical form here as the sanctii do. But there must be some benefit.”
“So they make the mage stronger than a petty fam?”
“Yes. They can amplify the powers of a mage who is perhaps less strong beyond what a familiar only can achieve. The kind of mage who might not wish to attempt controlling a sanctii, for example. But the bonding is complicated, and it is most successful with larger creatures like dogs or sometimes horses. Which can be inconvenient. I knew one water mage who used a darkbear.” She paused. “Those are small bears from one of the northern countries, I forget which. They are the size of a large pig rather than a normal bear. Though their claws and teeth are still sizeable. And quite sharp, as I understand it.”
Sophie had never seen a live bear. There was a stuffed one in one of the galleries that held the various animal and plant specimens that the Anglion royal family had collected over the years. That was a vast brown beast, whose fur still smelled musty after all the years it must have stood there. Its claws had nearly been the length of Sophie’s hand.
“A dog sounds more reasonable,” Sophie said.
“I agree, much more biddable. But perhaps the bear was useful in other ways.”
Sophie couldn’t think of any particular uses for a bear. Finding honey, perhaps? They were supposed to like sweet things. There seemed like easier ways to find it though. Like asking an earth witch to charm a bee and follow it back to the hive. Which was something she’d learned about in her lessons at the Academe.
Just one of many things she’d learned that the Temple and all her instructors had never mentioned. Though whether that was because they didn’t know or something that Anglion witches couldn’t do or something they simply didn’t wish to share, Sophie had no idea.
It had only made her more determined to learn as much as possible while she was here. When she returned to Anglion, she would have something to contribute if she could teach new skills to the witches there.
When. Not if.
It had to be when.
Outside the apartment, chimes began to sound, calling the students to the dining hall for dinner. She had arranged to meet Cameron and then they were going to the library once again to keep exploring the books there. “I have used up enough of your time, Madame. I should go.” She rose, then bobbed a curtsy. “Thank you for your advice.”
“My pleasure, child.” She rose from the settee with the help of her cane. Riki stayed put but watched the older woman as she straightened. When she was standing, she peered at Sophie’s face. “You look tired. Are you sleeping?”
“Yes, Madame. I am perfectly well.” She lifted her chin. “Perfectly well” was not exactly the truth. She was always tired and her head began to ache about halfway through each day. But she hoped it would become easier as her understanding grew. “It has just been a long week. There’s so much to learn. And the Illvyan makes it harder.”
“Maistre Matin would allow you to use the reveilé,” Madame Simsa. “Do you know what that is?”
“Yes. But for now, I am happier to do without.” “Happier” wasn’t the word. More truthful to say that the struggle of following her classes in Illvyan was the lesser of two evils when the alternative was allowing one of the sanctii to use magic on her. She had become more accustomed to seeing them now and then over the course of a day, but she still felt chilled around them. Actually letting one touch her was a frightening prospect. It would be like letting ice coat her skin. And that was before you added in the actual magical aspect of the experience.
Madame sighed. “I can’t say that, in your place, I would not do the same. Hope is hard to let go of. Though why you would wish to run back to Anglion rather than stay here and fulfill your potential—bah! But I will not pester you about that. It is your life.”
“Anglion is my home. My family are there.”
“I understand, my lady. Go. Go and eat your dinner. Take your handsome man to bed and let him distract you from all of this for a few hours. You will sleep better and all of this”—she made a circling motion of her hand in the air in front of her—”is not going anywhere.”
Chapter 7
Cameron returned from another hard session with Venable Marignon, hoping he had time to squeeze in a bath before lunch. The senior blood mage did not believe in going easy on her students. Or maybe it was just him that she drove so fiercely. After all, he was supposedly a full blood mage, so she shouldn’t need to coddle him. Currently though, he was mostly a rapidly turning black and blue mage. So far, their training had mostly consisted of good old-fashioned hand-to-hand combat practice. There had been a few magical elements—he got the feeling she was still taking his measure in that department—but mostly she seemed to be enjoying succeeding in sending him crashing to the mat as often as possible.
This last session had been attended by other students as well, and that had almost been worse. The venable had decided to make an example of some of the differences in his fighting style. Which mostly involved sparring with him until she could lure him into a mistake caused by one of those differences, then delivering an excruciatingly polite dissection of the problem and what he’d done wrong to the assembled students.
Educational, but not good for his confidence.
Perhaps he should have a bath and a beer. He doubted they had iska in the Academe. Probably just as well. A glass of the northerners’ favorite drink might have done him in entirely. But every part of him ached. Noon was surely not too early to begin drinking under those circumstances?
He was already pulling his robes—they didn’t fight in the stupid things, thank the goddess, but he still had to wear them to and from his assigned classes—over his head as he entered their chambers.
Sophie was already there, sitting on the end of the bed. She held a sheet of paper in her hand, staring down at it, chewing at her bottom lip.
That didn’t seem likely to be a good sign. He dumped the robe on the ground near the door as he kicked it shut behind him. “What is it?”
“Maistre Matin wants to see us after lunch,” Sophie said.
“Again?” Cameron bit back a groan. “Doesn’t that man have any other students to bother?”
He respected Henri but was beginning to find his frequent “requests” for Cameron and Sophie to attend on him irritating. The last few times had been to grill them about Chloe, on the surface at least. Cameron was fairly certain that he’d been trying to probe them for news of Anglion generally, but they’d been expecting this approach and had tried to limit the information they shared to the things they had read already in the textbooks on Anglion they’d discovered in the library. It had been gratifying to find those volumes were only a little thicker than their counterparts about Illvya back in Kingswell. The main difference seemed to be that they were freely available to the students here. He hadn’t seen a complete text on Illvya until he’d joined the Red Guard. Now that he was here, he was rapidly coming to appreciate that it hadn’t been so complete after all.
“He misses his daughter,” Sophie said.
“Since we ran out of new information to divulge on that subject several days ago, I hardly think that can be it,” Cameron said.
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“I know,” Sophie said, sounding as reluctant as he felt. “But the alternatives aren’t pleasant to contemplate. Madame Simsa told me yesterday that she didn’t think the emperor would ignore us forever.”
“I thought you talked about Tok. And familiars?” He and Sophie had been debriefing—for want of a better word—about their days each night, to share what they had learned. They’d discussed the ongoing problem with the raven. Cameron shared her reluctance to accept a familiar if that would mark her as different if they returned home. But he was starting to think that perhaps they would be foolish to turn down any chance of potential advantage. However, it was Sophie who needed to make the final decision. She was the one who would be bound to the bird, after all.
“We did. But the emperor came up in passing.”
“Well, it’s hardly news. So let’s not borrow trouble. Maybe it will be the life of Chloe de Montesse part four that he wants.” He didn’t think so, but Sophie looked nervous enough that easing her mood for a few minutes seemed the right choice. If she was too worried, she wouldn’t eat. She needed to eat. She still looked tired. He suspected her teachers were pushing her harder in the use of actual magic than Venable Marignon was pushing him. She was not yet fully trained in magic, so she was still developing her skills, rather than just learning how what she knew already differed from Illvyan practices as he was. Her power would also be of interest to them. It seemed unlikely they’d had a royal witch of her strength to study before.
He was not looking forward to the day when the venables decided to start poking around the bond he and Sophie shared. Bruises, no matter how bad, were preferable to that prospect.
“Well, at least we’re allowed to dine first,” he said. “Why don’t you go on ahead? I need to bathe.” He lifted an arm and sniffed, wrinkling his nose. “It’s probably not polite to go see the maistre smelling like this.” He tugged his shirt over his head, wincing as the movement tugged at aching muscles along the left side of his ribs.
“You’re hurt,” Sophie said, crossing the room to him.
“It’s just bruises, love. They’ll heal. Or I’ll go to the healer, if not.”
Sophie put a tentative hand along his ribs, where the bruise was blooming darkest. Given that the fresh bruises were layered on top of those he’d acquired in earlier sessions, even that light touch made the muscles throb.
“I could try,” she said. “I’m starting to understand how healing works.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d prefer not to be your very first patient.” He grinned at her, turning a little so her hand fell away from his torso, then pressed a kiss to her lips. “Besides, you need to keep your energy up. No point wasting magic on me when there are others who can do it.”
“I’m your wife.” Her brown eyes looked worried again. “It’s my job to take care of you. Lord Sylvain said men gain strength from the marriage bond. You shouldn’t bruise this badly.”
“Our bond isn’t exactly traditional,” Cameron pointed out. “And Lord Sylvain said it would protect me from illness. Not being repeatedly hit with training swords. Plenty of Anglion lords have died on the battlefield over the years. So there are limits to what the bond can do.” He kissed her again, and she relaxed into it. “Don’t worry. As I said, just bruises. I know what a cracked rib feels like. This isn’t it.” He crossed to the armoire to find a fresh shirt and trousers. “Go on ahead. Eat. Save me a place. I won’t be long.”
* * *
Mercifully, Henri did not prevaricate once Sophie and Cameron presented themselves at his office after their meal.
“I have received this,” he said, lifting a stiff piece of heavy white paper from his desk. Sophie couldn’t make out the coat of arms she glimpsed as he lifted it, but between the gilded edges of the paper and Henri’s serious expression, she could only assume it was from the emperor.
She glanced at Cam. He smiled quickly, but if it was supposed to reassure her, it didn’t really achieve the aim. Not when he immediately returned to watching Henri with the same expression one might use to watch a snake stumbled upon on a path.
“His Imperial Majesty requests your attendance at a ball he is throwing on fifth day,” Henri said. “I assume you know how to interpret ‘request’ in this context.”
“Show up or else?” Cameron murmured.
“Just so,” Henri said. He put the piece of paper back on this desk with a sigh. “I was hoping he might be content to leave you alone a little longer. But at least he has given us some time to prepare rather than simply summoning you today. I shall see if I can find out if anything has happened that has encouraged him to haste. And why he has chosen a ball rather than an audience.”
Given that they’d been here for more than a week already, it didn’t seem overly hasty to Sophie. But she didn’t know how quickly the machinery of the court moved here in Illvya. “Surely a ball is not an unusual event for an emperor to hold?”
“If it were his son making the announcement of a ball that has not already been expected by the court for weeks, I would perhaps agree with you. Alain can be . . . whimsical. His father, though, is not known for whimsy. Capriciousness, perhaps, but not usually in the vein of such frivolities as balls held out of season. For one thing, they annoy the ladies of his court who prefer time to prepare for such occasions.”
“Am I to understand that you think the emperor is specifically organizing a ball for us?” Her lunch suddenly sat uneasy in her stomach.
“I suspect so,” Henri said. “But as I said, I can find out more. It is not exactly what I had expected.” He smiled a little grimly. “And I would prefer to have some advance warning if he intends to do something foolish with you. We would not like to see your talents go to waste.”
“I see,” Sophie said faintly. She didn’t want to ask what ‘something foolish’ might entail. Though the knowledge that the maistre might defend them offered a tiny scrap of comfort.
“In the meantime, you will both need suitable clothes. I have arranged an appointment with you at the best clothiers in Lumia, my lady. And my own tailor should be able to outfit you, my lord.” He nodded at Cameron. “I’ve informed your teachers that you are to be excused from your classes this afternoon. There will be a carriage waiting for you downstairs and two of the venables from the blood mages to escort you.”
She hadn’t thought she could feel worse about this news but apparently she could. Why did they need an escort to visit a dressmaker?
“Are you expecting trouble?” Cameron asked.
Trust him to be practical. She took a breath. Between them, they could handle trouble. They had done so before. So far the score was far more in favor of the Scardales than those who tried to hurt them.
“Not expecting, no. But I believe in being prepared. Two blood mages should be enough. They know how to call for reinforcements quickly.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “So go. Preparation, in this case, includes clothing. The rest we will deal with if I find out more.”
* * *
It seemed to take no time at all before they were standing outside a small discreet-looking store in the midst of what appeared to be a wealthy part of Lumia. The people they’d passed in the streets were well-dressed, the gutters relatively clean, and the storefronts she glimpsed decorated with silk, velvet, and gilt, their large windows hung with finery. She’d been trying to match the streets they had taken with the mental map of Lumia she was forming in her head from the time she and Cameron had spent studying, but the carriage had moved swiftly and she’d lost her bearings.
Sophie stared at the names on the door mutinously. The gilded letters were surrounded by enough flourishes to take up half the pane of glass, but in the middle of the elegant script, standing out against the midnight blue velvet draped inside the glass, the letters read M & M Designy, Clothiers.
Simple enough. She needed a dress. So they had come to a dressmaker. The only problem was that she didn’t want to go to the damned ball.
; “If you glare any harder, the glass may shatter,” Cameron said. He stood behind her, his body between hers and the pedestrians crowding the streets. The two blood mages who’d escorted them were still in the carriage. “That may not endear you to the dressmakers.”
“As I don’t really want a dress, that doesn’t particularly concern me,” Sophie said, trying to calm her nerves. Just a dressmaker. Something she had more than her share of experience with. Being a lady-in-waiting to a crown princess and then a queen involved a lot of clothes. Both hers and Eloisa’s. She’d attended more fittings than she cared to think about. It wasn’t a process she had ever particularly enjoyed. She liked nice dresses well enough, but when what was deemed suitable for her to wear had been so governed by protocol, it had seemed easier to just allow others to make most of the choices. She’d limited her protests to color selections she did not like and left it at that.
But it wasn’t the dressmaking that had her feeling as though she might lose her meal there on the very elegant steps. It was the reason she required the dress in the first place.
Aristides Delmar de Lucien. His Imperial Majesty of Illvya. A man she had never expected to meet. Nor wished to, once she had found herself in his empire.
But apparently her wishes counted for nothing right now.
“I understand, love, but that doesn’t change the circumstances. We can hardly say no to the emperor. No more than we could have refused such a request from Eloisa.”
Even more so, to Sophie’s reckoning. His Imperial Majesty was an unknown quantity entirely. Who knew what he might do if his will was thwarted. “Why is the emperor even interested?” she muttered. “Why can’t everyone just leave us alone?”
“Because you were born to your parents and then you had the misfortune to stumble across me at the wrong point in your life,” Cameron said, his voice tight.