by M. J. Scott
“No, I agree, we need to proceed carefully. But Eloisa wouldn’t have sent a delegation if she wasn’t keen to bring us home.” He didn’t want to upset Sophie any more with the whirling suspicions in his mind. Not tonight. Not until he’d had time to think them through more carefully.
“Sevan called me a traitor,” Sophie said. “Right there in the middle of the ballroom.” She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering now. “His face. Cameron, I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to him more than once or twice and he looked as though he hated me. As though he’d happily see me dead. I don’t understand it.”
A traitor? The shock of that word left him speechless. He’d known that their flight would cause trouble and the message from Eloisa had been terse, to say the least, but treason? If that term was being bandied around the Anglion court, then there could be no good outcome for Sophie. Or him.
He moved away from her, trying to think. Traitor. If that was truly what was being claimed . . . if charges of treason awaited them, then they couldn’t return to Anglion. It could be fatal.
But would Eloisa do such a thing? Or did Sevan Allowood have some other game he was playing? His cousin stood above Sophie in the succession. His fortunes could rise with the young barron’s. That might be reason enough for him to want Cameron and Sophie to stay in Illvya. Or to see them falsely charged if they returned to Anglion.
And he was just one candidate. There were others with cause to want to take advantage of the situation in Kingswell. A new queen, a palace recovering from attack. A succession radically altered by that attack. A perfect storm of events that could well prove too much temptation for anyone nursing a grudge against the royal family or Sophie.
If the word “treason” was being whispered there, then who was whispering it? Or perhaps the real question was who was pulling the strings at the palace. Eloisa? Or did someone else have control, manipulating the situation behind the scenes? Domina Skey was the most likely candidate for that honor.
She’d been uncomfortably close to the queen’s ear since she had healed Eloisa after the attack. Though she had used Sophie’s powers to do so. Did Eloisa know that? Or remember that she owed Sophie her life?
Part of him hoped it was the Domina. In theory, the earth witches here worshipped the same goddess. But they didn’t share the Anglion’s horror of water magic. So whether or not the Illvyan priestesses would aid the Anglion temple if it sought to come after Sophie was an entirely unknown factor.
If they would, then he and Sophie would surely have to run again. But somehow, even if the temple had potential allies here, the thought of the Domina as their foe was still easier to swallow than Eloisa trying to kill them.
Of course, there had been no representative of the temple amongst the delegates. Barron Deepholt’s wife was famously pious, but the man himself had never seemed overly involved in the religious community at court. That didn’t mean, of course, that there were no other members of the party who were being kept out of sight. A temple representative may not wish to be seen on Illvyan soil or take part in activities such as balls, particularly one where sanctii may well be present. Though that begged the question of whether they would be comfortable setting foot on Illvyan soil in the first place.
His mind spun, trying to run through the possibilities. Presumably the Anglions had arrived by ship. Which ship? Goddess, right now he’d kill for a fast horse and a swift trip to the port. He was fairly certain he could identify an Anglion ship on sight. And if there was a ship, who was still currently aboard? Just the captain and crew? Or could there be other members of the delegation?
Goddess, he wanted to know. But he forced himself to stay put. Stay with Sophie. Who needed him whole and by her side. Besides, he didn’t think Henri would let him get very far if he went haring off into the night. Nor would it do much good. One man couldn’t take on a ship’s company. Not even if he managed to find weapons enough to outfit an entire squadron. So even if he managed somehow to sneak aboard, what followed could only be disastrous.
He turned back to the fire where Sophie stood, watching him pace. “I’m going to send a note to the maistre. Ask him if he can find out which ship the Anglions arrived on.”
Sophie blinked. “Do you think it likely he can?”
He shrugged. “Possibly. We know what we are looking for now. Even if the delegation have concealed their ship somewhere or used an Illvyan vessel to come the last part of their journey, someone in the port will have noticed. Now that the emperor has revealed their presence, I’m sure Henri will be able to find a few looser tongues around than he did before.”
He crossed to one of the two desks that had appeared in their room after they had commenced their studies and wrote the note quickly. It was late but there would be a servant around if he rang. Henri might be asleep, but the note would be waiting for him in the morning. He sealed the note carefully with wax and a ward strengthened with a drop of blood after pricking his finger with the point of his dagger.
It would have to be enough. For now.
When he’d finished, he looked around to find Sophie watching him with an odd expression on her face.
“What, love?”
“Your finger.” She came over, pressing a quick kiss to his hand. “It reminded me of the temple. Of the offerings. It sounds odd, but I miss it.”
“Not so odd. It was part of our lives back home.”
“Do you think the maistre would let me go to a temple here in Lumia?”
Cameron frowned. “Not sure now is the best time for you to be roaming the city, love. The Anglions . . . .”
“You think they would hurt me?”
“I think they would be happy if an opportunity presented itself to let them snatch you away,” Cameron said cautiously. “Though I cannot say what it is they might want from you after that.”
Sophie shivered. “I think I’d prefer not to find out.”
“You won’t have to,” he said. He pulled her down onto his lap. “Not while I’m here to put myself between you and them. No one is taking you anywhere you don’t choose to go.”
From that angle, her dress gave him a most enticing view of her breasts. So be it. There was nothing more to be done until morning. And both of them could use a distraction.
“Did I mention how beautiful you look in this dress?” he said.
She looked startled but then smiled. “I’m not sure you did.”
“Remiss of me. I am a terrible husband. Perhaps you would let me make it up to you?”
“I don’t know. How exactly do you propose to do that?”
He grinned, then leaned down to press a kiss against the curving edge of her right breast where the red satin met pale skin. “Well, I thought I might start by removing the dress.” He kissed the other breast, nipping gently. Then smiled against her skin when she gasped softly. “And then I thought I’d move on to showing you how beautiful I think you are without it on.”
* * *
Cameron and Sophie were leaving their first class of the morning—Illvyan geography—when Willem waylaid them just outside the classroom.
The boy came panting up to them, looking relieved to have found them. He nodded at Cameron, then turned to Sophie. “Lady Sophie, the maistre wants to see you.”
He would have missed the flash of apprehension in her eyes if he hadn’t been looking for it.
“Of course. I’ll go see him now.”
Willem nodded happily. “Good. He seemed to be in a hurry when he asked me to fetch you.” He paused. “They say there was some excitement at the emperor’s ball. Is that why you were not at breakfast?”
The rumor mill in Lumia was definitely impressive. Goddess curse it.
“Everyone is fine, Willem. I simply slept late after the ball,” Sophie said before Cameron could answer.
He knew that was a lie. Sophie had been too nervous to eat breakfast. He had been, too. Willem bowed but didn’t immediately leave. His blue eyes still showed worry. “Do you need—”
“I know my way well enough to the maistre’s office, Willem. You should go to your class.” Sophie said.
“I’ll walk with you, Willem,” Cameron said, struck by a sudden idea. “I wanted to ask you a favor.” He nodded at Sophie, who smiled in thanks and started away from them.
“A favor?” Willem said, Sophie apparently forgotten. “What kind of favor?”
Cameron walked a little farther down the corridor, away from the main body of students. “You said your father worked by the harbor, didn’t you?”
Willem nodded. “Yes. His office is near the harbormaster’s.”
Cameron smiled at him. He was going to ask Henri to find out about the ship the Anglions had arrived on, but he didn’t know if the maistre may be constrained from sharing anything he learned. So a little confirmation—or even additional information—couldn’t hurt. “It sounds like an exciting place to work. All that coming and going.”
Willem wrinkled his nose. “The ships are interesting, I suppose. But I don’t like it down there. The harbor stinks.”
“The harbor in Kingswell does, too, at times,” Cameron agreed. “But still, do you know anyone there who knows about the ships? About arrivals and departures?”
“Of course,” Willem said. “Are you trying to discover which ship the other Anglions arrived in?”
“How—” Cameron cut the question off. The damned rumor mill again. Well, the emperor had announced that there were Anglions visiting Lumia to the entire court. There was no way the news would stay secret for long after that if the Illvyan court was like the Anglion one. “Yes,” he said simply. “I would be interested to know. The name of the ship and how many Anglions have come ashore.”
“I will see what can be found out, my lord.”
“Good. But discreetly, yes?”
Willem looked offended. “Of course. I do not gossip.”
* * *
Sophie had barely made it one full corridor toward Henri’s office when Tok found her and took up his usual place on her shoulder. The bird was unusually silent as she walked the rest of the way. Normally he cawed and squawked and made happy little grumbling noises when he found her but not that morning. Was he picking up her mood? She was tempted to ask, but she was still trying not to encourage him. The Master of Ravens had told her that some of the raven fams learned to speak over time. Indeed, on her first visit to the tower, one of the largest ravens she’d ever seen had squawked a grave “hello” in her direction as she’d followed the master into the first of the roosting rooms.
It had startled her and amused the master, but so far, if Tok could talk—and perhaps he couldn’t being so young—he was hiding the ability from her.
He was still quiet when she reached Henri’s office and knocked on the door.
Martius opened the door, which made Sophie flinch. At that, Tok did caw at the sanctii, flapping his wings briefly, feathers fluffing.
Martius’ mottled gray face cracked in an expression that Sophie guessed was the sanctii equivalent of a smile.
“Little crow,” the demon rasped. “She is safe enough. Be gone.” He pointed down the corridor.
Tok squawked again, the sound edged with outrage, but he flew off in the direction indicated. Apparently even his defiance had its limits. Sophie couldn’t blame him for that. She’d probably do whatever the demon told her to as well.
“Good morning, Martius,” she managed.
The black eyes swung back to her. “Little witch. You may stay.”
He stepped back and she walked into the room, trying to ignore the chill radiating from him.
Henri sat at his desk, a large leather-bound volume open in front of him. As Martius closed the door, he looked up.
“Sophie. Good. Are you well this morning?”
“Yes, Maistre. Quite well.” Though she shivered as Martius came up behind her, and Henri frowned briefly before he stood.
“And are you still determined to take the reveilé?”
She nodded, swallowing against a throat suddenly dry as the dust on top of the ornate clock on the mantle above Henri’s fireplace. He needed a more thorough maid, she thought, then had to choke back a laugh.
She was about to let a demon rummage in her head. She should worry about that, not about the quality of the service provided by the Academe’s servants.
“And Lord Scardale? Is he in agreement?”
Sophie bristled at the implication that she needed Cameron’s permission. “Quite frankly, Maistre, it is my decision. But yes, Cameron supports me in this.” Reluctantly, but he’d agreed with her logic. That would have to be enough for now.
“Very well. Well, then. No time like the present moment.” Henri rubbed his hands together briskly.
Was he looking forward to this?
Her hands tightened, clutching the sides of her robes. Now? Right now? She’d known that this was why he had sent for her, but apparently her body hadn’t believed her brain.
“Nothing to be nervous about,” Henri added. “Why don’t you come over here and take a seat? Then Martius will be able to assess whether you are a good candidate for the reveilé. It doesn’t work on everybody.”
It was an effort to take a step. She kept her hands clenched in the thick black fabric of the robes, afraid if she let go they’d be trembling. Focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, she managed to walk the short distance until she stood beside the chair Henri had indicated. Sitting was easier—all she had to do was loosen the control that was keeping her knees locked and herself upright, letting herself sink onto the seat.
Henri peered down at her. “Are you sure you are well? You look pale.”
Her mouth was dry. She licked her lips, trying to remember how to speak. “I confess I am nervous,” she rasped, the words croaky.
“Would it help if I explained the ritual to you?”
“Yes, please.” Her head felt light as she nodded. She had read about the reveilé but couldn’t, at that moment, recall anything about it other than the fact that it was performed by a sanctii. That part was clear with Martius standing beside her and studying her with inky eyes, his expression indecipherable.
Henri rested against the edge of his desk. Trying to put her at ease? The fact that it seemed an unusually casual pose for the maistre actually had the opposite effect.
“Let me see. Where do I begin? You understand that I will not play a part in this ritual other than helping Martius to make the initial link?”
Yes. He’d explained that much the previous night. She nodded. She had no idea how a water mage might go about establishing such a link, so she was just going to have to trust in Henri.
“So. I will touch your temples. Then I will link with Martius. His hands will replace mine, and then he will give you the reveilé.”
“How exactly?”
“That is something nearly impossible to explain to someone who isn’t a water mage. And even then the concepts we use only bear a slight resemblance to the reality of what the sanctii is actually doing, I’m afraid. The best I can explain, the way the sanctii explain it, is that they can sense somehow the connections made by our brains. The pathways our thoughts and emotions take when we have them. They can also sense what certain parts of the brain do.”
“Go on.”
“Well, when a person is struggling at a task, say learning a language, or singing, or using a particular tool, the sanctii can sometimes see if there is a passage blocked in the mind that is preventing the necessary learning. And they can unblock it. In your case, because you have studied Illvyan, all the rules of grammar and the vocabulary should be there in your mind. So once Martius helps you find the right pathways, you should be fluent quickly. You will still have to practice and study, of course. There is only so much magic can do. The reveilé only improves the ease with which you understand and use the information you have. Unfortunately we cannot insert new information into someone’s head. If we could, we could make a fortune. Or Martius would.” Henri
smiled wryly at that.
“But as it is, he can clear the way, and then you will practice. You should comprehend what is being said almost immediately as long as the words spoken are those you know. Your skill in speaking and your accent may take a little while longer to improve significantly. Everyone reacts a little differently. But again, nowhere near as long as it might take you to continue learning the language by rote.”
It sounded like a vastly simplified explanation, which did little to ease her nerves. The thought that new information couldn’t be placed in her mind was comforting, but she had to take Henri’s word that this was true. But she couldn’t think of anything more to ask, if Henri couldn’t explain without going into arcane details she also wouldn’t understand.
“All right,” she said. She took two long breaths. “Let’s get this over and done with.”
Henri moved closer.
“Wait,” she said as he moved his hands toward her. “Does it hurt?”
“Briefly,” Henri said. “But you will be unharmed. Just stay right where you are and breathe.”
Easy advice when you weren’t the one sitting in her position. Still, it appeared to be one of those situations where there were no shortcuts. To obtain the result she wanted, she had to go through this part, pain or no.
She closed her eyes. That might make it easier. “I am ready.”
Henri’s fingers touched her temples. His skin was warm. Human. She made herself relax. Felt a throb of power from the ley line far below. Then the chill that was Martius moved closer and warm fingers were replaced by two points of pressure that felt like ice, not flesh.
The cold speared through her—not pain exactly, but something akin to it. She set her jaw against the sensation, fighting the urge to push it away as her own power flared in response and she had to tamp it down.
Martius made a small surprised grunt.
“Do you have it?” Henri asked.
“I see,” Martius said. “Simple. And the other thing? That I could also fix. Do you want that, little witch?”
Sophie’s eyes flew open. “What other thing?” She stayed still only because she had no idea what might happen if she broke the contact between them. “Maistre, what is he talking about?”