by M. J. Scott
“Hmmph. What a waste. Do Anglions not think that girls have brains, too?”
“They know we have brains. But there are certain things that women do there and certain that men do. The magics fall that way, too. As the goddess—” Sophie caught herself. It wasn’t as the goddess intended. Not to Illvyan eyes. Here, men and women could practice any of the Arts. There were a few male students in her earth classes. Outnumbered by the females, yes, but they were there. Just as there were female blood mages. The Arts of Air were taught to both sexes as well.
“I mean,” she continued, “there are traditions.”
“There are traditions here, too. But traditions may change and shift. And even tradition isn’t a good enough reason for preventing someone from pursuing an interest or an occupation if they show a talent for it. I think you would be wise to stay here.”
“It’s not so simple,” Sophie said. And now she was thinking of Cameron again. She didn’t want to think about that. “Tell me what a gas is.”
“I shall give you the simple version,” Imogene said, “which is that everything around us in the world is made up of different substances that have different properties. All things can be broken down to these parts if you know how. Blood. Water. Dirt. People. We are all made of the same things. In different combinations.” She smiled at that. “Air itself is made up of these things. In tiny, tiny quantities spaced far apart that . . . well, let us say they float, for want of a better explanation. Air is a gas. Things that do not float are called solids. Except when they’re liquids. It has to do with the way the chemicals are held together. Which is overly complicated. So air floats and so do the chemicals within it. There are ways of isolating those chemicals, which gives you gases other than air. Some of them are lighter than air, as I said, so they will float in air. The trouble with those is that they also tend to be very flammable. The merest spark can set them alight. Which, when you build a structure containing metal, that will carry people who need fire for food and heating and wish to travel through skies that sometimes bring lightning, is not such a good solution.”
“So, you want to find a magical way to mimic how those gases work?”
“Or to find another way to make the navire float.” Imogene picked up the china cup. “If one could lift it.” She held the cup in one hand and waved the other beneath it. “Push it up with more air. Or the power of the ley lines. Blood mages can move objects with magic. We just need a way to increase that power.” She put the cup back down. “I will find it.”
“Find what?” a voice behind them asked.
Sophie turned at the same time as Imogene. Cameron.
He still looked somewhat grim, the dark evening clothes turning him to something elegant but distant. She wanted to reach for him. She always wanted to reach for him. But no, she wouldn’t give in to the pull of him today. Not until she knew how things lay between them.
“A way to power my navire,” Imogene said, indicating the ship with a nod. She looked to Cameron, then back to Sophie. “To make it ride the air.”
Cameron looked up at the structure. “Big.”
“Yes. Once it is up, the air would help carry it. That’s what the sails at the sides do.” Imogene pointed at the picture and gave a rapid description of technicalities that meant nothing to Sophie. She wondered if Cameron understood any of it either.
“So the main effort is the initial lift. Then it is a case of ensuring it rides the winds safely. And then can return to the earth again, of course. Otherwise, the rest is for naught. I just need to find the right combination of powers.” Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “How much work have the two of you done with your bond?”
“Not that much,” Cameron said shortly. “Sophie, it’s getting late. We should be leaving.”
“Is Maistre Matin done speaking with the emperor?” Sophie asked, tone cool.
“I don’t know,” Cameron said. His tone suggested that he didn’t particularly care, and Sophie bristled.
“Then perhaps we should stay here with Imogene until they send for us. I, for one, am interested in her creation. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I doubt anyone has,” Cameron said. He paused a moment, staring up at the navire as if trying to decide something. Sophie waited. If he was going to start another argument, then he could return to the Academe alone.
Eventually Cameron shook his head and his shoulders dropped a little. “Forgive me,” he said. “It has been a trying few days. I find myself eager for sleep tonight.”
She wasn’t sure if his apology was directed at her or at Imogene. If it were her, then it was a start, but he had somewhat farther to go before she might contemplate forgiving him.
“I find imperial dinners often have that effect on me as well,” Imogene said with a half smile. “And the navire can wait another day.” She turned to Sophie. “Your husband is correct. We should go back, find the maistre.” She grinned suddenly. “If the emperor asks you about his palace, just tell him you found it all magnificent. He doesn’t need to know that we spent most of our time here.”
Sophie rather suspected that Aristides was fully aware of what Imogene was showing them. Even if the navire was Imogene’s invention, she was an imperial mage and presumably was working on such an undertaking on the emperor’s behalf. She wouldn’t be showing it to anyone the emperor didn’t wish to know about it.
But she might as well play along with the pretense. At least until she had a better idea why they were being shown the ship. That part she needed to think on a little longer. Had Aristides decided that she and Cameron were likely to stay in Illvya? Was the ship supposed to be an enticement? Or a warning? A display of the powers of the empire? After all, one use for a ship that floated through air might be to reach an island nation more easily. Attack on a front that they couldn’t necessarily defend.
Was he warning her that Anglion would eventually be within his grasp?
She didn’t know.
Something else to worry about. Which was entirely what she didn’t need.
* * *
“Do you really want to go back and help Imogene with that . . . whatever that was?” Cameron asked when they were waiting at the front entrance to the palace for their carriage to be brought around. Henri was a little distance away, talking low voiced to Imogene.
“It’s interesting,” Sophie said. “I’d like to know more about it.”
“You do realize that such a thing is a weapon of war?”
“I’m not entirely an idiot,” she said tightly. “So yes, it occurred to me. And yes, it also occurred to me that if they make it work, then perhaps it would be Anglion that Aristides would be turning his attention to.”
“Good,” Cameron said, and then, “I have never thought you were an idiot.”
“Just a young naïve fool who didn’t know what she was saying, then?”
He winced. “I owe you an apology.”
“Yes. But I’m not sure I’m yet in the mood to hear it.” She wrapped her cloak more tightly around her. The wind had gone strong since they had arrived at the palace and the scent of rain hung in the air.
“I deserve that.” Cameron glanced toward Henri and Imogene. “But what I also wonder is whether that thing could travel far enough above the sea that sanctii wouldn’t be affected by the salt water below them. A ship full of sanctii would make a very effective invading force.”
Sophie’s eyes widened. She hadn’t thought of that. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just ship a troop of water mages over instead?”
“Maybe. But that depends on whether the solution to how to make that thing fly ends up involving sanctii or not. If it does, then you need them.”
She shook her head. “It seems unlikely. But I don’t know enough about water magic to be certain how sea water even affects them.”
“Something I think we need to find out,” Cameron said. “I—” He broke off, a smile abruptly appearing on his face. “Maistre Matin. Are you ready to depart?”
&
nbsp; Sophie turned to see the maistre approaching them rapidly. And, in the distance, the sound of iron-shod hooves approaching. Any further speculation would have to wait.
Chapter 18
They were about halfway back from the palace before anyone spoke. It was Henri who finally spoke. “Another interesting evening. I will give you this, Lady Scardale. Life is not dull with you around.”
“It used to be,” Sophie said with a sigh. “I look forward to the time when it can be again.”
“And have you thought about what you will do if your queen will not provide these reassurances you seek?”
Sophie shrugged. “I imagine at that point we will need to make a choice.”
“Just so. You are, of course, both welcome to continue at the Academe. Your teachers speak well of your skills.” Henri smiled at her. “We always need mages who are strong. We would be more than happy to complete your training. Or enhance it, in your case, Lord Scardale.”
“What happens after the Academe?” Cameron said. “We can’t stay under your roof forever.”
“Well, that would depend on what interests you developed during your studies usually. Some of our students stay on as staff, of course, or to immerse themselves in the study of magic itself. Others join the imperial corps. A small number of earth witches decide to dedicate themselves to the temple of the goddess. But there are those who go out into the world and find occupation for themselves. Who work in trades where magic is an advantage, such as those who make the fabriques, or become healers, or join the households of nobleman. There are options. Mages are respected here in the empire. You and your wife will not starve, Lord Scardale, if you remain here. True, you will not be a member of the Illvyan nobility. Not unless you distinguished yourself in some way that might cause the emperor to reward either of you with a title, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a prosperous life. A successful one.”
“A safe one?” Sophie asked.
“Ah. Well, as to that, I am no farseer. No man or woman can see their future clearly. And no life is without risk. But the risks here are no greater than in Anglion, surely? For one thing, I believe our skills in healing and other matters are somewhat advanced compared to yours. That should improve your chances.”
What wouldn’t improve their chances would be to remain the center of royal intrigues. But it was difficult to see how they could remove themselves from that position. It might become easier once they made a choice between two countries, but right now she didn’t think that either monarch would want her to stray too far from their control.
It felt like stepping from one cage to another. True, the Illvyan cage was somewhat more spacious. And it offered more options. Along with less chance of execution as a traitor, for a start. But it was still a cage if she couldn’t avoid becoming a tool for the emperor to manipulate.
She leaned back against the carriage seat, suddenly exhausted. Cameron beside her was a large warm presence but less comforting than he usually would have been. He said he owed her an apology. And maybe he was sorry for what he had said. That didn’t necessarily mean that he hadn’t meant it at the time.
Which cut her as surely as though he had taken a blade and stabbed her. But that was something else she couldn’t do anything about. She was getting very tired of feeling helpless.
Her eyelids drifted closed and she was nearly asleep when the carriage suddenly jolted, sending her crashing against the wall.
“What was—” She didn’t get a chance to finish her question. Because something flashed in sudden brilliant orange in the window beside Cameron and the carriage went tumbling through the air like a child’s toy tossed in temper.
The world turned around her dizzyingly, and all she could hear was the splintering of wood and smashing glass and the shrieks of horses. She thought she heard Cameron call her name and reached for him, but they were still tumbling and her hands closed on empty air.
She could feel him through the bond but as she was tossed through space, she couldn’t grasp exactly where she was, let alone him. She tried again but just as she thought she might have him, her head cracked sickeningly against something and the world went dark.
When her eyes opened, it was to the sensation of hands closing around her, tugging and pulling. It took a moment to remember. Carriage. Explosion. Falling.
That explained the pain in her head and the blurriness of her vision. The hands pulled again and she wriggled, trying to help them, but couldn’t free herself. Until it registered that there were voices accompanying the grasping hands, and that they were speaking Anglish, not Illvyan. The voice closest to her said clearly, “Get the witch, let the other two die. They do not matter.”
The hands around her wrists tightened, yanked at her a third time, the pressure harder, jerking at her shoulders. The fabric of her cloak, which she hadn’t fastened, ripped and tore away, and then she was sliding upward despite trying to resist.
“Let me go,” she screamed as her side scraped over something rough, but whoever had hold of her didn’t stop and soon she tumbled out of the carriage and onto the cobblestones with a thump that stole her breath.
She gasped, then sucked in a breath as she started to push herself up.
“Stay still, witch,” a low, harsh voice rasped, and she looked up to find a gun pointed at her face. The man wielding it wore a hooded cloak and had covered his face with some sort of black cloth tied around it, but his intent was clear enough.
Where was Cameron? Or Henri? She turned her head, pretending to shake it slowly as if to clear it.
The street they were in seemed empty, the buildings closed up and dark. Not an area with houses, then. But in a city as large as Lumia, someone should be around. Someone had to have heard the commotion caused by the carriage. Someone would surely call for help. There was a city guard as well as the Imperial Guard. Where were they?
The partially shattered carriage lay on its side about fifty feet away, the two horses fallen beside it. One was struggling to rise, whinnying hoarsely in distress, hopelessly tangled in its harness and held down by the weight of its companion, who lay motionless. To the left of the carriage, a fire danced on a patch of the road, burning and spitting sparks. Pieces of debris littered the street, some of them on fire. A chunk of something that might have been a door lay just a few feet from her, cracked and half-destroyed. She shuddered. So much damage. She was lucky to have survived.
“We should go.” A second man joined the man with the gun. His face was covered, too, but he wore no cloak. His clothes were dark but simple, she thought. Plain jacket, shirt, trousers. Short boots. He bent down and she tried to scramble backward out of reach, but her feet couldn’t find purchase on the stones and slippery velvet, and she only made it a foot or two before he grabbed hold of her wrist and hauled her to her feet.
She struck at him with her free hand. “Let me go!”
“Quiet.” The gun swung round to face her.
Now that she was standing, she could see beyond the carriage. About a hundred feet past it stood a second carriage with a team of four, the horses dancing a little nervously in the smoky light, and a driver seated ready.
Goddess, no. She wasn’t going wherever they were planning to take her.
She reached for her bond with Cameron. She could feel him but couldn’t see him and he felt quiet, like he did when he was asleep. Unconscious? Hurt? Both? She couldn’t say. But she needed some of his power. She had no other weapon at her disposal.
Pulling on both the bond and the ley line she could sense somewhere off to her right, she tugged at the chunk of door on the street and sent it arcing up to smash into the man holding her. He let go as the wood hit him, falling back with a shocked “Oof.” He fell backward and she heard a crack that she hoped was his head hitting the stones but she didn’t stop to look. Instead, she lunged for the gun.
The hooded man, attention drawn to his comrade for a second, didn’t dodge immediately or fire, thank the goddess, and her hands closed around t
he weapon, trying to wrench it free.
“Bitch.” The hooded man swore and swung a fist at her face. Pain arced through her head, bursts of light spinning in front of her eyes, and she started to fall forward. The action pulled the gun down but she somehow managed not to let go of it, instead trying to push it around so it faced her attacker. There was a sudden deafening sound and something stung her arm. The hooded man cursed again, falling back, clutching at his right thigh. For a moment she thought she’d been shot, as her arm throbbed painfully.
But if she had, it couldn’t have hit anything too vital because she was still standing. She drew a breath, screamed, “Help me, please,” as she reached for the ley line again, intending to try to send another piece of debris against her attacker.
Instead, suddenly, there was a sanctii between Sophie and the man in the cloak. She saw his eyes widen in horror above his mask, then he lifted the gun. The sanctii roared something in its own tongue and the gun suddenly . . . vanished. The man in the hood turned and bolted for the carriage, his motions panicked. The carriage had already begun to turn around, the driver having obviously decided that retreat was the order of the day. The sanctii roared again and stepped forward as though it intended to give chase.
“No,” Sophie yelled. “Please. There are others here who need help.” Her attacker in the hood showed no sign of turning back. In fact, as she watched, he reached the carriage and scrambled up beside the driver as the turn was completed.
The sanctii turned back to Sophie. Under the dim light of the streetlamps it almost looked like part of the road itself, the color of its skin blending into the shadowed cobblestones. Its black eyes reflected the light of the fire. It was the sanctii from the ball, she realized. The one who had defended Cameron.
“Please,” she said, then started to move back toward the fallen carriage as the one containing the men who’d attacked them clattered away down the street, the driver whipping his horses into a gallop. “Please, I need help.”