by M. J. Scott
“There’s no time.”
Sophie took a step back. “Make time.”
The lieutenant stared down at her, jaw clenched. His hand started to lift from his side and then dropped again. “I am trying to get you to safety. Someone attacked the palace. You saw that.”
She had, and the memory of the flames and smoke shooting into the sky made her stomach tighten greasily. She swallowed. Hard. She’d seen the hole in the east tower. Eloisa’s apartments were in the eastern wing. “I did. So we should go back. People will need help.”
“I’m a royal guard,” he said. “If the palace is under attack, then my duty is to secure the royal family. Right now you’re the closest member of the royal family I can get to. So I’m taking you to safety.”
“How do I know you’re safe?”
He gave her a look that was almost approving. “Milady, if I were part of the plot, I probably would have killed you, turned you over to the attackers, or at least knocked you out so I could take you wherever I was supposed to take you by now.”
“Or you could just be telling me that.”
“Suspicious little thing, aren’t you? Good. Thinking is good. But right now we don’t have time to waste.” He pulled his pistol out of its holster. “Do you know how to shoot?”
She hadn’t fired a gun for a very long time, though her father had taught her. She knew the general theory of how a gun worked. “A little,” she said.
His mouth twisted, but he handed the gun over anyway. “That’s going to have to do for now. No time for a lesson right this minute, and we can’t risk drawing attention. Take that. If I try to kill you, try to shoot me first.”
It wasn’t the most reassuring speech she’d ever heard in her lifetime, but it was better than nothing. She took the gun and wrapped her fingers awkwardly around the carved wooden grip. It was shaped for a man’s hands, but it would have to do. “All right. Now tell me where you’re taking me.”
“Right now, away from here,” said the lieutenant. “I want distance between us and Kingswell until we know what is going on. And one transfer isn’t enough. Someone could trace where we’ve gone.”
Sophie bit her lip. Another reasonable explanation. And he was right. If someone was pursuing them—pursuing her, most likely, given who she was—then they could already be at Madame de Montesse’s shop. It was no secret that that was where she’d been bound this afternoon. Besides Eloisa’s ladies and guards, there must have been half a hundred people in the palace alone who had seen her leaving the grounds with the lieutenant.
If they found the portal at Madame’s store, they could find them. There were ways to cleanse a portal of the traces of its most recently used destination, but they couldn’t rely on the good Madame to have done so on her end.
Not that any of that changed the fact that she wanted to know where he was taking her. “Are you taking me home?”
“Home?” He stopped, frowning. “No. Why would I do that?”
“Because it would be sensible.”
“Milady, if someone is after the royal family, then an estate belonging to members of that family isn’t going to be terribly safe.”
For a moment she felt as though the bottom had dropped out of the world. She hadn’t thought about that. There’d been no time to think in the few rushed minutes since the lieutenant had taken charge. To realize that her family might be in danger, too. And then she remembered that they weren’t at home. They were, in fact, supposed to be arriving in Kingswell that evening. A week of unseasonable storms had delayed their departure, but the latest messages had assured her that they would arrive in good time for her birthday.
Just in time to land in the middle of a battle zone. She wrenched her arm free of the lieutenant’s grip, whirled, and headed back the way they had come.
He caught her after a few steps. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“We have to go back,” she said, jerking her arm. But he was ready for her, and his hand simply tightened. She yanked again. “We have to go back. My family is in Kingswell.”
“So is mine,” he said flatly. “But I can’t help them. I can only help you.”
“You can help me by taking me back,” she said, voice rising.
“No.”
“I outrank you, Lieutenant.”
“Not when it comes to decisions about your safety. I’m a member of the Red Guard, and I am charged with keeping you alive.”
Sophie suddenly remembered the gun. Her fingers tightened around the grip.
He must have noticed the movement. “If you shoot me, then who is going to work the portal for you?”
Dust of the goddess. She hadn’t thought about that. She had no magic. She couldn’t use a portal. And she was halfway across the country. By the time she made it back any other way, assuming she could make it back in one piece—it wasn’t as if she’d brought much money with her or had fresh clothing or a means of transport—matters in Kingswell would likely be settled anyway. One way or another.
The lieutenant stayed very still, watching her with those serious blue eyes. “Please, milady. You have to trust me. Or if you can’t trust me, then trust the princess. She gave me her trust when she chose me as a bodyguard.”
That was true. But had the princess been mistaken?
Her head throbbed a protest as she tried to think through the implications. The gun was growing rapidly heavier in her hand. If she held it up much longer, her hand would start to shake and then she might not even hit him.
She had to make a decision. And right now there seemed to be only one real choice. She lowered the gun. “All right. I’ll come with you. But you have to tell me your plan.”
It turned out the plan involved more portals. Too many portals. After the third transfer, Sophie was feeling regretful that she hadn’t dug her heels in and insisted on being taken back to Kingswell. She’d lost what little she’d eaten earlier in the day as she’d staggered across the portal boundary after the second journey.
The lieutenant had waited politely for her to finish and then handed her his handkerchief. But that had been the extent of his sympathy. He’d taken her by the arm and headed into the wooded area behind the portal. He seemed to know where he was going. Which meant that one of them did.
“Where are we now?” she demanded, trying to keep her skirts free of the fallen branches and other obstacles littering the path. Apparently, not many of the locals took this path to the portal.
“South Westby,” he said.
She’d never heard of it. “Would you care to narrow that down a little? Perhaps give me a county or a town I might have heard of?”
“Caloteen,” he said. “Sort of east.”
Caloteen was one of the middle counties. About half a day’s ride from her father’s lands. The lieutenant had made it clear they weren’t going there. But at least it gave her a fixed point to cling to. At least until the next transfer, when they might end up goddess only knew where.
They walked away from the portal for several miles until they came to another small stand of woods. The lieutenant led the way into the trees and paused when they reached a clearing near a narrow stream. He scanned their surroundings for several minutes. Sophie leaned against a convenient Oran tree and tried not to think about how foul her mouth tasted.
“We’ll rest here,” he said eventually, and she nodded and walked toward the stream as fast as her aching legs would take her, dropping to her knees to drink and rinse out her mouth. The stream wasn’t flowing full force in the heat of late summer, but the water seemed fresh enough and the lower water level meant there wasn’t too much mud on her dress when she stood. The dark gray—she’d never thought she’d be thankful for gray after wearing it for most of a year—hid the worst of the stains.
The lieutenant was moving around the clearing, gathering up sticks and branches.
“Just how long is this stay to be?” she asked.
“We’ll sleep here,” he said. “There’s a village a few m
iles on. I’ll walk there early, see if I can find us some clothes and horses.”
“Horses?”
“If we need them. There may be news that means we can make our way back, but if not, I think we should stay away from the portals for another day.”
“The day after tomorrow is my birthday,” she pointed out.
“I know. And I’ll get you back to the palace if we have the all clear.”
“And if not?”
“Then your birthday party will be delayed.”
He didn’t sound terribly sympathetic.
“It’s hardly the party that concerns me.”
“Then what is it?”
She shook her head at him. “The part where I may come into my power. It’s my Ais-Seann. I’m supposed to complete the dedication to the Goddess on my birthday.”
“That’s just a ritual, isn’t it? A day or two won’t hurt.”
“I suppose.” She wasn’t entirely sure if it was just a ritual. Through all her lessons, the importance of the dedication taking place on her birthday had been driven home to her, though no one had offered an explanation other than tradition and the fact that the goddess demanded it. Still, it was enough to make her uneasy. She hadn’t been at court the last time a royal witch had been dedicated, so she hadn’t ever seen the ritual in person. Women outside the nobility who manifested went to their local temples, but they seldom showed any real degree of power. Seed witches, able to coax plants to prosper, perhaps, but nothing more.
“I’m sure we can find a chapel if it comes to that,” the lieutenant said. He laid his armful of wood down in the middle of the clearing and began separating it into smaller and larger branches.
“If you think someone is looking for us, is a fire safe?”
He looked up. “I can build it small and do a thing or two to shield the smoke. It may not get too cold tonight, so maybe we can do without, but it’s easier to prepare it now than in the dark.” He continued sorting the wood as he spoke, moving with an ease that spoke of having done it many times. If she had to be hiding in the woods with somebody, a soldier was at least useful. She wouldn’t have had any idea how to build a fire outside, let alone light one without matches or magic.
And he was right. It was cooler here than it had been in the capital but still not cold. Perhaps she should have been thankful that they hadn’t traveled farther north into Carnarvan. “We need food.”
“Think you’d keep it down?”
She flushed. “It was the portal. I’ll be fine in a moment.”
He studied her a moment. “We’ll see. If you are sure you can eat, I can go looking. There should be berries at least. Maybe some mushrooms.”
“If the stream gets any deeper farther on, there might be fish,” she offered.
“But no rod,” he pointed out. “And no, I won’t be shooting anything. The noise would draw attention.”
“I have pins in my purse,” Sophie said. “And thread.”
“Pins?” He looked surprised. “Can you make a fish hook from a pin?”
“I used to fish with my little brothers,” Sophie said. “So, yes. I have pins because you never know when you might need to pin a hem or something at court,” she continued as explanation. The other things in her purse—smelling salts, packets of herbal powders for headaches and such, and tiny vials of perfume and rouge—were unlikely to be helpful. When she got back to the castle, she would start carrying matches, too, she decided. Though maybe, if her magic came, she would be able to call a candle flame as some of the royal witches could.
“All right. Make your hook whilst I finish the fire, and then I’ll see where the stream leads. If you promise to stay put.”
“Where would I go?” she asked, feeling suddenly very lost as the truth of those words struck home. She was dependent on him and his good graces, at least for another day. Her eyes stung suddenly, and she blinked and ducked her head as she slipped her hand through the slit in the side of her skirt to reach her purse where it hung between her skirt and the first layer of petticoats.
“What are you thinking about?”
Sophie came back to herself with a start. “Yeast cakes.” It was dark now, and the lieutenant had made a very small fire to cook the single fish he’d caught with her makeshift line. That, with the berries he’d also found, had been a paltry meal. Not enough when she’d lost everything she’d eaten earlier in the day.
The lieutenant chuckled, a low rumbling sound in the darkness. “Yeast cakes?”
“Yes,” she said, staring down at the last few berries in her lap with distaste. She’d never been overly fond of blackberries. But she was too hungry to waste any. “The one Cook at the castle makes. With the glaze.” Her stomach rumbled at the memory.
“I always preferred the spiced pear tarts,” he said, dropping another small branch on the fire.
Sophie bit into another berry, chewed, then swallowed, the faint acidic sweetness lingering on her tongue. “The tarts are good, too, but yeast cakes are my favorite. Hot, just cooked. I used to go down to the kitchen sometimes to fetch some for the princess, and Cook would give me one straight from the pan.” Her appetite died when she realized Cook might well be dead or captured. Shivering, she moved closer to the tiny fire. Stupid to worry about food when she didn’t know if her family was alive.
“Milady? Are you cold?”
She wrapped the cloak more tightly around herself, welcoming the warmth. The lieutenant had been correct in his predictions. It wasn’t a cold night, but her skin was cool. “It’s nothing.” It did no good to share her thoughts with him. He had friends and family in the castle, too. And his fellow soldiers. If anyone was in the line of danger, it would be the Red Guard. Besides which, he probably wanted to be back there, doing his duty instead of hiding in the woods protecting her.
He was a battle mage. His magic was meant for fighting. He was probably feeling as frustrated as her.
Or maybe not. He at least could do useful things like make a fire. He could protect them with his magic if he had to. Whereas she was helpless. Even if she manifested power, she would still be limited.
“Why do women only get taught earth magic?” she asked, staring at the flames, hoping he wouldn’t read the curiosity in her face.
“Some women learn other magics.”
She knew prevarication when she heard it. The polite tone of “don’t pursue this.” Well, goddess curse it. She was in the woods, maybe being hunted, and she wanted to know. There was no time for polite. “Not royal witches.”
“No,” he agreed.
“Why not?”
He shrugged, the firelight glinting off the gold braid on the shoulder of his jacket. “I never really thought about it. Tradition?”
She snorted. “That’s not an answer.” Turning, she looked him in the eye.
He frowned. “Earth magic is the deepest. The closest to the goddess. Why do you need more?”
“If earth is deepest, why do men use other magics in battle?”
“It’s hard to defeat someone by raining on him. That doesn’t mean earth is weaker; it just has different uses.”
“You could strike someone with lightning.”
“Milady, no one has been strong enough to call lightning in a very long time.”
“That’s my point. Why not teach royal witches the other magics?”
“Royal witches are protected. The Arts of Air—illusion, concealment—what use does a lady have for those?”
“Have you never tried to negotiate a ballroom without getting your”—she broke off; ladies did not mention bottoms in polite conversation—“without getting pinched?”
The flickering firelight revealed his smile. “Ah, no. But the Arts require more . . .” He made a gesture that she couldn’t quite decipher. “It’s an inner thing. And it isn’t for such uses.”
“What? Women are not intelligent enough?”
“No. It’s not that. But the Arts illusions and wards and far-seeing are used together with b
attle magic. And that’s something different.”
“Different how? Because women should wait quietly at home and let men protect them?”
He shook his head. “Maybe they think women shouldn’t be put at risk of being hurt.”
“Hurt?” She was beginning to feel like Eloisa’s pet parrot, repeating everything he said.
“To learn battle magic—to access the power—you have to be angry. Enraged almost. In the army, the first few times, the instructor punches you. In the face. I’m guessing most women wouldn’t want that.”
“Anger can be raised in other ways.”
“This is quicker. Blood is quicker.”
She stayed silent, considering his words. “But once you know how to latch onto the power, do you still need to be angry?”
Cameron poked the fire with his foot, wondering how to answer. He wasn’t sure he should be discussing this at all. But it was better than her bursting into tears. So far she’d been very calm. Her stunt with the gun had been foolish, but it had been brave. Seemingly calm was not the same as actually calm, though, and it was hard to know if hysterics lurked below the facade. He’d seen good men fall apart under attack, and Lady Sophia wasn’t a trained soldier. If magic distracted her, then magic they would discuss. “There’s usually plenty of emotion in the thick of battle. You can use that. But there’s another reason.”
“And that is?”
“You use battle magic to hurt someone and it hurts you. A sword is safer. You use the magic for distraction—a cramp, a twitch. Otherwise it can hurt too much. Pain makes you vulnerable.”
“What about killing? You can kill someone with battle magic, yes?”
He couldn’t help the shudder that ran down his spine. Memories he tried to suppress whispered in the back of his mind. “It’s not recommended. Not directly.”
“Why not?”
Goddess. How many questions could she ask? “Because you feel them die. Trust me. You don’t want to know what that feels like.”
“Have you ever . . . ?”
“Once. When someone was trying to kill me.”