by M. J. Scott
If the former Lord Inglewood had still been alive, he probably would have been pleased with the match, power trumping pedigree, after all. He had been, the few times she’d had any close contact with him, hard and autocratic and clearly ambitious. No time for fools.
And he had raised Cameron.
What kind of man had he wrought?
One whose arm was strong and warm under her hand. One who kissed like one of Illvya’s fabled courtesans might teach a man to kiss.
Who had stood by her and offered himself up as culprit for the trouble she had caused.
She would hold to that.
The conversation died as they walked into the receiving room, heads turning to see who was interrupting. There were nine—no, ten—adults in the room and several young children, though they were mostly gathered around a small table, playing with a set of salt sticks.
The tallest of the men, who looked remarkably like Cameron, came to his feet abruptly.
Sophie had met Liam Mackenzie once, she thought. The first time she’d come to court, when she was nearly sixteen. Before he had married. Lord Inglewood had introduced his heir out of courtesy to Sophie’s heritage, but he’d married Liam off to Jeanne Listfold the next year to strengthen Inglewood’s alliances with the Erl of Airlight, her father.
“Cameron,” Liam said, sounding relieved. He wore head-to-toe black, only the blue of the Inglewood sapphire in his ring and the gray glimmer of the pearls adorning his jacket breaking the darkness. His eyes were blue like Cameron’s, though bracketed by deeper lines. But the shadows beneath them and the stoic expression they held were identical to his brother’s.
Cameron let go of Sophie, and the brothers embraced. She looked away, not wanting to intrude. Only to realize that everybody else in the room was staring at her. Jeanne Mackenzie recovered herself first and rose from the spindle-legged chair she occupied to stand beside her husband.
She nodded at Sophie. “It’s Lady Sophia, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Sophie said. Jeanne’s eyes were curious, but she didn’t have time for more questions before the men broke apart and Cameron said, “We need to talk, brother.”
Behind him, the expressions of interest on the other adults deepened. Sophie only recognized a few of them. Which meant, she assumed, that the others had come from Inglewood with Liam. The ladies-in-waiting were schooled relentlessly on all the members of the court, and she had a good head for faces and names. She didn’t think she’d seen any of the people she didn’t recognize before. None of them had any power that she could sense, either.
There was very little magic detectable in the room. Nothing like the roiling power that had filled Eloisa’s chambers. Maybe something from Liam. She didn’t think he’d ever been in the Red Guard, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have been trained in battle magic. Still, the lack of the immediate pressing presence of magic was a relief of a sort after her hours in the temple and with the Domina and the queen-to-be today. Like she had been able to step out of a stuffy room into fresh air for a space of time. But she still made sure her hands were covered by the folds of her shawl, just in case one of the women might know the significance of the sigils.
“Indeed,” Liam said. “There is much to discuss about the estate. And Father.” His voice grew a little rough. “But won’t you eat first?”
Cameron declined with a headshake. “Now, if it pleases Your Grace.”
Liam’s eyebrows lifted at the formality. “If you insist. Jeanne, will you take care of Cameron’s . . . guest?”
“She needs to come with us,” Cameron said.
Liam’s expression turned shuttered. “I see. Well, then. We can go to the study. It’s a mess, but we will have privacy there.” He exchanged a look with his wife that clearly meant “keep things under control here” and then led the way out of the room, through another smaller receiving room, and across a narrow hall into a well-sized book-lined study dominated by a carved blackwood desk. Two narrow cots had been set up near the fire on the farthest side of the room. Obviously, the family was already housing more guests than the suite was intended for.
And now she was about to impose. Her face went hot. Neither of the men seemed to notice.
Cameron held one of the chairs near the desk for her, and she sat, knowing that neither of them would until she did so. The more she could do to speed this interview, the better.
“What’s this about, Cam?” Liam asked, settling himself behind the desk, looking a little uncomfortable about doing so.
“You know that I wasn’t in the city for the attack,” Cameron said.
“Commander Peters told me as much when we first arrived,” Liam agreed. “Said you were with one of the ladies-in-waiting. The one with the imminent birthday.”
“Lady Sophia Kendall,” Sophie interrupted. “Pleased to meet you, Your Grace. My condolences on your loss.”
Cameron was looking at her oddly. “You hadn’t introduced us,” she pointed out.
“Lady Sophia,” Liam said, one side of his mouth lifting in an expression very like Cameron’s half smile, though lacking the dimple and the transformation that Cameron’s smile wrought on his face. “I thank you for your sympathy. I see that my brother has brought you home again.”
“Yes, Your Grace. Cam—Lieutenant Mackenzie has been very kind.”
“I see,” Liam said. He folded his hands in front of him on the table. The sapphire signet ring, slightly loose on his finger, shifted and caught the light, flaring deep blue. “Cameron. You were saying?”
“Lady Sophia and I were in Portholme when the attack happened. As it happened, near a portal. I deemed it safer to take her away from the city until we could find out what was happening. She is of the line direct, after all.”
Liam nodded, made a little “go on” gesture before clasping his hands again.
“It’s a somewhat long story,” Cameron said, “and I know you must have more than enough to do right now. So the short version is that the queen-to-be, on our return here, has decided that I am to marry Sophie.”
Liam’s mouth dropped open. “You?” He frowned at Sophie. “Did you not manifest, milady?”
“She did,” Cameron said.
“Then I would have thought that the queen-to-be would be looking for a bigger prize than you, little brother,” Liam said. “If she’s got a royal witch to go fishing with, she should want to bind one of her lords close again.”
“I rather suspect she thinks she’s binding you,” Cameron said. “A new Erl of Inglewood. An unknown quantity.”
“Eloisa and I spent several summers in court before she was wed. I think she has my measure,” Liam said with a sound close to a snort. “I doubt she’s as concerned about me as she would have been about Father.” He tilted his head, a gleam in the blue eyes—several shades darker again than Cameron’s—that suggested Eloisa might be foolish to discount him. “Which brings me back to why she’s giving you a prize. Did you save her life or something when I wasn’t looking?”
Cameron’s face was set. “No.”
Liam leaned back. “Then perhaps I need the longer version of this story after all.”
“Why? It won’t change anything. She doesn’t need your permission, given I’m not your heir,” Cameron said. “The queen-to-be rarely changes her mind once she’s set her course.”
“Is that so? You seem to know her well.”
“I’ve been one of her bodyguards for nearly a year. I know her well enough,” Cameron said somewhat stiffly.
Sophie was starting to wish rather desperately that a hole would open up before her feet and swallow her. She really didn’t want Cameron to have to tell his brother that they had . . . transgressed. Not when she was present, at least.
Liam turned his gaze to her. “And you, Lady Sophia. Are you amenable to marrying my little brother?”
She forced a smile. “I am happy to serve my queen-to-be as she bids, Your Grace. Lieutenant Mackenzie has always been kind to me. I’m s
ure we will be very happy together.” She looked down, hoping she looked demure and maidenly, like a well-bred young court flower rather than shifty.
“I see,” Liam said. He took a breath. Blew it out. “Well. I imagine that Father might have had many things to say on this subject, but he is no longer here to speak them.”
Cameron shifted in his seat. She rather thought he was thinking that his father’s passing, when it came to this particular matter, was somewhat of a blessing. She could only agree with him.
“And,” Liam continued, “it is a good match for you, Cameron. Better than the queen-to-be has considered, perhaps.”
Sophie turned her attention back to him, wondering how he had reached that conclusion.
“How so?” Cameron said, echoing her thoughts.
Liam shrugged. “Did the commander have time to go through the casualty lists with you?”
Cameron shook his head.
Sophie’s stomach grew tight. Casualty lists. What did they have to do with her?
“The west and east towers took a lot of people with them when they fell,” Liam said, voice somber. “More than just Father. So many people here for the birthday celebrations.”
Sophie felt a cry of protest rise in her throat, choked it back. It wasn’t her fault. It was the court that wanted the birthday celebrations, not her. It wasn’t her fault. This wasn’t her fault.
“Who?” Cameron asked, sounding wary.
“Well, the Erl of Farkeep’s entire family, for a start,” Liam said.
Sophie froze, distracted from the guilt by a chill spearing through her. A previous Erl of Farkeep had married her grandmother’s elder sister. A royal witch. A whole branch of the line direct gone. The line closest to the throne after Stefan’s, in fact.
She counted frantically in her head, trying to think.
“Who else?” Cameron demanded.
“The lists are long,” Liam said. “And falling stone and fire pay no heed to noble birth. But before you try to figure the situation, I am guessing that your lady wife-to-be is now fifth or sixth in line to the throne. Depending on how Princess Margaretta figures in all of this. We’ve never had a queen who wasn’t a strong witch, and her power is small. Those above Sophie are all women save Barron Nester— the new Barron Nester, who is yet to be of age. And I have no idea if he’s shown any aptitude as a blood mage. And, besides Eloisa, Sophie is the only other royal witch in that number.”
Which meant, Sophie realized, that her true position—if the court wouldn’t accept Margaretta due to her lack of power—was more like second or third. She looked at Liam in horror.
“Welcome to the family, milady,” he said with a smile that was in no way reassuring.
By the time Sophie returned to the palace the next afternoon, she was nearly exhausted. The Domina had carted her off to the temple for “instruction” at the first opportunity after Sophie had presented herself at the queen-to-be’s apartments that morning.
Instruction meant using magic. A lot of magic. She felt as though she’d been in a battle, muscles aching from the unfamiliar effort, even though her mind buzzed with the aftershock of using her power.
Combined with a night spent lying mostly awake in what was apparently Cameron’s room, trying to distract her madly spinning brain from contemplating the possible consequences of Liam’s news about her place in the succession by toying with the trio of earth-lights sitting on the mantel above the fireplace, she wanted sleep quite badly.
Then she pictured the large empty bed in that room back in the Inglewood apartments and how alone she’d felt lying there. She’d spent her sleepless hours lighting the earth-lights one by one and then extinguishing them again, drawing on the ley lines she could feel skimming through the earth so many feet below her. She’d been very careful with the power she expended, not wanting to explain shattered earth-lights to the erl or his wife in the morning. Or to Cameron, for that matter.
Cameron, whom she hadn’t seen since he’d left with Liam and Jeanne the previous day. Jeanne, at least, had been sympathetic and had been happy to provide food for Sophie in Cameron’s room, so she hadn’t had to face meeting the strangers downstairs. She’d crept out just after dawn, leaving a note for Jeanne with one of the door guards, explaining she was required to attend on Eloisa.
She wasn’t looking forward to returning to the Mackenzies without Cameron.
Not that she had much choice. It was either the Mackenzies or beg a bed from one of the other ladies-in-waiting. At least at the Mackenzies, she had a semblance of privacy.
So far the only bright spot in the day had been the Domina removing the sigils—the proof of her rejection—from her hands with a foul-smelling liquid that had stung like fire. But pain was better than every woman in the palace who’d ever been through the ritual knowing what the sigils meant.
The ley line that ran north-south through the palace shimmered beside the path to the main gate. She had no desire to step into it now. Enough magic for one day. But the dancing light was a pleasant distraction, and she let her tired eyes focus on it and trace the patterns in the sparkling glimmers rather than keep thinking.
“Lady Sophia?”
The voice jerked her back to reality. She turned in the direction of the sound to discover Madame de Montesse was standing a little behind her on the path. The Illvyan woman was carrying a stack of neatly wrapped parcels, and a younger woman stood with her, carrying even more boxes and bags. Unlike Sophie, who was feeling distinctly rumpled by the day’s activities, Madame de Montesse looked immaculate, from the tips of the polished black boots just visible beneath her skirts to the neat straw hat hiding her extraordinary hair.
“Madame de Montesse,” Sophie said, a little warily. “Good afternoon.”
Madame de Montesse smiled at her. “I am glad to see you safely returned to Kingswell, milady.” Her dark eyes narrowed a little. “And felicitations on your birthday, I see.”
“Thank you,” Sophie said. Madame de Montesse could clearly tell that Sophie’s power had manifested. “What brings you to court?” An Illvyan, even one who had lived in Kingswell for as many years as Madame de Montesse had, couldn’t be the most welcome of sights in the palace now.
“I am bringing some supplies to the healers.” A particularly Illvyan shrug flowed through her shoulders. “Doing my part. And you? I would have thought they’d be making sure you stayed safely in the palace.”
They both looked toward the main gate flanked by the broken wall and the piles of rubble where the towers had stood. Workmen were moving stones but it would take time for any repairs to be completed. Hardly a haven of safety.
“I’ve been to the temple,” Sophie said, averting her gaze from the broken towers.
“Ah, yes. Lessons.” Madame de Montesse averted her nose. “So tiresome.”
“But necessary.”
Another shrug. Which reminded Sophie that Madame de Montesse was a free witch. Not sworn to the temple. At least not here in Anglion. Perhaps she might know something that would help Sophie with her problem. Perhaps Illvyans knew of other ways to funnel power to the goddess. Or how to manage if she couldn’t. The Domina hadn’t brought up the question of her failed rites again, and Sophie wasn’t going to be the first to raise the subject with her. Nor was she comfortable asking the Domina any questions about magic beyond the lessons she was being given. She didn’t want to give Domina Skey any reason to think she was seeking more power.
Which she wasn’t. But she did want to understand what had happened to her. She needed someone she could talk to. Someone who had knowledge of magic beyond that of Anglion’s traditions. Someone like Madame de Montesse. She should try to speak with her privately. Soon. If only to poke around the edges of the subject to learn if the Illvyan could be trusted. She seemed not to have told anyone where Sophie and Cameron had gone on the day of the attack, but that didn’t mean she was an ally.
“Madame—” Sophie began to say.
“Lady Sophia.” Ano
ther voice calling her. Cameron’s voice. She turned toward the sound, trying to squelch the small light of happiness that sparked in her at the sight of him.
“Lady Sophia,” he said again as he reached them. He nodded quickly to Madame de Montesse. “You need to come with me, milady. The Illusioners have word of your parents.”
CHAPTER TEN
Cameron wished he could shake the odd clear-detached-diamond-sharp edges that the dose of redwort tisane he’d taken gave everything. The commander had assigned him the midnight-to-sunrise shift in Eloisa’s guard and then asked him to come back again for an afternoon duty, given the Red Guard was spread thin. He’d stolen about four hours’ sleep, but it wasn’t nearly enough. Hence the redwort to keep him on his feet.
It kept him awake and alert, but he’d never liked the sensation of it. Or the punishing collapse that came when it wore off. He could push the doses another night or two, but he would pay for it. Besides which, being artificially stimulated and still trying to adjust to the fact that he was going to be married was hardly the state he would have selected for his first meeting with his wife-to-be’s parents.
He’d wanted to cry off, let someone else escort Sophie down to the house in the city where her parents were staying. But Sophie had asked him to come so that he could meet her mother and father. Difficult to come up with an excuse to avoid doing that when they were to be married. And maybe that was just as well. He had no idea if another man could react to Sophie’s power in the way he had—goddess, he hoped not, because that wasn’t a recipe for a good marriage—but best not to take the risk of finding out. Or letting anyone else discover just how much power she had whilst they were trying to keep that silent.
He looked down at Sophie, sitting beside him in the rocking carriage, her face alight as she took in the sights of the city through the window.
If he’d had his own way, they would have walked, but Eloisa had insisted on the carriage and a second Red Guard to accompany them. Apparently, she was taking no risks with her newest royal witch, binding or no binding.