The Shattered Court

by M. J. Scott

  “But I will not again. I intend to be faithful. Unless you wish otherwise?” He cocked his head. “Is there someone you were thinking of?”

  She shook her head quickly. “Oh no. I’ve always known I wouldn’t get to choose, so it seemed silly to even think about it. And it’s not like young men in the court go out of their way to flirt with potential royal witches,” she said. “The rules are strict, after all. As we have discovered.”

  “I would have thought perhaps that some of the older ones, the ones with actual chances of being granted a witch for a wife, might do some courting.”

  “They try. Indirectly.” She wrinkled her nose. “But in truth, I tried to avoid such things. There was no one amongst the older lords who caught my attention. Some of them were kind to me, but nothing more. Believe me, I am happy with the queen-to-be’s choice. You’re not twenty years older than me, for a start.” She paused, realizing she actually had no idea how old he was.

  “I’m seven and twenty,” he said. “If you were wondering.”

  “I was going to look you up in the court records when I got a chance,” she said with a smile. “I know a little about your family but not enough. Ladies-in-waiting are taught court history, of course, but there’s so much of it.”

  “I’m sure the Illusioners’ library will be full of tales of Inglewood scandals you can read about,” Cameron said. In addition to wielding their art to glamour and to hide and to seek secrets, the Illusioners were scholars and archivists.

  “Are you scandalous?” she said.

  “Any old family has scandals,” Cameron said. “My family stood with King Leo, but we were part of the court well before Leo’s reign. Long enough to cause some problems over the years.”

  “So you’re continuing the family tradition?” she asked.

  “My father’s view of the family tradition would be that it was get what you want by any means possible,” he said. “So accidentally acquiring a wife is not quite what he would approve of. If I’d planned it all out, he would have approved.” He smiled, the expression somewhat rueful again. “Though I’m sure he would have approved of you regardless of my part in the process.”

  “Because I’m a witch?”

  He nodded. “Honestly, yes. He arranged Liam’s marriage to his satisfaction, but I’m not sure Lucy was quite to his taste.”

  “And you, did he have plans for you?” she asked, amused.

  “I’m sure he did,” Cameron said, voice going flat.

  Idiot, she thought. Making jests about his not-yet-dead-a-week father. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine losing my parents. I wish I could make it easier for you.”

  “You do.” He smiled then, and she was, once again, startled by just how much it changed his face when he smiled and meant it. With how handsome her husband-to-be was. And how much she wished he would touch her again. Make everything go away again. If only for a little while. Impulsively, she leaned forward, laid her hand on his. Left it there.

  Watched him as they touched. Saw his pupils flare dark in the blue eyes, just as she was sure hers did. Just two hands touching, and yet it made her want him badly. She barely knew how sex should be between two people. She only knew how it had been between them. But she didn’t know if this hunger was usual. How much of it was power and how much of it was them? It was difficult to care when just a simple touch could feel so good.

  Cameron sucked in a breath and then lifted her hand away. “I think it’s best if we avoid that. Until we’re married, I mean.”

  “Why?” she said, not ready to let the feeling go. “We’re already going to be married. We can’t make things any worse, can we?”

  “Perhaps not. But the queen-to-be wants this to be quiet. Simple. Hard to avoid a scandal if someone catches us doing . . .”

  Did that mean he wanted to? Right now? As much as she did? It was a pleasing thought. Maybe he had been sharing a bed with someone else before. But she intended to keep him in hers now. Maybe she had been power-crazed, but having him inside her in the open with no bed and no time had felt so good that she was more than willing to try again. What might it be like to share a bed with him with nights and nights—a lifetime, really—to explore each other?

  The ladies-in-waiting talked about men, of course. More frankly than those men might be happy to hear. But they were still somewhat circumspect in front of those who, like Sophie, were unmarried. She had overheard Beata talking about books once, though. Books meant to instruct married couples. If such things existed, then the Illusioners’ library, which was meant to hold a copy of every book in Anglion, seemed a likely place to find them. They sought knowledge. Knowledge was power, after all.

  And she was becoming tired of feeling as though everyone around her thought they could control her. To distract herself from thoughts of Cameron and marriage, she made herself return to the other topic that was consuming her. Magic. The Domina was teaching her how to use hers, but Sophie was certain there were many things she wasn’t being told.

  “Can I ask you something else?” she said.

  “Of course.”

  “The Domina said something about my power being tangled with yours. Do you know what she meant?”

  He shook his head. “No. I’m sorry. I know about battle magic but never had need to study the other arts. I showed no aptitude for illusions.” He paused, looking thoughtful.

  Damn. She had hoped he understood better than she. She was starting to think earth magic involved entirely too much secrecy. If she’d known more about the realities of her power, then neither of them would be in this position, after all.

  “The Domina would know the answer,” Cameron said.

  She shook her head. “I don’t think the Domina wants me asking questions. Not right now. And I doubt any of the ladies-in-waiting would know. Only a few of them have any power and none of those are strong.” Her mother’s power wasn’t strong enough for her to know such things, either. Madame de Montesse’s face suddenly sprang to mind. A free witch. Schooled in Illvya. She would know. But that path was risky whilst she was in disgrace with Eloisa and the Domina. The last thing she needed was them thinking she was curious about Illvya.

  “The Illusioners have books on the arts,” Cameron said suddenly. “Now that you have manifested, you’re entitled to see them.”

  She could have kissed him. And that thought brought the desire to do exactly that. She fought it back, focusing instead on the solution he offered.

  So, find out more. That was the most sensible course of action. Most of the Illusioners’ library was open to the court, though generally the ladies went there only for novels and poetry, as far as she knew. But, as Cameron had said, now that she had power, she could access those books that were off-limits to those without. Or the ones about earth magic, at least. She could see if there was anything that would help her understand what had happened. Knowledge, after all, was power.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Sophie?” Lady Beata said as Sophie stepped into the queen-to-be’s antechamber. “I thought you were dismissed for the day.”

  Sophie nodded, smiling at Beata and the ladies grouped on the chairs around the fireplace. “I thought I was, too, but there was a note waiting when I got back to the erl’s apartments. It requested that I return.”

  “I didn’t send a note,” Beata said.

  “No. It came from the Domina.”

  “I see.” Beata glanced down at Sophie’s hand as if expecting to see something there.

  A betrothal ring, perhaps? After last night’s events, the ladies had to be curious about why the queen-to-be had wanted Cameron and what had happened behind the closed doors to Eloisa’s chambers. All the more reason to obey the Domina’s summons and get past the ladies as soon as possible.

  Besides which, once she had finished doing whatever it was the Domina wanted of her, she could finally get the sleep she was starting to desperately need. “I must attend the queen-to-be,” she said firmly, and walked past Beata. She didn’t m
iss the speculative glances directed at her, though the look Beata gave her was more frustrated than curious.

  Lady Beata was used to being the one in charge of the ladies-in-waiting and one of Eloisa’s closest confidantes. She wasn’t taking being kept out of the flow of information very well. But Sophie wasn’t here to make Beata feel better, so she ignored her and the other ladies and knocked on the door to the bedchamber.

  Inside the room, the scene was much the same as it had been earlier in the day. Eloisa in the bed, face still bandaged, the Domina and a temple devout standing nearby. As Sophie closed the door behind her, Eloisa lifted her head.

  “Sophie?”

  She went to the bed, curtsied. “Yes, I’m here, Your Highness.”

  “Your parents are well?”

  “Yes, milady. They hadn’t reached the capital before the—well, they are unhurt.”

  “Did you tell them of your betrothal?” Eloisa asked. Her voice sounded weaker. Softer and less certain than it had been earlier in the day.

  Sophie glanced at the Domina, who made a little “go on” gesture. “Yes, my lady. We did. My father wishes to speak to you, but I do not think he is displeased.”

  “Your father should be grateful to the queen-to-be for saving your skin,” the Domina said.

  Sophie bit the inside of her lip, determined not to rise to the bait. The Domina had been needling at her all day, but Sophie wasn’t going to give her even more ammunition to vent her anger.

  “Tell the duty captain when you leave,” Eloisa said. “He will be able to make an appointment for your father to see me.”

  “You shouldn’t be seeing anyone yet,” the Domina protested. “You need to heal.”

  “There are things to be done,” Eloisa said, pushing up on her pillows. “The kingdom needs to know that someone is in charge again. That we are unbroken. That we—” She broke off with a gasp, clutching at her head.

  “My lady?” Sophie said, but the Domina was there, pushing her out of the way.

  “Where does it hurt?” Domina Skey demanded.

  “H-head,” Eloisa gasped, then cried out, one hand clutching at her skull.

  The Domina laid a hand over Eloisa’s. Sophie saw a shimmering pulse of power—faint silver rather than the brighter shade that the Domina’s magic had been earlier in the day. Apparently, she wasn’t the only tired one.

  Sophie held her breath, but Eloisa’s expression didn’t alter.

  “Give me your hand,” the Domina demanded, and Sophie held it out obediently.

  The Domina’s fingers clasped hard around hers, biting like a vise. There was a curious sensation like the room doubling in front of her eyes and then a roar in her ears as a rush of power moved through her like a burning tide. Too much. Too fast.

  Sophie gasped, but the Domina’s fingers merely tightened to the point where the bones in her hand began to throb a protest. The sensation was secondary to the searing pulse of the power.

  Too much.

  Her head started to spin, and she closed her eyes, swallowing against the dizziness. It didn’t help. She felt herself stagger, and then she fell, the room fading around her.

  When Sophie opened her eyes again, she was lying on the floor, one cheek pressed to the expensive silk carpet. It took a few seconds to remember where she was, what she had been doing. The queen-to-be. She rolled and pushed up, ignoring the dizziness that rose with the movement of looking toward the bed. The Domina stood there, looking down at Eloisa, who seemed to be sleeping.

  The Domina turned at the movement. Her face as she studied Sophie was cool. “Interesting,” she said.

  “The queen-to-be?” Sophie asked. She didn’t know what the Domina found interesting about this situation. She wanted to know if Eloisa was all right.

  “She’s sleeping. She is all right. For now.”

  Sophie tried to stand but had to stop when the room spun around her.

  The Domina’s face was unsympathetic. “You are dismissed. I suggest you find a ley line before you sleep. The queen-to-be expects her ladies to be healthy.”

  When Sophie woke in the morning in the Mackenzies’ apartments, she wasn’t entirely clear how she had gotten back there.

  The journey back from the queen-to-be’s room was foggy, though she had a fleeting memory of descending down to the ground floor of the palace, glimpsing the moon shining through the warded broken wall as she sat next to a ley line and tried to draw power back into herself.

  But she had no memory of actually reaching the Mackenzies’ rooms or of getting into bed. Her stomach rumbled suddenly. There was definitely no memory of eating.

  The high-pitched toll of the hour bell in the Salt Spire suddenly began to ring out, and she counted the chimes off. Six. Still early. With Eloisa unwell, there were none of the usual morning rituals of dressing for breakfast with the court or preparing for the king holding audience or even the weekly dawn temple services on seventh day. She frowned at that, trying to work out what day it even was. It had been seventh day, she thought, the day of the attack.

  Which meant today was . . . sixth day? The events of the week were running together in her mind, the way night had.

  She would check at breakfast. Lady Mackenzie had one of the artificer’s day clocks, which showed the hour and the day. They cost a fortune, which was why they weren’t common, but in this case, she was thankful such things existed so she wouldn’t have to make a fool of herself by actually asking.

  She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and then froze as she caught sight of her reflection in the looking glass hanging on the wall. Her hair, caught in the morning light streaming through the window, looked distinctly red.

  But that couldn’t be right. It took months, sometimes years, for an earth witch’s hair to change color, from prolonged exposure to the earth magic she wielded. Peering closer at the mirror, she studied her hair. It was hardly the deep red of Eloisa’s hair, but there was definitely a reddish tinge to the boring brown that hadn’t been there before.

  Goddess. How much power had the Domina pulled through her night?

  Her stomach growled again. More urgent than knowing what day it was or why her hair was changing too fast was food, it seemed. She felt better than she had the previous day. Tired but not exhausted. She would take the Domina’s advice again and go to the ley line before she went back to the queen-to-be’s chambers.

  The thought made her stomach twist in a different way. Worry for Eloisa and whether she had recovered from whatever had happened last night, but also worry about what the Domina had done and the expression on her face as she’d looked down at Sophie on the floor, like she was studying a cow or a pig, trying to determine if it suited her. Something to be used or discarded.

  Foolish, Sophie thought. You’re just being foolish.

  The Domina had been worried about Eloisa, as Sophie was. And the queen-to-be’s health was more important than anything else right now.

  When she reached the breakfast table, having bathed and dressed in yet another black dress, it was still early. The silk of the dress was stiff and confining. She had no shortage of black dresses. The princess had been in full mourning for Prince Iain for the first six months Sophie had been at court, and her ladies-in-waiting had donned it with her. They’d looked like a flock of crows moving through the court. The court had followed Eloisa’s fashion lead to a degree. King Stefan had not chosen to wear black for his son-in-law, though, so the court had merely favored a more subdued palette. The whole court had felt gloomy and bleak, a sea of darker colors, broken only by the pale gleam of pearls.

  Eloisa had worn only her black pearls during that period, looped around her throat, gleaming like dark-sheened rainbows against her skin. Other jewels had quite fallen out of favor, the customary ritual pearls becoming crowded on necks and hands with any other pieces of pearl jewelry the courtiers could lay their hands on.

  And now, just as they were reaching the end of the mourning period for Eloisa’s husband, whe
n colors other than gray and dark blue and green might have been acceptable, they would be donning black again for the king. Though Sophie wasn’t sure exactly how long that might be required. Kings were different. They died, but that was immediately followed by the installation of a new monarch, which was meant to be a time of celebration. No one wore black to coronations. That would be ill luck. Eloisa would set the style for the court again after her coronation. If she chose to go into mourning again, then the court would follow.

  The breakfast table was already stocked with rolls and meats and cheese and platters of berries and nuts. A servant appeared and silently poured tea. Sophie sipped and squinted across the room to where the clock sat on the mantel. Sixth day.

  Good.

  She reached for a roll, then froze as Cameron appeared in the doorway of the dining room.

  He started, too, when he saw her; then he smiled and bowed. “Good morning, milady,” he said. “You’re up early.”

  Was she imagining things, or had he looked at her hair a second time? She fought the urge to smooth it down further. She’d braided and pinned it so tightly to her head that she was sure to have a headache by the end of the day. “I have to attend Eloisa. I thought you had the late duty.”

  “I do. But Liam wanted to see me this morning and the barracks are chaos, so I thought I might try to catch a few hours’ sleep here. Might be quieter.”

  Sophie had her doubts about that. The Inglewood apartments were stuffed nearly to the rafters with guests. “Is there any news?”

  “News?” He took a seat opposite her, which was only proper when no one in the household staff knew that they were betrothed. But she wished he would sit next to her. Maybe he would ease her nerves.

  “Of who was behind the attack?”

  He shook his head. “No, but I believe they’ve cleared most of the rubble from the Salt Hall. Commander Peters has had most of the battle mages moving stones for days. Now the Illusioners can come in. See if they can find anything.”