The Tethered Mage

by Melissa Caruso

  Flowering trees and shrubs created nooks and private spaces. A young man sprawled under a tree reading a book; on an open, grassy lawn, a handful of shrieking children kicked a ball around. Golden bracelets glinted on their wrists. Only a pair of uniformed officers, pistols at their hips, reminded me that this was a military stronghold; they crossed the garden briskly, heading for the gate.

  I drew closer to Verdi as my guide in this forbidden place. I caught a soldierly whiff of leather, gunpowder, and steel from him. It was nothing like the wine-and-rosewater miasma that wafted off the dandies at court.

  “How is she?” I asked, pulling my mind firmly back to the matter at hand. “My Falcon?”

  Verdi touched the edge of the bruise around his eye. “She’s … not transitioning well.”

  “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked in acknowledgment. It was a little thing, but the informality sprouted a seedling of hope in my chest.

  We passed a pair of girls who sat chattering by a fountain. One wore a jess, and one didn’t—Falcon and Falconer, I supposed. Lieutenant Verdi nodded to them, and they waved back. After he passed, they burst into stifled giggles, but he didn’t notice. I wished I could linger behind and find out whether it was because of the bruise, or if they thought he was handsome. But I’d always been terrible at that sort of conversation.

  “We’ve treated her with respect, and set her up in comfort in her own room.” Verdi gestured to one of the many-windowed brick buildings surrounding the rambling garden. “But it doesn’t matter. You were there yesterday; you can guess how it is.”

  “She hates being shut in here.”

  I’d heard of peasants trying to fake the mage mark in their children so the whole family could move into the Mews. But I supposed one would feel a bit differently about it if one were knocked out and dragged here.

  “She considers us enemies.” Verdi sighed. “Especially me. I’m hoping you may have more luck with her.”

  “Me? I’m the one who caught her.”

  “But you stood up for her first. That must count for something.”

  I remembered the gleam of the jess on her limp arm. “I doubt it.”

  Verdi stopped and turned to me, his brows drawn together. “My lady, please. I know you owe me nothing. But Colonel Vasante, the commander of the Falcons, has charged me with salvaging this mess I’ve created. I’m doing my best, but Falcon and Falconer are a pair. A team. I need your help.”

  “It’s not your fault. You didn’t put the jess on her.” Quenching the warlock’s fire and unintentionally claiming her for the Falcons was a rare thing I’d done on my own, as Amalia, not as the Cornaro heir. I couldn’t turn away from it and let the consequences fall on Verdi and my Falcon alone. “I’ll do what I can.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” He put his hand over his heart and bowed; I glimpsed the hollow of his throat down the collar of his doublet. “I’ll pray to the Graces it’s enough.”

  The autumn air seemed warmer as we continued past rosebushes and an herb garden to one of the brick dormitories. Verdi led me through the unlocked door and up an oak-paneled staircase.

  “One way or another, we have to introduce you two,” Verdi said as we reached the second floor. “If she seems too, ah, aggressive, we can cut it short.”

  I clutched my silk-wrapped package. “Is there anything I need to know before I meet her?”

  “I wish I could tell you anything about her, but she won’t talk about herself or her past. We don’t even know enough to contact her friends and family to let them know what happened to her.”

  I had a bleak suspicion there might not be anyone to tell. “That’s unfortunate.”

  “One important note. Whatever you do, don’t say ‘Exsolvo.’”

  “Ex—”

  He whirled. I caught a white flash of eyes, and his hand clamped over my mouth. I teetered on the edge of the topmost stair, tasting the salt on his palm, the word caught on my tongue.

  He steadied me, his strong hand warm against my back. Then he quickly released me. His face was chalk pale.

  “I’m sorry, my lady. But you must not say that word, not even out here. Not halfway across the world. That’s the release word.”

  I laid a bracing hand on the wall, my heart stumbling. The taste of his skin lingered on my tongue. It took a moment to sift through mingled indignation and embarrassment to grasp the meaning of his words.

  “Oh!” I remembered the doge’s grim joke about burning down the Mews. Two syllables more, and it would have lost its humor. “So, if I say that, she gets her magic back?”

  “Yes. And in her current mood, she wouldn’t hesitate to use it.”

  I swallowed. “What’s the word to seal it again?”

  “Revincio,” he replied. “That one you can say all you want.”

  “Revincio,” I repeated.

  “You’ve got it. Don’t forget that one.” He winced. “And I apologize again for being so familiar, my lady.”

  I waved his words off. “Don’t. I’d far rather get grabbed than set the castle on fire or fall down the stairs.”

  “A lady of sense. Still, I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention it to the colonel.”

  “I’ve already forgotten it.”

  It was a flat-out lie. The print of his touch still warmed my back.

  As he led me down a long hallway, he didn’t seem quite sure what to do with his hands, and his eyes kept drifting sideways to catch glimpses of me. If I’d noticed him glancing at me, I must be looking at him, too. I peeled my gaze off the clean lines of his face and stared resolutely at the portraits of long-dead Falcons on the walls.

  He stopped at last at a sturdy oak door. “Here we are.” He eyed the handle as if it might transform into a viper at any second. “Are you ready?”

  I took a deep breath. “Probably not. But I’m willing to try.”

  “Brave lady.” He flashed me a grin, showing dimples I hadn’t noticed before. “But I already knew that.”

  I warmed inexplicably at the words.

  Verdi squared his shoulders and knocked on the door.

  “Go away,” a rough voice called in response. “I warned you, if you come in here again, I’ll give you a matching pair.”

  He gave me a you see how she is shrug. “Perhaps another time, my lady,” he said.

  “It’s all right.” If I didn’t do this now, I’d lose my courage. “Excuse me,” I called out. “I’m Amalia Cornaro, your new Falconer. I was hoping to meet you.”

  There was a pause. Then she replied, “Come in, then. I suppose I’d better see your face, so I can hate it better.”

  “My lady, you don’t have to do this,” Verdi murmured. “If I send you home with a black eye, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “I don’t bruise easily,” I assured him.

  I opened the door.

  Chapter Four

  The room would have been quite pleasant if it didn’t look as if animals had been nesting in it. The wardrobe stood open, with everything from petticoats to corsets strewn across the furniture and floor. Plates streaked with sauce and half-full glasses stood on tables, chairs, and windowsills, and lay spilled and broken on the rug. Warlocks needed to eat a lot to fuel their magic, but I still didn’t see how one skinny girl could have consumed so much in less than a full day. To complete the disaster, every drawer and chest had been flung open and dumped on the bed. Ink and cosmetics stained the fine coverlet.

  In the center of the chaos stood the girl from yesterday, a wild cascade of unbrushed curls tumbling down her back. She wore a midnight-blue gown that must have been the finest of the dresses they gave her; it seemed shockingly out of place in the filthy room. She’d been admiring herself in an oval mirror. As I hesitated in the doorway, she glanced over her shoulder.

  “So, you’re my jailer,” she sneered. “Lady Amalia Cornaro.”

  I stepped into the room, placing my foot between a spilled wineglass and a tangl
ed heap of stockings. “I fear you have me at a disadvantage. We were never properly introduced.”

  The girl snorted, turning to face me. “‘I fear you have me at a disadvantage,’” she repeated. “Well, that’s nice. You can’t have all the advantages.”

  Ignoring a stab of annoyance, I tried again. “So … what’s your name?”

  “Zaira.”

  I waited a moment for a surname before I realized none was coming.

  “Well, Zaira, I’m hoping we can get along, since we have to work together for the rest of our lives.” I extended my silk-wrapped package. “I brought you a gift.”

  Zaira lifted a contemptuous eyebrow. Without a word, she crossed the room, stepping on clothes and plates, and snatched the parcel out of my hand. This close, I could see the mage mark in her eyes: an extra ring around the pupil. Hers was black, and her irises were so dark it was easy to miss. So that was how she’d managed to hide it.

  She tore away the yellow silk, casting it onto the floor, and barely glanced at the amber necklace before tossing it onto the bed.

  “This wasn’t enough?” She shook the golden bracelet on her wrist. “You had to get me a collar, too?”

  I caught a retort between my teeth and forced a polite smile instead, as if she’d said thank you.

  “My lady,” Verdi broke in from behind me. “Perhaps it would be best to try another time.”

  I’d forgotten he was there. I turned to find him hovering in the hallway. “Actually, could you give us a few moments alone, Lieutenant?”

  “Are you sure?” He didn’t need to say a word of warning; his black eye spoke for him.

  “Quite sure.”

  “All right,” he agreed dubiously. As he closed the door behind me, he added, “Call if you need me. I’ll wait out here.”

  The door clicked shut, leaving me alone with my Falcon.

  Before Zaira could speak, I blurted, “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?” Zaira’s brows lifted.

  “I only meant to help you. Against those men.”

  “Well, if you were trying to help me escape, you did a stinking-awful job.”

  “This wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t know I’d bind you to me. But I couldn’t let you burn down the city.”

  “So now you’ve trapped me here for the rest of my life.” Zaira tugged at the jess. “Don’t expect me to thank you.”

  “I don’t. But we’re both stuck with this situation, and I’d like to make the best of it.”

  “That’s very well for you to say. You’re not the one locked up in here.”

  I refrained from pointing out I hadn’t seen a single locked door inside the Mews. “Is it so bad? They’ve given you every luxury. The people I saw on the way in looked happy.”

  “Of course they’re happy. They were raised here. They don’t know any better. And,” Zaira added, glaring, “they can leave.”

  “You can, too. Just not alone.”

  Zaira snorted. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to take me out with you anytime I want. You’ll drop everything and head right over to the Mews whenever I call. Three times a day if I like.”

  I didn’t need my mother to tell me that could never happen. “Well …”

  Zaira adopted a prancing, limp-wristed stance. “You’ll come get me for all your fancy parties. We’ll have tea with the doge each Thursday. And when your mamma retires and you’re on the Council of Nine, you’ll gladly spend hours with me every day, following me around while I do my shopping.”

  “That’s not realistic, and you know it!” I snapped.

  “No,” Zaira agreed, dropping the foppish act. “What’s realistic is maybe once a day you’ll pause and wonder how I’m doing, and a couple times a month you’ll take me out for a horrible, awkward afternoon in town. And I’ll have to act like I love it. Because when you’re starving, you’ll eat shit like it was a feast.”

  “I … I hope not.” I yearned to make promises. To tell her I would come every day, and we could go wherever she wished. But I could feel my mother watching me, from all the way across the lagoon. Never make promises, La Contessa always said, unless you are certain you can keep them. And even then, if you can, make the promise in your mind only, to yourself. “I would like to do better by you than that.”

  “Good intentions don’t buy bread.”

  “Well, what do you want to do so badly that you’re desperate to get out of here?” I asked. “Forgive me, but you didn’t seem very happy where you were.”

  Zaira looked away, anger in the line of her shoulders. Her gaze fell on the room’s single window—and through it, across the lagoon to the city.

  “There’s an old man,” she muttered, grudgingly.

  “Who? Your grandfather?”

  “Hells, no.” Zaira brushed the idea off like dust. “If I have any family, they don’t care enough to let me know it, so they can rot. No, just an old ragpicker. I owe him.”

  “You want to see him?” I tried to imagine visiting a ragpicker. And explaining to my mother afterward.

  “No, idiot.” Zaira shook her head. “I told you, I owe him. I want to pay him back.”

  “Well”—I struggled to force out the words—“I suppose, if that’s what you truly wish, then when Lieutenant Verdi gives his permission …”

  Zaira made a gagging noise. “Stop, before you make yourself a liar.” She looked me up and down, as if assessing how little a cheap vase was worth. “You did try to stand up to Orthys’s lot for me. I don’t owe you anything, but in return for your good intentions, I’ll tell you mine.”

  Zaira stepped in close, her voice dropping to a hiss. “Here’s what I intend, Lady Jailer: the minute you release me, the very second you drop this stupid binding, I am going to burn my way out of here. And if anyone gets in my way, I’ll burn down the whole cursed Mews if I have to. Do you understand?”

  “You make yourself quite clear, yes.”

  “Good.” Zaira smiled. “Then call your watchdog. I think we’re through.”

  Verdi sighed. “I suppose it was too much to hope she’d warm to you.”

  “It’s hard to imagine her warming to anyone, unless you count setting them on fire.”

  I sat on a bench in the Mews garden. Lieutenant Verdi perched on the head of a stone lion, a rueful smile on his lips. Honeyfruit bushes surrounded us, teasing the air with their delicious scent. The muffled calls of a formation drill in another courtyard belied the peace of the scene.

  “I’m sorry for wasting your time, my lady.”

  “She didn’t give me a chance.” I ripped a leaf from an inoffensive bush. “The worst part is, she has a point. Zaira’s going to be trapped here most of the time in a way other Falcons aren’t, whose Falconers have no duties but to follow them around and keep them safe. And it’ll get worse when I ascend to the Council of Nine.”

  Verdi spread his palm and examined it, as if he might read instructions there. After a moment he said, with exquisite care, “You could try living in the Mews. For a few days a week, at least. We really aren’t such terrible company.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not possible. The quality of the company isn’t the issue, I assure you. I can’t do anything that places me under your colonel’s command, even symbolically. Which includes living in the Mews.”

  His hands flexed on his knees. “So you’re telling me you can’t do anything to so much as imply you take your duty as a Falconer as seriously as your duty as your mother’s heir.”

  “Yes.”

  “I see.” His shoulders tightened with frustration. For a moment I thought he would shout at me. But then he let out a long sigh, anger descending into disappointment. “That makes matters difficult, my lady.”

  I’d rather he’d shouted. The taste of guilt soured my mouth. “I’m sorry.”

  “If a Falconer can’t live in the Mews and accompany their Falcon, the whole system falls apart. The serenity of the Empire depends on the loyalty of the Falcons, and we can’t win their
loyalty without giving them freedom.” He lifted rueful eyes to my own. “I may have already gotten an earful from Colonel Vasante about what an impossible situation it is militarily that you’re across the lagoon from your Falcon. For Zaira personally, it’s a prison sentence.”

  “I don’t want to do that to her.” I started shredding my leaf. “If the jess binds Zaira’s magic, she’s not a threat, is she? Those with magic too weak to bear the mage mark don’t have to stay in the Mews. They can live their lives however they want. With the jess on, Zaira has less power than they do. Couldn’t you set her free, Lieutenant?”

  “Please, my lady, call me Marcello.”

  “Marcello, then.” My face warmed. It was the legacy of my barely remembered Callamornish father; I blushed far more easily than a pure Raverran would, with their darker, olive-bronze skin.

  “And I wish we could just let her go, but it’s not that easy.” His tone became somber. “What do you think would happen if she wandered the city alone, without you there to unbind her power if she needed to defend herself?”

  “I’m guessing the answer you’re fishing for isn’t ‘She could live a normal life, happily ever after.’”

  “She’s a warlock,” he said. “Even artificers and alchemists have to guard against kidnapping. There are murder attempts on our two storm warlocks every year. If we let Zaira go, she’d be dead or captured within the week. And if someone found a way to get the jess off, they might turn her fires on Raverra.”

  “I thought the whole point of jesses was that you couldn’t get them off. At least, not without the Falconer’s permission and the Master Artificer’s help.” It was the key to the Serene Empire’s power. Hundreds of years ago, when all the other nations and city-states of Eruvia either hunted down the mage-marked or fell under their rule, Raverra’s invention of jesses offered an alternative. A way to hold the mage-marked accountable to the rule of law and keep them from being used against their own country by the unscrupulous, at the cost of their independence. The slim golden bracelets had remained one of the Empire’s most closely guarded assets ever since.