“Well, we do have one thing in common,” I said. “I am quite fond of books as well, with a particular interest in the magical sciences.”
“You would love our family library in Kazerath, then.” Ruven held my eyes. “I have assembled the finest collection of books on magic in Vaskandar. You must come and visit.”
“Speaking of books Amalia would love …” Domenic drummed his fingers on the volume he’d dropped on our table, grinning. “You’ll never believe what I found in a bookshop in Palova.”
“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow. I wanted to tell him about the Muscati, but Ruven’s presence would spoil the revelation. Better to wait until I had it in hand to show him.
“Volume one of Interactions of Magic!” He spread his hands wide, as if inviting applause.
I frowned, trying to remember. “Didn’t they have volume two in the Ducal Library in Ardence?”
“Indeed! But it kept referring back to volume one, so it didn’t make much sense. Which was a pity, because it laid out some interesting ways to combine seemingly incompatible types of magic, like alchemists and vivomancers working together, but we couldn’t figure it out without all the pieces.”
Ruven leaned forward. “I am interested in this book as well. I have heard of it.”
“But now you have the first volume!” I eyed the book with more appetite than I’d had for the cakes. “Have you had a chance to read it yet?”
“I’ve only perused it a bit. I’m hoping to read it along with the second volume when I eventually return to Ardence.”
“Perhaps I can join you in the Ducal Library on my return trip, then.” Ruven eyed the book. Relief washed over me to have his attention directed elsewhere. “Ardence is a fine city, and merits more of my attention on my way back to my beloved Vaskandar.”
From there, the conversation turned to the merits of the university library versus the Ducal Library. Ruven remained a perfect gentleman, showing no signs of his earlier viciousness. I relaxed enough to nibble a couple of apple cakes and a miniature summernut tart, though I still felt any social occasion that didn’t serve wine was an aberration against the Grace of Bounty.
I managed to avoid Prince Ruven’s attempt to kiss my hand when it was time to leave, giving him a cheery wave instead as I offered my thanks to him and our host.
“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last, my lady.” Ruven placed a hand over his heart, in lieu of a bow. “And I am quite certain we’ll meet again.”
What did he mean, at last? I couldn’t manage more than a perfunctory smile in return.
I felt his violet-ringed eyes on my back as Domenic and I made our way through the milling guests, all the way across the hall.
Chapter Seven
Domenic and I paused to say our good-byes on the floating town house dock, where our boats awaited us. The lowering sun caught glints of gold and rose in the water on one side of the canal, draping the other in advancing shadows.
“Thank you,” I murmured to Domenic. I couldn’t help admiring the way the light caught his cheekbones and gilded his broad shoulders. I’d given up on him years ago, but he still cut a fine figure; my old admiration provided a comfortable warmth, like the bright, small flame of a reading lamp.
He laughed. “I thought you might need some company. I wouldn’t want to be alone with Prince Ruven myself. He’s a nasty one.”
“What was he doing in Ardence?”
“Causing trouble.” Domenic grimaced. “A certain segment of the Ardentine court finds him impressive—my younger brother, Gabril, sadly, among them. They’ve started a fight in the Council of Lords over whether we should cozy up to Vaskandar in place of Raverra, and it’s gotten to the verge of rude names and hair pulling. That’s why I left; I refuse to get involved. But Ruven’s friends on the Council of Lords seem to think Vaskandar is the magical answer to all the city’s financial woes, ever since that viper talked to them.”
I thought of the red print Ruven’s hand had left on the servant’s wrist. “I wouldn’t want to owe anything to Vaskandar.”
“That’s because you’re no fool, Amalia Cornaro.” Domenic shook out his arms, as if casting off dust that had settled on him. “Bah! Let’s not talk about it. Politics! I’m not cut out to be on the Council of Lords.”
“But you have so many good ideas.” I nudged him with my elbow. “I remember you holding forth at a party, somewhat drunk, about how the River Arden is the city’s lifeblood and … something fine-sounding about reducing docking fees.”
“I wasn’t drunk! Not more than a little, anyway.” He sighed fondly. “I remember that party. I filched a bottle of heirloom reserve Loreician white from the River Palace wine cellars to celebrate the birth of Venasha’s baby.”
“It was a good party.” I tilted my head. “I thought that when you reached your majority and took your father’s empty Council seat, you’d surely change the world.”
“I thought that, too, in my few and fleeting moments of embracing responsibility. But the lords of the Council don’t want to change the world, Amalia. They’re selfish and cynical, and they only want more status and money for themselves. They’re running the city into the ground and ignoring its problems, to the point of disaster.” He kicked at a mooring post. “Thank the Graces my father abdicated before the ducal throne fell to him, or it’d be my rock full of stingroaches to deal with instead of Astor’s.”
I stared at him. “I didn’t realize your father was in the direct line of succession. You would have been the ducal heir?”
“Yes.” Domenic’s cocky smile returned. “But that bullet missed, thanks to my departed father’s foresight in passing up the throne in favor of his younger brother. Now I have the freedom to run off and visit my friends when the company of my peers starts chafing like a saddle rash.”
I forced a laugh. But I couldn’t help but think if Domenic were duke, Ardence wouldn’t be stirring up so much trouble.
“You must come visit me soon, and bring your new book,” I said. “I have one to show you, as well.”
“It will be my greatest delight.” Domenic flourished a bow. “I can’t wait to look at Interactions of Magic with you. Some of it is brilliant, and some of it is … ambitious?”
“Oh? Like the time you tried to design an artifice device to do your artifice homework for you?”
“Perhaps not that ambitious.” He grinned. “The author has some grandiose ideas. He has wild dreams of using a combination of vivomancy and artifice to harness forces normally beyond the control of either. He babbles about inscribing gargantuan circles around entire forests or mountains.” He snorted. “As if you could maintain any kind of precision at that scale. It’d be more unstable than a drunk Loreician’s periwig. Have you ever heard such madness?”
Madness. I caught his eyes. “Domenic … All the same, don’t show this book to Prince Ruven.”
“I can’t imagine this technique would work. And Ruven did say he was interested in the book.” A frown pinched a divot between Domenic’s brows. “But you have a point. I don’t think I will.”
I didn’t remember until I was on my way home, with the canal waters lapping at the prow of my boat and the sun stooping to touch the roofs of the town houses, that I was supposed to find out why Prince Ruven had come to Raverra. So I felt a fool, no matter what Domenic said, when my mother came home from the Imperial Palace and called me to the drawing room to ask what I had learned.
I told her everything Ruven had said and done. She pried more details from my memory with fine-edged questions as Ciardha brought her a glass of wine and a silver tray with paper and writing tools. La Contessa dashed off a note and passed it to Ciardha while I spoke.
Ciardha glanced at the paper and nodded. “It will be done, Contessa.”
It could be anything, from getting a nice piece of toast to assassinating the king of Osta. Ciardha’s efficient glide as she left would remain the same.
“I had hoped you would learn more,” my mother s
ighed when I was done at last.
Shame heated my cheeks. “I did my best, Mamma.”
“No matter.” She tapped her pen against the tray. “He is far too interested in you. You and your fire warlock. And I’m sure he’s not the only one. I want you armed and wearing a flare locket at all times.”
“I don’t have a flare locket.”
“You will by morning. If you ever need to open it, remember to close your eyes, and move quickly: the light will only blind your opponents for a few seconds.” She frowned. “I’ll have Ciardha give you further instruction in the dagger, as well. Daily lessons, every morning.”
I wanted to tell her this was silly, and no one would attack me. But the elixir I took twice a day to neutralize an old poison suggested otherwise, as did the faint scar on the back of my right wrist from an assassin’s knife at a garden party in Palova three years ago. My mother was untouchable, sure in the power that surrounded her like Zaira’s nimbus of fire. Her enemies considered me more vulnerable.
So I bowed my head. “Yes, Mamma.”
She came and laid her hand on my hair, like a benediction, wineglass still in her other hand. “Be unafraid, Amalia. If you are without fear, they will assume there is a reason, and hesitate. And the Grace of Victory will favor you.”
I would rather the Grace of Luck favored me, and kept me out of dangerous situations altogether. But she hadn’t shown me much affection of late.
“You should go change into something suitable for entertaining family. Your Uncle Ignazio is coming in two hours.”
I glanced, without meaning to, at the wall that hid the library listening post. “He’s … no longer in Ardence?”
La Contessa followed my gaze, then raised an eyebrow. “You don’t need to be coy about it, child. I sent you to this library that day for a reason; I wanted you to know. Yes, he’s returned to take up his new post as Chancellor of the Exchequer.”
“It …” I swallowed. “It doesn’t seem right, Mamma.”
“Right has nothing to do with it. We can’t risk rebellion in a city three days’ ride from Raverra over my cousin’s feelings. The fact that Astor Bergandon instituted those illegal taxes at all shows Ignazio wasn’t the right man for the job anymore.”
Rebellion. My breath snagged on its way in. When I’d been in Ardence, sometimes the young nobles’ sons lamented their proud city owing fealty to Raverra, with typical Ardentine passion. But in restless Ardence, that was mere drawing room conversation, with no spark of true rebellion behind it. Something must have changed.
La Contessa’s voice dropped to a murmur. “So far as Ignazio is concerned, the decision to replace him was the doge’s alone. We can spare him that much.”
I didn’t like the idea of helping my mother mislead Ignazio, even to spare his feelings. But I nodded. “He’s coming here?”
“Yes. I invited him for a glass of wine, to welcome him back to Raverra. Don’t mention Ardence unless he does first. Follow his lead, and mine.”
Since Ignazio was family, my mother received him in the parlor. Its wide windows opened on the fairyland of water-mirrored light that was the Imperial Canal in the evening. Lush pastoral paintings adorned the inner walls, and a harpsichord stood in the corner.
Ignazio rose when we entered, a glass of wine in his hand. He wore his customary sober gray, with a white lace collar spreading across his shoulders. His pale, thin face lacked my mother’s vivacious beauty, but his eyes held the spark of the Cornaro drive and intelligence.
“Amalia,” he greeted me, in his dry voice. “A pleasure to see you.”
Ignazio wasn’t the sort of man you hugged, and I wasn’t wearing skirts to curtsy, so I bowed. “And you as well, Uncle Ignazio.”
“You seem well. How is your stock of the elixir? Do you need me to make any more?”
“It’s fine,” I began, embarrassed. But my mother didn’t wait for me to finish.
“We could use a few more bottles.” She bestowed one of her smiles upon him. “I think she’s down to four. Thank you so much, Ignazio. I don’t know what we would do without you.”
I was fairly certain my mother had the resources to find someone else with the glimmer of alchemy necessary to brew the elixir that kept me alive, should it come down to it. But Ignazio gave her a satisfied smile as if he took his cousin at her word. So I said, “Yes, thank you,” even though I had five and a half bottles left, not four.
We settled down and talked about the weather and other inconsequential matters as the servants passed around lemon tarts. The unspoken subject of Ardence stiffened Ignazio’s shoulders and clipped off every word. The tension coming off him seemed to settle in my own spine, until I had to stuff a lemon tart in my mouth to keep from asking what had gone so wrong with the city I loved.
“I hope you had no trouble hiring a carriage,” my mother said, watching Ignazio’s face. “I’ve heard the duke of Ardence is making even simple matters difficult for Raverrans, with his recent rashness.”
Ardence at last. I straightened, listening.
Ignazio sighed. “Duke Astor Bergandon has the ambition of his great ancestors, but he lacks temperance. His father listened to my advice, but Astor and his court seem bent on driving the city to ruin.” He took a draft of his wine. “If the doge had given me the powers I asked for, this ugly situation with the illegal taxes would never have happened.”
“Mmm,” La Contessa said. I knew she clashed often with Baron Leodra over issues of sovereignty. I wouldn’t be surprised if asking for those additional powers was what sealed Ignazio’s removal from his post.
Ignazio eyed his empty glass morosely. “Even without the authority to simply overrule Astor, I was doing well enough. I had agreements in place with some of the duke’s more competent people, and I was flattering him to our side. If I’d had another two weeks, I could have had things back under control.”
“Of course,” my mother murmured, signaling the servants to refill Ignazio’s cup. “But you know the doge. He wanted immediate results.”
“He’ll get them,” Ignazio said darkly. “He sent Lady Terringer. She’s a retired general, not a diplomat. She’ll be the spark to Bergandon’s tinder. Appointing Terringer is courting war.”
My tart went dry in my mouth. I swallowed, with difficulty. “Surely it won’t come to that.”
“I hope not.”
But my mother chuckled. “Don’t be dramatic, Ignazio. You’re scaring the girl.” If she noticed me stiffen, it didn’t give her pause. “They’re a long road from taking up arms against the Empire.”
“Not if the Shadow Gentry get their way.”
“The Shadow Gentry?” I’d never heard the name before. “What’s that, an assassin’s guild?”
“Not at all.” He chuckled. “Though it does sound rather dramatic, doesn’t it? They’re a secret society of Ardentine aristocrats who keep posting public declarations against Raverra and calling for a return to the old days of Ardence’s independence and glory.” He shook his head. “I’m fairly sure it was their urging that prompted the duke to instigate the taxes on Raverran merchants in the first place.”
“One wonders how such a rebellious faction managed to gain enough influence with the duke to convince him to break the Serene Accords.” I knew my mother well enough to hear the silent corollary: And why you didn’t see it in time to stop it.
Ignazio, however, seemed deaf to any implicit criticism. “They were harmless enough when they just muttered against Raverra in dark corners, wearing their gray domino masks to look mysterious. But they’re bolder and more dangerous now that Ardence is facing serious economic troubles, and the duke is reaching for any solution he can get. We’re lucky he hasn’t taken out massive loans from Vaskandar, like some of his nobles have.” He sighed. “Besides, he’s easily swayed. I fear the young duke’s passions are all too simple to inflame.”
“Then let us hope they will prove as easy to cool,” my mother said.
“I could have done it, if t
he cursed doge hadn’t called me back.” Ignazio shook his head. “Sending a military relic like Terringer won’t help calm him down. It introduces the idea of violence first, before Ardence could come close to broaching it.”
“I believe the doge is well aware of the message he’s sending.” My mother swirled the wine in her glass.
The paradox of force. Securing the peace by the implicit threat of war. I put my glass down, my fingers numb. “They have to back down,” I said. “The duke surely isn’t foolish enough to risk his city over something as trivial as taxing merchants … is he, Uncle Ignazio?”
Ignazio considered the question, turning his glass to catch the lamplight. “No,” he said at last. “Even with the Shadow Gentry pushing him. If nothing else happens to stir up the Ardentine court against Raverra, he’ll likely back down rather than risk war.”
A grim heaviness in his tone carried the burden of terrible possibility hanging on that if.
The next day, I returned home from training with an uncooperative Zaira at the Mews and a too-brief stop at the Imperial Library to find Ciardha waiting for me in the foyer. She held herself with her usual perfect poise, my finest emerald velvet coat draped over her arm and a bottle of my elixir in her hand.
“Welcome home, Lady.” She bowed. “But I regret I must ask you to postpone your rest. La Contessa requires your presence at the Imperial Palace, to audit a strategy session.”
My borrowed books sagged in my arms. Of course she did. Never mind that dusk had fallen across the city, the luminaries kindling awake like evening stars. Never mind that I’d hoped to spend an evening relaxing with good books at last, for the first time since putting the jess on Zaira.
“Now?” I asked.
Ciardha nodded, handing me the elixir bottle. “I’m afraid so, Lady.”
“I wish she’d ask me if I had plans before making these pronouncements.” I took a deep swallow of elixir; the piercing taste of anise traced a path down my throat. “She doesn’t need me at that meeting. I could watch and learn some other time.”
The Tethered Mage Page 8