The Tethered Mage

by Melissa Caruso

  The doge pressed his fingertips on the table, leaning forward into the lamplight. “If they refuse to abide by the Serene Accords, they are rebels against the Empire. We will stop asking nicely, and give them the choice we gave Celantis: kneel or burn.”

  His words sucked the air out of the Map Room.

  The marquise of Palova lifted her snow-white brows. “That’s rather dramatic.”

  “The Shadow Gentry are posting broadsides all over the city urging the duke to declare Ardentine independence, and Astor says nothing against them,” the doge snapped. “He’s still taxing Raverran merchants, and he’s rejecting imperial authority. I have sympathy for the families of the missing children, but if they won’t listen when we say we don’t have them, that sympathy dwindles. As does my patience.”

  “Still, once you issue an ultimatum, any illusion of unity is destroyed,” La Contessa warned. “We affirm our strength, but at the expense of tyranny. Ardence will no longer be our friend and willing subject.”

  The doge nodded slowly. “True. And that is why we will save such an ultimatum for a last resort. If Lady Amalia’s visit to the city is a personal one on the surface, our threat can remain implicit while they contemplate the benefits of peaceful dialogue.”

  “She has friends in Ardence,” my mother agreed. “And my cousin Ignazio was already talking about making a trip to see to some business there. She can accompany him, and pay her respects in court with all the trappings of a purely social visit.”

  I didn’t like the talk of using my friends as a screen to hide my far more sinister purpose in Ardence. But I pressed my lips shut. I had to choose my battles carefully if my opponents were my mother and the Council.

  “With all respect,” Colonel Vasante objected, “if Lady Amalia is pretending to visit friends and traveling with her uncle, are you proposing she stay in the city rather than in the imperial garrison outside Ardence?”

  The marquise of Palova let out a short bark of a laugh. “Staying in the garrison would rather decrease the subtlety of the message.”

  A thoughtful divot appeared between my mother’s perfectly sculpted brows. “Putting our fire warlock in the heart of their city, smiling and attending their parties, is both friendlier and more pointed, and keeps the focus on a diplomatic rather than a military solution.” She glanced at me. “However, it does raise security concerns.”

  “Assigning them a guard might be too obvious.” Vasante chewed her lip. “I suppose Lieutenant Verdi could stick with them as much as possible, and pass himself off as a family friend rather than an official guard.”

  My mother’s eyebrow twitched. “That’s one solution.”

  The doge grunted. “Take what steps you see fit to ensure their safety,” he told the colonel. “But frankly, I think a fire warlock is protection enough. Lady Amalia, if anyone attacks you or Zaira in Ardence, you have my permission to unleash your Falcon within the city to defend yourself.”

  I bobbed a stiff curtsy, too queasy to manage more than a “Yes, Your Serenity.”

  He turned to Marcello. “Lieutenant Verdi.”

  Marcello bowed, his eyes widening in panic at being addressed directly. “Yes, Your Serenity?”

  “You will be the ranking officer of the Falcons in Ardence for this mission. Do you feel up to the task?”

  He jerked his head in a nod. “Yes, Your Serenity.”

  “You will have full responsibility for assuring the safety of Lady Amalia and our fire warlock, investigating the false Falconer incident, and overseeing the artifice projects at the garrison that the colonel outlined for you.”

  Marcello bowed again. “Of course, Your Serenity.”

  The doge lifted a finger. “If Ardence initiates any violence—against the Falcons, the garrison, our diplomats, the Serene Envoy—or declares independence, or engages in any other act of open rebellion, you may consult with me via the garrison courier lamps if there is time. But if the situation is pressing, you do not need to contact the Imperial Palace. You may consider it an act of war and respond with the full force at your disposal. Do you understand?”

  Marcello’s throat jumped. “Yes, Your Serenity.”

  “You have also heard what I will require of you if, after all our best efforts, the duke of Ardence still refuses to heed the Serene Envoy, revoke the illegal taxes, and comply with the Serene Accords.”

  Marcello nodded, looking ill.

  The doge held his eyes. “You accept the burden, if necessary, of starting a war?”

  I strained against my own closed lips to speak—to support Marcello, or to stop him. This was too much to put on his shoulders. The colonel should step in and offer to take his place. But she merely watched him, assessing.

  A struggle passed like racing cloud shadows over Marcello’s face. Finally, he nodded again, with slow gravity, as if his head weighed more coming up than it had going down. “Yes. I do.”

  I touched the cold metal of my falcon’s-head brooch. Now that he’d taken this madness willingly into his own hand, he couldn’t set it down again; it was too late.

  “That settles Ardence,” the doge said with apparent satisfaction. “Colonel Vasante can give you the full military briefing, and Lady Terringer can fill you in on the diplomatic efforts. Is there anything else we need to discuss?”

  The marquise of Palova glanced at my mother, then cleared her throat. “The Falcons stationed on the Witchwall will require a capable leader. Perhaps after the Ardence matter is settled, Lieutenant Verdi could proceed to the border and take command there.”

  Marcello blanched. I rocked back on my heels with the shock of her suggestion. There’d been no hint of this from Marcello or the colonel.

  Hell of Madness. This was my mother’s doing, to keep us apart.

  I glared at her across the table. She met my eyes with cool interest. Watching to see what I would do.

  Vasante frowned. “The border fortresses are dozens or hundreds of miles apart. I’d assumed we would coordinate command from the Mews by courier lamp.”

  The marquise spread her hands. “Would it not be wise to have a trusted officer on the border near Mount Whitecrown, ready to respond to unexpected situations? Clearly we have great confidence in Lieutenant Verdi, to place him in charge of such a sensitive mission as Ardence. Would he not be a fine choice?”

  Her tone was questioning, not declarative. The marquise didn’t meet my eyes, but my mother stared straight at me, her eyebrow raised.

  Marcello’s lips moved. No sound came out, but I read a name: Istrella. He looked ready to crumple at any moment.

  Anger and fear twined in my belly like twin snakes. “Colonel Vasante is right,” I said. “Sending Lieutenant Verdi to the border makes no sense. He’d have to coordinate by courier lamp anyway. And he’s best able to serve the Empire at the Mews.”

  Around the table, cynical faces turned heavy-lidded eyes to me, too steeped in old power to think much of my interruption. This time, I hadn’t offered useful new information, like I had with the volcano. I’d made the transparent plea of a young girl.

  But Marcello’s eyes begged me, with desperate hope: Get me out of this.

  “Young lady.” It was the supercilious drawl of one of the older members of the Council, Lord Errardi, whom I’d sometimes seen napping at meetings. “You are out of order. Your obvious desire to protect your sweetheart is very touching, but this matter is not for you to decide.”

  Heat flushed all the way to my ears. “He’s not my sweetheart.”

  Wonderful. Now I sounded completely infantile. But feeling my mother watching me, I knew what I had to do.

  I straightened as if in offense. “In fact, Lord Errardi, I am insulted you could make such an insinuation. I am the heir to House Cornaro. Lieutenant Verdi, though a fine man, is far beneath my station.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Marcello stiffen. Oh, Marcello, I’m sorry. But I met my mother’s gaze, took a breath, and drove home the knife. “I would never entertain the idea of courting su
ch an unfavorable match. I’m merely considering what is best for the Falcons and the Empire, as I expect we all are.”

  Lord Errardi huffed, brushing imaginary dust off his doublet front. “Well, now, no need to be so touchy. It was an honest mistake. But still, this is a matter for the Council to discuss, not observers.”

  My mother’s voice cut across the table. “I think, however, my daughter has a point. We will have more flexibility to respond to the evolving Vaskandar situation if we don’t commit too many forces to specific points on the Witchwall. There is no need to move Lieutenant Verdi yet.”

  My shoulders slumped with relief. She’d taken my offering. For now, Marcello and Istrella were safe from exile to the border on my behalf.

  But Marcello wouldn’t look at me. A muscle in his cheek jumped, as if in pain.

  My mother and I shared a boat on the way home. I stared out at the canal, brilliant with reflected lights, the soft evening radiance drawing out the beauty and mystery of the grand facades lining the water. Marcello had left the Imperial Palace without speaking to me, and I hadn’t dared approach him—not with the whole Council there.

  “You made the right choice,” my mother said quietly.

  I couldn’t look at her right now. “I made the choice you wanted me to make.”

  “I know it isn’t easy now. But it would have been harder later.” I felt the faintest stirring of my hair, as if she’d barely brushed it with her fingertips, then realized now was not a good time and pulled back. “Better to never form any attachment to him, than to have to break one off when politics demand it.”

  “I wasn’t forming an attachment.” I faced her at last, my back stiff. “Maybe I would have. I’ll never know. You didn’t give me the chance.”

  My mother fingered the triple string of black pearls around her neck. “If you had the strength and callousness, you could form all the romantic entanglements you wished, so long as you were willing to cast them aside.” She sounded strangely wistful. “But you are not so cruel.”

  “And I suppose that’s my failing?” I asked bitterly.

  “No. Not at all.”

  It was a rare moment. Her mask was off; only the evening shadows came between us. But even with some complex emotion naked on her face at last, I couldn’t read it. Her heart spoke an intricate language I had not yet learned.

  “Be careful in Ardence, Amalia.” Her voice dropped low, almost to a whisper. “Someone is playing a deep and dangerous game there, one I don’t yet understand, and I don’t doubt they’d kill to keep it secret. I am sending you into a dark room without knowing what lies inside, and counting on you to find a way to make light.”

  I let out a long breath, releasing my anger into the sea air. “I expect I’ll bump into everything, break things, and make a mess. But I’ll do what I can, Mamma.”

  She nodded, her mask back on. “Then we’ll see what you can do.”

  Unease grew in my gut as the miles opened between me and Raverra, exacerbated by the bouncing of the coach. The flat, sunny fields and tile-roofed farmhouses around us had never seen the sea. It was an open country, empty of secrets, every surface kissed with light. I yearned to be back in my shadow-hoarding maze of brick and water, perhaps bent over wire and books and crystals with Istrella, or attempting to unravel the Ardentine kidnapping mystery with Marcello from safely outside city-destroying distance.

  Marcello. He’d hardly said a word to me since the Council session last night, and those few words had been stiff and formal, the necessary business of our trip. He rode alongside the coach on a blood bay mare, supervising the small detachment of soldiers sent to guard us on our journey, but he avoided my window as if looking on it would burn him.

  I knew I needed to talk to him. But what could I say? I’m sorry for the cruel things I said, but they’re effectively true?

  I didn’t know how to tell him we couldn’t court anymore when we’d never been courting in the first place.

  Istrella rode by his side, chattering and pointing at things, occasionally lowering the artifice glasses that sat on her forehead to peer at some object or bird through them. Zaira’s voice drifted down from the coachman’s bench, barely audible over the rumble of wheels and the clatter of hooves, chatting with the driver; she’d asked to sit up beside him, and they seemed to be entertaining each other immensely. It should have been a cheerful journey. But every time I thought about the purpose of our trip, a sickening gulf opened in my chest.

  I’d always expected to return to Ardence someday, but not like this.

  It occurred to me, as I glanced at the man seated opposite me in the carriage, that he might well be thinking the exact same thing.

  Maybe we could distract each other. “Uncle Ignazio?”

  He looked up from his lap, his brooding expression easing. “Yes, Amalia?”

  “This must be difficult for you, returning to Ardence so soon. I’m sorry.”

  He laughed shortly. “It’s more awkward for Lady Terringer than it is for me. It may look to some as if the doge is sending me to clean up her mess.”

  “Is she likely to be resentful?” That could be a problem, given I would need to work with her. I couldn’t imagine she’d be pleased to find her predecessor watching over her shoulder.

  Ignazio shrugged. “I’ll stay out of her way. I’ll be so quiet she’ll hardly notice I’m in Ardence. And if she’s bothered anyway, well, it would be foolish of her to let it affect her dealings with you. You’ll be giving her orders someday, after all … in the event my cousin ever takes it into her head to retire.”

  “I’ll die of old age first.” It was my best hope.

  Zaira’s raucous laugh sounded above the creaks and rumble of the coach. Ignazio frowned. “She’s rather exposed up in the coachman’s box. I wish she’d accepted my invitation to join us in here.”

  “Oh, she’s safe enough from assassins.” I lowered my voice. “The doge wouldn’t move his only fire warlock into danger without defenses. The boning of her bodice and the pins in her hair are artifice-warded runesteel. The first two or three musket balls would bounce off her like pebbles off a tile roof.”

  “Truly.” Interest kindled in Ignazio’s eyes. “What did they use for a power source? I didn’t think it was possible to create a kinetic shield small enough to carry on one’s person.”

  This was why I liked my uncle Ignazio. He spoke my language. Even if his knowledge of magical theory was weak outside of alchemy, he understood the core principles. “Warlocks are their own source of magical energy. The doge’s personal artificer created it; it’s linked to Zaira’s power. I gather it’s not uncommon for high-value Falcons working in dangerous areas to have such protections.”

  “Impressive. And a shame those of us without such reserves of magical power can’t use them.” No bitterness colored Ignazio’s voice, but a frown flickered across his brow. My mother said it still stung him that his glimmer of alchemical talent wasn’t enough to mark his eyes and land him in the Mews. “It would take a great deal of effort and skill to create such devices. The doge must value her highly.”

  “He values his plan highly.” I slouched in my seat. “I’m not sure he values people at all.”

  Ignazio let out a soft breath, carrying a mist of regret. “The more power a leader wields, Amalia, the harder it becomes for him or her to value individual people over results. The doge has to consider the welfare of millions of imperial citizens, after all. How do you balance that against the happiness of one person? Or even their life?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Do they always need to be in conflict? Can’t you do both—take care of the Empire as a whole and have care for its individual people as well?”

  “Perhaps.” Ignazio shrugged. “But it’s impossible to rule without getting some blood on your hands. When you ascend to the Council of Nine, you will see.”

  There was a certain ominous coloration to the pity in his voice. I hunched my shoulders.

  “At this rate,
if I can make it until I ascend to the Council without getting blood on my hands, I will consider myself blessed by the Grace of Luck.”

  In the afternoon, a light rain began to fall, and Zaira and Istrella both joined us in the coach. Zaira sat with Ignazio, and began relaying to him some of the gossip the coachman had told her. Istrella sat next to me, hauled up a bag onto the seat between us, and pulled out a box full of artifice bits to work with in her lap.

  I peered at what she was doing. “Are you making jesses?”

  “This?” Istrella held up a thin braid of golden wire. Her own jess gleamed on her wrist. “No, no. Not yet. I’m learning the basic principles, though. The doge’s Master Artificer thought I might have the potential to do it someday. It’s quite an honor.”

  Zaira’s voice faltered for a heartbeat in the midst of describing a shrinekeeper’s drunken indiscretion; she flashed a sidelong frown at Istrella.

  “I’m impressed,” I said. “I didn’t realize they let anyone but the Master Artificer work on those.”

  “I had to apprentice to him for a year and make about seventeen oaths of secrecy before he’d start teaching me.” Istrella teased out an end of golden wire and began carefully twisting it into a tiny spiral. “I’m going to have to destroy this after I finish it, even though it’s just practice; I’m not allowed to leave any intact pieces lying around.”

  I tried to unravel the complex weave with my eyes. “That looks like the core braid, the part that suppresses magic.”

  “Well, that’s the idea. This one doesn’t work yet. The layers that go over it are even trickier, governing all the circumstances and commands the jess has to account for.” She cocked her head at the unfinished wirework. “It’s so orderly and logical. I have trouble keeping myself from throwing in improvisations, or trying shortcuts, but that always ruins it. The last one I made should have stopped a person from doing magic, but instead it stopped them from seeing out of their left eye.”