The Tethered Mage

by Melissa Caruso

  She shrugged. “He was rude to me. He acted like I didn’t exist.”

  “But … you said you didn’t learn anything.”

  “That’s because you were being annoying.”

  I swallowed several things I might have said. “Fair enough.”

  Marcello’s fists lay white-knuckled in his lap. “What does this have to do with an owl?”

  Zaira held out the letter. “Take a look. I can’t read the letter, but that much is clear.”

  I took it. The seal was the imprint of a coin, nothing more. But underneath, someone had crudely sketched a staring owl, its wings spread wide.

  “Excellent work, Zaira.” I unfolded the letter; the seal was already broken. Elegant, loopy handwriting covered half a page.

  “What does it say?” Zaira asked.

  “Dear Gabril,” I read, “You may put aside these doubts your brother has whispered in your ears; the theft of the children was real, and the Falconers to blame. The official investigation has confirmed it, as has our Raverran Fox. Your cousin the duke still assures me he will not countenance such a crime, and the Fox speaks of dissent within the Council of Nine over the matter. Stay firm. As proof we can prevail, you should soon hear news of a Falconer stopped from taking another Ardentine child. When we combine your courage and passion with our information and resources, Raverra has no power to force Ardence to kneel. Be ready; it is almost time to act.” I scanned the bottom of the page. “It’s signed ‘The Owl in the River Palace.’”

  Zaira snorted. “Gabril is an idiot, if he believed all that.”

  Marcello straightened. “The Owl in the River Palace?”

  “That’s what it says.” I passed him the letter. “Gabril seems to believe he has a well-placed contact there. Whoever it is, they knew about the doge’s ultimatum, which Duke Astor hasn’t even told the Council of Lords. Either the duke himself is playing a dangerous game or he has a traitor in his inner circle.”

  “And the men who attacked you were Ardentines.” The letter trembled in his hand. “Amalia, the doge could take this as an attack on the Empire by Ardence.”

  I stared at him. “No. Oh, no. We have two days left.”

  Zaira grunted. “If that bloody-handed old ghoul is looking for an excuse, he won’t care.”

  “We can’t let that happen.” I drained half my wineglass. I could use some fortification; I’d had enough shocks tonight.

  “He might accept that this is a traitor acting alone, without the duke’s knowledge or approval,” Marcello said dubiously.

  “He might. But the consequences if he doesn’t are too dire.” I took a deep breath. “We can’t tell him about this.”

  Marcello shifted in his chair. “I’m a lieutenant of the Falconers. I have to report this attack to my superiors.”

  “You weren’t there,” I pointed out. “You have nothing to report.”

  He shook his head. “This is too important.”

  “Yes, it is.” Zaira’s eyes burned with suppressed fire. “If you make your report like a good lapdog, and your masters decide one bad apple in Ardence is a good enough reason to set the whole barrel on fire, it’ll be too late for second thoughts and sorrys. Once the city is ashes, you can’t unburn it.”

  She didn’t seem as confident now as she had when we argued earlier that under no circumstances would she turn her fires on Ardence. But if I’d undermined that certainty, I could take no vindication from it—only shame and dread.

  “You don’t have to make your report right away,” I suggested. “Take your time writing it up. Send it by post rather than over the courier lamps. Whatever will give us more time.”

  “Time for what?” Marcello asked. “There’s nothing more we can do. We still have an Ardentine traitor at large, trying to start a war—and coming closer to success than we are at stopping them.”

  “Time to catch them. We have more clues now. Think.” I wound a loose coil of hair around my finger, but dropped it with revulsion when I found a speck of dried blood. But it jarred my memory. “One of my would-be kidnappers said something about brats. I think they helped steal the Ardentine nobles’ children.”

  Marcello frowned. “So the same people arranged the taking of the children by the false Falconers, attacked Lemi, tried to kidnap you, and are manipulating these … Ardentine patriots … against Raverra. And the plotters may include someone within the duke’s inner circle.”

  I itched to get up and pace, but my legs still felt shaky. Instead, I picked at the arm of the divan. “Taking the children and attacking Lemi make sense, if they seek to anger both sides and provoke a war. Manipulating Gabril makes sense, too; the Shadow Gentry will whip up anger against Raverra more effectively if they believe what they’re saying. But why kidnap me?”

  Zaira shrugged. “To stop you from releasing me. It’s not much of a war if I just burn down Ardence, is it?”

  “Kidnapping me doesn’t keep you hooded,” I said. “I can release you from miles away. Our plotter has given this scheme a lot of thought and planning. I don’t think they’d make such a basic mistake.”

  Marcello’s fists uncurled, puzzlement relaxing the rage in his face. “What does happen if they kidnap you, then?”

  “My mother kills them.” That I knew from experience.

  “Well, there you have it.” Zaira waved a hand. “They kidnap some Ardentine nobles’ brats to bring Ardence into the war. They kidnap you to bring Raverra into the war. Everyone loses their minds and murders each other to get their children back. Our warmonger lives happily ever after. The end.”

  “Graces preserve us. You’re right.” I slumped under the weight of realization. This must be what Baron Leodra had meant, when he said I’d be in danger if I went to Ardence: he’d known they planned to abduct me.

  “And Vaskandar takes advantage of our distraction to strike our flank and seize territory while our military attention is focused on Ardence and our support from our client states is in question.” Marcello shook his head. “I wish I could say it was a bad plan.”

  “If it were a bad plan, we’d have stopped it by now.”

  Marcello spread his hands. “How do we stop it? Aside from searching for the children and protecting you, what more can we do?”

  I released a long breath. “We need to warn Duke Astor.”

  The next morning, I woke early, when the gray light blended with grayer shadows to paint my room with a palette of uncertainty. The knowledge that tomorrow was the doge’s deadline sat in my stomach like a toad.

  I went down to breakfast expecting to find no one else awake save the servants. But as I descended the stairs, I glanced through the parlor to the dining room and spotted Zaira already there, elbows on the table, cradling a cup of coffee. Opposite her an unexpected guest sprawled in his chair, picking the fluffy white center out of a roll with fierce precision: Jerith Antelles. I couldn’t hear what he was saying to her, but his expression was more serious than I’d ever seen it, and his voice was low and urgent.

  I hesitated at the foot of the stairs, drawing to the side a step to break my line of sight through the parlor. Whatever they were talking about on the morning before Zaira might receive an order to burn down Ardence, I suspected it was a matter between warlocks, and my presence might not be welcome.

  “I hope you don’t mind a visit so early.”

  I turned to find Balos behind me. He bent his broad shoulders in a bow of apology.

  “Not at all. I’m delighted. What are you doing here?” That last may not have come out as politely as I intended it, but I couldn’t fathom how or why these two had appeared in Ignazio’s town house, when last I heard they’d been back at the Mews.

  Balos chuckled. “We’re heading north to visit Jerith’s mother for her birthday. Ardence is on the way, so we stayed at the garrison last night. We thought we’d drop by before setting out this morning to say hello.”

  My eyes flicked toward the dining room. “Just to say hello?”

  He sigh
ed, and his voice dropped to a rumbling whisper. “We heard about the deadline tomorrow. Jerith wanted to talk to her.”

  “Has he ever …” I fidgeted with the lace at my collar. “Has Jerith had to, ah …”

  “Not a city, no.” Balos’s eyes softened to somber brown pools. “But we’ve seen our share of battle. Probably the worst was a few years back, when a large band of pirates were harassing trade along the Ostan coast. They had their own little navy—a couple dozen ships. When the Serene Empire found the cove they were using as a base, they sent us to wipe them all out.” He shook his head. “Storm warlocks get going more slowly than fire warlocks, but for a coastal camp like that, the destruction is just as complete in the end. He raised a hurricane. A lot of the pirates fled inland when they realized what was happening, but plenty of them stayed and died. There wasn’t one board left nailed to another once Jerith was done.”

  I swallowed. “And what did you do?”

  He caught my eyes. “My job.”

  “Your job.” I considered that. “Being a Falconer isn’t my job, Balos.”

  “I know, Lady Amalia.” He gave me an odd, sad smile. “Do you know what yours is?”

  That was a good question. I was my mother’s heir; one might argue that I didn’t have a job at all, yet. I might have given that answer a month ago.

  But now I knew better. I was a Cornaro, and there was work to be done.

  “To fix things,” I said. “To fix all this mess.”

  Balos lifted his hand, with deliberate gravity, in salute. “You do that, then.”

  I nodded, my heart quickening as if it anticipated a fight. “I will.”

  “I’m sorry, my lady.” The footman in the River Palace antechamber did seem truly distressed, his nimble fingers rubbing at each other as if friction might prove the solution to our problem. “His Grace is in meetings with his nobles until dinnertime. I’ve been told not to interrupt. But perhaps tomorrow morning?”

  I leaned on the functionary’s desk. “The news I have is urgent. It can’t wait that long. It’s bad enough I left it until this morning.” A day and a half left. And that scant grace could vanish if the Ardentines started a fight.

  Beside me, Zaira brushed back her hair, and the jess flashed on her wrist. The functionary’s face went pale as he realized who she must be. He started stammering incoherently.

  Before I could despair of getting any sense out of the man, Lady Savony glided into the antechamber, a bundle of papers in her arms. “Rinald, these require the duke’s signature, once he’s out of his meetings. Lady Amalia.” Her brows arched. “Is something amiss?”

  Thank the Graces. If anyone could get me in to see the duke, it was her. “We made a discovery last night that affects the safety of Ardence. For the sake of both our cities, I need to speak to Duke Bergandon.”

  She lifted her spectacles and regarded me through them, her eyes narrowing. Then she nodded, dropping her papers on the functionary’s scriptorium. “Very well. I believe you. Come with me. I will convince His Grace to adjust his schedule.”

  Lady Savony brought us to the Hall of Victory to wait. This time, there was no array of pastries, which was a shame, as Zaira would certainly have done them justice.

  Perhaps ten minutes later, Duke Astor Bergandon strode into the room and flung himself into the chair opposite us, his beard jutting with irritation. Lady Savony entered on his heels, then closed the door and took up a station behind him, notebook and pen in hand.

  “This had better be worth it, Savony,” the duke grumbled. Then he addressed me. “You have five minutes until I have to get back to Lord Ulmric. Go.”

  To the point, then. I threw out the careful speech I’d been mentally preparing. “Your Grace, there’s a traitor in the palace. One of your own people took the children, and tried to have me kidnapped last night. They’re inflaming Raverra and Ardence against each other, trying to start a war.”

  Lady Savony looked ready to stab someone with her pen. “Who?”

  At the same time, Duke Bergandon demanded, “Do you have proof of this?”

  “We have evidence enough.” I had to be careful; the duke himself could still be involved, and Lady Savony was a suspect as well. I couldn’t tell them how I knew until I was sure they were innocent. “I don’t know who, yet, though we have clues we can trace. But it’s someone within the River Palace. Look among your inner councils for a traitor, Your Grace.”

  His knuckles whitened on the armrests of his chair. “If this is some attempt by you Raverran eels to make me not trust my own people …”

  Zaira let out a bark of a laugh. “Why would Raverra care who you trust?”

  The duke’s eyes fell on Zaira for the first time. A faint frown creased his brows. Then he spotted the jess.

  He leaped to his feet. “You bring her in here? Is this a threat? How dare you!”

  Zaira wiggled her fingers at him, laughing when he flinched.

  “Your Grace! Calm yourself!” I kept my hands folded in my lap, fingers laced tightly together. “Zaira is with me because there was no time to make other arrangements, and I do not flout the law of the Serene Empire. Please, sit down.”

  He visibly mastered himself, but kept glaring at Zaira. “You have brought a weapon of war into the ducal presence.”

  Zaira snorted. “If you think I have to be in your presence to kill you, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  Before the duke could explode into outrage, I raised my voice to sever that line of conversation. “Our time is short, Your Grace, and we must keep to the point. I came to warn you of this traitor, and to inform you that unknown parties in your own court are using you, and the missing children, and all of us, Your Grace, to start a war.”

  “And yet—” the duke began.

  “The Lady Amalia has no reason to lie to us, Your Grace.” Lady Savony’s voice cut smoothly across his. “What she says makes sense. I suggest you stop looking to Raverra and Vaskandar for enemies, and search closer to home. You have your opponents in the court; this could be an attempt to overthrow you, as well.”

  Thank the Graces. She was backing me. “Indeed, Lady Savony. Well said.”

  “And if you will forgive me, Lady Amalia, your five minutes are more than up.” Lady Savony bowed an apology, her spectacles swinging in a neat arc on their golden chain. “Your Grace, while I feel this is more important, Lord Ulmric will become choleric if we leave him much longer.”

  Duke Astor glowered at her. “Know your place, Steward. Don’t answer for me like that.”

  Lady Savony stiffened. Her notebook snapped shut.

  “Despite my steward’s interruption, she’s right.” The duke rose to his feet. Zaira and I followed suit. “I do have to get back to Lord Ulmric. We should continue this discussion on the morrow. In the meantime, I’ll think on it, and do my own investigation. I don’t much like the idea of a traitor in my court, but I agree it might explain some things. I thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

  I curtsied. “I only wish to find the truth, Your Grace.”

  “I hope you do. Until tomorrow, Lady Amalia.”

  Lady Savony followed him out of the room, dipping a perfunctory curtsy in our direction. By the grim set to her jaw, she understood the full implications of my news, and took it seriously.

  With the doge’s deadline coming at sunset tomorrow, I could only hope the duke did, as well.

  As we passed through the Hall of Beauty on the way out, I spotted Prince Ruven, halfway across the hall, talking to an agitated Gabril Bergandon. The prince seemed relaxed, an amused smile playing across his face; Gabril’s chest swelled as if he were on the verge of erupting like Mount Enthalus.

  “We should probably see what that’s about,” I said.

  It wasn’t hard to get within hearing range. Gabril was all but shouting. We weren’t the only people in the Hall of Beauty who’d stopped to listen.

  “This is an affront to the dignity of your noble house, and the warm relations Ardence ha
s always claimed with Vaskandar!” Gabril spread his arms, performing for his audience. “That the Empire would dare search your rooms, as if you were some common criminal! If they show so little respect for royalty, how can we believe they respect their own people? We cannot tolerate this!”

  Ruven patted Gabril on the shoulder as if he were a child who had said something precocious. “Very good. And I wish you luck, my friend. But it matters little to me.”

  “How can you stand there so calmly, when the Empire’s lackeys are running their grubby fingers through your property?” Gabril demanded.

  “Because they won’t find anything of mine to so mishandle.” A smile touched Ruven’s lips, his eyes narrowing like a cat’s when the cream is long since swallowed. “I meant to tell you, my dear friend—I’m departing Ardence, and for that matter the Empire. I’ve had a fine visit, but I fear I’ve outstayed my welcome.” His eyes strayed to mine, across the crowd, his mage mark flashing violet. “I may not have everything I wanted, but I have what I came for.”

  “Surely you won’t leave now,” Gabril objected. “Not at this critical time, when Ardence needs you to stand strong with us against the Empire.”

  “I’m sure we’ll meet again.” Ruven swept him an elaborate bow. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my carriage is packed and on its way. Good day, Lord Gabril.”

  He turned and wove his way out past the murmuring crowd, leaving Gabril staring after him like an abandoned dog.

  “Come on.” Zaira tugged at my arm. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  I didn’t, either. I have what I came for, Ruven had said.

  “Quickly.” I spun in the opposite direction. “We need to check the library.”

  “The library? Have you lost your mind?”

  I didn’t wait to reply, but set off running for the Hall of Wisdom. Zaira swore and followed, pushing through a crowd of courtiers still humming with Gabril’s outrage and Ruven’s departure.

  We caught Venasha heading out the library’s gilded archway, a book tucked under her arm, weariness circling her eyes.