The Tethered Mage

by Melissa Caruso

  “She tells us over and over to remember the name of the one who kidnapped us,” the girl confirmed.

  “I’m sick of it,” a thin, strong voice cried from the back. “I don’t care about the name. I want to go home.”

  “You will,” I promised. “We don’t have the tools to open this now, but I swear we’ll be right back. We’ll get you out.”

  More fingers touched mine, clinging. Smiles stretched their pale faces. I couldn’t stand to see the hope lighting their haunted eyes.

  “What’s the name she told you to remember?” I asked.

  “Gabril Bergandon,” they chorused, as if in school.

  I stared into the drain. The shadows deepened as the last gray light faded from the sky; it was getting harder to see their faces. “Gabril?”

  “She told us a hundred times,” the child in the back complained. “I hate that name.”

  “I think she’s lying,” the girl said.

  “You’re a smart girl,” I said. “She is.”

  So that’s what Lady Savony wanted with Gabril and the Shadow Gentry. To get Ardence up in arms against Raverra, and then use them as scapegoats.

  “We need to go.” Zaira grabbed my arm. “Every moment we stay here is a moment we could get caught, and then no one will save these brats. We need to get the Hells out of here, grab your soldier boy and some tools, and get back here to put an end to this.”

  “What’s your name?” I asked the little girl.

  “Jaslyn.”

  “Mine’s Padric!” the boy called.

  “I’m Mirelle!” another cried. And more names, running over each other, until I couldn’t hold them all. More than a dozen.

  “I’m Amalia,” I said. “I swear to you, on my life, we’ll return as quickly as we can to get you out of here.”

  “Don’t go!” a voice cried from the drain, like a needle through my heart.

  “She has to,” Jaslyn whispered. “You heard. They’re going to go get tools, and come back to set us free.”

  “Yes. I promise, we’ll be right back.”

  “If that masked bitch shows up, or the louse who feeds you, don’t tell them we were here,” Zaira commanded. “Act like nothing strange happened, or they might hide you somewhere else so we can’t find you. Got it, brats?”

  In the darkness below, pale blurs of faces nodded.

  “We won’t forget.”

  “Hurry back!”

  “I want to go home!”

  “You will,” I promised.

  Pulling my hand away from those grasping fingers was worse than sticking it into a fire. I stood and turned, hating every movement that took me away from them. Hating myself for leaving them behind.

  “Come on,” Zaira growled. “Let’s get them out of there. And then I want you to release me, so I can burn this place down.”

  I couldn’t bring myself to disagree.

  “We tell Duke Astor first,” I said as we hurried toward the River Palace. “This has gone too far.”

  Luminaries glowed at the doors of the wealthy, coming awake with the departure of the sun; candles and lamps flickered golden in the windows of the middle class. All the lively sounds of evening lifted into the air: the talk and laughter of people at dinner, the trill of music from an open tavern. Aromas of meat cooking in herbs and wine made my stomach growl. But none of this life and light could banish the circle of darkness in my heart, from which huge eyes stared up, waiting hopefully.

  “Best get to the duke before the Owl bitch does,” Zaira agreed. “And I only give you even odds of making it to your uncle’s house. Our minty friends are bound to be waiting for you there.”

  “Maybe the duke will let me use his courier lamps to send a message to the doge while we’re at the palace.” Though I couldn’t tarry too long. I was fine for now, but my elixir couldn’t wait in the back of my wardrobe all night.

  “Are you sure His Pointy-Bearded Grace isn’t in on this? If he is, going to the palace is a huge mistake.”

  “I don’t think he is.” We hurried across the River Arden on an old stone bridge, between rows of shops closed up for the night. “He’s not subtle enough, frankly. And if it was his scheme, Lady Savony would have been able to leave the River Palace much earlier today, and we wouldn’t have had to wait outside for so long.”

  “I suppose if the duke wanted a war, he wouldn’t need to push and manipulate people into it like a matchmaking grandmother,” Zaira conceded. “He could just start it himself. Still, if we have to burn our way out, I’m ready.”

  I raised my brows in disbelief. “Yes, a fire warlock rampaging through the River Palace is exactly what this delicate situation needs.”

  Zaira grinned in a manner I did not find at all reassuring.

  The guards at the palace gates admitted us upon hearing the name Cornaro. We passed through the Hall of Beauty and climbed the grand staircase to the ducal apartments with an inexorable purpose no servant or functionary dared challenge, despite our tradesmen’s clothes.

  At the top of the staircase, we faced an antechamber full of guards and footmen. The same timid functionary from my previous visit approached us, hands fluttering, eyeing Zaira with alarm.

  “I need to see the duke immediately,” I told him. “Where is he?”

  “Ah, His Grace has retired to his chambers, my lady.”

  I drew myself up, attempting to recapture the serene confidence I’d used to face down Ruven earlier. “My business is urgent. The fate of Ardence itself may depend upon the news I bear. I must speak with the duke.”

  I had the attention of the entire room, now. The guards, more ornamental than functional in their gold uniforms, stood at attention. The footmen whispered to each other behind their hands.

  The functionary swallowed, then bowed. “Very well, my lady. One moment. I will ask whether he can see you.”

  He passed the doors that led into the ducal apartments, sending one last nervous glance over his shoulder. I held myself still, refraining from bouncing with nervous energy only with a great effort. The guards watched us, not with suspicion but as a cat stares at a fluttering leaf out the window.

  The silence in the antechamber stretched on. I had the feeling at least a couple of the footmen had been about to head off to dinner but now felt they couldn’t until we were gone. One finally straightened as if he’d remembered a vital errand and strode off with exaggerated purpose; another wistfully watched him go.

  Finally, the functionary returned. He greeted us with a deep bow.

  “His Grace will see you in the Hall of Victory, my lady.” A footman opened the door for me that led to the Hall of Bounty, the first of several audience chambers in the ducal apartments.

  Luminaries glowed on the walls and in the ceiling of the Hall of Bounty, lighting the opulent carvings and frescoes and lending a soul to the faces of the dark oil paintings hanging in gilded frames on the walls. But the room itself stood quiet and empty. The footman shut the door behind us, leaving us alone. I hesitated, but Zaira strode across to the far door, her boots ringing on the marble floor. “Which one is the Hall of Victory? The next one?”

  “The last one,” I said.

  We passed through the Hall of Bounty to the Hall of Majesty, where the glory of the Bergandons lingered in the baroque ornamentation of their gilded throne hall. Portraits of great Bergandon dukes of the past stared down at us from the shadowed walls, disapproving of upstart Raverra holding sovereignty over their city.

  One last door led to the final chamber, the Hall of Victory. I pushed it open myself.

  The duke waited for us there, after a fashion. But he would no longer be seeing anybody. And he was not alone.

  Lady Savony stood in the center of the room, a dagger in her hand.

  Duke Astor Bergandon sprawled at her feet, his golden doublet stained with fresh blood.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  You’ve forced my hand, Amalia Cornaro.”

  Lady Savony tossed the bloody dagger at
my feet. It skittered across the marble floor, coming to rest against my boot. “Murderer.”

  “You killed him.” The words forced themselves disbelievingly out of my throat. I sounded like a simpleton, but I couldn’t help myself—any more than I could look away from poor Astor Bergandon, lying twisted on the floor, staring with dead eyes at the ceiling fresco of the Grace of Victory with her flaming sword. “You were his voice and hands, and you killed him.”

  “Because of you. He would have denounced me as a traitor; I can’t have that. Instead, he’ll die a martyr, murdered by a Falconer of Raverra.”

  “Let’s make a complete set.” Zaira drew her dagger. “You can die murdered by a Falcon.”

  Before I could shake off my shock, Zaira leaped at Lady Savony, her knife flashing. She crashed into the taller woman, and the two staggered into a marble-topped table.

  “Release me!” Zaira cried. “Let me burn her!”

  I drew my own dagger. “No. That would only seal our guilt.”

  Lady Savony cried out as Zaira’s knife found her arm, blood blooming on her sleeve. With surprising strength, she tossed Zaira aside; Zaira landed in a cluster of chairs, bringing two of them down with her.

  “Excellent.” Lady Savony regarded her bleeding arm. “This will lend me extra credence. Thank you.”

  She sprang into a run, fleeing into the Hall of Majesty, calling, “Guards! Guards! Murder!”

  Zaira scrambled to her feet, swearing. “Run! Before the whole palace is after us.”

  She dashed out the far door. I followed, panic harrying my steps. We burst through another opulent chamber, then veered right into a room filled with clerks’ desks and papers. Zaira flung open the window, which looked out over sprawling gardens.

  “We’ve got to jump.” Chill night air flowed through the window as she leaned out. “It’s not far. Come on.”

  Zaira swung her legs over the edge of the window and dropped down. A loud rustle below suggested she had landed in a bush.

  A great clamor roared through the palace, coming closer like a breaking wave, full of shouts and slamming doors and cries of outrage. It couldn’t be more than a few rooms away now. I took a breath and leaped after her.

  I crashed down into a hedge that scratched and jabbed my arms and legs. I rolled out of it to find Zaira already sprinting away through the gardens. I ran after her; my height gave me a longer stride, but she was fast. For a moment I thought I might not be able to catch up, and would be left behind to be pulled down by angry guards like a deer fleeing hounds. But after she reached a clump of trees, Zaira veered toward the street that ran in front of the River Palace, slowing.

  By the time I reached her side, my legs trembled, and my breath came high and fast, though we’d only run a short distance. “What are you doing? You’re heading for the open street!”

  She stripped off her jacket and tossed it under a bush. Understanding, I did the same. “The street is better protection than the gardens,” she said, her voice clipped. “No one out there knows we’re wanted.”

  She took us in a wide circle out onto the street, ignoring the cries and shouts of alarm still audible from the palace. Once we reached the road, she walked swiftly but smoothly, only the tense line of her shoulders betraying anything was wrong.

  “Stop breathing like that,” she muttered at me. “We’re not running anymore.”

  I struggled to control my breathing. It wasn’t easy; I had to focus on each breath, which was difficult given the fact that I was starting to feel light-headed. The edges of my vision swam and blurred.

  My elixir was wearing off. I’d missed my dose.

  I couldn’t afford to get faint and weak-kneed now. I waited until Zaira’s attention focused on an approaching party of half-drunk revelers, singing, with their arms across each other’s shoulders, then fished my emergency vial out of my bodice. The tiny metal bottle lay cool against my palm.

  Zaira glanced back. “No one following us. Yet.”

  I flicked the wax stopper off with my thumb, releasing the sweet scent of anise. I downed the elixir in one swallow, before Zaira could see.

  “We have to get back to Ignazio’s town house,” I said. I needed my full dose of elixir before my three hours’ grace was up. While it would be some time before I was in any real danger from the poison, I couldn’t afford to lose tonight to recovery. Not when the doge’s ultimatum ran out tomorrow.

  “Are you mad?” Zaira smiled across the street at a woman with a little dog running at her heels, but there was venom in her whisper. “That’s exactly where they’ll look for us first!”

  “I’m not a murderer, and I’m not going to act like one.” I felt like one, though. Fear and horror coursed through my veins to the pounding rhythm of my blood. Lamps over doorways revealed me to enemies with their golden light; but shadows were no better, menacing with unknown dangers.

  “So far as Ardence is concerned right now, we are murderers. They’re going to send soldiers after us. And you know what the duke’s orders are if they do that.”

  I did. My stomach twisted. “But if we unleash your balefire, Lady Savony gets her war.”

  “If we don’t, she makes sure you die in the scuffle, and she gets her war anyway. Our only chance is not getting caught. I can handle that; I’m good at not getting caught. You think about what we do next.”

  I tried to order my thoughts. “We can’t just hide. We need to contact Lady Terringer and the garrison. The Serene Empire is on our side.”

  “The Empire may be on our side, but our enemy controls all of Ardence. And you know she has people waiting to ambush you when you go home.”

  I hesitated. My mother had told me over and over again the elixir must remain a secret, so that enemies wouldn’t learn of my vulnerability. But it would be rather hard to ask for help if no one knew what was wrong.

  “I need something at Ignazio’s town house,” I said at last. “It’s important.”

  Zaira threw up her hands. “Fine. But I’m not getting killed for you. If we get attacked, you have to release me this time.”

  “Can you get us into the town house unnoticed?”

  She sighed. “Maybe. I’ll try.”

  Zaira had me pay a pair of passing Loreician merchants outrageous sums for a couple of showy feathered hats and mantled capes. When we were a block away from Ignazio’s town house, she stopped to scoop filthy ashes from the street and reached for my face.

  “What are you doing?” I drew back.

  “They’re looking for a woman,” she said. “Stand still and take your mustache like a man.”

  I stood rigid at the indignity as she smeared black on my face to approximate a mustache and little pointed beard.

  “There,” she said. “Now you’re a right proper Loreician gentleman.”

  I touched the feathers trailing from my hat. “I feel like an idiot.”

  “You look like one, too. But it’s dark, so this may work. Try to walk with a swagger, will you?”

  The best swagger I could muster was closer to a drunkard’s reel. But perhaps that served just as well for a disguise, because we made it to the town house door unmolested. Beatrix, opening it, gasped and started to slam the door closed again at the sight of us, but Zaira stepped forward and waved her jess in her face.

  “It’s me, you idiot! And this is the Lady Amalia,” she hissed. “Let us in, quickly!”

  With profuse apologies at not recognizing us, Beatrix bowed us in. She shut and bolted the door behind us, at Zaira’s urging.

  “Is Ignazio home?” I demanded.

  “In his study, my lady.”

  “And Lieutenant Verdi? Has he arrived yet?” He was supposed to come here after he finished his business at the garrison.

  “I’m here,” Marcello called from the door to the front sitting room. “Are you—” he stopped, staring.

  My hand went to my grime-smeared, mustached face. Heat climbed from my neck to my forehead.

  “Isn’t she lovely
?” Zaira cackled.

  “I’m glad you’re all right.” He stepped toward me, relief warming his eyes. I lifted a hand between us—Beatrix was watching—and our fingers laced together for one brief moment before sliding apart.

  “Drinks, perhaps, Beatrix?” I suggested.

  She curtsied, but something uneasy flashed through her eyes before she left. Guilt? Good Graces, it would be like my mother to have a spy in her cousin’s house. She could be reporting every glance Marcello and I exchanged. My stomach twisted. Had I just sealed his assignment to the Vaskandran border?

  I didn’t have time to worry about that now.

  “We found the children,” I told Marcello. “And Lady Savony murdered the duke.”

  “What?”

  “She pinned it on Her Ladyship here,” Zaira added helpfully. “Someone’ll probably show up to arrest us soon enough, at which point I believe my orders are to set them on fire.”

  Marcello felt around behind him, as if for a chair, but found only the foyer wall. He leaned against it, stunned despair sinking into the lines of his face. “We’ve lost, then. If Ardence sends soldiers after a Falcon and the Cornaro heir, there will be war. We can’t stop it now.”

  “That can’t be true.” I lifted my chin. “Ardence hasn’t done anything of the sort. Lady Savony is a traitor and a murderer. We can’t hold the entire city accountable for her actions.”

  Zaira snorted. “You’re pretending the world is fair again. Do you think that will matter to the doge?”

  Marcello pushed his hair back, cradling his forehead as if he could stuff better thoughts into it. “I have to report this. We need to retreat to the garrison, send messages via the courier lamps to the doge and the Serene Envoy—though Lady Terringer is ill, so who knows if she’ll even get hers—”

  “Wait.” I touched his arm to stop him. “What’s that about Lady Terringer?”

  He lifted eyes dulled with despair to mine. “A note came while you were out. She’s fallen seriously ill. I don’t know the details, but apparently she couldn’t even write the note herself.”

  I bit my lip. “No one mentioned she was sick this morning.”