They would. They would have to. Wouldn’t they?
She fell off to sleep imagining this singular future, which merged into a hazy, troubled dream of a fancy dinner banquet with two long tables between which everyone in the world was divided. Calen sat at one, Wilem at the other, and both were saving her a seat, but she could only sit with one of them. As she tried to decide which way to go, a great shadow filled the hall. She turned to see Jakl just outside, throwing himself against a window, struggling to get in.
CALEN STEPPED CAREFULLY ALONG THE HALL WAY. Serek had allowed him to try working a spell that made him invisible to the casual eye — successfully cast, it would encourage others to simply not notice he was there. Very successfully cast — using a variant based on Calen’s supplemental study and of which he was fairly certain Serek would not approve — even someone who was specifically looking for him would be unable to see him. But since Calen was not at all sure it was successfully cast, to any degree, he was also trying to walk as if he had every right to be where he was. He wanted to become good enough at it to use it as a defense against Lyrimon, although he’d have to be careful trying it out anywhere in the mage quarters. Serek had made it clear that if he discovered Calen attempting to use the spell as a shield against his own instructor, there would be dire consequences, and he wasn’t likely to split hairs about whether he or Lyrimon had been the intended focus.
Of course, if Calen became really good at the spell, Serek would never even know. But he’d have to be sure about his skill before testing it in that regard. For now he’d have to settle for the eighth-floor hallway.
Closing his eyes, he checked the invisible barrier he was trying to construct around himself. He envisioned tendrils of gray energy forming a thin layer about three hands’ width from his body. The idea was that a person’s gaze would encounter the barrier and slide off to either side instead of penetrating to see Calen himself. It was hard to keep the shield in place while walking, though, especially if he wanted to keep his eyes open. Still, he thought that he was getting the hang of it. And then, once he mastered the basics, he could try weaving in the other kinds of energy he thought would help to —
“What are you doing?” a voice suddenly whispered behind him.
Calen jumped about three feet in the air before he realized it was Meg. She was already laughing by the time he turned around. He really was going to have to speak with her about this sneaking-up business at some point. But right now he was too glad to see her.
“It’s — never mind,” he said. Obviously, he still needed some practice. “Are you going where I think you’re going?”
She grinned. “Same place as you, I imagine. They began setting up for the tourney this morning. Maerlie called off our regular wedding planning session so that she and Mother and Morgan could oversee the construction. Which means I find myself with a bit of unexpected free time.” She held out her arm. “Shall we?”
Calen grinned back and threaded his arm through hers. “Yes. We shall.” They walked the rest of the way together, then carefully slipped inside the still-empty set of guest rooms.
“I’m glad no one’s been put in here yet,” Calen said.
Meg nodded. “Someone will be soon enough, though. This will probably be our last chance for the window. I think many of the remaining guests are planning to arrive tomorrow to be in time for the tourney the day after, and then of course the wedding’s just three days later.”
Together they ducked behind the heavy curtains. Meg immediately hoisted herself up onto the ledge, tucking her skirts underneath her and swinging one leg to dangle out the open window. Just looking at her up there made Calen nervous. He kept both feet on the ground like a sensible person and leaned up against the wall beneath the window.
Down below, workmen were setting up for the various events. In the center of the courtyard, the long barrier intended to separate jousting contestants had already been erected. It had been painted red, as tradition dictated, the color of love and marriage and passion. And blood, of course. Smaller arenas were being cordoned off by ropes for other events. Fighting teams selected from leading warriors of each kingdom would battle with blunted weapons in the melee, and there were assorted smaller contests of strength and archery and balance and all kinds of things.
“Isn’t anyone worried that the prince will get maimed or killed during all of this?” Calen wondered aloud. “Who thought up this stupid tradition, anyway?”
Meg favored him with one of her withering looks. “No one’s going to kill anyone,” she said. “It’s just for fun, and luck. It gives the prince a chance to show off for his bride, and everyone gets to let off a little steam. It’s not like the old days, when suitors would actually fight each other for the right to marry a princess and the last man standing became the groom.”
Calen grimaced. No wonder Meg tended toward violence. Trelian’s whole history was filled with murder and fighting and contests of blood. He still had occasional nightmares thinking about that story she’d told him about poor Queen Lysetta. He hadn’t been down in the cellar since.
“I can’t wait for the tourney,” Meg went on, looking eagerly down at the courtyard. “There hasn’t been one here since Morgan was married. You’ll see, it will be fun. I bet even Serek will turn out for the festivities.”
Calen smiled at the idea of Serek cheering in the stands. That would certainly never happen. He turned to say so to Meg when the sound of the chamber door suddenly swinging open made them both jump. They froze, staring at each other silently.
“Mother, that’s not what I’m saying.” A young man’s voice. Calen didn’t recognize it, but Meg must have. Her eyes grew even wider, and if he hadn’t known better, he thought she might have been blushing.
“Quiet!” The sound of heavy skirts rustling and the door slamming shut. The second speaker was a woman. She spoke softly, but there was an edge of iron to her voice. “Do you want our plans to come to nothing? This is not the time to lose your nerve.”
A pause, filled with tension. Any chance Calen and Meg might have had to reveal themselves gracefully had passed. Whoever these people were, they were obviously in the middle of a heated argument and had ducked into what they thought was an empty room for some privacy. There was nothing to do now but keep silent and wait for them to leave.
“I am not losing my nerve,” the man went on, finally. “I would not betray Father’s memory. Or Tymas’s. I just want to be sure there is no other way.”
The woman sighed. When she spoke again, her voice was gentler but still firm. “Wilem. I know this cannot be easy for you. The prince himself is not to blame, and I know, despite everything, you have come to care about him. But you cannot let that cloud your judgment. Is your friendship with the prince more important than revenge for your father and brother’s deaths or working to bring your father’s plans to fruition?”
“No, but —”
A sharp smacking sound cut off his words. She must have slapped him. Who were these people? She had called him Wilem. Wasn’t Wilem one of Prince Ryant’s companions? That didn’t make any sense. Meg seemed as confused as he was.
“But? But what? Now that the moment of revenge is at hand, the moment we can make sure your father’s wishes are carried out, that Kragnir will remain strong and not taint itself through an alliance with murderers and liars, now you will tell me that you lack the resolve to complete our task? Your father and brother were killed by these monsters!” Her voice broke, the strength falling from it so suddenly and completely that it was hard to believe the same woman was speaking. “Am I alone in this, Wilem? Will you truly leave me to face this final test alone?”
“No, Mother.” His voice seemed to have gained in strength what hers had lost. “I am sorry. I will not fail you in this. You’re right — I was weak to hesitate. Ryant is the son of a traitor to his people. My personal feelings change nothing.”
Calen stared at Meg in horror. What were they talking about? How could Wilem be call
ing his own king a traitor? Meg looked lost.
The woman spoke again. “And the girl?”
“I know where they will be staying on the wedding night. I was nearly certain anyway, but Princess Meglynne confirmed it. You were correct in that as well. My time spent with her has been most — useful.”
Meg’s face drained of color. For a moment Calen was terrified she would faint, but she managed to take control of herself. Her eyes were enormous and dark against her face, though, and they swam with tears. He still couldn’t make sense of most of the conversation, but he could guess at the last part. Something went cold and hard within his chest. He reached out and took hold of Meg’s hand, and she gripped his back fiercely.
“You must remain strong, my son. The hardest part is yet to come, but always remember why we do this. We cannot allow Ryllin to forge this alliance. It would bring Kragnir to ruin, and there is no other way to stop it. Your father tried to reason with him, and all it did was get him killed. Him and Tymas, both. Remember that these kings are the men who murdered your father and brother. They showed no mercy then, and neither will we. Maerlie’s death will be a small and necessary evil on the path to greater good.”
Meg gasped at the woman’s final words, and there was a sudden terrible silence. Calen could almost feel them turning to stare toward the curtains. He looked around frantically. No way out. Just the window, but even Meg wouldn’t try jumping from this height. He desperately wished he had mastered that invisibility spell. The extra-strong version.
He looked hopelessly at Meg. She was shaking her head angrily; he knew she must be furious at herself for making noise, but who could blame her? They were talking about killing her sister! Which meant, Calen realized with a sinking heart, they probably wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone else who got in their way. Or who overheard their plans.
Meg slid from the ledge to stand beside him as footsteps approached, and then the curtains were thrust aside. Wilem’s cold eyes glanced at Calen, then grew wide when he looked toward Meg. He almost looked as if he would speak to her, but his mother’s voice sounded from across the room.
“Who is it, Wilem?”
Wilem stared at Meg for another second and then stepped back, giving the woman a clear view of the now-exposed window. Sen Eva Lichtendor — that’s who she was. He hadn’t put it together before. Of course, she was Wilem’s mother. Gods, this just got worse and worse. The primary advisor to the throne of Kragnir and her son, the prince’s trusted companion, conspiring murder and treason!
If Sen Eva was upset to see Meg there, she gave no sign.
“Greetings, Princess,” she said calmly.
Meg tore her gaze from Wilem and turned to Sen Eva. She had released Calen’s hand, and now her skirts were knotted in her clenched fists. Despite the tear tracks that glistened faintly on her cheeks, she held her head high, staring back at the woman defiantly.
“Hello, traitor,” Meg answered. Calen could tell she was struggling to keep her voice from shaking.
Out of the corner of his eye, Calen noticed Wilem’s expression going grim and hard at her words, but this was probably no time to warn Meg to be careful. It was hard to imagine how she could possibly make things any worse, anyway.
Sen Eva merely shook her head. “Oh, Meglynne,” she said. “I cannot tell you how much I regret finding you here. I assure you, however, that I am not the traitor. If you want to lay blame, look toward your own family. To further his misguided and selfish agenda, your father helped murder my husband and son.”
“That is a lie,” Meg said quietly.
Sen Eva smiled sadly. “I wish it were, my dear. In any case, whether or not you choose to believe me, I’m afraid you’ve placed me in a difficult position.”
Wilem stepped forward. “Mother —”
“Quiet,” she said, not taking her eyes from Meg. “No one will miss the mage’s apprentice, I wager. But what am I to do with you?”
“I will not allow you to harm Calen, or to murder my sister,” Meg replied. “You have to realize that you cannot succeed in this.”
Calen was astounded by Meg’s self-control. He could never have managed to sound so calm, or, more likely, to even speak at all. Sen Eva spoke of killing him as easily as she might talk about swatting a fly. Despite her words, she probably had every intention of killing Meg as well. Why not? She was already plotting to kill one princess. They had to do something, but what could they do? Sen Eva stood between them and the door, with Wilem only a few steps away. If they tried to run, they’d never make it. Not both of them, anyway.
There had to be some kind of spell that would help in a case like this, but unfortunately Calen had no idea what it might be. He had learned a lot in the past weeks, more than he once would have thought possible, but Serek had never taught him anything about striking out with magic as a weapon. Mages weren’t supposed to use magic in that way, except as a last resort, and it’s not like either of them ever imagined he’d be faced with a situation like this one. He tried desperately to think. Was there anything he knew, anything at all that could help, that might distract Wilem and Sen Eva or incapacitate them until he and Meg could get away? He wondered if Meg was trying to stall for time in order for him to work some kind of magic in their defense. If so, he thought bitterly, she was about to be sorely disappointed. For the first time in his life, he wished Serek were there.
Something suddenly clicked in his mind. Idiot, he chided himself fiercely. Of course there was something he could do. Serek had been teaching him summoning. All he had to do was call to Serek, using a summoning spell. Well, that and then stall long enough for Serek to reach them. Assuming Calen managed to work the spell correctly. And assuming Serek chose to respond.
Calen brushed all that aside. No sense worrying about what might go wrong. Meg and Sen Eva were still staring each other down, trading sharp, clipped sentences about who was or wasn’t going to kill whom and why. Calen closed his eyes and cleared his mind, relishing briefly how easily that came to him now, even in his current circumstances. Then that thought, too, was gone and he was ready.
Quickly, he created an image of Serek in his head. It wasn’t hard — the gods knew he had stared often enough at that man’s face with varying degrees of hatred and annoyance and grudging respect. He knew every line and feature. He pictured Serek’s cold blue eyes; his thick black hair, kept short; the downward turn of his mouth. He saw the master tattoo spiraling down his right cheek and extending across his face, its complex tendrils and small symbols, which Serek had always refused to explain. Once the image was complete, he held it firmly in his mind, preparing to reach through the image to the flesh-and-blood man it represented.
Now — what to send, exactly? Summoning didn’t allow you to communicate actual words; he wouldn’t be able to give any kind of rational explanation or call for help. Basically it was just a call for someone to come to you, but it was possible to shade the call with an emotion, and that’s what he needed to do now. Serek would never respond to a simple, basic summons. He’d probably just ignore it and plan to make Calen sorry later for disturbing him at work. Calen needed to make Serek aware of the danger somehow, of the fact that he needed serious, immediate help. He tried to let a little of his fear back into the cleared space in his mind. Not enough to dismantle the spell, but enough, he hoped, to get through to Serek.
Taking a breath, he reached out through the image he’d created, trying to connect. To his inner eye, his sending appeared as a white cloud of energy, formless at first but then strengthening into a solid beam of communication. He focused on the beam, willing it to reach his master, to get his attention and make him aware of Calen calling to him. Almost, for a moment, he thought he might have broken through —
Someone shook him, roughly, and his eyes flew open. Wilem had his arm and shoulder in a tight grip. “None of that,” Wilem said angrily. “Whatever you’re up to, stop it.”
Beyond Wilem, Calen saw Sen Eva smirking at him contemptuously. “I do
n’t know what you’re attempting, boy, but you might as well save yourself the trouble. Trust me. Whatever small magic you have at your disposal, it will not be enough to save you. I have suffered too much and worked too hard to allow some worthless apprentice to interfere with what I must do.”
Fear and despair shot through him. Calen struggled not to show it. He didn’t want to give Sen Eva the satisfaction. Or to shame himself in front of Meg, who was always so brave and sure. It was hard, though. Very hard. He really didn’t want to die.
“No!” cried Meg. And then she shocked them all by launching herself at Sen Eva, shrieking and clawing like a wildcat. Sen Eva stepped back, trying to hold the girl off. Wilem dropped his hold on Calen and went after Meg instead.
Calen seized the opportunity, closed his eyes, and had his mental picture of Serek back in an instant. He gave up any semblance of control and simply sent every shred of fear and panic and need in a pure beam of white energy directly to where he felt Serek to be. Almost at once, he felt Serek stagger from the impact at the other end of the delicate, fiery bond that suddenly connected them. Calen, the surprised thought came back at him clearly, defying what he’d been taught about the limits of summoning. Calen, what —
And then the bond was ripped apart as Meg came hurling into him, thrust away from Sen Eva by her son’s rough and angry hands. Wilem was glaring at Meg as if furious for making him behave in so undignified a manner. Calen regained his balance for once and reached out an arm to steady Meg. She grabbed his hand and stood by his side, waiting.
The Dragon of Trelian Page 13