by Sever Bronny
Annelise drifted to one of the large kettles like a ghost and began making tea.
“Thank you, Charles, but I’m more worried about the castle,” Augum said. “I only wish the whipping was the worst news. Tomorrow’s Academy Herald will accuse us of harboring the scions.”
Annelise yelped, having scalded a finger. “Beg your pardon, m’lord and ladies,” she quickly said and returned to the task.
Charles was shaking his head. “But … but that is preposterous!”
“Yes. Yes, it is.” Augum flipped a hand in frustration. Unnameables knew what would happen afterward. The more he thought about it, the more concerned he grew. “Charles, please send word to the watch to double tomorrow’s guard. And … you can tell them why.”
“Certainly, Your Highness.” Charles bowed and strode out of the room.
Annelise brought over porcelain cups decorated with the castle crest and gracefully poured them honey and ginger tea from a new china teapot bearing the same mark. Grateful merchants had gifted them the china after the war. Artisans had later painted on the crests.
“Word will spread quickly,” Leera said. “Thank you, Annelise.”
Annelise curtsied delicately. “Your Highness.”
Augum nodded, knowing he had made the right decision to tell the servants. He clasped Leera’s hand under the table and she gave him a weak smile. He wondered what was keeping Jez.
Leera wiggled a finger and her tea rose and entwined, forming a braid. Annelise’s eyes widened in amazement.
Bridget warmed her hands on her mug. “Lee, really now …”
“What? It’s good practice.”
Bridget sighed but let it be.
They waited a while longer, Leera making watery shapes with her tea while Annelise gaped in wonder, but Jez did not show. Eventually, Augum’s hunger won out. “Annelise, please inform the kitchen we’re ready to eat.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Annelise padded out of the room, leaving the trio alone. Sir Pawsalot hopped off Leera’s lap, stretched and wandered off. Leera melted into Augum’s lap and he idly caressed her hair. The hearths crackled with a dwindling flame. Outside, the wind whistled.
“I can hear your stomach growling,” she murmured, eyes closed.
“It’s pleading not to have to go to the academy with me tomorrow,” he answered wryly.
She snorted.
Bridget tapped the table with her finger, something she did subconsciously when she was busy in thought. This went on for a while, until her finger froze in midair. Augum stopped stroking Leera’s hair, but Leera sleepily tugged at his hand, prodding him to continue.
A strong gust rattled the windows behind them. And yet Bridget’s finger still hovered in midair. Augum did not interrupt her thoughts, for he had long learned to trust her process.
Finally, Bridget shook her head. “Ugh, no, we can’t afford it.”
“Can’t afford what?”
She ran a hand through her long hair. “To hire warlock guards.”
He nodded as Annelise returned. “We need to raise money.”
“Supper will be served shortly, Your Highnesses,” she said in her meek voice, curtsying slightly.
“What protective enchantments remain from the war again?” Bridget asked, wincing as if trying to think past a fog. “Ugh, I’m exhausted. Can’t think straight.”
Augum leisurely twirled the floating basket of bread. It spun in place like a top. He raised two fingers and stopped it. With another flick, a piece of bread floated out and to his hand, all while the basket maintained its levitation. Bridget gestured and another piece of bread floated to her. Both of them chewed as they pondered her question. The answer was depressing, for Mrs. Stone’s enchantments had only been temporary and had already expired. And the castle’s scion-infused defenses no longer functioned at all.
“We could hire a high-degree warlock to lay down some new—” Augum began, only to turn to Bridget. She faced him at the same moment.
“Jez,” they chorused.
Leera shot up. “Huh? She here? We eating?”
Augum gently kissed her freckled cheek. “Not yet. But food’s on the way.” He had no compunction about expressing his love for her, and she for him, for they had fought in the war thinking every day would be their last and thus had learned to cherish their time together.
She groaned. “So, what’ve you two been yammering on about, anyway?” She had taken one of her famous short naps, something she was capable of doing anywhere, even in class, though she often got in trouble for it. Lucky for her, it was a minor infraction that would never be punishable by whipping. Gods, the idea of the love of his life being whipped knotted his stomach.
“You can’t get in trouble anymore,” he blurted, disciplining the loose thoughts in his mind into order.
“What? That’s what you were talking about? Me?”
“No, I mean, they’re after us.”
“They? Who’s they?”
Augum gave a vague wave of his hand. “I don’t know … they.”
“He’s right,” Bridget interjected. “We have to be on our best behavior. We don’t know how this is will all play out tomorrow and onwards.”
“Oh, speaking of which,” Augum said. “We can’t cast Disenchant or Reveal in public. Not for a few more degrees, that is.”
“I haven’t cast it in public since coming to the academy,” Bridget said. Then she furrowed her brow. “Wait, are you saying people at the academy know you can cast those spells?”
Augum shrugged. “Maybe one or two people…”
The girls stared at him.
Leera clasped her face. “Shoot. Carp knows.”
Augum started. “Carp? Carp? How does he know?”
“Ugh. Well, it happened last term, during Sword and Sorcery, while we were practicing the Object Invisible spell. You remember …”
“Not really. I remember we were practicing making wooden knives disappear.” The Object Invisible spell was notoriously difficult and drained an immense amount of arcane stamina. It timed out quickly, and a warlock first trying the spell could only make fist-sized objects invisible. At this point, Augum could disappear a pumpkin for an hour.
“Yeah, well, Carp dropped his stupid invisible knife near me. We couldn’t find it, so I …” She shrugged.
“Used Reveal to locate it,” Augum said numbly.
Leera’s hands flipped in a What was I supposed to do? gesture.
“Did he realize what you’d done?” Bridget asked, arms folded across her chest.
“Oh, definitely. His fish mouth was gaping and he kept pouring on these disgusting compliments. Trust me when I tell you I regret helping the snake.”
“He didn’t tell anyone, did he?” Bridget pressed.
Leera gave her a look. “How am I supposed to know?”
Augum and Bridget glanced at each other. Great, there was yet another thing to worry about.
The door opened and in strode Charles, hair wet with melted snow. “The watch has been notified, Your Highness.”
Augum nodded his thanks.
“If I may, Your Highness, perhaps calling upon the castle physician will yield some ideas on how to protect you from the pain of tomorrow’s …” He swallowed, unable to utter aloud the fact that Augum would be whipped.
“Thank you, Charles, but I cannot have my wits dulled,” Augum replied, rubbing his forehead. “There’s too much happening tomorrow.”
Before long, two young servants—Ordinaries from the village—trotted in wearing black-and-white uniforms and carrying steaming dishes. The first course was a hearty leek and potato soup.
The ravenous trio dug in. Augum, having grown up fighting for every scrap of food from his abusive foster family, fought the urge to shovel the food into his mouth. It was something he tried to suppress, particularly around noble company, for it was ingrained in him to eat as quickly as possible and then silently retire so as not to draw attention to himself.
When they fi
nished the soup, Charles refilled the trio’s water cups while a servant cleared their plates for the next course.
The food kept coming, yet still there was no Jez. Finally, just after they had finished a most delectable pecan pie dessert, Jez burst into the room.
Her gaze flew to Augum. “The Southguards have the throne.”
The levitating bread basket dropped back onto the table.
Biting Words
Augum could not hold back and loosed a vile curse under his breath. Rancorous Lord Rupert Southguard and his conniving wife, Lady Ethel Southguard, would be king and queen. Of all the choices, that was the one he had feared the most.
“Crowning ceremony is tomorrow,” Jez said, shaking snow from her hair as she warmed herself by one of the great hearths. “I’ve never seen anything so important get so rushed. And I hope you’re happy with the result, Stone. As one of his vassals, you’ll be bending a knee before him tomorrow.”
“Oh, that will be glorious,” he said, voice oozing with sarcasm. But his hands twisted. She obviously hadn’t heard about his coming morning punishment. He had to tell her before she found out from someone else, or worse, from the heralds.
He swallowed, fearing her reaction. Her opinion meant a lot to him. He deeply respected her, and although he had a hard time admitting it to himself, he sought respect from her too.
“I’m going to be whipped in the morning,” he blurted.
“Then simply don’t run around so much in whatever class you’ve got in the morning.”
“No, not whipped tired, whipped whipped.”
Jez slowly turned around, her face slack.
Leera flicked her wrist at the air. “Crack.”
“Thanks for that,” Augum muttered.
“I even added the sound for effect,” she said in an undertone.
Without breaking her gaze from Augum, Jez addressed the servants. “Leave us.”
The servants exchanged looks, bowed and quickly departed, quietly closing the door behind them.
Jez took a single step forward. “Tell me why I shouldn’t jump over this table and choke you like a moody farmer’s wife throttling a chicken for dinner.”
“Because you’ll probably want to kill me instead.” Augum rubbed his temples and then his eyes. “The whipping isn’t the worst of it.”
“WHAT’S WORSE THAN YOU, THE HERO PRINCE OF THE KINGDOM, BEING WHIPPED BEFORE THE ENTIRE ACADEMY!”
The trio flinched. The whole castle had probably heard her. Or at least everyone on that floor. Augum had never seen her so livid; her face was crimson, her arched brows sharp as daggers, her short raven hair vibrating.
“Do I need to sit for this?” Jez pointed at the chair opposite Augum. “I’m going to need a seat, aren’t I?” She telekinetically yanked the chair back and took her sweet time sitting down, never breaking eye contact. She smoothed her turquoise robe underneath her then calmly brought her hands together on the table, tilting her head ever so slightly and ever so menacingly. “Spill it, Stone.”
There was no easy way to say it. “Tomorrow morning, the Academy Herald will accuse us of secretly harboring all seven scions.”
“All for ourselves,” Leera added.
“In the vault,” Bridget threw in.
Jez looked between the three of them. “Come again?”
“I got in trouble for trying to stop the accusation from being published,” Augum said.
“But we think they’re really punishing him for not backing someone for the throne,” Leera said.
Jez leaned back in her chair and expelled a long breath. “You’re right, I do want to kill you. What you just said is …” She threw up her hands. “It’s so much worse.” She examined the intricately carved paneled ceiling as if she could find the answer to the problem amongst its depictions of village life, war and ancient arcanery. Her jaw worked from right to left as if she were chewing on something hard.
She placed her gaze on Augum again. “Did you mount a defense at least?”
“They have to publish an honest account of our version of the story.”
“Not that it’ll do any good,” she spat, drumming the table with her long fingernails. “No arcane healing?”
“No arcane healing.”
“How many?”
“Nine.”
“That’ll leave marks.”
“They’ll add to the collection.”
“Don’t be smart with me right now, Stone.” But then a look of pity crossed her face. “Unnameables, you’ve really done it this time.”
His eyes fell as he surrendered a single nod.
“Gee, if only someone had done careful research on which family would be the best fit,” Jez said in a voice full of false mystery. “If only you had a devoted, close friend who had taken time away from her studies to inform you of the merits of each family …”
“He apologized already, Jez,” Bridget said delicately. “Trust me when I tell you he’s beating himself up enough over this.”
“Oh, but the beatings have only just begun. And I mean that figuratively, of course. Sort of.” Jez telekinetically yanked on the bread basket, causing all but one slice of bread to tumble onto the table. She snatched the remaining one, slapped the basket away, and started munching while glaring at Augum.
Augum could not take her condemning glare for long and had to stand. He strolled to one of the arched stained glass windows to watch the village glimmer with cozy warmth that beat back the winter night. Snow streamed in waves as a wind picked up, swaying the war-burnt conifers of Ravenwood.
“So what’s your plan, Your Highness?”
Jez’s words stung. Hearing her use his title so mockingly only reinforced how he felt about it. He wanted to apologize and ask her to say something kind, except he needed to hold on to any dignity he could, for the rest of it would be stripped away in the morning.
“I doubled the watch for tomorrow,” he said.
“You doubled the watch. He doubled the watch,” she said to the girls. “Great. Problem solved. Let’s all frolic in the meadows!” She sighed. “They’re Ordinaries, Augum. Ordinaries. You damn well know the kinds of people attracted to the scions’ power are decidedly not Ordinary …”
“I know,” he whispered. Then he remembered something. “There’s one last thing I have to tell you about tomorrow.”
“By all means, Stone, lay it on me. Nothing can top the last two.”
“I’m going to declare.”
A heavy silence permeated the room.
“You’re what now?”
Augum felt a flush of heat through his body. Why couldn’t she be just a tiny bit supportive?
“What, you’re going to arcanely repair shoes for the rest of your life? No, wait, let me guess. Lapdog to His Majesty King Rupert—”
“Jez, that’s probably enough,” Bridget said.
“I’m not finished. So do tell, Stone. Arcane blacksmith? Farmer? Scribe? What have you cooked up in that wet noodle of yours seemingly overnight?”
“I haven’t just cooked it up overnight!” he said through gritted teeth.
“What, cabbage boiler? Arcane washerman? Boot polisher? Come on, Stone, what have you decided for the rest of your life that is so important you must declare it on the day you’re going to be whipped and accused of harboring the most powerful artifacts to have ever been forged? Not to mention on the day a new king and queen will be crowned—whom you must bend the knee before, in public, with your damn back burning with—wait, where’s he going?”
Augum, blood boiling along with his shame, had had enough. He stormed out of the dining hall, slamming the door behind him.
The Quiet of the Village
Augum slapped on his boots in the vestibule while Lieutenant Cobb looked on with downcast eyes. Before he could make his way outdoors, however, Cobb brought forth Augum’s wolf-hide coat.
“Please, take this at least, Your Highness.”
Augum wished Cobb would call him by his first name, lik
e he had in the war days. He allowed Cobb to place the overcoat around his shoulders. He stood a moment longer, tempted to express his worries to the man who looked upon him with such kind eyes, but he did not want to burden him. “Thank you,” he said, and left for a walk. He needed to clear his head.
Augum raised his hood as he trundled through knee-deep snow that crunched underfoot. The bailey was quiet between gusts of bitterly cold wind. The Ravenwood stood sentinel, dark and abandoned by all but night owls, winter wolves, bears and small forest creatures.
He strode around the castle, aiming for Arinthia. He found a divot in the snow that was the path that looped through and around the sprawling village. A few villagers made their way to and from The Swinging Lantern, one of two taverns. It catered to the richer folk, whereas The Blessed Board served the farmers and laborers. He passed dark shops closed for the night. Most families had probably finished supper and were readying for bed.
“Your Highness? Is that you?” asked a squeaky voice.
Augum, who had been about to leave the town square for a walk by the farms, turned to see a small boy and his mother, whom he recognized as the wife and son of Lieutenant Cobb. When they saw Augum’s face, they dropped to one knee and removed their coonskin caps.
“May the Unnameables bless His Highness, Prince Augum Arinthian Stone, Savior of Solia, Hero of the Resistance, Vanquisher of the Legion, and Lord of Castle Arinthian,” they awkwardly chorused as if having practiced it together.
“That’s really quite unnecessary,” Augum quickly said, bidding them to stand and thinking it had to be a record number of titles uttered in one go.
The woman and boy hesitated before rising, snow gathering on their bowed heads.
“Please put your hats back on,” Augum said.
The woman replaced her cap but kept her eyes low. She wore a long wool coat trimmed with fox fur. Her face was lined with a few dignified wrinkles. It was the face of a woman who had known the quiet and proud service of marriage to an officer. “Forgive us, my lord, we should not keep you.”
“I want to become a warlock just like you!” the boy blurted. He had ruddy cheeks and looked about nine years of age.