The Sage's Consort (The Scholars of Elandria Book 1)

by Craiker, Krystal

  Amarice told the shamans of the dreams she and Quinn had shared. Since there were no records of dream magic among the Scholar’s histories, and they now knew Quinn had Deyoni blood, she asked them if they had any guidance for them. The old man nodded. “You are the resolution.” He said no more.

  Quinn and Amarice waited for a more helpful answer. The shamans did not speak. The air around them felt weighted, as if a pressure threatened to crush them under the force of the magic concentrated in this circle. Amarice enveloped her and Quinn in a protective air of peace before addressing the Deyoni again. “Please, mothers, father, we don’t understand.”

  The second woman spoke for the first time. “Shared dreams mean you are involved in the story. You are not outsiders in this darkness.” She smoothed her skirts with her wrinkled hands.

  “I do not know anything about Deyoni dream magic.” Amarice’s voice sounded desperate.

  “Not Deyoni,” the oldest woman spoke again. “Tovari.” She explained herself in the Deyoni language, unable to find the words in the common tongue. Amarice nodded, no emotion on her face. Quinn fought the urge to reach out and grab her hand to comfort her.

  Amarice tried to explained to Quinn. “Tovari means half-blood. Tovari who are half-Scholar are the only ones who have dream magic. A ‘melding of power,’ she called it.”

  “Can we find another Tovari to explain this?”

  Amarice shook her head. “We are probably the only ones alive right now. Few people mate with Deyoni, and Scholar’s blood is even rarer.”

  No one said anything else. After some time, the shamans stood in one swift movement. Their meeting was done.

  Quinn followed behind the Sage and the shamans slowly. He was just an apprentice who had only recently learned to control his earth magic. Now, he had learned he was somehow part of the resolution of this darkness spreading through Elandria, threatening his people.

  The Deyoni did not stay the night. Walls, no matter how many windows and doors there were, were restrictive. Before they left, Quinn gathered the courage to ask more of the bird-like shaman. “Mother,” he used the Deyoni address. The woman turned toward him. “I don’t understand why I am the one having these dreams, why I’m the one involved. Is there some deeper reason, like a—a prophecy or something?”

  The woman laughed harshly. “You are Scholar. There is no such thing as prophecies; you know this.” She noticed Quinn’s face filled with fear and confusion and softened her voice. “If every person who had a dream come true was part of prophecy, most people would be part of prophecy.” She smiled for the first time since her arrival. “I will try to find your father.” Then she walked away and followed the other shamans out of the Villa and down the mountain.

  “Well, Brigitte’s tit, that was incredibly unsatisfying,” Quinn said aloud. Amarice agreed.

  ***

  The Sage’s Sabbath dawned rainy and humid. Quinn was surprised to find, considering he lived with the Sage herself, that the holiday was not nearly as heavily celebrated as the Feast of Fire. The day that marked the beginning of spring and honored the birthday of the first Sage, Brigitte, passed without event.

  Amarice pushed aside her dark mood that had come after meeting with the shamans for the day and became her effervescent self. After a large luncheon, she led everyone in the gardens to plant the first of the spring crops, a Sage’s Sabbath tradition. Everyone laughed in light-hearted spirit as they knelt in the mud and planted their seeds. The Scholars in the group kept the rain from falling on everyone’s heads with their magic. Quinn was pleased he could now keep himself dry in rainy weather.

  Once everyone changed out of their muddy clothes, they retired to play parlor games and sing folk songs. That was it. There were no traditional festival games (Quinn blamed the weather), no pouring of libations in honor of Brigitte, and no stories of the ancient war where Brigitte led the people of Elandria to victory.

  The evening wound down, and many Villa residents went off to celebrate the Sage’s Sabbath in the Teleah fashion—in their bedrooms with a lover. Quinn stoked the fire with his magic and moved to sit on a chair near Amarice. She smiled at him. “Winter is over,” she said. “May the spring bring a new peace.” Quinn nodded and raised his glass of mead to her.

  “I have to say, this was the most toned down Sage’s Sabbath I’ve ever celebrated,” Quinn remarked. Amarice’s smiled faded, and she shifted in her seat. “Is it because of recent events?”

  Amarice stared through Quinn for a few moments before shaking her head no. “We do normally play some games outside, but the rain…” Her voice trailed. She sighed. “I don’t think much of Brigitte, personally. She used her Gift of the Earth not for aid, not for self-defense, but to massacre the Deyoni who had resided in the Valley for thousands of years.”

  “But she felt guilty and tried to make amends,” Quinn said, not to challenge Amarice, but to help himself cling to the idea that Scholars were always good people.

  Amarice shrugged. “Did she try enough? I guess we weren’t there to know. But I think the earth removed much of the power it gives because of her actions, so no one has had her power.”

  “Until you,” Quinn observed.

  Amarice gave him a sad smile. “It can be quite lonely.” She stood, ending the conversation abruptly, and retired to her chambers, leaving Quinn alone with his mead in the parlor. Quinn knew the feeling of loneliness well; his heart ached for Amarice. Someone like her does not deserve the pain of being alone.

  ***

  Drowning. Suffocating. Falling. The darkness enveloped Quinn, and he felt every frightening sensation one could feel. He cried out, and no help came. He cried out again, his fear threatening to rip out of his chest and attack. He screamed as loud as he could; his magic spiraled out of control. Through the darkness, he felt the earth shake. He was vaguely aware of trees falling. Others screamed in fear.

  And then a sharp pain pierced his chest. He could no longer scream; warm liquid filled his throat. He saw blood, red, thick, dripping. The darkness became painted in the warm crimson of his own blood. The magic stopped.

  He stopped.

  ***

  Quinn’s heart pounded. He clutched his chest where the sharp pain had been. He feared to open his eyes, but he forced himself. His eyes grew accustomed the moonlit room, and he was safe in his bed. There was no blood. Finding his breath, Quinn felt compelled to take a walk. He needed to calm his racing heart and find his center in the earth. He left his room, barefoot to ground himself, and walked quietly through the Villa.

  Wandering with no direction in mind, he found himself in the garden on the northern side of the Villa. The garden was already occupied. Past the roses, a figure he knew too well stared off into the Sage Mountains.

  “Amarice?”

  The Sage turned toward him. “You, too?” Quinn nodded and approached her. “What did you see?” She turned back toward the horizon. Her opalescent nightgown flapped gently in the midnight breeze. Her back and shoulders were bare, and she shivered.

  “Darkness. Suffocating darkness like before. But this time I saw red, splattered like…” His voice drifted off. He didn’t want to give voice to what he suspected.

  “Blood.”

  “Yes.” Quinn drew nearer to her, barely a hand’s space away. They stood quietly for some time, grounding themselves in the cool, moist earth, calming their thoughts, reconnecting with their magic. Quinn’s heartbeats slowed, and he once again felt like himself. Though shaken, his mind was clear, and his practical nature began to return. He broke the long silence. “What does it mean?”

  Amarice turned to face him. In the moonlight, he could see her eyes were red and tears were streaming from her face. He had never seen her cry; he suspected few people had. Despite everything, he believed she had never looked more beautiful. He could feel the pain in her soul and ached to comfort her. Without thinking, he lifted a hand and gently wiped her tears.

  “Quinn,” she breathed. For a moment, she resi
sted.

  In the next moment, neither of them sure how it happened, their lips met. Quinn kissed her feverishly, and she met him with equal force. Months of pent-up desire coupled with their shared fear and uncertainty went into the kiss. Quinn’s left hand ran down her bare spine and rested at the small of her back, pulling her closer. He intertwined his other hand in her soft hair. She embraced him. The kiss took on a magic of its own; nothing had ever felt so right for either of them. For a brief eternity, there was no darkness.

  When they parted, the Sage trembled. She had taken many lovers in her life, but nothing had ever felt like Quinn’s kiss. She forced her breath to calm itself and took one step back. Quinn reached toward her, but she shook her head. Tears fell from her eyes again. “We can’t,” she whispered.

  “I love you,” he replied, confused. Had she not felt what he did when they kissed?

  She did not reply right away. She chewed her lip, thinking. After several minutes, she spoke. “The world is too uncertain. A darkness threatens our magic, our world. I am the Sage; my very essence is rooted in earth magic. And you will not be my apprentice forever.”

  Quinn did not know how to respond. He knew she loved him, too. He felt it in her kiss. What was she not saying?

  Amarice stared off into the night, the beacon of Elandria’s hope faltering under the weight of her fear. Fear of the threat to Scholars and Deyoni alike. Fear of what darkness lie on her path. Fear of falling in love, and fear of a broken heart. She did not want to hurt Quinn, but she could not open herself to man who would leave her in a few months’ time. She would rather hurt his feelings now than later. Or worse, make him feel obligated to stay and not pursue his own dreams. She loved him too much to do that.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “My lady, I think I should return to the Academy.”

  The Sage glanced up from her correspondence to see Quinn pacing in the study. She raised an eyebrow, signaling him to continue. He did not; he only continued to pace, wringing his hands. She watched him for a few moments. “Sit down. You’re making me nervous pacing like that.” He sat, perched on the edge of the leather sofa as if he expected to bolt out of here at any moment.

  A few days had passed since their kiss. Though not unfriendly, Amarice had become much more formal in addressing Quinn. She suspected that is what prompted him to address her as “my lady.” Quinn had reverted to his shy, insecure self. They had interacted little; Quinn had stayed out of her way while he worked on pro-Deyoni literature.

  Amarice eyed her apprentice. “Are you saying you don’t want to complete your apprenticeship?”

  Quinn rubbed his head with his hand. “I don’t know.” He said nothing else. Amarice used her Gift to create a space of safety, hoping he would feel comfortable enough to talk. They did need to talk, after all. Quinn felt an instant weight lifted off him. He knew he needed to tell her how he felt. “I’m not sure I can stay this close to you.”

  Her heart ached. She wished she could tell him she loved him in return, but she needed to protect herself. With the encroaching threat to Elandria—they still did not know what their latest dream meant—she was also protecting him. At least, that is what she kept telling herself. But she was determined to fall out of love with him so that she would not be left alone when his apprenticeship ended. If he was determined to have a career in diplomacy, he would need to return to Teleah. Of course, she had considered taking him as a lover that she met on occasion, like Raymond. But with Quinn—no, it simply would not work. It was better to never cave in to her desire.

  But she did not want him to leave yet—for his sake. Completing an apprenticeship with the Sage would ensure he had countless career options at the end of the year. And there was still the fact that he shared these dreams of darkness with her. The Deyoni shamans seemed confident the resolution involved him. She looked at the handsome man sitting in front of her, hurt and inhibition plastered across his face.

  “Quinn.” She kept her voice as steady as she could. “I won’t force you to stay, but I think you should continue your apprenticeship. It will be good for your future.” She paused, replaying the most recent nightmare in her head. “And the dreams…”

  Quinn nodded, trying hard to keep his face stoic. “It was the worst yet. But, after, in the garden…” His voice trailed off, too.

  Amarice felt her lip quiver, and bit it to stop. How he wished she would not bite her lip! For a moment, he had thought she was right. But there she sat, exquisite in her sadness, and he wanted to once again run away back to Teleah to save his heart. If she would just tell him to stay, he would. He would do anything for her. But she would never tell him to do something he did not want.

  “Give yourself some time before you decide, please. Don’t make a hasty decision.” She gave him one last sad gaze and lowered her head back to the letters in front of her. Quinn stood to leave. She was right, as usual. He would give himself a week to decide, to see if he could bear being in her presence with his unrequited love. Until then, he would continue making the literature to disseminate.

  He started to leave her study to return to his room, then stopped. “Amarice?” She looked up again. “Has there been any news about the last dream?”

  She shook her head. “No, it concerns me that we have heard nothing. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.” He nodded and left her alone.

  ***

  A week passed with no news. Amarice had returned to her bright self with Quinn instead of the formal, businesslike persona she had adopted after their kiss. In many ways, this hurt Quinn so much more. At least her change in demeanor had made him think the kiss had meant something to her. Now, he was unsure.

  He had to leave. He would go back to the Academy and complete his fifth year studying the Deyoni. There were enough tribes near Teleah that he could gain firsthand knowledge. Although, without Amarice’s guidance and translation, he wondered if they would accept him. Maybe he could find the bird-like shaman again. He made a mental note to ask Amarice where he could find her.

  The morning had dawned grey and cloudy. Quinn had missed breakfast to begin packing. He would tell Amarice this afternoon that he was leaving and depart in the morning. He dreaded saying goodbye to the others; he had grown to love the Villa family as his own, and he did not want to admit he had failed in his apprenticeship because he could not put aside his feelings for Amarice.

  He lined the bottom of his trunk with his books, then began folding his clothes from the wardrobe. He thought of his trip to the palace as he removed the black silk shirt from the shelf. He smiled at the memory, when he heard a voice behind him. “Quinn.”

  He turned. Amarice stood in the open doorway, her face streaked with tears. Her hands shook; she held a letter. She had news, and he sensed it was the worst yet. He looked at her, fear spreading throughout his body. She spoke again, her voice a sob. “Oh, Quinn.”

  “What is the news?” His voice quavered.

  She swallowed audibly. Fresh tears fell from her red eyes. “It’s Rafe.”

  In that instant, Quinn’s whole world crumbled. He felt the floor fall out beneath his feet. He fell to his knees. “NO!” his voice cracked, but no tears fell. It was not disbelief he felt; he knew in his heart it was true. The weight of the grief was nearly too much to bear. “Tell me,” he managed to say in a whisper. He did not meet her eyes.

  Amarice cleared her throat, desperate to retain composure for Quinn’s sake. But she felt his grief as if it were her own. “Viridion’s students, all five of them. They were attacked at the Forest of Seluya.” She said no more. She wanted to spare him the details of his friend’s grisly murder.

  “How?”

  “Quinn, you don’t want to—”

  “HOW?” he yelled.

  She clenched her eyes closed. He deserved to know. He was more involved in this tragedy than her now. Still, she wanted to save him the pain. “They—they were attacked. One, a girl named Melina, was hanged and mutilated like the last.” She had to stop. I
t was so much harder to say than to read it from the letter. “The others were supposed to be, it seems. But, their combined fear caused wild magic. Many trees uprooted and the campfire began to burn out of control. So, the rest…Rafe…they were stabbed through the heart.”

  Quinn stared at the floor. Amarice did not know what to do. She wanted to comfort him, but she did not know if that is what he needed. She knelt to be at his level, waiting for some response. He spoke after a few minutes. “He had to watch her die?” He looked up at Amarice, who simply nodded. “I’ll kill whoever did this.” His voice was flat. Amarice nodded again.

  He stood, slowly. “I need to—excuse me.” He pushed past her and began to run. He ran through the courtyard and out into the gardens. He kept running to the river. He ran along the banks, pushing himself harder until his breathing ached, and kept going. He ran until his side ached, and kept going. The physical pain was a relief from the emotions that threatened to overtake him. He ran, ignoring the cold splashes of water from the river, the rocks and twigs that dug into his feet.

  It must have been hours before he stopped. He only stopped when he physically could run no more. His legs throbbed, and his chest ached from the lack of air. He panted, and took in his surroundings.

  He had never been this far into the Sage’s Mountains. He felt dwarfed by the green peaks. He found himself at the edge of some woods. The trees brought back the grief in a tidal wave. Rafe had died, protecting trees, protecting the earth that gave him life. Quinn fell to the ground and screamed. Birds squawked and flew off in droves at the noise. He screamed until his voice left him and his throat ached. It’s nothing compared to his pain, he thought bitterly.