by R. K. Thorne
“Well, you are quite formidable. I’m sure if you show them the tricks you showed me, they’ll bow down in fear.”
“Like what, turning them into a mouse?”
“Don’t forget their clothes this time, though.”
She laughed. “I thought we wanted willing loyalty, not bitter fear?”
“Oh, right. I keep forgetting. Perhaps you can charm them with rainbows and butterflies?”
“I can do butterflies, but you’ll have to figure out the rainbows bit.”
“Hmm. That may require some additional training from you.”
She squeezed his hand at the thought. “I’d be happy to… train you any time, my lord.”
He grinned at her, although he flinched inwardly at the title. “If we fail to impress the Assembly—which is quite likely, as not all seasoned soldiers and merchants are easily moved by rainbows—I do still have a few charming smiles up my sleeve.”
She pressed her lips together, amused. “Aven, you don’t have any sleeves right now.”
With that, he chuckled. “Perhaps no charming smiles then.”
“I’d prefer you save your charming smiles entirely for me.” Was there a hint of jealousy to that tone? And… why did he like it?
“Duly noted, my lady. And another point you should not forget. While Alikar can make our lives miserable, we do have options to return the favor to him as well. Many Gilaren businesses owned by the wealthy who support him also depend on coal, ore, timber, and gems from these mountains.” He grinned. “Mountains we Lanukens control.”
“Not out of charming smiles, clearly. You’re fully stocked, I think.”
He squeezed her hand and glanced around. Camil was in sight, but off in the next room. Perhaps they had one moment. He leaned closer—
A knock on the door sounded, followed rapidly by the clicking of the knob turning. They both straightened. He released her hand reluctantly. “My lady—water for your bath?” called a servant.
She hesitated for a moment, seemingly unsure of why the servants had opened the door and then not proceeded to come in.
“They want your permission,” he whispered.
“Ah, yes—bring it in, please. Thank you.” She shrugged helplessly at him as if to say, is this how you do these things? He waved off her concern. But then again, he was used to all this. He had no idea how much of a change this was for her.
“Did you have baths in Mage Hall?” She pursed her lips, eyes laughing. Er, that wasn’t how he’d meant that to come out. “I mean, I know you cleaned yourselves somehow, I was just wondering—how.” Gods, that was no better.
“Oh, really? Did I smell that poorly on the balcony that first day?”
“I—uh—no. That came out wrong.”
She waved it off. “We had communal baths and showers. One large one. A relaxing place—one of the few.”
He’d been fighting off imagining her in the bath she would shortly take, but he lost the battle briefly at the mention of communal. “Communal, as in shared? Like between men and women?”
She laughed at him. “Yes. Everyone wears towels outside of the changing areas.”
He tried to shake off his silly line of questioning. But his brain—or perhaps some other body part—seemed intent on planning out strategies should the two of them ever happen on a communal bath that wasn’t in the worst damn place on the continent. “Well, uh, hopefully this will be a reward then. Or something.”
“Trust me,” she said, leaning slightly into his shoulder. “Privacy is its own reward.” He leaned back against her, wishing for a whole lot more.
Oh, yes, this should be easy. Just pretend you don’t feel anything. And don’t act on any of those feelings you do have. Sure. I can do that.
Like hell he could. Damn Code. Damn his parents. Damn all of it.
“I’ll let you get your bath,” he said quickly before he could do something stupid. “I should attend to one too. And a shave. Maybe some sleeves. Maybe not?”
“Either look suits you.”
“I’ll come back after that. We can go to the dinner reception together.“
She nodded.
He rose. It felt strange to just wander away with no kiss, no sign of affection whatsoever. Since the day he’d convinced her to admit she’d never really wanted to push him away, he’d felt the connection between them. Like an invisible rope connecting them, a “we” now existed where once there had been only two individuals. Something bigger than both of them. He glanced around again—one woman had headed into the bath area, while another man had just stepped out. Hoping his luck didn’t run out soon, he bent down quickly and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. Her fingertips teased down the rough stubble on his jaw. Then he dashed away to the sound of her quiet laughter behind him. At least kissing wasn’t against the Code’s rules, as long as there were other people in the room.
Thank the gods.
3
Farsight
The steward and the queen had produced a closet full of clothes by the time Miara had washed, and a young woman named Camil waited to assist her with them. Miara stared at the garments while Camil stared at her back.
Never had she seen such an impractical, colorful collection of fabric in her life.
“Can I help you, my lady?” Camil’s warm, quirky voice was naturally soothing, but Miara felt a bit too exposed by those savvy brown eyes set against olive skin. They saw too much.
“I… I’m used to practical clothes, that’s all.”
“Oh, I can help you with any of them you like, though. It’s all right.” Camil approached and peered over Miara’s arm as her hands clutched the doors of the armoire too tightly. Camil’s eager expression suggested she was more than a little excited to do so.
“I’m… Hmm.” She picked up the hem of a gown of deep sapphire blue. The fabric was impossibly soft, flowing, with golden embroidery around the edges and an elegantly high waist. Fine as the queen herself might wear, and indeed, was that where this had come from?
Fine as something the Mistress would wear as well, and just her preferred color. Miara shuddered.
“Are you all right?” Camil placed her hand gently on Miara’s shoulder, of course intending to be comforting but finding just the spot of the brand. Although nearly healed, Miara still flinched away as though the touch hurt.
“Bad memories, that’s all.” She didn’t meet Camil’s gaze.
“Not that one then! What about this?” Camil frowned with concern but put on a chipper voice. Ducking into the wardrobe, she reached for the farthest edge of the closet and rummaged around, producing a mossy green tunic with a silvered black ribbon along the collar and trim. “Something practical, I’m sure there’s—let’s see—” Camil produced leather trousers the color of dark walnut wood, boots, and a black leather belt that was at least as wide as her head—nearly a corset in its own right.
Miara heaved a sigh of relief. “Is this acceptable to wear to dinner?”
Camil nodded vigorously. “Oh, of course. Lady Asten wore a similar green tunic last night after she arrived. Of course, she’s a warden.” She shrugged.
“What does that mean?”
“Wardens are our elite—”
“Ah, no, I meant, does she dress differently from the other women then? Would the queen wear this?”
Camil shook her head. “No, but Queen Elise hails from Dramsren, more of a hilly, trade-focused region. Beautiful wool and dyes come from there. I think that’s where she gets her love of gowns. But you are obviously more of a fighter. Come, this will be quite fetching.”
Miara raised her eyebrows. Who did Camil think she would be “fetching” exactly? But… hopefully fetching was good.
She consented to the tunic and trousers and tried to send Camil away repeatedly. What Miara had done to convince anyone that she deserved servants waiting on her, she had no idea. But Camil was as dogged and stubborn as Aven. Perhaps it was a national trait.
Miara sat restlessly, still uneasy t
hat Camil might not actually know if this attire was appropriate for whatever event lay in store. Was she painting herself as nothing like a queen? Would the king think her untrustworthy for dressing like a sword-wielding brigand? Gods, she didn’t want to worry about such things. How could she put any effort into considering extravagant silks and slippers and ribbons embroidered with gold when so many were still yoked under the Masters’ control? When she had no idea if her father or Luha were even safe?
But she needed help to free them. Support. And these clothes were a tool in a way, just like her daggers. Mystifying and impractical as they might be, if she could understand them, they could also be used to help people in their own indirect way.
Miara also resigned herself to letting Camil braid her hair—but simply, above the temple, to keep her hair out of her eyes. Her red hair fell in waves in every direction behind her, contrasting with the vibrant, grassy hue of the tunic. It was stunning and exquisitely soft. Maybe even fetching. The intricacy of the border must have been created by a master’s hand.
Hmm, the dinner would go right through the nightly prayer, she realized. “Do you pray each night?” Miara asked as Camil was finishing the left side braid. Not that Miara was keen to partake, after so many years.
“Me? I say a few words to Anara before sleep. Why?”
“In Kavanar, a bell would bid us all to pray each night.”
“Really?” Camil seemed surprised as she surveyed her work. “Must be a Kavanarian custom. Did you enjoy it?”
Miara almost laughed at the idea, but she thought of her father’s dedication to the practice. “Some of us did. Acting as one can be a moving experience. But I will not miss it.” She’d never thought she’d have the chance to choose to pray beside her father. Maybe someday.
Although Aven had said he would join her, Elise arrived instead. “I’m afraid he’s been ambushed by well-wishers,” she told Miara. “But if you are ready, there’s someone who would like to meet you.”
Miara’s stomach sank. What kind of well-wishers? Romantically inclined well-wishers of noble birth, perhaps?
She cocked her head and followed Elise out, curious as to who would want to meet her when she knew no one. Well, there were all those in the king’s chambers during the meeting. Did she have her own ambush in store? Should she have insisted on waiting for Aven?
Did she really know if she could trust the queen? Perhaps she was leading Miara over a cliff into the sea.
Good thing she’d gone with the tunic. Even if a dark, watery death seemed unlikely, she was much better equipped to run.
“Wunik, so glad to see you,” Aven’s mother said as they entered a grand hall. Miara felt the oppressive weight of the Great Stone before she saw it, heavy, like air too humid or thick to breathe easily. The glittering and majestic rock took her aback when it came into view. It filled an entire wall of the hall, just as she’d read about but more beautiful than she had imagined. It was as if the rock had been hewn in two, and jagged purple crystal jutted out of the mountain. What had happened to the other half? Miara almost missed Elise hugging the stooped old man in a bright azure-blue cloak. Where did they find the dyes? She’d known no one but the Masters with such a rich palette to choose from.
“Elder Wunik, this is Miara Floren, mage of Kavanar.” Miara bowed, and he bowed in reply. “Miara, Elder Wunik is an accomplished air mage and one of my former tutors, such as they were.”
“Tutors?” Miara asked. “Is there a school here?”
“Not yet.” Wunik’s eyes twinkled as he smiled. “Perhaps that can change now. I have been teaching privately for most of my life. These two are my pupils at the moment—Apprentice Mage Derk and Journeyman Mage Siliana.”
Miara bowed to his students, and they returned the gesture. “You don’t hide that you’re all mages?” Miara asked.
“We’re not hiding it in support of Prince Aven,” said Wunik.
“But we usually don’t get out much,” muttered Derk.
“My parents were mages as well as landholders in Dramsren and found me training when I was young,” Elise said. “I was lucky in that. Very few do. My parents hadn’t had any education.”
“I think they just wanted to ask me questions themselves.” Wunik grinned.
“Probably true. I was planning to teach myself, discretely of course, until Samul came along. Gave up the practice to marry him.” To marry him. Not to become queen, or take the crown, or some such thing. An interesting choice of words.
“Mostly gave it up, you mean?” Miara pointed out. Was that a terribly impertinent thing to say to a queen? At this point in her life, Miara had spent a lot more time being impertinent to people in positions of power than respectful. How ironic then that she was to become one of them?
Fortunately, Elise smiled graciously and gave a little laugh. “Well, some things you never quite forget, eh? I am hoping Wunik can teach Aven as he taught me.”
“He’s a good student, he’s learned quickly so far,” Miara said.
Wunik cocked his head. “You taught him some already?”
She nodded. “He convinced me to do it. That air-twitching habit he has is not very… discreet. Nearly got us both killed.”
Elise chuckled. “Estun gets blamed for being a lot draftier than it really is when he’s around.”
“He must be quite gifted then, with this damn Stone hanging over his head,” Wunik said, glancing in annoyance at the hulking rock. “I feel like I can hardly breathe. But tell me, this star magic—is it true? Not an old wives’ tale?”
“That I am standing here is testament to its truth.” Miara stood a little straighter at the thought.
Wunik nodded, scratching his salt and pepper beard. “I do not envy Aven right now, or any of the enslaved. But… it is an exciting time. Never in all my days as a mage have we had the chance to leave our hiding, to right the wrongs of the Dark Days, to help the kingdom.”
“Well, looks like we’re getting our chance,” the queen said. “Like it or not. I must check in with our kitchen steward Enrial—I’ll be back in a few minutes. Let me show you to your seats.”
Miara, Wunik, and his students sat at a side table perpendicular to a head table, where two thrones of silvered black stood between other ornately jeweled ebony seats. It seemed that their table was second in importance to the head table, given its positioning.
“Did you leave anyone behind?” the old man asked as they settled in.
“My father and sister.” She swallowed. “I hope we can free them. But the Masters are likely watching them. It may not be possible.”
“We can look tonight, after dinner.” He laid a reassuring hand on her forearm.
“You must be tired after the long journey. And they might not even be outside.” She said it even though of course she wanted to look immediately and skip dinner. But she didn’t want to wear out his good faith already.
“Buildings have windows. And as I said, this is exciting to me. I’ve been alone in my old cabin for far too long.”
Derk, the apprentice, cleared his throat. “Excuse me, what was that? Alone with the two of us. After all these years, and we’re still no more entertainment than a piece of firewood, apparently.” Derk sat on the other side of her. Siliana sat beyond him, completely ignoring them all.
“Oh, goat gonads—you’re always off for days at a time.” Wunik waved him off.
“On quests you give me!” Derk shook his head.
“I’m also curious to see the compound you mentioned,” Wunik said. “It will help us all start making plans.”
“Do you mean Mage Hall?”
“Is that what you call it? Yes. We have much to think through.”
“What kind of plans?”
“To free the enslaved, of course. It is our duty to help them.” A rush of gratitude and relief surprised her at Wunik’s words. The Assembly members had not seemed so sure of any such duty.
Dinner guests drifted in gradually. A flutist and a drummer took u
p perches in one corner, stirring up a cheerful atmosphere.
“So… I hear you’re some kind of spy?” Derk said.
Oh, hell. He sounded intrigued. How could she make spying sound utterly bland and boring? “No. I mean, yes, but—”
“Oh, I didn’t mean spying right now. Just in general.”
“Stealth is one of my skills,” she said, dodging. But he did not relent in his intent study of her. She kept her eyes trained on the room. “Most of the time, I was a healer. For animals. Horses.” She wished she could say the word with more enthusiasm. Like it was her calling. She could assert that spying was against her will all she wanted, but even the word felt more natural to say. Perhaps it was just the impressions of years of slavery. Perhaps now that she could form her own opinions and shape her own future, the sound of the words leaving her lips would change.
Who was to say she could not be both a spy and a healer? An interesting thought.
He gave her a once-over from head to toe, and she threw him a vicious glare. He was lucky it wasn’t a glass of wine. “You don’t look like a healer to me. Or act like one.”
Her shoulders tensed. His eyes locked with hers briefly, and there was something in them—something unusual. Something she was not used to seeing but had begun to recognize. He was flirting, wasn’t he? Or at least, he was trying to.
“What do I look like then?”
“Like someone who could kick my ass.”
She snorted. “I’m not even armed.” Well, apparently she had captured some kind of warrior look in this ensemble, for better or worse.
“Do you need to be to… ?” His eyes twinkled.
Miara couldn’t keep the mischievous smile from her face, although she had a suspicion that he’d be much too pleased by it. “No.” Actually, maybe he was better at flirting than she’d thought.
A murmur went through the crowd, and the guests stood. Miara and the visiting mages scrambled to follow. A quiet fell, saving her from further conversation. King Samul entered, a woman on his arm who was not the queen and who Miara hadn’t seen in the king’s chambers either. Who could be important enough to be escorted by the king but not be invited to the king’s conferences?