The emperor turned his glare on the older two princes. “I also expect both of you to begin to think more critically. Surely you’ve had enough experience to be skeptical whenever Arrigo proposes something that even tangentially involves Jathan. Or the reverse.”
Artair and Rishiart both glowered at Arrigo for getting them into trouble.
The emperor sighed. “Also, I’ll be sure to make an opportunity for you to apologize in person to Princess Ailsa. Nothing—nothing—excuses any discourtesy to visiting royalty. Most especially the daughter of my old friend. She is not a pawn in your competition.”
Chapter 10: Magic
Ailsa opened the door to let Jathan in with a certain amount of nervousness. “Something’s up. Grandmama has been out in the garden since breakfast.”
Jathan grinned. “Maybe we’re finally going to get an official chance to try out our green magic.”
Ailsa swallowed. “That’s what I think, too.”
Jathan’s grin softened. “Relax. This won’t be anything like old Barth forcing you to make a whirlwind in front of the whole class.”
Ailsa winced at the reminder. Her nerves had gotten the better of her. At first she couldn’t make her whirlwind at all, with everyone watching her. Then, when she finally did manage it, the thing had gotten completely out of control. She was sure she’d been the worst in the whole class.
Jathan reached out and stroked the back of her hand. “Hey. It’s only your grandmother and me, here. No one’s going to laugh at you, whatever happens.”
Ailsa drew in a deep breath and nodded at him, grateful for his reassurance.
The kitchen door banged as Grandmama came back inside. “Ah. There you are, Jathan. Right on time. Good. Today, I think it’s time to find out what you can do. Follow me into the garden.”
Jathan grinned again and strode forward.
Ailsa tried again to swallow her nerves down and went last through the kitchen door. She turned to face the house, just as Jathan and Grandmama were. A workbench stood up against the length of the outside of the kitchen wall, with three flat, soil-filled trays spaced out along its length.
Grandmama stood before the tray on the right end. “All right. Today we’ll just try to set a baseline and establish the lower bounds of your magic. This will not determine your ultimate capability or set your permanent level. We’re only using radish seeds today, so the maximum score is level seven.” She held her hands over the tray and Ailsa felt the prickling sense of building magic. Green shoots poked through the ground, opening into a pair of heart-shaped leaves which waved gently as they continued to grow. When the seedlings were about an inch tall, another pair of leaves, very different from the first, began to show between the two seed leaves. Then Grandmama removed her hands. “For reference, that represents level five. Now, you two show me what you can do.”
Ailsa rubbed her sweaty palms against her robes as she stepped up to the middle tray. She drew a deep breath and held her hands out above it before reaching for her magic. She let the magic fill her and flow through her. The feeling was very different than the exercises she’d done—or tried to do—in Practical Basics of Magic. It was like being lifted to the tallest mountain peak, like dancing with Jathan all night, and like kissing Sav—all at once. She closed her eyes briefly, just enjoying the intoxication of the magic filling her. When she opened them, the second set of leaves was already opening.
Ailsa grinned. To her left, Jathan glanced over at her tray and grunted. Her seedlings continued to grow. When she saw a hint of red at the soil line, she reluctantly drew her magic back and pulled her hands down to her sides. Any further and the roots would be damaged by being forced to grow too fast.
Jathan stood over his tray a little longer before stepping back. There was a wide band of red at the soil level of his tray. Grandmama stepped forward to examine their efforts. She measured Ailsa’s seedlings and smiled. “Level seven. Very good for a first effort.”
Level seven! That was very powerful for a green mage. And she hadn’t frozen up or made a mistake. Ailsa grinned again, feeling almost as exhilarated as when the magic filled her.
Grandmama stepped over to Jathan’s tray. “Also a level seven. But you need to learn a bit of restraint. You’ve pushed the seeds too far. Your radishes will hardly be worth harvesting.” She smiled to take the sting out of her words. “Your parents will be proud, both of you.”
~
Jathan smiled as he watched Ailsa dance down the path. They were on their way to their shared Magical Ethics class, passing through one of the many gardens that dotted the campus of the Institute.
“That was amazing this morning. I’ve never felt anything like that.” Ailsa smiled broadly. She was as close to giddy as he’d ever seen her.
“There’s no thrill like working your true magic, is there?” Jathan said.
Ailsa touched the bud of a rose which burst into flower.
Jathan smiled and plucked the rose, then wove the stem into the top of her braid. Her hair was silky and soft and it smelled like vanilla. He had to force himself to pull his hand away. “There. That suits you. You should wear flowers all the time.”
She reached back to feel the flower. “But it’ll wilt.”
“It doesn’t have to. You’re a green mage. You can keep it fresh if you want. You could even make it sprout roots and grow . . . Although, that might not be such a good idea, come to think of it.”
Ailsa giggled. “It would certainly make it harder to wash my hair.”
Jathan clasped his hands behind his back to keep them still. “Yes. And other things.” He spotted an empty bench by the path ahead and veered toward it. “We’re early. Why don’t we sit here for a moment? Better than waiting in that stuffy classroom.”
Ailsa sat down on one end of the bench. “Yes. It’s a beautiful day. It’s almost summer and still not too hot to be out in the middle of the day.”
“Does it get that hot in Far Terra?” Jathan sat down on the other end of the small bench and turned so he could see her face. Safer to sit where he couldn’t quite touch her. Or smell her hair.
“Far Terra is in the middle of the desert, after all. People mostly just stay inside during the middle of the day from late spring until well into the autumn. Winter is nice and it almost always cools off in the evenings even in summer.”
But it was winter when Father—my real father crossed the desert. And they said he drowned. “So . . . there’s not much standing water—lakes and ponds—I guess.”
“Oh, nothing like that lake up in the mountains. Scattered oases, like the ones along the Imperial Highway. Some of the ones farther out are not much more than mud holes. There are supposed to be a few small lakes nearer the mountains.”
“Do the oases fill up when it rains?”
Ailsa shrugged. “It doesn’t rain. Or not very often. The desert is at its most dangerous when it does.”
Jathan blinked. “How so?”
“If you live in the desert, you expect the heat. You know how to deal with it. But when it rains, the runoff can cause a flash flood. And it may not even be raining very close to where you are, which makes it hard to predict. That’s why my parents delayed my coming to the Institute until later in the spring.”
Jathan pictured the flooding rivers he’d seen from time to time and shuddered. That would do it, all right.
Ailsa squinted at him. “You’ve never seen the desert, have you?”
“No. I’ve never been farther than the Ring Mountains. Once, I climbed a peak where we could look out across the desert, though. Far Terra was sort of a green blur on the horizon.” Jathan looked out across the garden. He didn’t want to think about that on this fair summer day. Maybe it was time to change the subject. “Hey, we’d better get a move on or we’ll be late to Magical Ethics.”
~
Savyon circled the floor of the great hall, staying away from both the dais and the dance floor. It had become his habit at these increasingly regular balls. In h
is usual place on the dais, he’d have to listen to the king pointing out an endless array of eligible baron’s daughters. Apparently, Father hadn’t been convinced by Savyon’s arguments in favor of Ailsa. Not yet, at least.
On the dance floor, he’d have been faced with an endless procession of simpering dance partners. By circulating among the barons, he avoided both. Even better, his father couldn’t even criticize him for it. It was, after all, part of his job as the heir to be acquainted with all of the barons and to make it his business to know their strengths, weaknesses, and problems on his father’s behalf as well as for his own future.
He smiled as his circuit brought him around to ex-King Sandor and his wife, Ailsa’s parents. He genuinely liked Sandor and, besides, they might have the answer to a question that had been bothering him for some time, now. It had been more than a month and Ailsa still hadn’t written to tell him what her field of magic was, not even in code. She had to know by now and the silence was making him nervous. “Good evening, sir. You look especially happy tonight.”
Sandor raised his glass of wine to Savyon. “We’re celebrating.”
“Oh?”
“We had a letter from the master of the Institute of Magical Arts today about Ailsa’s early testing,” Sandor said. “Like her grandmother before her, Ailsa is a green mage. And her first testing sets her lower limit at level seven.”
“Even my mother in her prime was only a level eight,” Ailsa’s mother added. “The master thinks Ailsa will outdo her.”
A chill went down Savyon’s back and settled in his belly. No wonder Ailsa hasn’t told me what her magic is. It’s all over. No chance she’ll give up that kind of magic for me. Savyon took a step back, sagging against the wall.
“Are you all right, Prince?” Sandor asked.
Savyon raised his head. “What? Oh, yes. I’m fine. I was just . . .” He forced a smile and raised his wine glass. “Here’s to Ailsa.” He drained the goblet in one gulp. “Excuse me. I need to refill this. Please convey my congratulations when you write to Ailsa.”
~
Savyon paced across his bed chamber, kicking the wads of paper scattered across the floor as he went. He’d tried to sit down and write to Ailsa, but it was impossible. There was no way to put any of the things he wanted to say in writing, not even with the help of a whole library full of poetry. It either sounded self-pitying or begging or false or just hollow—which was pretty much the way he felt. What he needed was to talk to her face to face. It probably wouldn’t change anything, but at least he’d feel that he’d tried.
His head came up. Face to face. That might just be possible. Ever since Ailsa left, he’d been thinking about asking his father to send him to Terranion, too. He could study at the Academy for a year and possibly even make some useful imperial contacts. Maybe, just maybe, he could convince his father of that.
He whirled toward the door, before remembering that it was well after midnight. He couldn’t go to his father right now. He’d have to wait until morning. He pounded his right fist into his left palm. Well, then, he’d just make sure that he was well prepared. Savyon could already hear the arguments his father would make against him. He needed to have a good counterargument for each of them.
~
Savyon strode down the corridor with the rolled up parchment in his hand. It was his ace in the hole. He raised his other hand to tap on the door to his father’s office. No need to start out by aggravating Father. That would be counterproductive to his goal.
“Enter,” Father called from inside.
Savyon squared his shoulders and took a deep breath before opening the door and stepping through.
Father put down his pen. “Well, what do you want now?”
“I was thinking . . .”
“Yes?”
Savyon cleared his throat. “I was thinking that it’s about time I went to the imperial capital to study for a year or two.”
Father’s eyes narrowed. “Why? Chasing after your little friend? I’m not going to change my mind about her. I think I made a mistake in having her educated along with you and Cergio by the royal tutors. It encouraged an undesirable friendship.”
Savyon bit his lip. He wasn’t here to argue with his father. He had to keep this on a different level or he’d push Father in the opposite direction. “No, Father. Besides what I’d learn at the Academy, I’d make connections in the Imperial Court that’ll be valuable later. It’s traditional. Even ex-King Sandor went before he took the throne. “
“Yes. And look how well that turned out. No, I have no intention of making that mistake.”
“But, Father—”
The king waved his hand in dismissal and lowered his head to the papers in front of him. “No. I won’t have you being exposed to all those mages. The Imperial Court is rife with them. Even the empress is a mage. Now, Cergio . . . if I thought there was a chance he’d pay attention—or even go—to his classes, I might send him. But you stay here.”
“You’ll have to send both of us, sooner or later, separately or together.”
The king looked up to meet Savyon’s eyes. “And why is that?”
Savyon unrolled the scroll he’d been clutching and pointed to a paragraph near the end. “It’s in the treaty that reintegrated Far Terra with the Empire. Every potential heir must be sent to the Academy and be presented to the Imperial Court before reaching the age of twenty-one or be considered ineligible for the throne.”
His father snorted. “I never went to the Academy or the Imperial court.”
Savyon had prepared for this argument. “That was a special circumstance. You were not considered one of the heirs until ex-King Sandor abdicated. I doubt the emperor would make such an exception twice.”
The king took the scroll from Savyon’s hand and read the passage. Then he dropped the paper on a corner of his desk. “I’ll take this up with my counselors and let you know.”
“But, Father . . . it’s nearly summer. The coaches will stop running—”
“As you reminded me yourself, you’ve barely turned nineteen. There’s time. No need to do this in a rush. There’s always next year.”
“But—”
“That’s all for now, Savyon. I’ve got real work to do.”
Savyon had no choice but to bow and leave, fuming. How was he going to get to talk to Ailsa face to face? Did he have to just take his horse and ride across the desert himself like a courier? He couldn’t do even that without a change of horses.
He had to win this argument with his father. Persuasion had never been one of his strong suits. He must learn to do better if he was going to have a chance. Hmm. The best person to teach him that side of politics was probably Ailsa’s father. He thought Sandor would be willing to give him that coaching—if Savyon could find a way to spend some time with the ex-king without raising his father’s suspicions. That was going to require some thought.
Chapter 11: The Emperor
Ailsa stared at the gilt-edged parchment. An invitation to be presented to the emperor. Well, it had to be considered more a command than an invitation, coming from the emperor. “What did I do wrong?”
Grandmama clucked. “Don’t be silly, child. You haven’t done anything wrong. You’ve scarcely had the chance. The emperor and your father were school friends back when they were only princes. Likely he just wants to meet you and ask about your father.”
Ailsa tugged on her braid. She wasn’t convinced, but it didn’t really matter. There was no way to refuse an invitation from the emperor himself. According to the invitation, he was sending a carriage for her tomorrow, whether she wanted to go or not.
She dressed carefully the next morning and wrapped her braid up around her head, which made her look a little taller. It also prevented her from tugging on it or chewing on the ends. She couldn’t wear student robes for this. Fortunately, Grandmama had steadily been either having her wardrobe dyed green or replaced. Ailsa selected a gray-green skirt paired with a tunic in a lighter hue that
brought out the green in her eyes. Nothing too rich or that seemed to lay claim to the title “Princess”.
When the coach arrived, the ride was short. She hadn’t realized that Grandmama lived so close to the Imperial Palace, probably because it was a low, sprawling building or complex of connected buildings, only two stories tall in most places—much less than most of the buildings in the nearby Institute. What the palace lacked in height, tough, it made up in grandeur. The entire façade, including impressive pillars as big around as the trunk of a mature tree, was made of marble in at least three different colors. A guard in dress uniform stood at attention in front of each of those pillars.
When the coach door opened, Jathan was standing there offering his arm to help her out. “Don’t look like a frightened rabbit. Father really doesn’t bite, you know. And you have nothing to worry about.”
“What does that mean?” she asked in a whisper.
“You’ll see.”
Instead of taking her up the broad marble steps of the palace, Jathan led her around the side of the building, through a lush formal rose garden, and to a much smaller side door on the west side. “This is the shortest way. Besides, the gardens are the best part of the palace. Most of the inside feels more like a museum.” There was a uniformed guard at this door, too, but he didn’t blink as Jathan led Ailsa past.
Daughter of the Disgraced King Page 10