Daughter of the Disgraced King

by Meredith Mansfield

  Hopefully, it wasn’t also an attempt by Father to disrupt Sav’s secret lessons in high-level politics with ex-King Sandor. No. If Father had found out about those he would have been a lot noisier about it. His reaction to that wouldn’t be a secret to anyone within a mile or two. Explosive would probably be the best description. Sav missed those lessons. They’d become the highlight of his day, now that Ailsa was gone. He sighed. The other downside of being sent out here alone was that it gave him too much time to think.

  And lately his thoughts had been unpleasant. Like now, looking around this oasis. Savyon hadn’t been here before, but the signs were clear to anyone paying attention. That waterhole should be more than twice the size it was, even at this time of year. The few plants that survived—and there should be many more at an oasis—had an unhealthy brownish tinge. Even the drought-tolerant mesquite tree he rested under had more dead and dying fronds than it should.

  He’d seen the same symptoms at all of the more distant oases around Far Terra. It wasn’t too hard to figure out why. No mage had been out to these distant outposts in at least ten years. Maybe not since his father had taken the throne. There was only so much that could be done by sweat alone.

  The signs were harder to see nearer the center of Far Terra, but, now that his eyes had been opened, he’d noticed indications of trouble there, too. Far Terra was in trouble. Of course, Father didn’t want to hear it and wouldn’t listen. Savyon bit his lip and fingered the half-written letter in his tunic. Living at court, or even in the barons’ villas, it was too easy to ignore the problem. Not out here, and not in the far-flung farming towns Savyon had to pass through on these journeys. The desperation of those common farmers, the real backbone of Far Terra, was too obvious to miss.

  The one good thing about this particular assignment was that it had taken him to the south. The courier pouch from his next stop would go directly on to Terranion, not back to the capital. He could write to the emperor without fear that his father would read what he had to say. It felt a little like a betrayal to go behind his father’s back like this, but the more Savyon saw the more certain he was that he had to finish and send this letter. Someone with the power to act had to know what was going on here. Someone had to find a way to bring the mages back to Far Terra or his generation would be the last to live here.

  That brought him around to the other unpleasant thought, the one he tried not to allow himself to dwell on. The only mages who remained in Far Terra were the home-grown ones, like Lady Izbel. Like Ailsa would be when she came back. What Ailsa, as a powerful green mage, could do to set things right far outweighed what she could do as the future queen, no matter how much he valued and loved her. Did he even have the right to consider co-opting that potential for himself?

  Savyon dropped his head to rest on his crossed arms. It wasn’t the sun reflecting off the desert sands that brought tears to his eyes. He released his breath slowly. No. He’d think about that later. Ailsa still had most of her year of study at the Institute. Right now, it was time to move on if he hoped to reach Baron Mikel’s estates before nightfall. He’d heard the howls of desert wolves earlier. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to be out here in the wilds after dark.

  ~

  Baron Mikel’s villa was in sight when Savyon saw a woman walking slowly up the road ahead of him. There was something oddly familiar about her, but he couldn’t quite place what. He studied her as his horse closed the distance, but still couldn’t recognize her. No one he knew walked with that slumped, exhausted posture. And yet, her clothes, though sweaty and dusty, spoke of a high rank—someone he should know.

  He gasped when he turned in the saddle to see her face. Of course he knew her. It was Lady Izbel—Ailsa’s aunt and Perion’s mother. Savyon pulled his horse to a halt and dismounted. “Lady Izbel! How do you come to be out here, on foot and unaccompanied? Are you ill?”

  Lady Izbel looked up, seeming to have trouble focusing on him. She swayed a little on her feet. “Not ill. Used up. Mikel doesn’t understand. Water mage needs some water to draw from. Can’t pull magic out of dry air.”

  Savyon unslung the canteen from his saddle and held it for Lady Izbel to drink. The water seemed to revive her somewhat. Nevertheless, he wasn’t about to let her try to walk the rest of the way to the villa. He’d brought two horses so he could switch between them and reduce the stress on either, but he didn’t think she was steady enough to ride on her own. There was only one solution to that. “Let’s get you somewhere you can rest.”

  He swung Lady Izbel up onto his tall black and mounted behind her. He kicked the horse into motion. Fortunately, the black had an almost magically smooth trot. “How did you come to be out here alone?”

  “King Ewart asked me to come out here to advise on a problem Baron Mikel was having with his water supply shortly after Ailsa left for the Institute.” Even Lady Izbel’s voice was tired.

  “But that was months ago. Why haven’t you returned to the capital? You’re clearly in no condition to work any magic.”

  Lady Izbel snorted. It sounded disconcertingly like the sound Savyon had heard Ailsa make more than once. “I tried. Baron Mikel sent my carriage and driver back. He insisted that I use my magic to fix a problem that would be a challenge for a circle of six mages. I’ve been on foot ever since.”

  Savyon clenched the reins so tight that the horse dropped back to a walk. He turned his heels in to push him up to a canter. There was more wrong in Far Terra than even he’d imagined.

  Baron Mikel met them in the courtyard, his three giggling daughters in a cluster behind him. “Prince Savyon. We’re honored by your visit. I’ve given orders to have a bath drawn so you can refresh yourself before supper. I’ve planned a celebration for tomorrow night—”

  Savyon handed Lady Izbel down and kept hold of her arm until he was sure she was steady enough on her feet. “Cancel it. Lady Izbel and I will be riding back to the capital first thing in the morning. Meanwhile, Lady Izbel is in more need of a bath than I am.”

  Baron Mikel closed his mouth with a snap before answering. “You don’t understand, your highness. We are suffering a water shortage out here.” He shot a venomous look at Lady Izbel. “We haven’t enough to allow servants to bathe.”

  Savyon swung down from the saddle and placed himself between the baron and Lady Izbel. His eyes narrowed. “Servant! How dare you treat a member of the royal family in this way?”

  “She’s no member of the royal family. She’s a mage.”

  Savyon stepped closer to the baron, using his height to loom over the shorter man. “Lady Izbel is the sister of former king Sandor. She is a member of the royal family. I’m appalled at the way she has been treated. Believe me, I will make the situation known to my father.”

  The baron smirked. “She’s a mage. Your father will agree with me. You should not . . . interfere in these matters.”

  Savyon’s stomach churned and his chest tightened, but he kept any reaction off his face. The baron’s confidence might not be misplaced, but that didn’t mean Savyon could just let this go. “As my father isn’t here and I am—and I also happen to be here as his representative—I expect you to follow my instructions on this. Now.”

  ~

  Savyon and Lady Izbel were mounted and on their way out of the villa before Baron Mikel had even come down for breakfast. Just as well. Savyon didn’t really want another confrontation with the baron. The one with the king would be bad enough.

  After a short rest at the small oasis he’d stopped at the day before, Savyon took the smaller, less-used track that led to the west.

  “Where are we going?” Lady Izbel asked.

  Savyon turned in his saddle to face her. “This will connect to the main road to the empire. It’ll be a little rougher for a short distance, but we should be there by noon. Then the travel will be easier for you. We won’t have to move as fast. There are more oases and courier stops where we can take shelter.” He touched his pocket, where the letter he’d
finished and sealed last night rested. “Besides, I’ll be able to put this into a courier pouch where no one can interfere with it. Not Baron Mikel. Not even my father can intercept it once it’s in the hands of an Imperial courier.”

  “What is it?”

  Savyon let out his breath. This still felt like a betrayal, but an unavoidable one. “A letter to the emperor about the situation in Far Terra. Something has to be done.”

  “That could be dangerous for you, Prince Savyon. Your father won’t like it.”

  Savyon bit his lip. “No, he won’t. But it has to be done, anyway. Things can’t go on this way. He’s destroying Far Terra with his irrational policies. The way I see it, there’s only one man who can set things right.” If he will. Savyon truly didn’t know whether the emperor would do anything. He hadn’t in all these years since ex-King Sandor had been forced to abdicate. Still, it was the only hope Savyon could see.

  He pushed them forward until they reached the main road. After that, he let Lady Izbel set the pace, knowing that he could claim shelter for them at the courier stations. That was a good thing, because Lady Izbel was still in very bad shape.

  Late afternoon of the following day, he finally escorted her through the capital to her own home, where he delivered her to the care of her family. Then he turned his horse and rode resolutely to the palace. There was no point at all in letting this go any longer.

  Savyon didn’t wait to bathe or change clothes. He strode directly to his father’s office. He knocked once and then let himself in.

  His father looked up, eyebrows rising towards his hairline. “Savyon! I didn’t expect you for several days yet.”

  Savyon stepped forward until he was standing just across the large desk from his father. “Something came up.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, I happened on Lady Izbel along the way. She had been grievously mistreated by Baron Mikel, who forced her to work magic to exhaustion. I brought her home to her family to recover.”

  “I see. That’s unfortunate.”

  Savyon rapped his knuckles on the desk. “Unfortunate? What are you going to do about it?”

  King Ewart sat back. “I will hope for her full recovery, of course. Far Terra needs her magic.”

  Savyon leaned across the desk. “And what about Baron Mikel? He actually dared to hold her as a virtual prisoner in order to exploit her magic.”

  King Ewart stood and leaned across the desk so that his face was close to Savyon’s. “What should I do? She’s a mage. What else is she good for?”

  Savyon stood back, clenching his fists. He shook his head.

  The king sat back down and picked up his pen, looking at the papers in front of him as if to dismiss Savyon. “We don’t have enough mages in Far Terra. Those that are here must work harder for the good of all.”

  “Of course we don’t have enough mages in Far Terra! I’m surprised we have any at all when you permit them to be treated this way.”

  The king surged back to his feet. “I will not tolerate disrespect!”

  “Well, then, we have a problem. Because I can’t feel anything else for someone who would condone this kind of treatment for anyone, let alone a member of his own family.”

  “She’s no kin of mine.”

  “She may be a distant cousin, Father, but she is still family. Blood is blood. Even you can’t change that.” Savyon spun on his heel and walked out. If he stayed, he was going to strike his father, which wouldn’t help anything.

  Trouble was Savyon didn’t have any idea what he could do. He knew he had to do something. But what? He found himself walking the path that would take him next door to ex-King Sandor. If anyone would know what to do, it would be him. Savyon desperately wanted to talk to him.

  He stopped and turned around. After what he’d just said, his movements would certainly be reported to his father. Meeting with Sandor right now would be disastrous—for Sandor definitely and possibly for Savyon, too. That meeting would have to wait until Father had had a chance to cool down. Maybe later he could find an excuse to go out to the stables and round up Etan to carry a message for him. The old channels that Savyon and Cergio had used to communicate secretly with Ailsa and Perion when they were younger might prove useful again.

  Savyon went to his chambers, instead. Maybe things would be clearer after he’d bathed and changed into clean clothes. They couldn’t be any more confused, at any rate. He stopped dead as he strode across his outer chamber. Two letters lay on his desk, both bearing the Imperial seal. Two letters from the emperor?

  Savyon drew a deep breath. The bath could wait for a few moments more. He sat down and picked up the first letter. Out of habit, he checked the seal. No. It hadn’t been tampered with. He slit the seal and read the contents, written in the clean, formal script of a court scribe.

  I thank you for your letter regarding the attack on Princess Ailsa while on her way here. Rest assured that I have taken steps to ensure that nothing of the sort happens again to any passenger on the coach line or any traveler along the Imperial Highway to and from Far Terra.

  I have also been greatly disturbed by other information I have received about the state of affairs in Far Terra. Your letter and other reports I have had of you make me believe that you may be able to clarify these rumors for me. As it is imperative to have the best and most current information before deciding on a course of action, I will be sending for you and others to come to Terranion as soon as the seasons change enough to make the trip bearable. According to the terms of the treaty, you should have been here already.

  There is no need to inform your father of this, unless you choose to do so.

  Below that was the signature Emperor Eyvind in a different hand, evidently the emperor’s own.

  Princess Ailsa. Savyon smiled. His father would have a stroke if he read that.

  What reports could the emperor have had about him? That could only have come from Ailsa. She was the only person he knew in Terranion. She’d written about meeting the emperor and his family, but not about mentioning him.

  Savyon lowered the paper, smiling for what felt like the first time in days. It wasn’t possible that the emperor had received his second letter. Even the Imperial couriers weren’t that fast. But if the emperor wanted information about what went on in Far Terra, if there was any hope that he’d take a hand to straighten things out, then Savyon would be more than happy to help. Going to Terranion, wonderful as that prospect was, was only icing on the cake. If it was information the emperor wanted, Savyon could write and send more letters in the meantime. He’d ride out to the first courier station to post them so Father needn’t know about it.

  His smile grew wider. No. He wouldn’t tell Father about any of this. Let the emperor’s summons come as a surprise.

  But what could be in the second letter? This one was thicker. Savyon broke the seal and opened it. He gasped and turned it over. The seal was the emperor’s, but the handwriting was Ailsa’s. What . . . ?

  Dearest Sav,

  The emperor kindly agreed to put his seal on this—well, he agreed when his daughter, Princess Mayra, asked him—so I could write to you without struggling to find a text I could use for our code.

  Savyon sat back. Ah, that explained it. He read on. Ailsa described working with someone named Jathan—he thought she’d mentioned him before as a fellow student—to re-green a burned over area and how her first useful magic had made her feel. And what she thought she’d be able to do for Far Terra once she’d been trained.

  Savyon lowered the letter. Without saying it in so many words, it was clear that Ailsa was telling him that she couldn’t give up her magic. Savyon pinched the bridge of his nose. Though it made him feel hollow to think it, he couldn’t ask her to give that up. After what he’d seen, though . . . the thought of her coming back to Far Terra as a mage left an ice-cold lump in his gut.

  He read through the letter again more carefully. Ailsa had chosen her words judiciously. She suggested that there was so
me way that she could be a mage and still marry him. Sav blew his breath out. Who could have sold practical Ailsa on a fairy tale like that?

  Then again . . . His lessons with Sandor had taught him to think more long term. Much that would cause an uproar today was possible a decade or two from now, if you started quietly—or sometimes not so quietly—working toward it. Maybe . . . was it possible Ailsa might agree to delay becoming a full mage? Not give it up or the promise that it represented for Far Terra, but just . . . redirect her energies for a time? Into marrying and starting a family, perhaps. And then step into the role of mage when a way had been prepared for her.

  He picked up his pen to write back and propose this solution to their dilemma. He set the pen down. No. The emperor had said he’d send for Savyon to come to Terranion in just a couple of months. A few weeks. He could wait that long and talk to Ailsa in person. Yes. That would be best.

  Chapter 19: Stretching the Magic Muscles

  Ailsa didn’t object to Jathan taking her hand as they walked back from the Institute to Grandmama’s house for their first green magic lesson since their return from the mountain lodge. While she could feel a slight tingle rising from their joined hands, it wasn’t nearly as overwhelming as when he’d kissed her.

  He hadn’t tried to kiss her again, or even be alone with her after that interrupted encounter on the promenade, but he had picked up this habit of wanting to hold her hand from time to time. It did no harm. Besides, she liked the feel of her hand in his. Jathan released her hand as they approached the door.

  After what Grandmama had said before they left for the mountains, Ailsa expected to go through to the garden for their lesson, but Grandmama sat them both down at the small dining room table.

  “We’ll go outside in a few minutes. Right now, there are a couple of things I need to talk to you both about before we begin. The first is to congratulate you. I’ve had reports about your work at the burned-over ravine. That was very well done. In fact, it has been rated by an itinerate green mage whose opinion I trust as level nine magic—”