by Tia Reed
It would complicate matters if Maya believed her marriage vows yet held. “Have you asked him to protect you?” Jordayne asked.
Shaking her head, Maya turned to Druce. “I feel him following me. I’ve asked him to go but he lingers. This isn’t right. Please, he belongs with the Vae.”
“He made a deal with a djinn,” Drucilamere said. “I am sure it is why he stole Timak’s quartz. A djinn-sealed pact transcends even death. His spirit is bound to this plane until he fulfils his end of the bargain.”
“Oh, Rondel,” Maya sank to the floor and collapsed into sobs.
“What is it, my dear?” Drucilamere offered an awkward hand.
Maya looked up at him, her tear-stained face splotched and unseemly. “I thought it was the physic who cured me. But it was a djinn. Rondel dealt with a djinn.” She clutched her hands before her. “Please. Please help him leave. I’ll do anything you want.”
“On the contrary,” Jordayne said stepping between maid and mage. “I wish him to stay.” The fire went out. The room turned cold. The four of them shivered, their faces fearful in the light and shadow of the moonbeams streaming through the windows.
“Please,” Maya whispered, clutching at her stomach.
Jordayne steeled herself against pity. Pity had no standing during war. “Of course, if you would rather leave Myklaan. . .”
Chapter 51
LYING BACK, HANDS over the side of the rowboat, Vinsant juggled three light balls over the bow. Just to see what would happen, he dropped them into the Crystalite River. They sizzled out. Well that spectacle held his attention for all of five seconds. Had to be the most thrilling entertainment he had had in the four days since he left the mountain. Blowing air over his upper lip, he dipped his hands in the cold water and wiped them over his face. Interminable. It was the most fitting word for this solitary journey. He was even missing sour Padesh. He had never thought he would when they had parted company at the Temple of the Rift, six days, no an eightday ago. He supposed the mahktashaan was safe in the gloomy, awesome mines by now. Typical. Here he was, cramped all day, shunned by superstitious villagers at night, dutiful in magic and sword practice because hey, at least it staved of the worst of the boredom, and no one cared he might be swept to his death down a waterfall or stabbed by an outlaw while he slept or, or, or, stung by a kaidon! Okay, so he could levitate down the falls and sleep out of reach of outlaws and kaidons had not roamed the land in millennia. That wasn’t the point, was it?
Vinsant snorted. He could imagine Kordahla laughing as she mock-scolded that she saw right through his pretended offence. His fanciful conversations with her were his best tether to sanity in a life that had become way too insane.
He sat up. The river had widened into a scenic stretch of grassland with shaggy, black-faced sheep grazing on wild daisies and buttercups. Not that he could enjoy their comic expressions as they chewed their cud and watched him glide past. A change in the pull of the current meant he had to concentrate to keep the bow on course. He had made remarkable time, travelling downstream without Levi to keep dragging him back to their starting point as penance for his supposed insolence. In fact, that had to be Lake Sheraz glistening up ahead.
He sailed. He stood and waved to other boats. All except a couple of warships practising manoeuvres. The last thing he wanted was attention from the mahktashaan on deck. He slept, and when the sun had once more broken the horizon he squinted. In vain, because the palace was nowhere in sight. Somewhere in its disciplined courtyards, Gram and Naikil would be straining under Branak’s relentless tutelage. He chuckled. No way could they conjure heat and light yet. Or summon a glorious breakfast of porridge topped with fruit and yoghurt. He was going to spend the entire day practicing just how he would slip his extraordinary feats of magic into their lessons, real casual like, as though it were nothing at all.
He shouldn’t have practiced so hard. He didn’t notice the glow in his quartz wasn’t his doing until the stone pulled from his chest. He made a quick sign of warding and used both hands to slap it down. It was growing too hot to hold but letting it tug him into the lake spelled disaster. He let go and concentrated ultra-hard, thank you very much Majoria Levi – no really, not even a smidgeon of sarcasm, – on reversing the boat. It glided forward, held, held, held, and then drifted in reverse – see he had been paying attention. A full hour later, sweat dripping off his face, his knuckles white as he clenched the side of the boat, Vinsant breathed a sigh of relief. That had been close. He was a scumhopper for forgetting the incident on the outbound journey.
Or maybe not. The water had glowed red. A similar red to the light from his quartz. He spent the rest of the magnificent, sunny morning steering the boat across the current to the grassy shore, and a good hour past lunchtime staring into the middle of the huge lake. If you liked piecing mysteries together, and djinn was he an expert at it, you would deduce that something magical lay at the bottom of Lake Sheraz. And if you knew the histories, and thanks to Levi he could now spout a good many of the magical ones off by heart, you might even conclude it was Guntek’s wedding ring. Or Gustav’s or Faromi’s or Lisabelle’s, depending on your point of view. The diamond ring which fell from the sky. It made sense that Faromi had been wearing it when she died. The question was why his modest apprentice quartz called to it when generations of mahktashaan crystals had not detected a glimmer of its presence. Or rather the most pressing question was how he was going to get the ring without creating havoc. Or losing his life. Because if he could outwit a kaidon, he could definitely do this.
Vinsant tried levitating water. The liquid spilled back into the lake as water flowed to fill the void. He dropped a heat ball in. Water bubbled, steam hissed and a dead fish floated to the surface. He sat, chin on palm, elbow on knee and summoned an apple from the palace kitchen larder to chew on. Four crunchy bites in, a fool-proof idea sprang into his mind. Was he ever brilliant when he wasn’t hungry!
Summoning memories of the many maps he had studied, he tried to encompass Lake Sheraz in his mind. The vastness of it would have made the task impossible for anyone but the most talented of apprentices. It was almost dinner before he was convinced he had managed it, and here he was, not even having had the sustenance of a decent lunch. So now he needed to pour every scrap of magic in his body into the task. When his quartz flashed, his grin was so strained a farmer might have mistaken him for a fool, but he just couldn’t help his pride. He had sent the entire body of water to the Mowan Ocean! Lake Sheraz was a vast, muddy crater before him. His grin broadened as he levitated over the lake, letting his quartz guide him.
Controlling his descent was a real effort when the hot quartz kept tugging towards the bed. Something was glowing beneath it. When he landed on hands and knees in squelching mud, the quartz pulled his head down. He was going to develop a fine crick in his neck, straining to keep his face out of the muck. It made digging tiring, but he was strong enough to keep at it until his quartz clanked against metal. With a triumphant cry he teased the diamond ring free, polished the gold band on his filthy clothes, and held it up. A flash of light burst out, a magical sign he was supposed to have this relic if ever there was one. He slipped it on his finger. It was too loose, and too obvious. It didn’t take much to summon a leather strap to string it on. He slipped it around his neck and under his robe, nice and hidden. No sense in calling attention to himself, he was too smart for that.
He looked up. The bank was a good hike away. He yawned at the star claiming the first twinkle in the deep blue cusp of dusk. A rest was in order before he levitated out.
✽ ✽ ✽
“You wanted to see me, Father?” Ahkdul doubted Hudassan would miss the resentment in his voice. The message had arrived at a most inopportune moment. The hour he had spent enticing a reluctant house boy to agree to perform bedroom favours was now wasted. And his father had forbidden him to touch the mage again.
Ahkdul seethed at the look of distaste on Lord Hudassan’s features as he turned fr
om his desk in the huge room he used to conduct business. It was fitted out the way his oh so cherished family furnished most rooms, the odd piece of solid furniture interrupting a stone floor expanse: in this instance the desk in the middle, a cabinet with jabberweis mouth to tail carved on the doors against the right wall, and a few functional chairs to drive home a point to whichever miserable creatures had the dubious honour of standing before their lord. Ahkdul had long since come to understand the bareness was a counterbalance to Pengari’s thronging, narrow streets. Anyone who luxuriated in this much empty space was flaunting wealth. After the cosy luxuries of Terlaan, it had never seemed more provincial.
“You have been neglecting your duties.” Hudassan kept his hands clasped behind his back. His beloved father didn’t even have the decency to face him. No, the stern, life-sized portrait of his conquering grandfather on horseback was far more compelling. It hung behind the desk, between two arched windows where it could domineer all who entered.
Ahkdul laid a hand on a golden dragon moulded in the eastern style, the second of the two adornments in the room. Hudassan had put it to careless use as a paperweight. “That is unfair. I have spent five days escorting Mariano around the city and four evenings observing how well Mother is instructing my future wife. This is not an arrangement I care for.”
“Your duties, Ahkdul,” Hudassan repeated with meaningful emphasis.
“Ah.” A smile twitched at his lips. “You cannot mean before the wedding?”
Hudassan walked out from behind the desk. His final stance, just to one side of his father’s portrait was no accident. “Not until then. There must be neither opportunity nor reason for Wilshem to renege on his deal.”
One side of Ahkdul’s lips pulled up into a calculating smile. “Then how have I been remiss?”
“The wedding is three days away. What preparations have you made?” The demand was sharp, but his dictator of a father did enjoy lording his power over slave, servant and family alike.
Ahkdul rocked the paperweight. Whatever Hudassan might think, the pointed look phased him not in the least. Ah, but he was worth more than this petty man who despised him for his night-time pleasures gave him credit for. He helped himself to a good draft of roqki from the bottle sitting on a silver tray on the desk. A single gulp depleted the entire fiery contents of his cup, a fortifying measure to which he was entitled.
“I dispatched coded orders via pigeon to deq Ikher from the way station. I could send another if you would rather wait until the outcome of war. It does provide a timely distraction.”
“I would not. A Terlaani victory will not make holding Myklaan easier. I would know what preparations you have made regarding the Terlaani prince.”
“What better agent than the mage I brought you? His powers are unpredictable at best.”
“Tell me how my mage would not be connected to me?”
Ahkdul slumped into a chair. “If my dear wife-to-be bears witness. . .”
Hudassan frowned. “Until she bears an heir, she has use. The danger of injury is too great.”
“There are ways to ensure it is not. Let the mage I brought you prove his worth.”
Hudassan marched his way between cabinet and desk. He clapped the back of a hand against a palm, and looked at Ahkdul. “Let him indeed. Perhaps he should entertain us with his magic. I will judge how sound this plan of yours is.”
Ahkdul rose. “The women should watch. It will strengthen the credibility of an accident.”
Hudassan gave a sharp nod, the way he might to a subordinate, the despicable man. “Very well.”
Seething again, Ahkdul poured himself another drink. He sipped it as he followed Hudassan to the living quarters, into a room the family used for entertainment of a decent nature. After his travels, he considered it anew. A few comfortable chairs strewn with cushions in muted colours, a thick rug thrown on the stone tiles between them, a sideboard crammed with metal goblets, bottles of roqki and wine, and two painted urns imported from Myklaan which made all else appear dull. A pedestrian effort at decor. The best feature was the muqurnas on the low ceiling, painted in blue and saffron to match the border on the upper half of the wall.
“There remains the matter of Wilshem’s younger son,” Hudassan pointed out as Ahkdul collected another draught of liquor and seated himself.
“He is but a boy who is overly fond of his sister.”
“Did you not say he trains as a mahktashaan?”
He took a long drink. “How much could he have learned in a major moon?”
Hudassan’s stare was icy. “How much indeed.”
They broke off as the women entered with respectful curtsies. They had done well to ensure Kordahla was appropriate in her clothing, although he would have preferred she were not wearing her mother’s veil. It served as a reminder of an old, wanton life.
“I trust you are feeling better, Princess Kordahla?” Hudassan enquired.
“I am.”
His father turned to Safra. “What ailed her?”
His mother fussed about Kordahla’s veil. “The smell of the lake has been strong. Brides her age are delicate but she will become accustomed to it.”
Mariano walked in and Hudassan paid the women no further heed. The Crown Prince of Terlaan, on the other hand, planted himself right by his sister’s side.
“You may sit next to me,” Ahkdul said to Kordahla. He was feeling courteous. Hudassan, for all his disregard of the weaker sex, would have directed it anyway, he was sure. It would not do to have Mariano upset by a perceived indifference to his cherished sibling before their deal was bound by the Vae.
“She must first see to the comfort of her lords,” Safra said, forestalling his generosity. His mother led his betrothed to the sideboard. Ahkdul relaxed into the chair. The elegance with which Kordahla poured the roqki into the silverware pleased him. If he must take a wife, it might as well be one he would enjoy watching.
Head bowed, Kordahla handed a goblet to Hudassan.
“You are settling in well,” his father said, taking a seat opposite Mariano.
It was not a question. She did not answer. Eyes flashing, she offered the drink to her brother.
“This custom is not demeaning,” the Terlaani prince murmured.
Ahkdul’s lips curled up. He ran a finger along the ebony arm of the chair, well satisfied. The night of their arrival, Mariano had acknowledged treating his sister with respect did not necessitate any deviation from Verdaani customs. He had also conceded that once Ahkdul and Hudassan assumed the titles of Prince and Shah, his sister’s status would fall below theirs. It was just as well, since Ahkdul intended neither to curtail his extravagant habits nor bow to a woman. His wife served him.
“Lord Ahkdul is attended before others in his own home,” Safra corrected as Kordahla held a glass towards him.
“You will forgive me. Terlaan honours guests after its shah.” The goblet tilted in Kordahla’s hand, spilling a little drink.
“Do you yet feel ill?” Ahkdul asked with a frown. Without waiting for her answer, he addressed his mother. “Perhaps she should retire to her room until the wedding.”
“If she cannot keep her food down tomorrow, I will have a physic attend her, but it is inadvisable to indulge young brides in their nerves.” She turned to Kordahla. “I can see you shall need further instruction in etiquette. This carelessness will not do.” Safra directed her to put the silver serving dish down and gestured her into the chair between Ahkdul and Mariano. The princess perched on the edge, hands clasped in her lap, silent, head down. She did not fool him. That last was not humility. She would learn. Until then, she was a woman, fit to be ignored. He struck up a conversation on the pungent state of the lakes with Hudassan until Kahlmed tossed Brailen into the room.
The inept fool of a mage fell to his knees in front of the new shah. Just as well he knew his place well enough to cower at the whip Kahlmed placed in Hudassan’s hand.
His naïve betrothed gasped. It was a soberin
g sight, its tip caked with blood.
“Pain is a powerful motivator,” Ahkdul said. It was, after all, a lord’s duty to educate his wife. “I understand a few lashes have improved his control of magic.”
“You will entertain us, mage,” Hudassan said. At his gesture, an aging servant set a candle, a bowl of water, and a rope on the stone floor just beyond the rug. The old man turned to lift a cup from a tray on the sideboard to find Verdaan’s first mage had already claimed it. Brailen gulped its contents, tottered to the candle, and threw his hands wide.
Ahkdul grinned as Kordahla gripped the arms of her chair. “Your mahktashaan’s lessons were invaluable. He no longer sends things flying without intent.”
Brailen had no right to grin at her. It served him right he fell when Hudassan cracked the whip by his legs. The lad got up and cleared his throat. “Behold the feats of the mighty Brailen, my lords.” His composure was limited. That, at least, befitted his station. He pointed at the candle. The narrowing of his eyes might have been an act to impress. It was inconsequential when a flame sprouted on the wick. The candle rose into the air over the bowl, turned upside down and dipped until the wick was immersed. Ahkdul grunted. The control was remarkable. For once Hudassan was right: the boy had too much talent to squander in the bedroom. He licked his lips. He preferred younger, less obliging bedmates, but the smell of the lad reminded him of the pleasure he had not yet taken today.
In his chair, Hudassan strained forward. “What else can he do?”
Ahkdul licked his lips. Bragging would discredit him if the imbecile failed. “Show Lord Hudassan.”
The servant poured oil onto the bowl. Brailen set it alight and twisted the flames into a credible image of a jabberwei. Their exclamations did not distract him from levitating a parchment over the flames. The lad was learning. Or maybe not if he dared to float the paper burned with the fearsome image over to Kordahla.