Odan’s nephew Kip told me that his uncle was with Gaven in the kitchens, discussing the buffet for the reception with the cook. I couldn’t go into the kitchens—too much bustle, too much fire, too many breakable and spillable things—so I had Kip bring Odan and Gaven to meet me in the broad, empty, log-framed space of the nearby Old Great Hall. I pretended not to notice Kip stealing sweets intended for the buffet from a table by the open doors as we discussed preparations for the reception.
We were well into a debate about Raverran dancing etiquette when a sudden commotion rose up from the far end of the hall.
“Well? Answer me!” an angry voice demanded. Odan’s eyes flicked past me to the doors, and he let out a half-smothered exclamation.
I spun to see Voreth, the Alevaran envoy’s second, looming over Kip as the boy backed away, shaking his head.
“I don’t know. Honest!”
“You will address me as Honored Voreth, brat.” Voreth drew back his hand and slapped Kip across the face, the sound cracking across the Old Great Hall.
A tremor raced up my spine at the memory of a bearded face mottled with rage, and a small peach thief curled bloody and broken on the ground. The man I’d killed seventeen years ago had been a Greenwitch without the mark; it had been the conviction in his eyes that he was doing no wrong, that the magic in his blood gave him the right to hurt a little boy, that had sparked so much anger in me even then.
I was halfway across the hall before the echoes of the slap faded, my blood surging hot in my veins. Floorboards cracked beneath my steps with a sharp splintering sound, one after another.
“Voreth!” I roared. “How dare you!”
Voreth turned to face me, scowling. Kip’s face went white as new snow, and he fled.
He was afraid. Of me. That hit me like a bucket of ice water, cooling my rage to something cold and hard, like forged steel.
“Exalted Ryxander,” Voreth said, indignation lifting his voice, “that boy failed to offer me my proper title or the respect due a mage.”
I clenched my hands so tight my leather gloves creaked. “Count yourself lucky that I don’t hit you back,” I said.
He’d been warned about my power; he understood the threat. Anger flashed in Voreth’s eyes, and he lifted his chin. “I have seen no signs of any investigation into Exalted Lamiel’s death. This morning, I’ve taken it on myself to question your staff. Thus far, they have proven remarkably insolent and uncooperative.”
I advanced another step and stopped, not trusting myself within lunging range of him right now. “You mean they’ve proven loyal,” I said, my voice coming up from where my rage burned deep in my chest. “If you lay one hand on any of my staff again, you’ll have ten minutes to leave this castle before I set the chimeras on you. Is that clear?”
“This is outrageous,” he protested.
“Is it clear?” I held his gaze, not bothering to hide my contempt for him.
He met my stare for a moment. No mage mark appeared in his black eyes to match the lightning-blue circles in mine, however, and finally he glanced down at the floor.
“It is, Exalted Atheling.”
“Good.” I took a deep breath to settle myself. “I will overlook this grievance for now, for the sake of the negotiations. But I do not forget it.”
I turned on my heel and marched back toward Odan and Gaven, dismissing Voreth without a word. He could hold himself insulted for all I cared; I was done with him. I’d taken only a few steps when a door slammed behind me, announcing Voreth’s departure from the hall.
Odan stood tight-lipped. He’d come halfway across the hall behind me, stopping a safe distance from the confrontation once he’d seen Kip was all right. I had no doubt he wished he could have dressed down Voreth himself, and it pained him to have to leave that to me. There was no sign of Kip, but I had the vague sense of his life somewhere in the hall; probably hiding. I couldn’t blame him.
Gaven hurried over to stand beside Odan, bursting into applause with a vigor that suggested he’d rather be applying those slapping palms to Voreth’s face. “You tell him, Warden.”
“Are you sure that was wise, Exalted?” Odan asked.
“Yes,” I said, lingering anger roughening my voice.
“Perhaps, but we—” A scuffle sounded, and Odan’s eyes flicked behind me, widening. “Kip! No!”
The bright warmth of a small life lurched at me. I spun, breath freezing in my chest, as Kip burst blindly out from under the tablecloth where he’d been hiding, about to stagger into me as he flung himself toward his uncle for comfort.
Odan lunged toward him, crying out in alarm. Hell of Nightmares, I’d be caught between them.
I hurled myself to the side, heart exploding into a panicked gallop in my chest. Kip’s hand brushed the edge of my vestcoat, a mere inch from my leg, before Odan tackled him to the floor.
“Are you all right?” I demanded, scurrying backward. “Grace of Mercy! Are you both well?”
Odan rolled Kip into his arms, a stream of blistering curses coming from beneath his gray mustache.
“Ow,” the boy yelped, shaking out his hand. “It’s cold! So cold! Am I dying?”
My shoulders sagged with relief. If he could talk, he’d be fine.
“No, you’re not dying, idiot,” Odan growled, still holding the boy close. “Look where you’re going next time. Your mother will have my head on a pike if I let you get killed. You knew the Warden was in the room. What were you thinking?”
He smoothed the hair back from Kip’s face with a gentle hand. Gaven knelt down beside them both, clucking his tongue. “Let’s see your face, and that hand, Kip. Ah, you’re all right, but we should have a physician take a quick look at you.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice unsteady. “Thank the seasons you were quick, Odan. I’m so sorry.”
Odan’s jaw flexed, and he gave a short nod, but he didn’t speak or look at me. All his attention was locked on Kip. As it should be, but Gaven avoided my eyes as well, and his fingers flicked out from his chest.
“Avert,” he whispered.
There was nothing I could say to help; Kip stared at me in terror past his uncle’s shoulder, and my presence was only making things worse. I let my shaky legs carry me out of the hall.
My breath came high and fast, as if I’d sprinted up a hill. I’d almost killed a child. One of my own people, who I was bound to protect. An inch to the side, and Kip would be dead now.
It was only a matter of time until it happened again. Until I wasn’t fast enough, and someone else died. No amount of family pride or political independence was worth that. I squeezed my eyes shut, but Kip’s terrified face remained burned into my mind.
To Hells with politics. I wanted a jess.
Warm sunlight sifted down through the branches in the Round Room ceiling. Foxglove and Aurelio settled at the far end of the table, making appreciative noises at the service of tea and coffee I’d had set out for them. A lick of pride stirred in my chest at this small thing; I could be a good host, even with everything threatening to come apart all around me.
A restless guilt kept me from getting comfortable myself. I didn’t have time for this; the reception was coming up at noon, and I’d put off a meeting with Odan about increased security for the Black Tower and left Aunt Karrigan to play host to the envoys. Still, the chance to prevent more needless deaths had to come first.
“So,” I said, “the deal you’re offering is that if I join the Rookery, I get a jess.”
Foxglove stirred honey into his tea, the spoon clinking. “Essentially. I’d love to get you a jess without any strings attached, but when Raverra does a favor, they always seem to want something in return.”
I turned my own teacup in my hands, breathing in citrus-scented steam. “And that’s the problem. They can’t have me in return. I belong to Morgrain.”
Foxglove acknowledged this difficulty with a nod. “I understand that you can’t place yourself under Raverran authority. I’v
e clarified with my superiors that you could join us in an auxiliary role—you’d officially be an independent adviser. You could bow out of any mission if you felt there was a conflict with your duties as a noble of Vaskandar. And for that matter, you could quit and leave the Rookery at any time.”
“The Rookery isn’t truly under Raverran control anyway,” Aurelio put in. He poured himself coffee from its silver pitcher with the air of a man getting down to business—whether with me or his cup, I couldn’t be certain. “They take their political neutrality very seriously. Sometimes to the Serene Empire’s regret.” He grinned slyly at Foxglove, who shrugged.
“Who does the Rookery report to, exactly?” I asked.
“We operate under the authority of both the full Conclave of Vaskandran Witch Lords and the Raverran doge and Council of Nine.” Foxglove sipped his tea, his lids lowering with satisfaction. “Specifically, we report to the Crow Lord and the current holder of the Cornaro Council seat. They tend to allow us a lot of discretion so long as we don’t make them regret it.”
At least he hadn’t said the Shrike Lord. That would have been a problem. I took a cautious sip of tea, the citrus bright on my tongue against the underlying bitterness. “There’s one more problem. I can’t leave Gloamingard often. I’m not willing to relinquish my duties as Warden.”
Foxglove sighed and spread his hands. “Frankly, my lady, I’ll take what I can get. If we can call on you to help when we truly need your abilities, that’s enough for me.”
There was a carelessness to his tone that I didn’t trust; he wasn’t worried. I’d bet he thought that once I went on one or two missions—once I tasted what it was like to travel and use my powers to do meaningful things, and got to know the Rookery well enough to have real, actual friends—I’d be eager to do more. Hells, he probably wasn’t wrong. But if he thought that would get me to abandon my duties in Gloamingard and traipse about the world with the Rookery as if I really were running off with a traveling theater company—well, he didn’t know me.
If it would get me through the next several days of negotiations without having to worry about killing anyone, it was worth a try.
I let out a long breath, setting the steam above my tea to dancing. “All right, how does this work? We hear a lot of dark rumors about the jesses in Vaskandar, though my mother tells me most of them are dead wrong.”
Aurelio flashed me a quick grin at my implicit acceptance. “Well, some of those rumors might have been true centuries ago. Mages were conscripted against their will, and the jesses would kill you if your Falconer died and you didn’t get a new one. It hasn’t been like that for a hundred and fifty years, though.”
“That’s within my grandmother’s memory,” I pointed out. “Vaskandar doesn’t forget easily.”
“I assure you, it’s different now! There were a lot of reforms around the time of the War of Ashes.” Aurelio took a relishing gulp of coffee. “These days, imperial law only mandates that every mage with the mark receive a jess and a Falconer. After a bit of training, the Falconer usually leaves the mage’s power unsealed by default. Under normal circumstances, that’s the end of it, unless you choose to join the Falcons. The jess is there in case you use your magic to take up a life of crime or attempt to overthrow the government, and otherwise you’re free to go about your business. Since your power is so dangerous, however, the situation is a bit different.”
I gripped my teacup with both hands, the warmth seeping through the fine bone china into my fingertips. “I wouldn’t want to leave my power unsealed.”
“Indeed,” Foxglove said. “And since we’re hoping to use your unique talents on Rookery missions, Aurelio—or whatever Falconer you find acceptable—will have to come with us on such occasions, so he can release your power when it’s needed.”
“Is that what you want?” I asked Aurelio, anxious. “I can’t imagine this was what you had in mind when you joined the Falconers.”
Aurelio shook his head. “You’re right. It’s even better.”
I blinked. “Following me around? Are you sure?”
He leaned his elbows on the table, face serious. “This is why I joined the Falconers in the first place, Ryx. Because the best way to protect Raverra, the most powerful way to make a difference in the world, is through magic. And the Rookery is even better positioned to do that than the Falcons are. They deal with the most dangerous magic, on an international scale. This is how I can serve my country and make a difference.” His eyes shone. “Lord Urso will be proud.”
I tried not to show my relief. I knew no other Falconers, so if Aurelio had said no, I’d have had to contemplate giving control of my magic to a complete stranger. He was a friend, at least; I certainly wouldn’t mind spending more time in his company. Warmth flushed through me at the thought.
“And… you don’t mind being stuck with me?” I asked, trying an awkward smile.
“Are you kidding?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “I like you, Ryx. I’ll be honored to be your Falconer, and to see you get to put your magic to good use at last.”
I was more than a little wary of tying myself to so many new people and responsibilities. Aurelio and I would be magically linked, and while he was pretty to look at and one of the few friends I had, I’d be fooling myself if I pretended I truly knew him. And the Rookery… I’d seen the bonds between them. The closeness, the teasing, the way they worked as a group and relied on each other. I wanted that for myself—yearned after it with a pull relentless as the tide—but it was frightening, too.
Not as frightening as the idea of killing a child under my protection. It kept coming back to this: I couldn’t risk harm to my own people anymore.
I still didn’t know if I could trust the Rookery, but all I’d be giving them and Aurelio was the ability to stop me from using my magic. Given that I’d never actually wanted to use my magic in my twenty-one years of life, it seemed like an easy choice after all.
“All right, this could work.” Excitement grew in my chest like an expanding bubble. This was really happening. “As my Falconer, you’ll be able to seal and release my power?”
Aurelio nodded. “Anywhere I am in the world, if I say Exsolvo, your power is released, and if I say Revincio, your power is sealed. That’s all it takes.”
Revincio. One word, and my life would be changed. My pulse fluttered like a moth’s wings.
A horrifying thought occurred to me. “How can we be certain the jess will work on me, though? Won’t I drain the power from it?”
“It should be all right,” Aurelio said. “The precise function of the jesses is a secret, but my understanding is that they turn a mage’s attachment points or receptors for magic back inward onto each other to create the seal—like sticking magnets together. Instead of reaching out to grab and manipulate magical energy, you wind up essentially shaking your own hand. That way it doesn’t matter how powerful the mage is; they can’t overwhelm the jess by force, because all that force is simply directed back at itself in a circle.” He drew a ring in the air with his finger, then flashed an apologetic smile. “Or at least, that’s what they taught me in Falconer training.”
Foxglove cocked his head. “What about if you unseal the jess, though? If you say the release word, her powers become active again. Would she drain it then?”
Aurelio blinked. “I have no idea. That’s a good question. Jesses can replenish their own power, so I’d think that after a while out of contact with Ryx it’d restore itself, but I can’t be sure.”
“I’d be careful about when you unleash your magic.” Foxglove rubbed his chin. “It might be days or weeks before you could seal it again.”
“I don’t have any desire to unleash it until we absolutely need to,” I said, with feeling.
“So.” Aurelio reached carefully into an inner pocket of his uniform jacket and pulled out a slender, gleaming strip of gold. “Still sure you want to do this?”
He laid the jess on the dark wood between us: a bracelet of intr
icately woven gold wire, its branches and loops and coils forming a secret magical language, dotted with crimson beads like drops of blood. This pretty little piece of jewelry had the power to seal my broken magic, like a bandage on an open wound.
“I think so.” My fingers curled against my palms, nails biting into the soft leather tips of my gloves. In Vaskandar, many saw jesses as an abomination; placing control over a mage’s power in the hands of someone without magic upset the natural order. To voluntarily accept such degradation was inconceivable. My mother had given me another perspective, and I’d never had any reason to love my own magic, but I couldn’t help a certain gut-deep aversion to the idea of sealing off my power, even if my rational mind embraced it eagerly.
My family would be appalled when they found out. My grandmother might well forbid me to do this if she were here—but for better or worse, she wasn’t. And I was already a shame to my family. I might as well stop being a lethal hazard, too.
“Yes,” I said, with more conviction. “Let’s do this.”
Foxglove gave a slow nod, his amber eyes intent on me. “All it takes is for Aurelio to put the jess on your wrist.”
I pulled off my glove and held out my hand, my nerves singing with tension. “Please be very, very careful,” I said. “If you touch me before it’s active…”
Aurelio paled. “Good Graces. I hadn’t thought of that.”
He lifted the jess and expanded the shining loop of braided wire as wide as it would go, so that no loose end dangled beneath the bracelet. The sun set the red beads to sparkling.
“Can you slide your hand through there without touching me?” His mouth sounded dry. Graces knew mine was.
I nodded. “I think so. Keep very still.”
He held it out at arm’s length. The light on the beads winked as the jess trembled.
I held my breath, tucked in my thumb to make my hand as small as possible, and reached for the golden circle.
Don’t kill him. Don’t kill him. He’s the only person outside your family who’s not afraid of your power. Except the Rookery, and it was their actual job, so they didn’t count. Grace of Mercy, don’t let me kill him.
The Obsidian Tower Page 12