The White Mage’s sleeves rustled. Luca shivered again and winced with it. Then a warm, dry sensation began at the center of his back. Luca tensed, but the warmth spread steadily, calming the ache. Luca shifted, wanting to turn his head but knowing better.
“This is mage healing you’re feeling.”
Luca twitched before he could stop himself.
“You’ve probably heard it’s a rare and difficult thing. And it is. But what is less commonly known is that while it’s intended to treat magical injury, it can often speed the start of natural healing as well.” Luca caught a hint of motion in his peripheral vision and the warmth shifted to his shoulder. “It can’t replace your own healing, I’m sorry. But it will help.”
The sensation grew stronger until it covered most of his back, uncomfortably warm. Luca shifted on the chair. “If—”
“It will be unpleasant for a moment. Be patient.”
Luca had little choice, anyway. The heat increased steadily, prickling and stinging. Luca clenched his fingers on the chair.
“Nearly finished. Hold fast and be patient.”
Endure, Luca.
“There.” The heat vanished. “Stand and tell me how you feel.”
Luca obediently rose from the chair, cautious, but the anticipated agony did not come. As he straightened a dull ache pressed him, but nothing like what it had been. “It’s better. Much better. My lord.”
“Good.” The mage held out a stone dangling from a light chain. “Take this. It’s mostly spent, but it will do some good yet. It is already activated, all you need do is hold it over the pain.” He folded his arms with an understated flourish of white robe. “You’ll still have healing to do, of course, but that should have made up the first few days. Now, where is the commander?”
“He was called to the king, my lord.” Luca shifted his shoulders experimentally.
The mage nodded. “I am Ewan Hazelrig, the White Mage, as you can see. Tell him I’ll come again this afternoon.”
“Yes, my lord.” Luca stood straighter, pleased he could. “Thank you, my lord.”
Mage Hazelrig’s face tightened. “You’ll need rest, with that.” Before Luca could respond, he went directly to the door and closed it behind him.
Luca stared after him. It was his daughter, Luca thought, who had disappeared beneath the magical shield. He seemed genuinely grieved.
He moved, testing his back. He hurt, but he could function without the disabling swelling and pain of before. He had heard of mage healing, and it was unthinkable a mage would bless a mere slave with it. But he had.
Luca needed to wash his filthy clothing of blood and prison muck and to bathe himself as best he could, but there was nothing like a tub in the commander’s quarters. Clearly his master used other facilities. He must wait.
It was strange and worrisome to sit quietly. He had not been allowed idleness since the cuffs had first been fitted on his wrists.
Do your best, Luca. It will be all right. While you yet breathe, Luca, there is hope. Don’t forget that.
“Liar,” Luca whispered.
The door opened, and Luca pushed himself upright. His master closed the door and then sagged against the frame. He moved his hand to his side, supporting his ribs in a manner Luca recognized immediately. But who would dare to hurt such a man?
The commander leaned against the wall with his eyes closed, wrapping his other arm about the first. Then he opened his eyes and looked at Luca, startled. “You. I’d forgotten about you.”
Luca did not know how to respond. “Would you like something, master?”
He closed his eyes again. “Not from you.” His voice was quiet, almost sad. Not dangerous. “You’re doing well.”
It could not be wise to speak of the mage healing. “Yes, master.” He cleared his throat. “The White Mage came. He said he would return this afternoon.”
“Hm.”
He was not thinking of the White Mage. “Please sit, my lord,” Luca tried. The longer he stood with whatever hurt he had, the more he would lash out later.
To his surprise, the commander nodded and eased himself away from the wall. He sank into the chair with a little intake of breath.
He had not asked for drink or medicine. “Are—are you injured, master? What would you have me bring?”
He was short of breath; it hurt him to breathe. “I don’t think I can ignore this one.” Becknam unlaced his tunic, sliding the woven shirt to the side and exposing the skin. Deep purpling had already formed. The commander swore in a whisper. “I can’t hide this.”
“How should it be treated?”
He shook his head. “Broken ribs, or near enough. Nothing to do but let them heal.”
Something warm might ease the hurt. There was a small towel beside the drinking water, and Luca soaked it before hanging it over the edge of the brazier. I don’t think I can ignore this one. This was not the first time.
Becknam was quiet. When the wet towel began to steam, Luca folded it with quick, stinging fingers. Then he glanced at the commander and reached into his waistband, bringing out the little stone amulet.
It would be purest folly to reveal the mage healing. No one would condone a slave receiving such a thing.
But this man, whatever he may be, had taken Luca from the prison and treated him rather than leaving him to recover on his own. In Chrenada, the lowest slaves were not much more expensive than medicine.
And it was dangerous to serve a man in pain. Renner had not been cruel by nature; it was the pain and the drink he took for it that had made him harsh. It was better to have a hale master.
Luca folded the amulet into the hot damp cloth, hiding it completely. It would do its work without revealing the healing.
He offered the hot compress with two hands. “Here, master.”
The commander looked flatly at him. “Don’t call me that.” He laid the towel gingerly across his battered ribs. “I don’t like the way you say it.”
“I’m sorry, master—my lord.” Luca retreated a step, judging the commander’s reach was shortened by his injury. “How would you prefer I address you?”
“I don’t care. Wait.” He shifted the towel, wincing. “There are enough who call me lordship or sir. They call me other things behind my back. I want you to call me something else.”
“Master,” Luca offered, anxious to show compliance.
The commander shook his head. “The way you say it reeks of the high priest.” He flexed his fingers on his leg. “There is no one anymore to call me by name. Call me Shianan.”
Luca blinked. “But—!”
The commander took no offense at his blurted protest. “Master Shianan, then, if you must hold rank.” He looked at Luca. “Go on, try it.”
It was a trap, a trap, it had to be a trap…. Luca swallowed and knelt, ducking his head. “Master Shianan.”
“Get up!”
Luca jumped, pain snapping at his back. His master scowled as he got to his feet. “Don’t do that again. ‘Soats, one would think I’d been the one to pare out your backbone. I hate that Ande, do you understand? I don’t want to be reminded of him, and I don’t want to be treated as him.” He made a small, savage gesture, cut short to spare his ribs. “Now say it.”
Luca’s mouth was dry. “Master Shianan.”
“Again.”
“Master Shianan.”
“See? Now, ‘I hate the high priest.’ Say it.”
Luca opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
“Do you want to go back in the cell with him? Say it!”
“I hate the high priest.”
“Louder.”
“I hate the high priest.”
Shianan scowled. “I hardly believe you.” He adjusted the towel on his ribs. “You might have more conviction— ”
The towel wrinkled, and a thin chain fell into view. Curious, Shianan lifted the towel, and the amulet slipped free. Luca reached to catch it, but Shianan was faster, snatching it from the air as it fel
l. Luca’s heart sank as Shianan studied it. “Is this what I think it is?”
Luca’s knees trembled.
Shianan closed his fingers around the amulet. “Are you a thief?”
Luca sank to the floor, bowing his head. “No, master, no, the White Mage brought it—I did not steal it….”
The commander would strike him. Luca squeezed his eyes closed, his back quivering.
“Get up.” His master’s voice was thick with disgust. “It would be madness to steal a healing amulet. I don’t believe you’d attempt it. And you couldn’t activate it. Quit groveling.”
Luca looked up.
“Get up, I said.”
“Yes, master.”
“Yes, Master Shianan,” Shianan corrected. “Now the other one—I hate the high priest.”
Luca obeyed. “I hate the high priest.”
His master smiled grimly. “I’m not trying to entrap you. To the contrary—let me show you how it is done.” His expression deepened into fury, and Luca’s stomach clenched. But Shianan sat still in the chair, only his eyes flaring as he spoke. “I hate the high priest.”
Luca edged back.
“I will even tell you why: he deceived us. The annual ritual should have been harmless, and he never mentioned more. He lied by omission and unmade the shield.” He swallowed fiercely. “And Ariana—Lady Ariana is gone. He killed her. However indirectly, he killed her.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and Luca dared not move.
Finally he opened them and spoke again. “And that,” he said, “is why I hate Flamen Ande. I know it does no good to hate him from here, but still I do.” He exhaled. “And so you see, Luca, there is no trap when I tell you to say what you must surely feel.”
“Master—Master Shianan—”
“Go on, say it. Didn’t you ever want to strike back?”
Luca had thought often of knocking back Renner and running away, but he had been always chained to the cart, and even had he escaped, anyone in wrist cuffs and the Furmelle collar would have been apprehended immediately. When Ande took him, he had resisted a few times—paying dearly—and dreamed faintly of vengeance, but…. Daily humiliation had overwhelmed him, and he could hardly remember the ideas he’d harbored. “I did,” he finally answered, “at first.”
Shianan sighed. “I did, too.” He looked at Luca. “We’re of an age, you and I, or close enough, and it’s too old to be crawling or crying for others. I cannot change what I must do, but I don’t require it of you. Don’t kneel and scrape all the time, do you understand? I can’t stand it. Just keep a healthy respect and that will be enough.”
“Yes, Master Shianan.” He took a breath. “What are my duties?”
“‘Soats, I don’t know.” Shianan looked about the quarters. “My laundry is done in the military washhouse. My meals, such as they are, are in the barracks kitchen. I sweep out this place once a week or so.” He shrugged. “Stay out of the way, I suppose. But do nothing, not even that, until you’ve had a chance to heal that back.”
Luca registered the chores listed. “Thank you, Master Shianan.”
“And sit down already. You make me nervous, hovering.” Shianan shifted the towel on his ribs. “This is cold.”
“I’ll reheat it.” Luca took the towel and turned to the brazier.
A knock at the door interrupted him. Luca started toward it just as Shianan called, “Come!”
The White Mage pushed back the door. “Your lordship?”
Shianan rose and smoothed his shirt to hide the bruising. “Please come in. Luca, there’s another chair in the office. Bring it, if you would.”
Hazelrig eyed Luca critically. “Should he be moving so freely yet?”
“I can, my lord. I will bring the chair.”
It was not a fine chair and weighed little, but his back twinged as he carried it. Still, he could hardly complain, given what should have been. He placed the chair for the two men and retreated a few steps as Shianan sank gratefully into his seat.
“I have been testing the between-worlds for traces of travel.” Hazelrig looked at Luca. “Your lordship, perhaps we should go to discuss this privately.”
A shadow crossed Shianan’s face at the thought of moving. “My lords,” Luca blurted, “you need not leave when I can go. I will wait in the office, if I may?”
He had startled Shianan. “That will be fine. If anyone enters, say I am in conference with the White Mage.”
“Yes, master.” Luca went out.
He leaned against the scarred desk with a flicker of satisfaction. He had spared his master discomfort and embarrassment, and surely, surely Master Shianan would think well of him. He touched the collar at his throat, careful of the swollen bruising beneath it. His new master had been at Furmelle, but he had not yet accused Luca of its associated traits. Perhaps he thought Luca wrongly seized, or maybe reformed by his punishment.
Papers littered the desk. Luca browsed some to pass the time, but there was nothing interesting, only notes regarding the replenishment of a supply house, additional training needed in the fourth squad, and a few reports to approve.
It was not long before the mage came, exhausted and unhappy. Luca let him out and returned to his master’s quarters. Shianan slumped in the chair, his eyes gazing vaguely at the point where the wall met the floor. Luca went to the brazier for the towel, warm and steaming again, and offered it wordlessly.
Shianan lowered his face to press knuckles hard into his forehead, setting his jaw, and Luca realized his master was fighting tears. It was too late to return and pretend to fuel the brazier.
Shianan winced as his ribs shifted and he brushed his arm over his face. “Thanks,” he muttered, taking the warm towel. “It does help.” He frowned suddenly, almost forcefully, grasping anything to take his attention. “How is your back, then? I suppose I should see this mage healing. For he did give it to you, right?”
“Yes, master—Shianan.”
“Well, find me the ointment. There’s no point to both of us being impaired.”
Shianan wiped his eyes again. Luca pretended not to see.
“Sit,” Shianan snapped gruffly. “Low, and let me see you.”
Luca knelt with his back to Shianan’s chair. He could almost feel his scrutiny of the half-closed weals and taut scabbing.
“This is much better.” Shianan dipped into the ointment and began to work along the shoulder, his brisk, impersonal reach hampered by his cracked ribs. “Much better. I wish we had another amulet.” He paused. “I wish there were an amulet to heal the world itself. It might correct all that has gone wrong. Maybe to close the between-worlds….” His voice trailed into silence.
“Master….” Luca swallowed. “When the shield—when it—at that moment, inside the light, I thought…. I thought I saw a Ryuven.”
Shianan’s fingers convulsed and then closed firmly on his shoulder, making Luca wince. When his voice came, a long moment later, it was hoarse and terrifying. “Don’t ever say that again.”
Icy fear hissed through Luca, but he knew better than to struggle against the hand on his shoulder. “Yes, master.”
“What made you mention that?”
He had just been forbidden to speak of it, and Luca did not know how to answer correctly. “I only—I thought you should know if I saw a Ryuven. That is all!”
The fingers relaxed. “I didn’t mean—yes, we are all to report any Ryuven we sight. But there could not have been a Ryuven within the shield, could there? They would only consider your report mere raving by a pain-maddened slave whose blood destroyed the shield, and whose blood might be useful in remaking it.”
Luca stopped breathing.
“No, I don’t intend to suggest it. But you shouldn’t draw attention to yourself.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Luca had expected—had hoped—Shianan would say there of course had been no Ryuven in the cellar, the idea was ridiculous. But Shianan had told him quite differently.
“There,” Shia
nan said, dropping the little jar of ointment. “You’re finished. I hope that amulet does half as well for me. I have to lead training next.”
Chapter 23
Daranai’s house was not so fine as the Palace of Red Sands, but it was grand enough to dominate the tree-lined boulevard on which it sat. Tamaryl pulled the bell cord.
A handsome dark-skinned Ryuven opened the door. He looked at Tamaryl without recognition. “I will tell Daranai’rika she has guests,” he said. “Please come inside…?”
“This is Tamaryl’sho,” said Maru a little sharply.
The servant’s eyes widened. “Please wait in the patio. I will inform Daranai’rika immediately.” He gestured toward the shaded area and fairly fled.
Tamaryl walked to the fountain, watching the water splash into the worked stone basin. “Oniwe’aru said she has not joined,” he said softly.
Maru nodded. “She has courted and been courted, from what little I’ve heard, but nothing more.”
“Tamaryl’sho!” Her voice cut through the cool air of the patio, amplified by the tiled floor. “Tamaryl’sho, are you really here?”
He turned as she swept toward him. “Daranai’rika.”
“Tamaryl’sho, I am so glad!” She stopped short a few feet from him, perhaps a little startled. “You must have only just returned.” There was a subtle aura of glamour about her, as always. She liked to highlight her natural beauty. And she was beautiful.
“Only a short while ago.”
“And you came first to see me. I am so pleased.” Her eyes traveled past Tamaryl to where Maru stood at the edge of the patio, pretending to be interested in some colored fish. “What did Oniwe’aru say? Is—is all well?”
“I am restored,” he answered obliquely.
“That’s wonderful!” She threw her arms around him, her wide wings stretching behind her. She was taller than Tamaryl, of course, and he was glad to lean into her smooth skin. “Then it will be as it was?”
Her sunset-gold hair draped and clung to him. “I am leaving in the morning. I have been given a task in Aktonn and then in Holbruc.”
“So soon? When will you be back?”
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