The Queen of Mages

by Benjamin Clayborne

Two days after the Inn of the Western Well, Amira suddenly announced that they would go for a picnic in the countryside. Katin’s plea that they stay on the road was brushed aside.

  They rented horses from a farm they happened upon. Both mares seemed pleasant enough when the farmer brought them out, but that didn’t last an hour. Katin’s horse bounced through the grass, bruising Katin’s rear and changing direction so often that Katin wondered if the beast was going mad. Only because they were now miles from the stable did she stay atop the foul creature. Amira rode a little ways ahead, and of course her horse was obedient and graceful.

  At least the day was pleasant. They wound along beside a burbling stream, heading slightly uphill through grassy gullies beyond the farm. Huffman, the driver, brought up the rear of their little party, perched on one of his draft horses and concentrating on staying upright. He was a poor rider for such an excellent coachman. Katin kept looking back to check on him, hoping he didn’t fall and break something.

  They found a quiet meadow beside a crook in the stream. In the shade of a sycamore, they weighted down a blanket with rocks. Everything in the basket tied to Katin’s saddle had been bought at farms, inns, and little markets along the road: cold spicy sausage, fresh crusty bread, a jar of honey and another of strawberry jam, dried apricots and peaches and walnuts.

  Huffman loomed, wringing his hands as Amira and Katin lounged on the blanket, nibbling on chunks of apricot. After a while Amira sighed and commanded the coachman to sit down and enjoy himself. Katin didn’t think the man had the capacity to actually express happiness, but he did look grateful to rest on something that wasn’t constantly moving.

  Katin watched her lady discreetly as they ate. Amira had avoided Katin’s questions the morning after the Inn of the Western Well. She insisted the fire had just been an accident. Katin wasn’t so sure.

  It frustrated her that Amira was so cavalier with what she’d been given. Valmir’s offer of marriage had saved them both from a harder life, but it had been Katin who’d gained the most benefit from it. Amira’s only duty had been to help her mother run the brothel, and Amira would some day have inherited it. She’d never have to lay with men for money, as Katin had. Amira’s insistence that Katin come along as her maid had been the sweetest thing she’d ever heard.

  But Amira’s carelessness could ruin them. She was a noblewoman now, and she needed to act the part. Her impulsive girlishness had to be put away. Valmir was not here to protect them; his sudden death had left Amira a widow at the ripe old age of nineteen.

  “What a lovely day,” Amira mused, startling Katin. “It does make one appreciate the countryside more, spending so much time as we do in the city.”

  “Yes, all this greenery is just fascinating. Does m’lady have some plan in mind, or shall we continue on westward until we’re swimming in the sea?” Amira threw an apricot at her, but Katin batted it aside, sticking her tongue out. Huffman looked appalled that a vala would disrespect her lady so, but she’d known Amira for a long time before the girl became a noble, or even a merchant’s wife.

  Amira stood, planting her hands on her hips and taking deep breaths. Finally she strode off toward the stream. Huffman, alarmed, dropped his food to follow her, but Katin stopped him with a hand on his arm. “M’lady is twenty paces off. I believe she can make the trip back unaided.” The coachman stared after Amira, dubious, but finally the tension went out of his legs and he settled back.

  Amira watched the stream for a while, holding very still. Katin watched the sunlight glint off her lady’s golden hair, and listened to the leaves fluttering in the branches above. It was easy to forget her troubles here, she had to admit. But then she began to consider the real threats that might appear: wild animals, bandits, sudden storms. She kept glancing at the distant trees, nervous that any sign of movement might herald an attack.

  Suddenly Amira’s hand flew to her temple and she staggered. At the same moment, a splash erupted from the stream, and a puff of steam billowed up from it. This time Huffman was up like a shot, long strides taking him to Amira in seconds. Katin was close behind. “Come back and sit, m’lady,” she said over Huffman’s “Are you all right, m’lady?”

  Amira nodded, and followed them back to the picnic without a word. She sat down and cast an eye at Katin. “Did you see?”

  See? See what? The splash? She glanced back at the stream, which flowed placidly along. “Yes, it’s a very pretty stream,” she offered. What in the world is going on?

  Amira ate again, and they passed another hour by the stream before Katin suggested it might be time to return. The sun was drooping down, and it would take a while to reach the farm and find somewhere to sleep. Katin did not relish the prospect of spending the night in a hayloft.

  ———

  Night had almost fallen before they found another inn, this one much smaller and in worse repair than the Inn of the Western Well. Their travels had brought them halfway to Bridger’s Rush, and Katin hoped Amira would turn them around after this night. She wanted the safety of their manse again, no matter how badly Callaston smelled.

  The Smiling Willow’s innkeeper sweated constantly from his rolls of fat, and despite Katin’s attempts to bargain, he claimed he had only one room available, and that one smaller than Katin’s cell in the manse. Amira wearied quickly of their haggling, and she snapped at them until Katin gave up, paid the man, and escorted her lady to the common room.

  Amira devoured two large bowls of beef and carrot stew, and all the bread the cook could bring. Katin had never seen her so famished as on this trip. Normally she ate lightly and exercised regularly, always insisting how important it was to keep herself slim. Perhaps it was just the excitement of a trip into the countryside, but Amira had been acting so peculiar the last few days. Even for her.

  The meal much improved Amira’s mood, but by the time they got to their room Katin was completely out of sorts. She shut the door and turned to her lady. Amira had only really been a lady for less than a year, and they’d known each other so much longer than that, that in private they treated one another as equals. Usually.

  Katin would have to be blunt. Amira was excellent at turning aside conversations to suit her own ends. “Amira, what is the matter with you? You’ve been acting very strange since we left Callaston.”

  Amira did not look at her. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, the fire at the other inn. The… the whatever that was, at the stream today. And you’re eating like a horse.” Suddenly a terrible thought seized her. “Amira! Are you pregnant?”

  Amira’s eyes bulged. “No! Oh, my goodness, no. You know I haven’t been with a man since Valmir.”

  “Well… not that I know of… I just…” Katin flinched inwardly. Of course Amira couldn’t be pregnant, why had she said something so stupid?

  “When would I have had time? You’re with me practically every moment. And why would I hide that from you, of all people?” But Amira did not seem displeased. On the contrary, she met Katin’s eyes now, smiling. “I have something to show you. But help me undress first.”

  Katin did so. Amira shook out her hair and flexed her fingers. “Blow out that candle.” She went to stand by the door as Katin looked at the little candle sitting on the bedside table. She blew it out, though the stand-lamp near the door still cast soft shadows through its frosted glass globe. Amira ignored it, focusing on the candle from across the room. “Watch.”

  Katin wondered what Amira could be up to. Perhaps she’s learned how to breathe fire, like that magician we saw last Wintergift.

  Amira stared at the candle for a long minute. Then her hand came slowly up, as if to reach for something, but she did not move forward. The candle suddenly flared back alight.

  Katin jerked back from it. “What the—” She gulped down a curse. “How did you do that?”

  “Blow it out again.” Katin hesitated, but obeyed, and waited a few more seconds as Amira stared intensely at the candle, as if she could light it by sh
eer force of will. The wick burst into flame again. This time Amira’s hand never left her side.

  If she hadn’t known Amira for so many years, she would likely have fled the room screaming. But something held her in check. Trust, perhaps. She swallowed her pride with a dry mouth, and made a silent prayer to the Aspect of Courage. “Tell me what is going on,” she pleaded.

  “The headaches,” Amira said, drifting over to sit down beside Katin on the bed. Her eyes looked a little red, and she drooped as if sleepy. “The last few days… I can see the pain, in my head. It appears as a, a little ember, perhaps. A little orange ball of flame in my mind’s eye. But it’s not just my imagination. It moves. I can move it. And when I push…” She flicked her fingers at the candle. “The pain goes away… and that happens.”

  Katin understood all the words, but together it made no sense. “You can start fires with your mind?”

  Amira smirked. “I’m glad you understand.”

  Katin groped for something to say. “The headaches… are they getting worse?”

  “On the contrary, they’ve been getting better since that first inn. That one was the worst yet. I felt like my head would split open. When you went to get the food, I ended up writhing on the floor…” She stopped and hugged herself for a moment. “That was the worst pain I’d ever felt. Worse than anything.” She took a shuddering breath, and Katin saw a tear fall from one eye. Amira wiped it away quickly. “But since then, they’ve been getting better. And the ember has been getting brighter.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Katin demanded. The bitterness in her voice surprised her, and she bit her tongue to hold back another outburst.

  Amira paid it no mind. “It’s only been three days, dear. I’m just getting a handle on this myself.” She leaned over and blew out the candle. Seconds later it burned again. “The ember seems to persist now, and my head barely hurts at all.”

  Katin’s gut clenched. This was a disaster. “We have to go back to Callaston. At once. It’s not safe to stay here.”

  “We need sleep,” Amira said, yawning. It was barely full dark, out through the windows. “We can decide in the morning what we’ll do next.” She yawned again. “I get so exhausted after doing that a few times.” She curled up on the bed, her head resting against Katin’s hip. Katin wanted to talk to her more, to find out what this madness truly was, but Amira was asleep in seconds, snoring softly.

  Katin gently lowered Amira’s head onto a pillow. She paced for a while, thinking. We must keep this hidden. No one can ever know. The prospect of keeping this secret for years or decades felt like a crushing weight. Someone would find out eventually, and what then? They’d lose everything, be outcast, or burned for witches, or, or… She had a vision of an angry mob outside their manse, throwing torches through the windows, and she shuddered.

  And Amira wouldn’t make it easy. She’d want to experiment and practice with this power. She would never ignore something this interesting; it would be another adventure to her.

  ———

  In the morning they found Huffman in the common room eating breakfast. He grumbled politely about the filthy spot in the stable where he’d put down his bedroll, and Amira promised him a room of his own at any further inns. Huffman nodded in gracious surprise, and went out to look after his horses. Katin clenched her jaw. The girl was too free with money, even if she did have a lot of it.

  Breakfast this morning was oily sausage and fried potatoes. Amira stared down at them, concentrating. “M’lady, what are you doing?” Katin muttered.

  Amira shushed her. “I fancy blackened sausage,” she said with a glint in her eye.

  “Amira, no—” There was a pop and Katin felt a wave of heat on her face. One side of the sausage turned black instantly, but then the pool of oil it sat in caught fire. Amira yelped and lurched backward, toppling over in her chair and crashing to the floor. The common room’s only other diner twisted around in his chair to look, bushy black eyebrows raised in surprise. Katin shouted at him, “Help! Fire!”

  The man darted across the room, bringing a cloth napkin. He smothered the flames, splashing oil everywhere and knocking sausage onto the floor, but the fire went out quickly. The cook burst out of the kitchen, waving her spoon and demanding to know what had happened.

  Katin came to Amira’s side, helping her up. There were no candles or lamps lit in here, as it was morning. “There must have been a hot ember in the oil,” she said quickly. The cook stared, incredulous, but Katin made noises about her lady needing to recover and ushered Amira out at once. Amira was still blinking, confused, and let herself be pulled along.

  Katin slammed the door to their room. “What in the black spirits is wrong with you?” She fought to keep from shouting, but it was a near thing. “Can’t you go one day without doing something so… so reckless?”

  “I’m sorry,” Amira snapped. “I had to. Using it makes the pain go away.”

  “I thought you said there was hardly any more pain!”

  “I lied!” Amira shouted. “It’s getting better, I swear, but it still hurts. I didn’t want you to worry any more than you had to.”

  “I have to do all the worrying, because you never do,” Katin bit out. “Amira, don’t you realize how dangerous this is? If someone finds out about this… You have to talk to me. We have to work together, or the world will drag us down into the muck again.”

  “I was never in the muck,” Amira sniffed at her.

  Katin turned away and pounded a fist on the wall to keep herself from slapping Amira instead. She said nothing, trying to let her anger ebb.

  After a minute, she heard Amira sigh behind her. “I’m sorry, Katin. I just… I forget that I’m not really a lady.”

  “You are a lady,” Katin countered, turning to face her. “By law and custom.”

  “But I was never born to it. I never learned how.”

  “Well you’ve fooled all the other nobles,” Katin said. “This… this power you have. You have to be careful. We have to be careful. Promise me you won’t do anything that stupid again.”

  “I’m not stupid,” Amira whispered at her, eyes downcast.

  “Promise me,” Katin insisted. When Amira nodded slightly, Katin went on. “And promise me we’ll go back to Callaston. Today. Not tomorrow, not after another picnic in the woods or another inn almost burned down.” Amira nodded again, and sat down on the bed, seeming to draw into herself.

  Katin hated to browbeat her closest friend, but she had no choice. Amira would never learn caution otherwise, and Katin could not watch her every second.

  She fetched her coin purse and went back to the common room. A young boy kneeled on the floor, scrubbing at it where bits of flaming sausage had left char marks, as the cook watched over him. Katin apologized for her lady’s clumsiness and offered a few pieces of silver for their trouble.

  The cook accepted them. “You’d best be gone soonest,” she said irritably.

  ———

  Huffman had them on the road within an hour. Katin directed him east, back toward Callaston, as Amira sat quietly in the coach, hands folded on her lap.

  They rolled through the countryside in silence. Amira looked out the window from time to time, but mostly sat studying her hands. Katin had felt righteous and commanding when they left the inn, but those feelings had faded. Now she just felt acid climbing her throat.

  A wall of storm clouds passed by them to the south. Cold wind curled in through the windows, but they were spared rain. They ate in the coach as it bumped along, and in the late afternoon came back through a village they’d stopped at the day before. When Amira spoke, she startled Katin out of a drowsy reverie.

  “I want to stop there.” She pointed at a little temple by the side of the road, isolated from the other buildings. “To pray.”

  Katin reflexively wanted to deny her, but instead she said, “Fine. I’ll go in with you.”

  If Amira was surprised, she didn’t show it. Katin had no use for t
he Niderium, not after a childhood spent praying for salvation that would never come. Only luck and her own hard work had saved her from the perils of Cleavesport’s streets. Where had the Caretaker been, all those years? She never saw the Aspect of Joy, or Ardor, or Sacrifice. Her world was nothing but Terror and Despair, and her own Courage. She would not credit the Caretaker with that.

  But she was not going to let Amira out of her sight until the girl learned to restrain herself. Not that she could stop Amira from using this strange power of hers, but maybe Katin’s presence would remind Amira to be more careful.

  The temple’s long entryway led past the usual altars to the sacred circle beyond. Her lady knelt down at the altar of Despair, clasping her hands on the edge of the stone, almost touching the little statue of the mouse. Katin stood back a ways, watching. There was no one else present, not even the steward. He was probably in the privy.

  Katin listened for a while as Amira whispered to herself. She probably chose Despair to make me feel bad, Katin groused. I’d pray if there was an Aspect of Slapping Sense into People.

  The steward appeared a few minutes later, bowing when he saw them but otherwise leaving them undisturbed, much to Katin’s relief. She’d sought help from Niderines when she was a child, but the priests never had more to offer than comforting words and prayers. How were prayers supposed to feed an empty belly?

  Eventually Amira stood up, wiping her eyes. They were red, Katin saw, but now she had a look of determination and marched straight out the door. Amira said nary a word for the rest of the day’s ride, but her dejection had vanished, and she stared clear-eyed out the window as the coach rolled along.

  ———

  They reached Callaston two days later. Amira’s mood had thawed a bit by then, and Katin was able to make some conversation with her, for which she felt grateful. In the silence Katin had started to feel an unbearable loneliness.

  The house servants all fussed over Amira from the instant she stepped out of the coach. Katin let them, keeping her distance. Amira was her closest friend, but she was becoming something else as well. Something disquieting.

  She helped Amira settle in, then went over the letters that had arrived in their absence. A few dinner invitations, and several from gentlemen who wished to accompany Amira to the royal ball. She took them to Amira, who flipped through them. “Ugh. No. No. Oh, here’s Count Vondulian again. I’m surprised that old prune wasn’t camped on the doorstep when we arrived. Will he never give up?”

  “Some men cherish the chase,” Katin said.

  They had not been home an hour when Countess Besiana Tarian’s vala showed up with an invitation to luncheon the next day.

  “The woman pounces the moment I return,” Amira said.

  “You’ve put her off long enough, m’lady. It won’t do to make enemies of the neighbors.”

  Amira sighed. “Fine. One more tedious introduction won’t kill me. Let’s meet this son of hers.”

  CHAPTER 4

  LIAM