The Queen of Mages

by Benjamin Clayborne

Dardan paced from one end of the sitting room to the other. Thirteen steps each way. Across, and back. He half expected to see a rut worn into the carpet.

  Liam stood by the door, opposite one of Amira’s other servants, Sara or something. The girl seemed to quake with fright every time Dardan came near. “More tea, m’lord?” she squeaked.

  “I don’t want any blasted tea, I want to see Lady Amira!” he barked at her. The girl blanched and scurried out the door, lukewarm tea almost splashing out of the pot she carried.

  Liam, for once, held his jests. Dardan was in a truly foul mood. Amira’s early departure from the ball had been disappointing enough, but then he’d had to endure taunting from some other lordlings once he’d returned without her. Skender Faroa had been there, naturally, and while he hadn’t said anything, his smirk told all. Dardan had burned with embarrassment and forced himself to walk away from the duke’s son.

  He’d never wanted to go to the ball anyway, and with Amira gone, he’d had no reason to hang about. He made his excuses to his mother, but extricating himself from the party took longer than he’d hoped: a number of noble matrons had noticed his companion’s departure, and must have thought there’d been a falling out. They’d descended upon him with invitations to breakfasts, luncheons, dinner parties. He’d recklessly accepted any number of them in order to escape. Now he’d have to spend another week or more in this appalling city.

  At home, he’d found he couldn’t sleep. He sat at his window, staring across at the drawn curtains of Amira’s manse. He’d had to admit to himself that he had enjoyed Amira’s company, but it was muted by his resentment at being abandoned. After a while he’d gone to bed and drifted into fitful sleep.

  Morning had come too soon, after dreams of running through a field with hundreds of matrons chasing after him, all carrying their naked daughters on their shoulders. It should have been erotic, but within the dream he’d been terrified.

  Etiquette demanded that he call on Amira to see if she was well, even though he’d been terribly embarrassed by her departure. Sara had shown him to the sitting room, and soon Amira’s vala arrived to inform him that her lady was still unwell, but might soon attend on him if her spirits improved.

  Well, it had been long enough, near on an hour. Making a gentleman caller wait was a favorite pastime of noble Garovan ladies, but this was becoming intolerable.

  Footsteps approached, and Amira’s vala came in again. She gave an odd look at Liam, then took a deep breath and focused her gaze on Dardan. “M’lord, Lady Amira is feeling somewhat better. Pray wait a few more minutes for her to dress, and she will attend you presently.”

  Dardan knew he should try to be polite, but he snapped anyway. “Yes, well, I’ve waited this long, what could another few minutes possibly hurt?”

  Sara would probably have fainted at his tone, but Katin just raised an eyebrow. “M’lord might recall that Lady Amira is not choosing to waste m’lord’s time. She was severely unwell last night and m’lord would best reconsider his tone if he wishes to meet my lady today.” She whirled around and nearly stomped out.

  Dardan was aghast. “The insolence—!” But then he glanced at Liam, who appeared to be having a convulsive fit. It took Dardan a moment to realize that his valo was trying, and failing, to conceal great mirth. “Liam!” he shouted.

  It took several moments for Liam to compose himself. He leaned on the wall and took several deep breaths before turning to face his master. His mouth twitched a few times but he managed not to burst out again. “Yes, m’lord?”

  Dardan almost berated him, but stopped himself. It would just make Liam laugh more. Curse the man, he’s got the better attitude for this. Why can’t I have such composure? The only time he ever saw Liam raise his voice or grow irritable was in the malthouse, which was exactly the place for it. Liam would never shout impatiently at an innocent maidservant.

  He collapsed onto a couch and sighed. “Never mind.” He didn’t feel like apologizing or explaining. He just wanted this to be over.

  Finally, the Caretaker be praised, Katin entered again, followed by her lady. Dardan rose at once. Katin showed no further signs of hostility, her face a serene mask. Instead she stared at the ceiling, not noticing Liam, who in turn pretended not to stare at her.

  Amira wore a simple blue linen dress, her hair combed out straight and held by a plain silver clip. She was still radiant, if a bit drawn. But she smiled to see Dardan, and took his hand. “My lord, thank you ever so much for concerning yourself with my welfare this day.”

  He nodded, bowing low over her hand. He stopped short of kissing it; this was not the right time for that. But he felt much better just seeing her. It was hard to retain his animosity in the face of her beauty. “I was distressed to see you depart last evening,” he said, leading her over to one of the couches, where they sat. “I hope—”

  A pounding came from the entry. They all swung their heads to look. Katin was nearest the door and leaned out. What now? The pounding came again, and someone else rushed past in the hall, followed by the sound of the front door opening. “May I help you?” he heard Sara say, and then she cried out.

  Dardan shot to his feet, and Liam was already moving toward the doorway. His dagger had appeared in his hand, a short-bladed dirk he kept in a sheath at the small of his back, under his coat. Dardan had never seen him actually use it in anger, and had only seen him draw it twice before.

  Loud booted footsteps echoed in the hall. Liam pulled Katin behind him and backed into the room. A man in helmet and armor appeared in the doorway, wearing a checked coat of purple and blue over mail and leather. His sword was sheathed at his side.

  The guard glanced around, then stepped aside and nodded. A swarthy, mustachioed man, clearly of higher rank, came into view. A captain of guards or some such. He had black hair and dark eyes. Dardan marked him as Parilian. “Lady Amira Estaile,” the man said, his eyes settling on her.

  Dardan interposed himself between them. Katin had gone to Amira’s side, and Liam still stood closest to the door, his dirk in his hand. He was not threatening anyone with it, just holding it down at his hip. The king’s men might not even have noticed it. But what he thought he could do with it against armored men with swords, Dardan had no idea.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Dardan demanded. King’s man or no, it was still shocking to barge uninvited into the home of a lady.

  “His royal highness Prince Edon, he commands to be brought to him at once the Lady Amira. And her vala.” His eyes went to Katin, the obvious candidate.

  Amira stood. “What is this about?”

  “The prince’s business, m’lady. Please, with me you will come.”

  “I would hear more about what this business entails,” Dardan said. “Who are you?” He was becoming agitated. How dare this man make demands of them?

  The guard captain bowed slightly. “I am Captain Portio. Might I have the pleasure of your name, m’lord?”

  “Lord Dardan Tarian, son of Count Asmus Tarian of Hedenham,” he intoned in his most authoritative voice.

  The guard captain was unimpressed. “How fortunate. The prince, he has commanded your attendance as well. And your man.”

  Dardan’s mouth worked but no sound came out. What on earth was this about? He could not rightly ignore such a command, but this was most improper.

  The guard captain spoke again, impatient. “His highness is not accustomed to waiting on his lessers. At once we must go, all of you.”

  Dardan saw no choice but to comply. He looked at Liam and nodded. The valo casually sheathed the dirk, which he had kept palmed. Neither of them had brought swords into Amira’s house, and the guard captain seemed unlikely to let them return home to arm themselves.

  Dardan looked at Amira. Something intense passed in the gaze between her and her vala, but Dardan had no idea what it meant. After a moment, Katin stepped forward. “My lady is in no fit state to travel. At least she must dress properly.”

  “She i
s clothed enough, and there is a coach. She will be protected from prying eyes.” The captain stepped aside and gestured to the front door.

  Dardan picked up his hat and took Amira’s hand. “I will not leave your side until this is resolved, I swear it,” he announced. She met his eyes silently.

  Katin and Liam followed them out. Three guards stood in the front hall, and several more waited outside beside a coach. It was as ornate, if not quite as large, as the one they’d taken to the ball the night before. Two of the guards rode along on the runners; the other guards were all ahorse, including Captain Portio, who led the way.

  The curtains were drawn, but there was no glass in the windows. They could not talk without being overheard by the guards. Not that Dardan knew what they could even say to one another.

  Mother! he thought suddenly. Did she know what had happened? Surely one of Amira’s servants would have the wits to run next door and tell the tale. Once the countess found out, pandemonium would ensue, which might not be for the best. There was little he could do about it here, in any case.

  Was this something to do with the ball? Amira had grown ill immediately following their turn in the receiving line. Prince Edon had been there. But nothing had happened aside from Amira lingering a few seconds too long. Surely even Prince Edon would not exact some sort of retribution for such a trivial mistake.

  He cast about for other ideas, but nothing came. He watched his companions. Amira stared off into space. Katin’s head kept swiveling, as if she were searching for a way out. Liam breathed evenly, his eye on the door, his foot tapping rhythmically.

  Dardan was still mulling over why Edon might have summoned them when the shadow of Elibarran’s wall fell across the window. He pushed the curtain aside and saw that they had returned to the palace’s coachyard, where they had last been only the night before. But the red carpet was gone, and there were no liveried footmen waiting to escort them. Only armed guards.

  This time they took a different path, the four of them herded swiftly along like so many sheep. Two guards and the captain led the way, and two more brought up the rear. Dardan kept Amira’s arm in his, and looked back to see that Katin had taken Liam’s hand. The valai tried to keep their expressions neutral, but Dardan thought he saw fear in Katin’s eyes, and fury in Liam’s.

  They were taken through halls, up stairs, along corridors, deep into a part of the palace that few ever saw. They passed into one of the wooden constructions that filled the gaps between stone towers, and stopped before a wide double door of pale blond ashwood. The walls and ceilings here were painted sky blue, with clouds and cherubs frolicking across them. It looked like a nursery.

  Captain Portio knocked on the door. “Enter,” came a gruff voice, and Portio led the whole party into an antechamber dominated by a wide oak desk carved with scenes of naval battle. Behind the desk stood a balding, white-haired man with leathery skin. He too wore a surcoat of the royal colors, and beneath it Dardan glimpsed gleaming steel plate. A gray cloak flowed over his shoulders, and one hand rested on the golden pommel of the longsword at his hip.

  “Thank you, captain,” he nodded. The guard captain bowed slightly and withdrew, leaving two of his guards behind. “M’lord, m’lady, please, sit,” the armored man said. “I am Sir Gaelan Thoriss, Prince Edon’s man.”

  There were four plush chairs set out, low seats with thick velvet padding. Dardan nearly fell into his in shock. Gaelan Thoriss? The man was legendary, famous across the realm for his feats in battle. In the Vaslander war, he’d supposedly held a tower against twenty Vaslander berserkers all on his own for an entire day, until reinforcements showed up. He must be older than Dardan’s father, but Dardan could not think of a man he’d less want to match swords with.

  Sir Thoriss waited until the four of them sat down. “Prince Edon wishes to speak with you,” he said. “I apologize for the abruptness of your summons, but his royal highness is very busy and must attend to many important matters. If you will please wait here, the prince will see you shortly.” He left through a narrow door in the rear of the room, closing it behind him. Moments later another door opened, and in came a serving girl bearing a tray of wine and bread and cheese. Dardan had not eaten since breakfast, but chafed at the idea of taking food from this prince who had all but kidnapped them.

  Liam and Katin were not quite so picky. Barely waiting for nods from their masters, they each began to eat and drink. Amira considered the food for a moment, then nodded to herself and started methodically chewing on some bread.

  Eventually Dardan gave in and nibbled on some cheese. But no sooner had he taken his first bite than the narrow rear door opened and Sir Thoriss emerged again. “Lord Tarian, if you please.” He gestured within.

  Dardan hesitated. He’d sworn to stay with Amira, but again he was left with no choice. He searched her eyes, and she nodded. “I’ll be all right,” she whispered. He clutched her hand for a moment, and went.

  The room beyond was a study of some sort. There was another desk, smaller than the one outside, with narrow legs carved like those of an elk or deer. A closed double glass door led to a balcony. Behind the desk sat Prince Edon, dressed much more simply than he had been at the ball. But now he seemed somehow more dangerous, removed from the public formality of the throne room. And of course he’d had them brought here without warning or consent, which did not endear him to Dardan.

  The prince looked up at him and leaned back in his chair for a moment. “Lord Tarian,” he said affably, and stood.

  Dardan went down to one knee. “Your royal highness,” he said, eyes cast to the floor. He saw Sir Thoriss out of the corner of his eye, waiting against a wall.

  “Rise,” Edon said at once. Dardan stood, glad that the prince was not one to needlessly prolong ceremony. Edon stared at him for a few moments. “You attended the ball last evening with this Lady Amira, yes?”

  Dardan nodded. “Yes, your highness.”

  “How did you come to know her?”

  “Er… her manse is adjacent to my mother’s, the Countess Besiana. She introduced us not a week ago.”

  The prince nodded. “Does the lady strike you as unusual?”

  “Unusual? Your highness, I confess I do not know what you mean.” Being rudely summoned before the heir to the throne with no explanation was highly unusual, but he was not about to say that.

  “Anything strange about her. Anything… odd.” Edon stepped a little closer. His eyes bored into Dardan’s.

  “I’m sorry, your highness, but no. She is a little less practiced in the ways of nobility, I suppose, but she’s only been a noble for less than a year. Her husband—”

  Edon cut him off with a wave. “Yes, thank you. Thoriss.”

  The knight ushered Dardan out. Amira looked up as he returned, her eyes wide. What happened? they asked, but he held his tongue. Dardan sat again, taking Amira’s hand and trying to smile reassuringly.

  Sir Thoriss looked at Liam. “Young man, come with me.” Dardan watched Liam rise slowly and walk toward the rear door. As he passed by Sir Thoriss, the knight put a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “The dagger, son,” he said. Liam for once lost his composure, looking astonished, and drew the sheath out from under his coat. Sir Thoriss tucked it into his belt and followed Liam into the prince’s study.

  A few minutes passed before Liam returned, looking collected once again. Liam shrugged a little at Dardan’s querying look, and he sat back down, glancing curiously at Amira. Next Sir Thoriss took Katin inside, and this time the door was closed for many minutes. Dardan began to worry, and saw that Liam’s foot was tapping madly, his eyes pinned to the door.

  But eventually Katin returned, looking blank, and finally Sir Thoriss asked Amira to follow him. Dardan rose to his feet abruptly, and the guards in the room lurched forward, as if to restrain him, but then they stopped. Sir Thoriss stared at Dardan as if at a harmless insect, and Dardan quietly lowered himself back into his chair—after giving Amira’s hand one more good squeeze. She
smiled at him, and stepped gracefully through the narrow door.

  Thoriss returned a few moments later, closing the door behind him. He nodded at one of the guards, who slipped out into the hall. A minute later, the guard returned, followed by Captain Portio. “Come with me please, m’lord, and you as well,” he said, glancing at Liam and Katin.

  Dardan stood up, staring dumbly. “But my lady is still within—”

  “Your lady will be well cared for.” The guard captain had reached the end of his patience. “It is time for you to leave.” The other guards crowded up behind them, and there was nowhere to go but out. Dardan glanced back at the narrow door, now closed, and made a silent prayer to the Aspect of Terror.

  CHAPTER 8

  AMIRA