Responsibility of the Crown

by G Scott Huggins

  Merav looked puzzled.

  “No. Not generally. Come with me.”

  * * *

  “Then she dismissed Merav and took me back into her study and issued more Commands than Haraad did on a bad day,” Azriyqam told Zhad.

  “And?” Zhad said. They were relaxing in his chambers over chilled wine.

  “And nothing. I don’t even know what she was trying to find out. She made me Command Union with the Theurge twice more in her presence, but eventually let me go. She wouldn’t answer any of my questions. I don’t think she knows.”

  “So, you’re learning to be a sorceress,” said Zhad. “And you can Command Union with this Theurge?”

  “Eventually.” She told him about the language difficulties she had experienced.

  “They do speak differently, here. You shouldn’t let this Merav get to you.”

  “She hates me.”

  “And certainly no one’s ever hated you before,” said Zhad, dryly. “That would be unprecedented.”

  “But here, people are starting to not hate me,” said Azriyqam, in a low voice. “I don’t want to spoil it.”

  “You’re the Crown’s daughter. Drown her if she wants to fight with you. Merav’s a spoiled rich bitch who’s never had anyone say anything to her she didn’t like. You outrank her, and you outweigh her, so ignore her.” He sighed. “You know, I’m getting a little bored with the luxury of this place day by day. It’s not that no one will speak to me if I ask—I’ve had invitations of courtesy from a number of my sworn brothers, but their interests do tend toward activities that rely on sight. Do you mind if I come along with you tomorrow? I’d like to know more about this Theurge myself.”

  “Sure. Why not?” Then another thought occurred to her. “Zhad, if you’re so bored…would you like to be my, well, gentleman-in-waiting?”

  “What?”

  “Well, why not?” asked Azriyqam. “It would give us more time together, and we could help each other find our way through this strange place.”

  Zhad’s eyes seemed to be watering. “You want a blind man picking out your clothes? I’m the only one here less qualified than you for the job.”

  “Oh, who cares?” said Azriyqam. “You’re a friend, not paid to be one. Merav was ‘qualified’ and look where that got me.”

  * * *

  “Who is that?” asked Merav the next morning.

  “Ah,” answered Zhad. “That must be the Lady Merav, about whom I have heard so much. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He swept a bow in her general direction. “I am Sir Zhad, late of the Century Ship Ekkaia, now a guest of the Crown at the Kreyntorm. Honored, of course.”

  Azriyqam felt her cheeks color at Zhad’s mockery of the Kreyntorm accent.

  Merav didn’t seem to notice. “Sir Zhad, of course, but this is the time for our lessons, not a social occasion.”

  “The Princess Azriyqam invited me. I presumed her invitation would take precedence, yes?”

  “Indeed,” said the Lady Senaatha. “We are honored to have you as our guest, Sir Zhad.”

  “Aunt Senaatha,” said Merav. “Is this a classroom?”

  “It is, so you will address me as ‘Lady Senaatha,’ or as kyria.’”

  “Then aside from you, we have no rank here, is that correct, kyria?”

  “Correct, and?”

  “Then, why does Azriyqam have the privilege of inviting friends who are not a part of our studies?”

  “Because I have chosen to echo her invitation to Sir Zhad. Like Azriyqam, he is a stranger here, and it will do him good and us no harm for him to learn our ways. And Merav, if you allow such details to distract you, you will never make a good sorceress or a good courtier. Do you understand?”

  Merav’s eyes flashed, and she glared at Azriyqam for a moment. “Yes, kyria.”

  What is going on between Merav and her aunt? thought Azriyqam.

  “Today,” said Senaatha, “you will learn to issue a second Command. Not just to Command Union, but to Command while in Union.” She handed them each a copy of the wooden rod she had demonstrated upon yesterday. “Merav, I believe you know the Command. Pronounce it clearly, please.”

  “Calidain derev.”

  Senaatha nodded. “You may proceed.”

  Merav muttered the First Command, raised the wood in its holder, and repeated the Command. The sliver of wood ignited.

  And so did a spot beneath Merav’s blouse. She screamed and tore at herself, fumbling out a thin gold chain with what had been a carved wooden icon, whitening into ash.

  “Owwww!” she yelled.

  Senaatha snapped the chain away, throwing it on the floor and helping Merav beat out the tiny flames on her blouse. The girl breathed heavily, her eyes wide with shock.

  “That is the third rule to remember when using the Theurge,” said Senaatha. “The Theurge does what you Command. Not what you want. You Commanded, ‘burn wood,’ and it did. Starting with the wood nearest you.”

  “You knew I was wearing that,” accused Merav. “That hurt!”

  Senaatha nodded coolly. “And you know enough you should have thought of it. The pain is a better teacher than I am.” She turned away from Merav’s glare. “Now, Azriyqam.”

  Azriyqam trembled and invoked Union. Nothing happened. She tried again.

  She was drowning, drowning in a current that sucked her downward... down. Wrenching her attention back to her Command, she opened her mouth to speak, and bitter, cold water rushed down her throat, reaching for her lungs.

  Her eyes snapped open, Union lost, and she was coughing on the floor against water that was no longer there. Merav looked disgusted, but Senaatha watched her closely.

  “You must concentrate. You are not drowning, though I have no doubt you feel as though you are. This is a curious situation, but it is not truly hurting you. So, I believe you can train through it, given time. Again.”

  “I…I can’t,” Azriyqam protested.

  Senaatha’s voice went hard. “You can, that much is obvious. You can and you will, because failure is beneath you and you are the stronger. Stand up.”

  Shuddering, Azriyqam rose and braced herself to Command Union.

  * * *

  In the carriage on the way home, Azriyqam was still shaking. Finally, after who-knew-how-many hours of effort, she had managed to make the wood smolder. Once. But she had not managed to repeat it. She ran her fingers through her hair, which stubbornly remained dry despite feeling like it should be soaking wet.

  “Well, that was some progress,” said Zhad, in a tone of forced heartiness.

  “Shut up,” Azriyqam mumbled. Even though Zhad’s eyes were blind, she did not want to meet them. A different thought rocked her. Oh, I wonder. I wonder…No. That was a question for Lady Senaatha, not a hope to dangle in front of Zhad before she knew anything.

  “Well, you’re pronouncing the words right, most of the time.”

  “I’m pronouncing them the same way every time,” she growled, snapping back to the present.

  “No, you aren’t. You need to work on your mocking skills. Just imitate Merav’s pomposity, and that’ll get you there in no time.”

  “Zhad, please, don’t joke,” Azriyqam said wearily. “It’s bad enough watching her.” Merav was already six lessons ahead of her, learning to Countermand, to target her Commands on specific objects, and other things Azriyqam had lost track of.

  “I’m not entirely joking. You said yourself you succeeded when you mocked her. Look, Merav is doing so well because she’s been watching people do it around her since she was a child. You should maybe act more like a child. Imitate. Stop worrying so much when you screw up.”

  Azriyqam snorted. “Should I start calling her names, too?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Well, it’s obvious she’s trying to get under your skin. It’s just as obvious she’s succeeding. You’re a princess here, you know, and you’re letting her slap you around verbally.” He p
ut his hand on her wing. “You don’t have to take that anymore. You’re not on board Ekkaia.”

  What had Father said about her acting like a peasant?

  “But Senaatha—”

  “The Lady Senaatha is waiting for you to take her snot-nosed niece down a peg,” he said. “I can hear it in her tone. She was rude to me, and she’s ruder to you. Do something about it. You can, I can’t.”

  Azriyqam thought about this the rest of the way home. Could she really meet Merav’s disdain with her own? Should she antagonize her mentor’s niece? Why did Zhad care how she did?

  * * *

  The next day, Lady Senaatha made the decision for her.

  “Today, you will become part of one another’s instruction,” she said. “A good sorceress must learn to listen intensely and she must be able to maintain her hold on the Theurge through any number of distractions. While it is likely most of your work with the Theurge will take place in the safety of your own home or in a study, at some point you’ll begin to learn Commands that you will wish to use in public. And, of course, you may need to use sorcery to protect yourself.”

  Azriyqam looked at Senaatha and fought not to make her jaw drop. As if she needed distractions to keep her from Commanding the Theurge.

  “Azriyqam seems to have her own distraction built in, but Merav is mastering Commands at a rapid pace—”

  Merav preened.

  “—while she is left in peace and quiet. You will take turns,” Senaatha directed. “First, Merav will attempt to advise Azriyqam on her pronunciation and focus. Then Azriyqam will attempt to distract Merav in the middle of her Commands.”

  Azriyqam spoke hastily. “Please, Lady Senaatha…”

  “Yes, child?”

  “Is sorcery good for healing? Curing diseases?”

  Merav rolled her eyes.

  “Very often.”

  “Zhad is blind. Can anyone restore his sight?”

  Zhad sat up a bit straighter at this, and a strange look passed across his face.

  Senaatha frowned. “Come here, Sir Zhad.”

  Slowly, Zhad walked toward the sound of her voice. She tilted the little man’s chin up and looked into his eyes. “You were born like this, were you not?”

  “If you mean the hair and skin, yes.”

  “And the eyes? Do you remember your sight?”

  “Only vague impressions. Color and shape.”

  “Does it hurt you to open your eyes and look at the sun?”

  “Yes.”

  Senaatha sighed and turned away. “If the problem were in your eyes alone, I might be able to restore your sight or recommend a sorcerer that could. But this…” She shook her head. “I am afraid the problem is in the pathways of your mind itself. It’s possible that a true master healer could restore some ability to sense color and form. But for those who are born blind, or who lose their sight as infants, such restoration often leads to great pain and confusion and never restores true vision. I am sorry, Sir Zhad. Once, there were Commands that might have given you your sight, before the gods died and vanished, but those days are gone.”

  “Ah, well,” said Zhad after a moment. “I never really believed in miracle cures. I have learned to be as I am.” But his face was tight as he returned to his seat. Azriyqam’s heart sank within her.

  Senaatha turned back to Azriyqam. “Invoke the Union.”

  Azriyqam did and immediately felt the drowning sensation. Speaking the Command to ignite the wood was a matter of ignoring the choking, itching fire that seemed to flood her throat to get out the words.

  “Calidain. Kah. Lee. Dighn!” said Merav, impatiently. “‘Ah’ as in ‘aunt,’ not as in ‘fat.’”

  “Calidain.”

  “And ‘dighn’ as in ‘night,’ not that drawn-out ‘aaaghh’ sound you keep using.”

  “Calidain,” said Azriyqam, mocking Merav for all she was worth.

  “Better,” said Merav. “Now try it with the Union.”

  Azriyqam had lost track of how many repetitions it took until her gasped “Calidain derev” finally brought forth a flame from the sliver of wood. “Good!” said Senaatha, the first words she had spoken since the lesson had begun. “Now it is Merav’s turn. Go through the exercises I taught you yesterday. Azriyqam, distract her.”

  “How?” asked Azriyqam.

  “Whatever works,” Senaatha said, blandly.

  Merav invoked Union and began the exercises. First, she lit the sliver of wood. Then she separated the burned wood from the holder. Then she levitated the metal holder and caught it between her fingers. Then she pointed it north. Then she left it standing upright in the middle of the sigil.

  Azriyqam clapped her wings. She shouted. She shouted in Merav’s ear. Aside from a slight flinch at that, she might have been a ghost. Merav maneuvered the metal and wood as though they were extensions of her body.

  “Well done, Merav,” said Senaatha. “Azriyqam, try harder.”

  But what was going to distract Merav? Nothing Azriyqam said or did bothered her.

  Anything you have to.

  Then Azriyqam remembered what Zhad had said and how she and Merav had met. “You never answered my question, before, Merav. How do you deal with being so ugly? It doesn’t seem to bother you. Are you used to it?”

  The metal holder wavered in the air, and then lifted, just before it hit the floor. Not taking her eyes off it, Merav sniffed, “You only think of me as ugly because you think of yourself that way. Because you were raised a slave and are scarcely better than one now. Because you are ugly, of course.”

  “You are discourteous, Merav,” said Lady Senaatha.

  “What do you call her?” Merav shot back. The metal holder wobbled as Merav set it down on its point.

  “I call her your princess, and one who is following her assignment. It is you who are allowing yourself to be distracted.”

  “I thought there was no rank in the classroom, kyria.”

  “But there is prudence.” Senaatha called the holder back to her, inserted a fresh sliver of wood. “Again,” she said. “Reverse the order of your Commands this time.”

  Azriyqam tried insulting Merav as soon as she invoked Union, but this time the younger girl seemed not to hear her.

  Then Azriyqam had an idea. It was stupid, but it might surprise the girl. Hastily, Azriyqam Commanded Union herself. Willing the sensations of choking away, she spoke the Command to ignite Merav’s wood.

  “Kreykah Azriyqam’u Verfaaln.” Without a pause, Merav Countermanded Azriyqam’s feeble effort and continued on to the end. Senaatha retrieved the holder and replaced the burned wood. “A worthy attempt and a worthy response,” she said. “You must try harder, Azriyqam. Again,” she directed.

  What was she supposed to do? Did she dare? Did she dare not?

  As Merav raised the metal wand from the floor of the chamber, Azriyqam stepped forward and lashed out with a wingtip. It slapped Merav hard across the shoulder, leaving a thin, pink line.

  The wand fell out of the air as Merav rose in outrage. “You hit me!” She snapped out her own wings, breathing heavily. “You stupid, illiterate, ugly bitch! You can force your way in here on the strength of a bloodline you’ve polluted by kissing dirt before half the kingdom, but you will not lay your hands on me!” She lashed out and caught Azriyqam across the face.

  The sting of Merav’s wingtip burned like fire, but all that Azriyqam could think as she stared at Merav’s triumphant gaze was Does she really think that hurt so much? Senaatha said nothing. She just watched them both.

  What was she waiting for? You don’t have to take this.

  Azriyqam launched herself at her smaller cousin. Two blows with her wings left weals on Merav’s cheeks, just below her startled eyes. Then Azriyqam was on her, fingers and thumbs fastened on Merav’s throat, bearing the smaller girl to the ground. Sitting astride her chest, Azriyqam furled her wings and drove her knuckles again and again into Merav’s chest. Merav howled.

  There was a sudden
flurry of syllables and Azriyqam was picked up off Merav by a solid mass of air. Merav also was lifted off the ground, and they hung there.

  “Well,” Lady Senaatha said, evenly. “That was certainly revolting.”

  Azriyqam fought to control her heaving breaths. She said, “I am sorry, kyria.”

  Merav was openly sobbing.

  “I would hope so. A princess of the realm does not brawl like a common schoolgirl, even when provoked by insults and discourtesies. She issues a challenge, or she requests that the offender be corrected. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, kyria.”

  Through her sobs, Merav got out, “Punish her, A-aunt Senaatha. Punish her!”

  Senaatha deposited Azriyqam to the floor but drew Merav nearer and higher. “Punish her?” she asked. “I warned you once that the princess was acting under my orders, and in response you shame yourself and our family by using words I would be appalled to hear from a street urchin while striking a member of the royal house in the face? Your father will hear of this, and what he will do I don’t envy you! You have a curious habit of remembering rank does not apply in this classroom when it suits you, Lady Merav.” The title came out dripping with scorn. “The princess served you no more than you deserved for your insults, and furthermore,” her voice lowered dangerously, “do you imagine you may never have to maintain your hold on the Theurge while suffering no worse than a blow across your shoulders? Do you truly imagine that? Answer me, girl!”

  Merav’s eyes were wide with shock. “No. Kyria.”

  “Good.” Senaatha lowered Merav to the ground. She eyed them both.

  “You are not required to love one another, still less to like each other, but you will respect one another’s persons and abilities while I am your mentor. Because ultimately, we serve the Crown and Throne, and we are allies, if nothing more. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, kyria.” They said it together.

  “Now, you will apologize to each other. No, look one another in the eye. You have both done wrong and you will accept your responsibility for your actions.”

  Responsibility. Azriyqam did not know whether she would ever be able to accept that familiar, hated word, but she looked Merav in the eye and heard her apology, and gave her own. There was still resentment in that face, and anger, too. Azriyqam imagined there was still some in her own, but there was a wary respect too, and that was more than there had ever been in her old life. Perhaps it was a beginning.