by Jenna Glass
He met his half-brother’s eyes, and for the first time since he’d entered the Citadel, he felt the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The king had, of course, made no such command, a fact which Tynthanal no doubt deduced immediately. However, guarding the Abbey when the loyalty of its inhabitants was so much in doubt was a more than reasonable idea, and both men knew that the king would never make a liar of his heir. He might offer Delnamal a mild rebuke in private, but he would publicly confirm he had given the order.
Tynthanal was better than his half-brother at hiding his emotions. His smirk did not fade, and his body language did not change. Nonetheless, there was an angry spark in his eyes that said he’d been bested and he knew it. Delnamal felt a warm glow of satisfaction in his chest, his good humor almost restored despite the infernal pain in his legs and seat from the long day on horseback.
“I know serving as a glorified prison guard is beneath the dignity of a lieutenant commander,” Delnamal said with feigned commiseration, “but the king would trust this vital duty to none less.”
Tynthanal managed a wry smile, covering the surge of anger with his trademark humor. “I am as always honored by His Majesty’s command and his trust in me.”
Delnamal suppressed a snort. Not a man in earshot would mistake this command for an honor. And though Tynthanal was probably not the only one who recognized the questionable provenance of the command, no one would dare challenge it.
Knowing well that where Tynthanal was concerned, he had best take his minor victory and run, Delnamal made his stately exit.
* * *
—
Exhausted in body and mind, Ellin made her way through the palace halls toward the royal apartments she’d moved into a few days before. She longed for her old, familiar bed, and for the luxury of a quiet night spent in lovely idleness. However, it had already become abundantly clear that she had a lot to learn about the governance of a kingdom, and after a long and grueling day of appointments and audiences, she meant to spend the next few hours before bed studying statecraft and the convoluted laws of Rhozinolm. A daunting task, but at least one she could carry out in solitude, out from under the scrutiny that was a sovereign’s constant companion.
Her dressing room was within her line of sight when she turned to dismiss her honor guard for the night. She let out a silent sigh when she saw the look on Graesan’s face and realized her work was not yet over, after all.
“What is it?” she asked.
Graesan bowed, though it was hardly necessary under the circumstances. “If you have a moment to spare, Your Majesty, we should review your itinerary for tomorrow.”
She tried not to make a face, although she’d spent the last week attempting not to think about the ordeal of the state funeral that she would face the next day. Never had the people of Rhozinolm said farewell to so many members of the royal family on the same day, and she wasn’t sure how she would survive the endless procession and ceremony under constant, very public scrutiny while trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. Genteel tears were to be expected, but a sovereign queen must under no circumstances be allowed to sob out her grief for all to see. Even now, a hard, painful lump was forming in her throat.
“Yes, of course,” she rasped, then gestured Graesan into a small public parlor just down the hall. She turned to the other guards. “You may leave me. I plan to retire as soon as the captain and I have finished.”
The men bowed and withdrew, taking up stations just outside the entrance to the residential wing.
Inside the parlor, a fire was crackling merrily. A chandelier of luminants that had been damaged during the earthquake was now fully repaired, each luminant lit and throwing back the shadows. Ellin eyed the low sofa in front of the fireplace, but as Graesan was not allowed to sit in her presence, she chose a high-backed chair at a small circular table instead.
Graesan laid a paper on the table in front of her, and she peered at it to see the route the funeral procession would travel on the following day. Her heart sank when she got a good look at how it wound through the streets in a tortuously twisted course that would take hours to traverse.
“Lord Semsulin has suggested that you ride the king’s horse for the procession,” Graesan said.
She looked at him with some alarm. She had never ridden anything but a cheval her entire life. The people were unlikely to be offended at the sight of a woman riding a horse when that woman was their sovereign queen, but tomorrow would be hard enough without having to face the fear of falling off a horse in front of everyone.
“We can put a calming spell on the saddle to keep the beast placid,” Graesan continued. “However, for security reasons, I recommend a carriage instead. While it might not look as…kingly…it has more powerful protections built in and would allow the honor guard to give you a little more space.”
Ellin allowed herself a small smile even as tears filmed her eyes. Graesan knew well how little she liked feeling crowded. She had had an honor guard for as long as she could remember, and she was never out in public without them. However, now that she was queen, the guard had trebled in size, and it felt like she was constantly surrounded.
“It will have to be an open carriage,” she said, because the point of the procession was not just that the people be allowed to see their fallen royal family, but to see their new queen as well.
Graesan nodded. “Naturally. But even an open carriage can be warded so that you need have only two men in front and two behind.”
Her smile grew a little wider as she looked up into Graesan’s eyes. “I presume that as far as Lord Semsulin is concerned, this was my idea and not yours.”
Graesan’s eyes sparkled, and his lips twitched. “It would be convenient if he were to believe that.”
She laughed briefly, then impulsively reached out and gave his arm an affectionate squeeze. His eyes widened, and he shot a brief glance at the open door. He did not, however, make any attempt to avoid her touch.
“If I were a king,” she said, “and you were a maid, no one would think twice to see me touching your arm.” Or touching you anywhere else, for that matter, she thought.
Graesan covered her hand with one of his, the unexpected touch causing her to shiver deliciously. “But you are not a king,” he said with obvious regret, “and I am not a maid.” Gently, he pushed her hand away, but she could see by the darkening of his eyes that it took some effort.
Ellin had never doubted that Graesan wanted her as badly as she wanted him. While he had never challenged the bounds of propriety, he was too open and honest by nature to fully hide his feelings in her presence. He was a balm against all the scheming and dissembling of the court, and she never had to parse his words for hidden meanings. She could see his affection in his eyes, hear it in the tone of his voice when they spoke privately. He had always needed to be circumspect, and now that she was more in the public eye than ever, he would have to work even harder to keep his distance.
“I feel so alone,” she whispered, suddenly on the verge of tears. Wanting Graesan and not being allowed to have him had always been an ache inside her, but now that her life was so irrevocably altered, her whole family gone and the weight of a kingdom on her shoulders, the ache had grown into a sharper, deeper pain.
“You are not alone,” Graesan said, and his whole body seemed to lean into her. She almost thought he was going to throw off all rules of propriety and put his arms around her. She was fairly certain she would have let him.
Graesan swallowed hard and rocked back on his heels, resisting whatever impulse had moved him into her personal space. “No matter what happens,” he said hoarsely, “you will always have…people who love you. Not just people who love their queen—people who love you.”
She stared up at him, her palms suddenly damp as her hands clasped together in her lap to stop herself from reaching out to hi
m. How glorious would it feel to be wrapped up in his arms, to drink in the warmth of his affection—had he really just declared his love for her in that roundabout way?—and hear the beating of his heart as her head rested against his chest. His warmth would chase away the chill of fear and loss and loneliness that had taken up permanent residence inside her.
“I had best return to my duties,” Graesan said abruptly, his eyes shifting away from her. “Tomorrow will be a grueling day, and you must have your rest.” He bowed low. “If there is nothing else, Your Majesty?”
She drew in first one deep breath, then another. Graesan was right, and they were tempting fate by staying too long in each other’s company in the illusory privacy of the parlor. She trusted Graesan to control himself, and she knew he would never risk damaging her reputation by giving in to his desires—it was her own willpower she doubted. As desperately as she wanted him to stay, it was time for him to go.
“Thank you, Captain. That will be all.”
He hesitated for a moment, as if there was something else he wished to say. Whatever it was, he kept it to himself, and with one more bow, he retreated.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Some would say that she was being overly cautious, but Alys had no intention of learning magic while there was any danger of being seen. She trusted the household staff implicitly, but that was not a reason to take foolish risks. Not when Delnamal was in search of an excuse to condemn her entire family for their relationship to the women who had changed the world. She cracked open her daughter’s door to find Jinnell pacing the room, hands outstretched before her. Her heart thudded against her breastbone, and she could barely draw a full breath as she hastily stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
“Jinnell Rah-Sylnin!” she hissed, though she wanted to scream it. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Jinnell jumped and turned toward her mother’s voice. Her milky white eyes said she could see very little of the physical world—hence not having noticed her mother entering the room—and spoke quite clearly to what she’d been doing. The film cleared as she closed her Mindseye and blinked to restore her worldly vision.
Jinnell raised her chin and met her mother’s eyes with stubborn pride. “You promised we would learn magic together. Yet we have not cracked open Grandmother’s book. I thought I’d see what I could learn on my own.”
Alys suppressed a groan, wanting to shake some sense into her daughter. “If someone other than me had walked in—”
Jinnell rolled her eyes. “No one except you would walk into my bedroom at this time of night. Not without knocking first, at least.”
That was, of course, why Alys had chosen to hold their first magic lesson when the entire household was supposedly asleep. Both she and her daughter were dressed for bed in shapeless—but wonderfully comfortable—white nightdresses, their hair confined to single long braids down their backs.
“That isn’t the point!” Alys snapped.
Jinnell arched an eyebrow. Under other circumstances, Alys might have laughed, for she knew precisely where her daughter had learned that particular expression. “Forgive me, Mama. What is your point precisely?”
What an infuriating, cheeky child!
Alys reined in her temper—temper that was fueled entirely by fear—and took a couple of deep breaths to calm her racing heart. When next she spoke, her voice came out sounding considerably calmer.
“My point, Jinnell, is that unless my mother’s spell had effects of which I am not yet aware, you do not have a penis.” She had the satisfaction of seeing her daughter’s eyes widen with shock and her mouth drop open. “Without one, being caught practicing magic could land you in the Abbey for the rest of your life. When the consequences are so dire, one must take every imaginable precaution, no matter how unnecessary it might seem. If we take only the precautions we think necessary, we will be caught.”
Jinnell looked as if she were going to argue, then thought better of it and sighed. “You’re right, Mama.” She frowned. “Why are you coming into my room without knocking in the middle of the night anyway?”
Alys couldn’t help the little smile that tugged at her lips. It showed how distracted Jinnell had been that it had taken her this long to ask that question. Alys reached into the pocket of her dressing gown and pulled out her mother’s book. “Why, to start learning magic, of course.”
Jinnell grunted and threw up her hands. “Oh! You are impossible.”
“I believe that’s my line. Save it for when you have a child of your own.” Turning her back on her daughter, she withdrew a key from her dressing gown pocket and locked the bedroom door. It was considered highly improper for an unmarried girl to lock her bedroom door—the assumption being that the locked door signified she was doing something she ought not—but Alys’s presence would erase any suggestion of impropriety.
“Let us sit where we can both see the book clearly,” she said when the door was secure, gesturing to the tufted velvet settee at the foot of Jinnell’s bed.
Jinnell hurried to her seat, eyes alight with excitement. For a girl who’d shown little interest in being educated beyond the minimum requirements for a noblewoman, she seemed surprisingly eager for their lessons to begin. And once again, Alys was struck by the sense that she didn’t know her daughter as well as she’d thought. She had never thought Jinnell was stupid, but she had to admit to herself that she’d considered the girl shallow, perhaps even a bit vapid.
“Considering you were worried my visits to the Abbey were a blight on your reputation, you seem surprisingly open to delving into magic,” Alys said as she sat by her daughter’s side.
A touch of color appeared in each of Jinnell’s cheeks, and she fidgeted. “I’ve always been fascinated by magic,” she admitted. “I know it’s not proper, but…well…” She shrugged.
Alys was struck by a startling certainty. “Tonight wasn’t the first time you’d played with Mindsight, was it?”
Jinnell gave her a sheepish grin. “Not exactly,” she said. “I thought that as long as everyone believed I was painfully proper, no one would ever suspect.”
Alys shook her head. If she thought too much about the risks her daughter had been taking for who knew how long, she might run screaming from the room. It was best she try to forget about it and move forward.
Opening her Mindseye, Alys found several motes of Rho and fed three of them into the book. Then she closed her Mindseye once more so she could see the book. She opened it to the first page, which had once held the letter from her mother. That letter was gone, replaced with new text.
Lesson One
Before you can work with magic, you must become proficient at identifying the elements. Open your Mindseye and look around you. Pick an element you do not recognize and touch it to the page. The book will identify it for you. The stronger your magical ability, the more different elements you will be able to see. With your bloodlines, you will be extremely gifted and should have no trouble seeing all of the most common elements available near Aaltah’s Well.
When you have entered forty elements, the book will test you by showing you a picture of each element you have learned. When you can identify them all, the next lesson can begin.
“Forty elements!” Jinnell wailed, reading along with Alys. “It will take forever just to find that many, if we even can!”
Alys blinked and realized she had made an unreasonable assumption when she’d decided to share the magic lessons with Jinnell. She briefly opened her Mindseye once more and glanced around the room. To her Mindseye, the room was like a sea of stars, with an almost countless variety of colors and patterns. She didn’t need to count them to know she saw well more than forty different ones.
“How many different elements can you see in this room?” she asked Jinnell.
Jinnell stuck out her lower lip in what was probably an unconscious pout, then opened
her Mindseye and looked around. “I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “Maybe about twenty-five?” Her eyes cleared and she met Alys’s gaze. “How many can you see, Mama?”
Alys took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. “A lot more than that.”
Jinnell gaped at her. “But, Mama, Corlin tested as Prime level, and as far as I can tell, I can see about as many elements as he can. That puts us both well above average. If you can see a lot more than that…” She huffed out a deep breath, shaking her head. “Papa was only Medial level. I should have known what it meant that Corlin and I both seem to be higher level.”
Alys shrugged. “How could you know? It’s not as if they test women or even acknowledge that our magic has any value. Even if the men of the Academy knew how many elements I could see, they would dismiss my abilities on the grounds that I can see only feminine and neuter elements.”
“Do you see only feminine and neuter elements?”
“Of course I do,” she answered without thinking.
“How do you know? You can’t actually identify most of what you see, right?”
Alys frowned, for Jinnell was correct about that. “Well, seeing as I’m a woman, it’s safe to assume that I see only feminine and neuter elements, but I suppose we’ll find out.” She patted the book.
“Even if you don’t see the masculine elements, I’ll bet you see enough to be labeled an Adept, just like Uncle Tynthanal.”
Alys’s first instinct was to demur. How could she claim to be an Adept when women were not supposed to be assigned any magical ranking whatsoever? But she had sneaked a few glances at magical texts in her day, and she’d seen that to be labeled as an Adept, a man needed to prove he could see one hundred elements or more. One day when she had visited the Well in the depths of the palace, she’d taken the insane risk of opening her Mindseye and had counted how many different elements she could see spilling from the Well. She’d made it to fifty before confusion took over and she couldn’t remember which she’d already counted and which she hadn’t. But even in her confusion, she’d felt quite certain she had counted less than half of the elements she could see. Even if many of those elements were feminine and of questionable power, it wasn’t such a stretch to label herself as Adept.