by Jenna Glass
“Nothing!” Alys said in a breathy squeak as she tried to swallow back the nearly uncontrollable hunger that had seized her. She desperately wanted to reach between her legs and ease the ache that had come out of nowhere, but she managed to keep her head and reached for the book instead. “I must have done something wrong,” she choked out.
Jinnell touched her arm, understandably worried over Alys’s puzzling condition. The touch—from her own daughter and nowhere near an erogenous zone—drew a gasp from her throat as she hastily opened the book to review the formula.
Lesson Three
Some elements look very similar to one another but have very different behaviors. Lix is an exceedingly rare element that looks similar to the much more common element, Sul. Unless you got very lucky, you have probably created the assigned potion with four motes of Sul instead of four motes of Lix. Study the two elements carefully and you’ll see that Sul has a more green tinge to it, while Lix is purely blue.
The formula as written would temporarily change gray hair back to its original color, but the expensive potion you’re no doubt familiar with also includes Sur for permanence. I was not cruel enough to include that element in this spell, knowing you were much more likely to create the aphrodisiac potion that is produced when you use Sul instead of Lix in the formula.
If you’d like to undo the effects, add one mote of Zin, one mote of Rho, and two motes of Grae to your liquid and drink that down. Grae is often used to reverse the effects of potions.
Alys glared at the book, then turned that glare to Jinnell when her daughter started laughing hysterically.
* * *
—
“Lord Kailindar has sent an announcement that he has taken a wife,” Semsulin said to open the meeting of the royal council.
Ellin had been wondering how and when her uncle would make his displeasure at not being appointed lord chamberlain known. It had been three weeks since she had announced her decision, and though Kailindar had left the capital and returned to his own estate in a snit the day after the announcement, she had almost allowed herself to believe he would let the slight pass without further comment.
Kailindar had lost his wife a couple of years before, and it was no surprise that he wished to marry again. However, a man of his station required the sovereign’s permission to marry. She had signed no such permission, and Semsulin would not be announcing the marriage with such a sour expression on his face if King Linolm had done so. No matter how improper it was to marry so soon after his father’s death.
“I take it the king did not grant his permission?” she asked just to confirm her suspicion.
Semsulin shook his head. “He actively forbade the match. The woman Lord Kailindar has wed is a nobody, a woman he’d kept on the side for many years. Certainly not an appropriate bride for a king’s son.”
“That is an act of treason!” Lord Tamzin shouted, banging his fist on the table and making the nearly empty platter of refreshments near his seat clatter loudly. “He has actively defied the orders of our departed king!” His handsome face twisted in a snarl, and if Ellin did not know better, she would have sworn he was genuinely furious at this insult to his grandfather’s memory.
Far from outraged, he was no doubt thrilled at this provocation that might lead to his uncle’s punishment and humiliation. And with this forbidden marriage, Kailindar was about to put Ellin’s rule to its first true test.
“The marriage is highly irregular, I admit,” said Semsulin. His voice was even and calm, a marked contrast to Tamzin’s feigned indignation. “And clearly it was not sanctioned, but the offense hardly rises to the level of treason.”
“He directly disobeyed the king’s command, and he disrespected our queen by not seeking her permission to wed. Just because we have a woman on the throne does not mean our lords can prey upon her weakness and inexperience to flout the rule of law.”
Ellin clenched her fists in her lap, where no one could see the gesture, and hoped she did not visibly bristle at Tamzin’s tone. Half her councilors were looking at Tamzin and nodding their agreement, and the other half were studying her with great intensity. There was not a man at the table who had not in one way or another suggested she was not up to the challenge of ruling, and though she felt certain Semsulin had developed at least a grudging respect, she still had much work to do if she wished to win over the rest. Rising to Tamzin’s bait would not create the best impression.
“I assure you I don’t need years of experience,” or a penis, “to see when my rule is being tested,” she said. “Besides, I have all of you fine gentlemen to advise me when I need it.” She turned to Semsulin. “I presume there is some precedent for the Crown dealing with unsanctioned marriages?”
“Nearly as many precedents as there have been kings, I’m afraid. Punishments have ranged from toothless official rebukes, to exile, to writs of attainder. The law allows the council a great deal of leeway in how to treat the offense.”
“The sovereign, you mean,” she corrected immediately. She had not spent nearly every moment of her free time poring over books and discussing issues of law with both the lord chancellor and the marshal for nothing, and she was well aware of which decisions she could make on her own and which she needed the council to approve. How to punish an unsanctioned marriage would be her decision.
Semsulin bowed his head, while around the table she sensed a ripple of tension. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
“Punishment of the offense is unquestionably for the sovereign to decide,” the lord commander said, “but of course it is the duty of the royal council to advise Your Majesty before any decision is reached.”
It was said with great tact and politeness, but Ellin did not think she was imagining the hint of challenge in his voice. She also didn’t think she was imagining the spark of delight that lit the lord high treasurer’s eyes. She had considered Lord Tamzin an antagonist—if not an active enemy—even before she’d put him on the council, but if she judged the atmosphere correctly, that label applied to the lord commander and the lord high treasurer also. Three of her highest-ranking council members seemed eager for her to fail. She glanced around at the most junior council members—the grand magus, the marshal, and the trade minister—and saw decidedly neutral expressions. They might not be actively against her, but they weren’t with her, either.
“Of course I am happy to hear any advice you might have, Lord Commander,” she said. “Please tell me what you feel is the appropriate punishment for this unsanctioned marriage.”
“Kailindar is tweaking your rule because he believes you will offer no more resistance than a silly rebuke,” Tamzin said as if the question were directed at him. “No doubt he thinks you will find his story of love denied tragically romantic.”
Instead of being offended that Tamzin had spoken out of turn, the lord commander was nodding along. “Sometimes one must inflict a punishment that may objectively seem out of proportion to the offense in order to make a strong example.”
“So you believe as does Lord Tamzin that the offense rises to the level of treason?” she asked incredulously.
“No, not that,” he said, giving Tamzin an apologetic look. “Forgive me, Lord Chamberlain, but I don’t believe we would like to start a reign of terror.”
Tamzin crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. Ellin doubted he’d actually believed he could talk her—or anyone else at the table—into leveling a treason charge for an offense so small. But he’d thrown out the outrageous charge in hopes of making a lesser punishment more palatable by comparison.
“Perhaps a treason charge is a bit excessive,” Tamzin said. “But a strong message must still be sent. He must at least forfeit one of his many titles.”
Ellin gritted her teeth to suppress a quick retort. She was certain Tamzin cared nothing about his uncle’s insult to her reign. The only reason he was baying for the man’s blood
was his own personal enmity.
Or was it?
The vast majority of titles granted by the Crown came with generous grants of land and money. If Tamzin still entertained thoughts of sitting on the throne himself, then a logical first step would be to diminish Kailindar’s resources and thereby eliminate the greatest potential source of resistance.
“Forfeiture of a title still seems like an excessive penalty for what amounts to a petty insult,” Semsulin said. His voice and face were both a picture of calm, but Ellin doubted he had missed the threat that she had seen.
“He knowingly and directly disobeyed the command of his sovereign,” Tamzin snapped. “That is more than a ‘petty insult,’ and it would be a bad precedent to let him get away with it.”
“Do you have a list of Lord Kailindar’s titles and assets somewhere in there?” Ellin asked, pointing at the stack of papers sitting in front of Semsulin. She was not intimately familiar with her uncle’s holdings, but there was one particular title she wanted to check on.
“Of course, Your Majesty,” he said, shuffling through the papers to find the one he wanted, then passing it to her.
She smiled when she skimmed down the list and saw that one of Lord Kailindar’s first titles was Knight of the Realm. It was a military distinction with no associated land grant or income, but it did give Kailindar the right to wear a silver shield insignia. One which she had never seen him without, though he was years past his early military service. Losing that title would most definitely smart, but would not weaken him in any material way.
She pointed at the title as she slid the paper toward Semsulin. “Let the record show that the Crown has officially rescinded the title of Knight of the Realm from Lord Kailindar Rai-Chantah. He is to immediately cease wearing the insignia.”
The array of facial expressions around her council table was almost amusing. Semsulin was giving her one of those speculative looks she was learning to hate, and the lower council members looked grudgingly satisfied. The lord high treasurer and the lord commander both frowned in thought as if searching for an objection, apparently with no success. And Tamzin stared at her with an almost frightening combination of malice and cunning. She might have proven herself not as easy to manipulate as he’d once thought, but perhaps she had been better off when he’d been underestimating her. He would bear close watching or he might undermine her rule before she truly got started.
* * *
—
The council meeting stretched to take up Ellin’s entire morning. When it finally ended, Semsulin requested a private word with her. Her stomach protested, saying it was past time for lunch, and her brain protested, saying it needed a break. However, she was getting used to working past what seemed to be her limits, and weariness was becoming a familiar friend. She snatched a stale crust of bread from a refreshment platter that had long ago been stripped of anything appetizing and gnawed on it as her council filed out. When she and Semsulin had the room to themselves, she turned to him with raised eyebrows.
Semsulin’s habitually dour expression always made his face look severe, but there was a shadow in his eyes that changed the severity into worry. It wasn’t hard to guess the source of that worry. When he’d presented her with the prospect of taking the throne, he’d made it sound like her solid claim would snuff out Tamzin’s ambitions. It was hard to see today’s council meeting as anything but evidence of his continued hunger for power.
“I admire your elegant response to Lord Kailindar’s challenge,” Semsulin said, and he was obviously choosing his words with great care.
“But…?”
“But it might have been better if you had let me make the suggestion and make a persuasive argument that might have swayed the council.”
Ellin wasn’t sure if she was more outraged or embarrassed. She’d been more than ready to pat herself on the back for her brilliant solution, but her lord chancellor was a far more experienced courtier, and he’d probably opened the council meeting with this solution already in mind. That did not mean she appreciated the rebuke, for there was no mistaking that was exactly what Semsulin was delivering.
“If you wanted a queen who would sit silent and passive while you made the decisions for her, you should not have pushed me to take the throne,” she said in her iciest tone.
His eyes narrowed in a glare that once upon a time would have intimidated her. “I would not have thought you the kind of person who would refuse to hear criticism from someone who has been on the royal council for almost two decades and therefore has a great deal more experience than yourself.”
“Are you my tutor now, Lord Semsulin? Do you think to punish me for speaking out of turn?”
His eyes flashed with anger, and his enunciation grew more precise and cutting. “Do you think yourself the only sovereign in history who has believed wearing the crown means not having to hear anyone’s opinion but your own? I assure you, you are not—just as I assure you the history books are not kind to those sovereigns. You have no experience or training for your position, and only a childish fool would think herself able to tame a bucking stallion when she has never even sat on a pony’s back. Are you a childish fool, Your Majesty?”
Ellin wasn’t sure if the heat in her face was from anger or shame, for though he had no right to speak to her in such a paternalistic and condescending way, it was hard to deny that he had a point. A few weeks of intense study hardly made her an expert in running a kingdom, and while Semsulin had at first been taken aback by her decision to take an active part in the council meetings rather than to serve as a figurehead, he had been far more supportive than any of her other council members.
She couldn’t manage anything that resembled acquiescence, so she settled for a chilly silence. Semsulin gave a small nod of satisfaction.
“Lord Tamzin will require careful handling,” he said, then smiled at her narrow-eyed annoyance. “Yes, I know you know that. But sparring with him head-on is not in your best interests. He does not wish to kneel to anyone, much less a twenty-one-year-old woman whose reign is temporary. The less cause you give him for outrage—and damaged male pride—the better. Which is why you should let me present any news or decisions he might find disagreeable. I can weather his outrage in a way you cannot.” Another smile. “As I’m sure you well know, I’m already roundly disliked. You are not—yet—and it is best for all concerned if you keep it that way.”
She took a few moments to absorb everything Semsulin had said. It made a certain amount of sense to allow him to draw fire. However, she wasn’t sure he was right about her not being disliked yet. Certainly Tamzin disliked her—and had even before this council meeting—merely for standing in his way. And if this meeting was anything to go by, the force of his personality had already won over two of her most senior councilors.
“Perhaps it would have been better if you had made the suggestion,” she said. “But how could I have known you had already come up with a solution?”
Semsulin bowed his head. “That is my fault, Your Majesty, and I apologize. I made the foolish assumption that you would ask my advice instead of trying to solve the problem yourself. I promise I will not make the same mistake again.” He met her eyes, and she thought she saw a hint of admiration in his gaze. “You are a formidable young woman. I doubt Lord Tamzin has fully absorbed that fact yet, but he will.”
It remained to be seen whether that would be a good thing or not.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Jinnell held the little vial of potion up to the light and shook it nervously, wondering if she was about to do something unutterably stupid. No doubt her mother would answer with a resounding yes!
For the third time, she opened her Mindseye and compared the contents of her cup with the contents of the vial she had pilfered from the household supply, and for the third time she assured herself that she had replicated it perfectly. At least as far as the elements w
ere concerned. She wasn’t sure what the liquid in the real potion was, except that it contained alcohol of some sort, so she had used wine for her own. She wished Mama weren’t being so stubborn about slavishly following the abbess’s lesson plan.
Jinnell was learning what she could from the lessons, but most spells she’d watched her mother work required at least one element she herself couldn’t see. If Mama wanted her to learn magic, then it seemed only logical they should create their own lesson plan on the side. They did not need the abbess’s formulas when the two of them together could look at existing potions in Mindsight and figure out what was in them.
“It’s too dangerous,” Mama had said the moment Jinnell had made the suggestion. “Without a formula, we can’t be sure there aren’t crucial elements in there we can’t see.”
Jinnell had sighed in frustration, not entirely surprised at the response. “You can see practically everything,” she complained. “I seriously doubt that’s a major danger.”
Mama had raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh, so you’ve become an expert now, have you?”
Jinnell had made two more attempts to persuade Mama to be reasonable, to no avail. She supposed someday she would have children of her own and would understand Mama’s protective instincts—that’s what Mama insisted, anyway—but only if she didn’t find herself shipped off to Nandel as a virgin sacrifice.
Putting down both the vial and the cup of homemade potion, Jinnell rolled up the sleeve of her nightdress. There was no reason to think there were any elements in the healing potion that she couldn’t see. She could see the Zin, which bound the other elements into the potion. She could see Von, which she had learned during their very first magic lesson was often used in healing potions; and she could see Mai, a feminine element the book said was associated with mending and healing. Those, in combination with the obligatory Rho, should be everything she needed to create a spell of healing. And healing spells were so common that there was no reason to assume there was some higher-level element in there she couldn’t see.