by Jenna Glass
“Don’t touch that!” she said when he reached for the ring. She took two hasty steps forward, holding out her hands in a warning gesture.
She wasn’t entirely sure if she was more relieved or terrified when he rocked back on his heels and drew his hand away, staring up at her in silence. The shadows on his face still masked his expression, and she had no idea what he was thinking or feeling.
What she did know was that there was no innocent, logical explanation for her behavior. Except for the truth. She had already ruined her best chance to keep the truth hidden when she had stopped Falcor from touching the ring. She swallowed hard and prayed she wasn’t making the wrong decision and condemning her entire family, but she believed Falcor was a good man. He might vehemently disapprove of what she’d been doing, but she didn’t believe he would betray her.
Her knees felt wobbly as she squatted by the ring and opened her Mindseye. She heard Falcor’s harsh intake of breath and tried to ignore it as she plucked the motes of Rho out of the ring, rendering its spell inactive once more. Then she closed her Mindseye and picked up the ring, slipping it onto her finger.
She and Falcor both rose at the same time and stood facing each other. Her heart was pounding so loudly she wondered if he could hear it.
“What would have happened if I’d touched it?” he asked softly.
She bit her lip. “I’m not entirely sure. It might have just put you to sleep.” She gestured toward Smoke’s stall, and saw Falcor’s brows rise as he caught sight of the sleeping horse. They were moving and speaking quietly, but the noise was easily enough to awaken him under ordinary circumstances. “I’m just worried about what a spell strong enough to make a horse sleep might do to a man.”
Falcor looked back and forth between her ring and the horse. “I’ve never seen or heard of a spell that does that before.”
“No,” she agreed.
He thought for a long time before he spoke again, and Alys bit her tongue and let him. She had no reason to volunteer any more information than absolutely necessary. Certainly she didn’t want to face the questions he would ask if he knew the spell was of her own invention.
“You were testing it,” he finally said. It wasn’t quite a question, but she nodded anyway. “But a spell that puts a horse to sleep is merely an interesting parlor trick. Much more useful is one that puts a man to sleep. How were you planning to test that?”
She shrugged. “I haven’t gotten that far yet.” Which didn’t mean she hadn’t thought about it. Agonized about it. Wondered whose life she could risk in the testing without herself expiring of guilt. The Academy utilized paid volunteers for its less dangerous tests and condemned criminals for the dangerous ones. She would have access to neither, since allowing a volunteer to know about her magic practice was far too risky.
“I can take care of that for you.”
She stammered, momentarily at a loss for words. She hardly dared believe he would keep her secret, and yet he was offering to do far more. Well above and beyond the call of duty. “Why would you do that?” she asked, shaking her head in wonder. “Wouldn’t it be far more prudent to report my transgressions to the lord commander?” She didn’t need to know the details of a military contract to know Falcor was risking his entire career by keeping this knowledge to himself and would be risking far more if he actively helped her. It was not technically against the law for a woman to practice magic, and yet she doubted the law would protect her—or Falcor—if they were caught colluding in this way.
“Why did you help with the evacuation of the Harbor District rather than riding off to safety with your children?” he countered. “Surely it would have been more prudent to accompany them to the palace.”
“That was different,” she protested, then wondered what she was doing. It almost sounded as if she was arguing for him to turn her in.
“You did what you thought was right. Just as I did when I joined the effort instead of forcibly removing you, which was my duty.”
“And you think this is right?” she asked with a sweeping gesture. “I doubt you’ll find many men who agree.”
“My duty is to protect you and your family. That cannot always be done with swords alone.” He tilted his head so that the light hit it just right and she could read his grave and earnest expression. “There may come a time when you or Miss Jinnell or Master Corlin have need of a spell such as this.” He looked pointedly at the still-sleeping horse. “I see no harm, and a great deal of potential benefit, in making sure you have access to such magic.”
Alys let out a slow, shaky breath. She could hardly say she was comfortable with letting Falcor know her secret. For all that he’d been her master of the guard for well over a year now, she couldn’t say she knew him well. But he had ridden out to the Harbor District with her on the night of the earthquake. If that wasn’t an indicator of his basic decency—and his trustworthiness—she didn’t know what was.
“Thank you,” she said.
He bowed his head. “And thank you.” She raised her eyebrows in inquiry. “For not allowing me to touch the ring while its spell was active. We both know that would have been a far more certain way to keep your secret.”
She swallowed hard. “It probably wouldn’t have killed you.”
“Maybe not. But it would have made it very easy for you to kill me if you felt it necessary. Sleeping men make easy targets.”
Alys did not want to think about what she might have done had he touched the ring and merely fallen asleep. She was very glad she didn’t have to.
“Now, let’s test that spell,” he said.
She opened her mouth to protest, because she’d assumed he meant he would arrange for the testing of the spell, not that he would allow her to test it on himself.
“You must have a plan to lower the intensity of the spell for use on humans, right?”
“Well, yes. But it could still be dangerous even at its lowest intensity. I have no way of knowing.”
“I’m a guardsman, my lady. I face some level of threat every hour of every day. I don’t think a sleeping spell is that great a risk.”
“All right,” she finally said, resigned. In her heart, she didn’t really believe the spell would harm him if she repeated the process she’d gone through with Smoke, starting with only one or two motes of Von and increasing them as necessary. “But let’s wait until Smoke wakes up first. I’d like to see that there are no ill effects, and I’d like to know how long he’ll sleep. It wouldn’t do to test the spell and have you still sleeping when the sun rises.”
He gave a soft snort of amusement. “No, it would not. And we would be better served trying it somewhere a little more private.” He glanced at the door that led to the servants’ quarters in the back of the stables. They were probably lucky their quiet conversation hadn’t already roused someone.
“When Smoke wakes up, we’ll go back to the house. We can test the spell in my study. No one should disturb us at this time of night.”
* * *
—
Shelvon had lost weight since the last time Alys had met with her, only two weeks ago. She looked so frail and ill that Alys’s heart ached for her.
“Are you still taking those fertility potions?” she asked her sister-in-law as soon as they were alone together in the Rose Room for what was becoming their biweekly strategy meeting. At this point in the proceedings, Alys didn’t really need any help from Shelvon in searching for a potential match for Jinnell, but their previous discussions had given her a new appreciation for her sister-in-law, who was clearly kind and good-hearted when she was comfortable enough to let down her guard. Her shyness meant she had few friends in the palace, and Alys had the distinct impression the poor girl was painfully lonely.
Shelvon shrugged, though the effort of raising her shoulders seemed to tire her. “I’ve poured out the last two Delnamal gave me. They clearly aren’t d
oing any good, but he keeps pushing them on me.” She managed one of her wan smiles. “I suppose I should be flattered he’s trying so hard to make it work. He could have given up on me by now.”
Alys wanted to gather the younger woman into a motherly embrace, to soothe away her fears and assure her everything would be all right. If her detestable half-brother were actually trying to make the marriage work, he would be showering Shelvon with love and affection, not forcing her to drink potions that made her ill.
Shelvon shook off her melancholy—or at least its outer trappings—and a small hint of life sparked in her eyes. For all the unpleasant reasons behind finding a foreign match for Jinnell, Shelvon seemed to enjoy matchmaking.
“How goes the search?” Shelvon asked.
Alys frowned, hating that she had no positive news to help lift the mood. “I’ve received a few more refusals, and a couple of vague and tepid replies that indicate a willingness to entertain the possibility at some unspecified future time. I’m beginning to wonder if I need to ask my father to increase Jinnell’s dowry.”
Not that she had any reason to think he would. Contributing to the dowry at all had been an unnecessary kindness.
“Before you ask,” she continued, “yes, I sent a flier to Zarsha of Nandel, though I admit it was only last week, so it’s not surprising I have not yet received a response.” Depending on wind and weather, it could take up to two days for a flier to cross the distance between Aalwell and Zinolm Well, where Zarsha was making his extended visit.
Shelvon opened her mouth as if to say something, then shut it with a snap. Looking over Alys’s shoulder, she hastily scrambled to her feet. Alys rose and whirled toward the door, knowing someone must have come in while her back was turned.
With a shock, she saw that it was the king. She was so surprised to see him that she was uncomfortably late giving him the necessary curtsy. The king did not “pop in” unannounced. His schedule was rigidly controlled, so that usually even his own children had to make an appointment to speak with him.
“Please excuse my interruption,” he said, then turned to Shelvon without awaiting a reply. Commanding them to accept his apology, rather than asking. “I need a private word with my daughter, my dear.”
Alys bit her tongue to keep herself from snapping at her father. Rude enough that he was barging in on her conversation with Shelvon, but to then dismiss the future Queen of Aaltah as if she were some serving girl…
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Shelvon said, dropping into a deep curtsy and averting her eyes. Alys had the uncharitable thought that Shelvon was so submissive it never even occurred to her to be annoyed.
Alys crossed her arms and held her tongue as Shelvon scurried from the room and the king helped himself to her still-warm seat. Alys was sure her irritation showed plainly both in her facial expression and her body language. She hadn’t expected a great deal of use to come from her meeting with Shelvon, but she would have liked more than five minutes of her sister-in-law’s company.
“Please sit down, Alys,” her father said when she remained on her feet, radiating displeasure. “I wouldn’t have interrupted if it wasn’t important.”
Alys reclaimed her seat, sitting stiffly on its very edge as if perched for a quick escape. She could imagine no pleasant reason for this sudden need to speak with her. “You could have sent a summons.”
“I saw no point in allowing your conversation with Shelvon to continue under the circumstances.”
Alys’s gut clenched in fear. Her father knew exactly why she’d been spending so much time with her sister-in-law lately. “What circumstances?” she asked, sure the blood had drained from her face.
“Don’t panic,” the king said, patting the air with his hand. “You should know I’m not prone to making rash decisions.”
Alys could argue his assertion—if she weren’t doing exactly what he’d told her not to do and panicking. “Then why don’t you want me planning for my daughter’s marriage?”
“She’s only eighteen. There’s no need to be in such a rush to find a husband for her.”
Alys leaned forward in her chair and glared at her father. “She’s my daughter. And that’s my decision to make.”
The king was unmoved by her anger. “But she’s my granddaughter, so I’m afraid it’s not. Not entirely, at least.”
“You gave me permission…” Alys started weakly, but her voice died in her throat.
“I’m not rescinding it,” he assured her in a tone that no doubt was meant to be soothing. “All I’m asking is that you slow down.”
“Why?” As if she didn’t know. As if the very reason he was asking her to slow down weren’t the reason she had tried to rush this whole process in the first place.
“These are difficult times. I’ve given the Abbey very clear orders that they are to reverse your mother’s spell on pain of death, but in all honesty, I’m not sure they can. Your mother was not a stupid woman, and she knew how the world would react to what she’d done. I’m sure she took every precaution to make the spell as difficult to circumvent as possible. Because of that spell, we may well need to…rethink certain alliances.”
“In other words you intend to sell your granddaughter to the highest bidder for the sake of expediency!”
“Don’t be such a child. You know how the world works, and you know what it takes to run a kingdom. I didn’t educate you like a boy to have you act as if politics were some unfathomable mystery to you.”
It was true that Alys both knew and understood Jinnell’s potential value to the kingdom. Alys herself had escaped a marriage of purely political consideration because she’d come of age in a time of relative prosperity. Her father had solicited her opinion of her potential husbands only because he had no pressing need for a pawn. Now with the uncertainty about Shelvon’s ability to produce an heir, Aaltah’s most vital political alliance was in jeopardy.
Tears burned her eyes. “It’s not childish to want what’s best for my daughter. That’s my duty as a mother.”
The king sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I want what’s best for her, too. Of course I do. But my duty as a king is to do what’s best for the kingdom.”
He leaned forward in his chair and took her hand, which was clenched into a white-knuckled fist. She jerked away and glared at him as a tear snaked down her cheek and she fought the need to burst into full-out sobs.
He grunted and leaned back, shaking his head. “If worse comes to worst and Shelvon fails to conceive, I will have no choice but to allow Delnamal to divorce her. He must have an heir. If he divorces her, I will need some way to compensate Prince Waldmir for the insult. But we are not there yet. Delnamal is impatient, but I reminded him that your mother didn’t become pregnant until the second year of our marriage. It’s only been three months since Shelvon lost the baby, and we have a long time still to wait before we give up hope. But until we know one way or another, Jinnell must remain available.”
She stared at her father, the man who had destroyed her mother’s life, who had disinherited his own children for cold political purposes, and who now commanded her to leave her daughter available to wed a monster. “You have no heart,” she told him, her voice hoarse with suppressed tears.
She wouldn’t exactly say he flinched at her bitter accusation, but there was a definite tightening around his eyes. She’d have rejoiced at having wounded him if she weren’t so sick with fear for Jinnell.
“My kingdom will always come first,” he said as he rose. “That doesn’t mean I have no heart, and it doesn’t mean this doesn’t hurt.”
“Good,” she snarled, refusing to rise with him as protocol demanded. Her whole body shook with the effort of keeping her emotions contained. She wanted to throw herself at him and pound on his chest while she shrieked her rage. Never had she wished so desperately to wound someone.
The king closed
his eyes and sighed, but his pain did nothing to ease her own. “It is still possible that Shelvon will conceive,” he said, but he didn’t sound as if he meant it. “And it’s still possible the new abbess will find a way to break—or at least circumvent—your mother’s spell. Let us both refrain from despair until such a time as all hope is lost.”
Alys shook her head, for she saw little reason to hope. Tynthanal’s letters had told her much about the abundant and unusual resources at the new Abbey, and yet he had reported no progress on the mission to reverse the Curse. The women were doing their best, experimenting with some of the rare elements the Well produced, and Tynthanal was helping them in whatever ways he could. He was by far the most magically talented person at the Abbey, but though he had admitted he could see some feminine elements, there were many he could not. It was even possible that the Well produced feminine elements that no one at the Abbey was magically gifted enough to see—but that maybe Alys could.
“I should visit the Abbey,” Alys said, the thought tumbling from her mouth the moment it occurred to her. There was no denying that Tynthanal’s reports about the new Well had intrigued her since she’d read his first letter, and she’d harbored some vague thought that she would be interested in seeing it. But she had certainly never thought such a thing would come to pass.
The king frowned at her. “Why would you want to do that?”
Alys was well aware that her brother was omitting a fair number of details in his reports, downplaying the importance of the Well that had been discovered. But news of the Well’s existence was becoming common knowledge, even if no one outside the Abbey had yet realized its full significance.
“Because I am my mother’s daughter,” she said, rising and letting a fierce burst of determination chase off some of her anger and fear. While she was fairly certain her father understood that a woman born of two such powerful bloodlines—and whose brother was a gifted Adept—likely had advanced magical abilities herself, she thought it safer not to put that reality into words. “Mother said certain abilities had been bred into her bloodline. Perhaps—”