Flamecaster

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Fosnaught nodded. He reached inside his robes, pulling out a rolled parchment and a velvet bag. “He gave me a message to you from the empress. And a token of her esteem.” The prelate extended the parchment and the bag toward the king.

  Montaigne eyed them warily. “Hold those for the moment,” he said. “Botetort, tell the staff outside to send for Freeman.”

  “Freeman?” Botetort looked from Montaigne to Fosnaught, who appeared as unhappy as the thane. “But what would he—?”

  “Do it,” the king said.

  Fosnaught opened his mouth as soon as the door closed behind Botetort. “Your Majesty, please indulge this loyal subject’s concern in the matter of the healer,” he said. “Is it really wise to—to—” His gaze fell on the Karns, and he seemed to be trying to rework what he meant to say. “—to introduce unfamiliar magery into the room? Especially a mage who has had such a brief tenure here?”

  The king’s lips tightened into a thin line. “The boy has demonstrated more talent in his brief tenure here than many who have been here at court for years.”

  Hmmm, Lila thought. Maybe I’ve underestimated the runaway princeling. He seems to have charmed the king, at least.

  Eventually, Ash arrived, with Botetort watchdogging him, having run the gantlet outside. He bowed to the king. His eyes flicked from Destin to Lila, narrowing when they lit on the crates of flashcraft. “You asked for me, Your Majesty?”

  “Fosnaught, give the items to the healer, so that he can examine them for curses, enchantments, and poisons.”

  All at once, the principia seemed more than eager to drop the empress’s gifts into Ash’s hands.

  Ash set the velvet bag on the table. He cradled the parchment in his hands, closed his eyes, and murmured charms over it. He looked up at the king, tapped the seal with his finger, and said, “Would you like to examine the seal, Your Majesty, in order to verify its authenticity before I break it?”

  Montaigne leaned forward, careful not to get too close, and scanned the seal. “It seems to be in order,” he said. Ash broke the seal, unrolled the parchment, and ran his fingertips over the ink, murmuring what sounded like gibberish to Lila. Then nodded, as if he’d made a decision. “Good news, Your Majesty,” he said. “It is safe. If there were curses present, I have disabled them.” He handed the parchment to the king, then turned his attention to the velvet bag.

  Meanwhile, the king scanned the empress’s message quickly, then thrust it at Destin. “She knows. The bloody empress knows we’ve found the girl. She wants to make the exchange as soon as possible.”

  “But . . . that doesn’t make sense,” Destin muttered. “How could she possibly know?”

  “She’s a bloody sorceress,” the king snarled. “A witch. Maybe she sacrificed a virgin or a goat. How would I know?”

  “She’s a witch?” Fosnaught looked betrayed. “Commander Strangward never mentioned that.”

  Destin read, tracing the script with a finger. “‘I understand that you now have the magemarked girl in your possession. I have sent Commander Strangward with an array of gifts, including a powerful weapon that will ignite terror in the hearts of your adversaries. This will be evidence of my good faith.’” He looked up. “What’s all this about a weapon? Did you see it, Fosnaught?”

  The cleric shook his head. “It’s still on board his ship.”

  “She promised us an army of mages,” General Karn said, snatching the parchment from his son’s hand and reading it over himself. “What makes her think that we would be satisfied with a weapon?”

  “It takes time and resources to move an army,” Destin said. “The empress might have been unwilling to undertake it without knowing for sure that the girl is the one she is seeking.”

  “What would you know about armies?” General Karn growled.

  The general never misses an opportunity to take a shot at his son and heir, Lila thought. I wonder why.

  Destin met his father’s sneer unflinchingly. “Given that the empress learned of the girl’s presence here so quickly, I think we have to assume that she has agents right here in the capital.”

  “Agents that you should have ferreted out before now.”

  “Lord Strangward is eager to meet as soon as is conveniently possible,” Fosnaught said, as if eager to reclaim the stage. “He says that any time after dinner would suit him.”

  “Tonight?” Montaigne snorted. “He shows up here unannounced and demands an immediate audience with the king of the Realm?”

  The cleric’s mouth twisted, as if he tasted something sour. “He appears to be . . . unschooled in court manners, Your Majesty. From his appearance, I would have guessed him to be a horse savage. Or a pirate.”

  “He’ll just have to wait,” the king said. “Tell Strangward we’ll meet with him tomorrow in the Small Hall.”

  Fosnaught cleared his throat. “Tomorrow is the Feast of Saint Malthus.”

  “The day after tomorrow, then,” Montaigne amended.

  “Lord Strangward would prefer that we meet on board his ship, so that he can display the weapon, which is down in the hold.”

  “If he thinks that I am foolish enough to get on board a ship with a pirate, he is sadly mistaken,” the king said. “I don’t mean to be carried off to the Northern Islands and held for ransom.”

  “Your Majesty,” Destin said. “Could we perhaps meet in your pavilion at dockside? That would be close to the ship, and yet would allow us to meet on our home ground.”

  “I see no reason to meet this barbarian halfway,” Montaigne said. “He should be happy that I am meeting with him at all.”

  His liege men looked at one another, as if each hoped that one of the others would speak up. They want this deal to go forward, Lila thought, whatever it is.

  Strangward might be unschooled in courtly ways, but the king has no practice at diplomacy, either. He’s used to getting what he wants by force.

  “Your Grace,” General Karn said. “We need that army, we need the funds, and if the empress is offering a fearsome weapon, we need that, too, especially now.”

  “It is your failures that have put us into this position, Karn,” Montaigne said. “Don’t forget that.”

  “It could rekindle enthusiasm for the war in the Thane Council,” Botetort said. “We have nothing to lose and much to gain by hearing what the barbarian has to say.”

  “It’s a wise leader who keeps his eyes on the ultimate goal—uniting the Seven Realms under Ardenine rule, and in the grace of the true church,” Fosnaught said. “We know that you are the kind of strategic thinker who takes the long view, even if it involves dealing with . . . witches. At least until we get what we need from her.”

  The king looked from one to the other, a muscle working in his jaw. “Spare me the flattery, gentlemen,” he said. “Very well. We will meet in the Small Hall. Fosnaught, tell Pettyman to arrange for housing for Strangward and his crew outside the—”

  “He prefers to stay on board his ship, Your Majesty,” Fosnaught said. “He does not want to inconvenience you or impose on your hospitality.”

  “Is that so?” the king said. “If true, that would be a first. Lieutenant Karn, tell Pettyman to arrange for new quarters for the girl, inside the keep, but on one of the upper floors, in the tower.”

  “It’s already in process, Your Majesty,” Destin said.

  Montaigne swung toward Ash, who still seemed to be studying the contents of the bag, though Lila suspected he was listening closely. “How’s the girl’s health?”

  Ash looked up. “She is doing remarkably well, sire, to have suffered such a serious wound,” he said. “I would, however, recommend that you wait another week before—”

  “See that she’s in good shape by the day after tomorrow,” the king said.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Ash said.

  Well, Lila thought, at least the princeling seems to be learning when to give way.

  But he wasn’t finished. “Your Majesty,” Ash said, “would you l
ike to hear more about the empress’s gifts?”

  The king seemed to have forgotten all about the velvet bag. “Yes, of course,” he snapped. “What is it?”

  “There are no enchantments,” Ash said, weighing the bag in his hand. He pulled a silver platter toward him and emptied the contents onto it. “If I’ve counted correctly, this bag contains fifteen large diamonds. If they are real, they would be of a very high value.”

  Montaigne eyed the diamonds greedily. “You have examined them? They are not poisonous or cursed?”

  Ash shook his head. “They are not.”

  “Good,” the king said, scooping them back into the bag and sliding them into his doublet. “I will examine these further at my leisure.”

  “The diamonds are impressive, Your Majesty, but they are not the most precious of the empress’s gifts. This is.” Ash displayed a small ceramic bottle inscribed with runes.

  “What is it?” the king asked.

  “Living silver,” Ash said. “Very rare, very valuable. Here, let me show you.” Uncorking the bottle, he poured a small amount onto a ceramic plate. It formed small silver globules that rolled around in a mesmerizing way. Ash poked it with his finger and the droplets shimmered and danced.

  What the hell is he up to? Lila thought. She craned her neck to get a closer look.

  “That’s remarkable,” the king said, looking smitten. “But . . . what is it good for? Can it be molded or hardened like ordinary silver?”

  “Not unless it is married with other metals,” Ash said. “But that would be a waste. It is most valued for its magical qualities. When burned or heated, it releases white magic.”

  The king was extending his hand toward it, but now he drew back. “White magic?”

  “Bear in mind, I’m no expert,” Ash said. “All I know is what I’ve read in the old manuscripts. In the Northern Islands, it is used as a kind of talisman. Its vapors protect against evil. It is particularly abhorrent to snakes, assassins, and other malevolent creatures.”

  Fosnaught made the sign of Malthus. “Your Majesty,” he said. “It is the grace of God that protects us against evil. I can’t imagine that the use of such agents would be consistent with—”

  “Where was the grace of God when some villain put a viper in my bed?” Montaigne said. He turned back to Ash. “How is it used?”

  “Some sprinkle a few drops on a pomander and carry it with them. Others use a small lamp or diffuser and let it burn all night so that the vapors accumulate during sleep. When used in that way, it has been known to cause some irritation to the eyes and throat, but most sources say that it is relatively minor, and well worth it, given the protection it affords.”

  Lila had never heard of liquid silver or white magic, but then she didn’t run in magical circles. “Have you heard of that?” she murmured to Destin. He shook his head, frowning.

  “Why should we trust you, healer?” General Karn glared at the silver puddle suspiciously. “How do we know that’s not some kind of poison, or black magic?”

  “The general is right,” Fosnaught said, looking thrilled to have an ally. “Here in Arden, we have used sorcery in very careful, tightly controlled ways to the glory and in the service of the great saint. It is best not to proceed too quickly down this road lest we go astray.”

  “I understand, Father Fosnaught. These days one can’t be too careful.” Ash carefully scooped the living silver back into the bottle, restoppered it, and slid it inside his carry bag. “Is there anything else you wanted me to clear, Your Majesty?”

  “Not so fast,” Montaigne said, putting up a hand and giving Ash a narrow-eyed look. “You want the living silver for yourself—admit it, Freeman.”

  Ash wet his lips. “I only thought that, since you would rather not risk it, that I would—”

  “Do you think I’m a fool?”

  Ash hastily dug out the bottle and held it out to the king. “Please. Take it. I never meant to presume that—”

  “If you think it’s safe, then why don’t you demonstrate for all of us,” General Karn said.

  Blood and bones, Lila thought. Now the princeling has backed himself into a corner, and there’s no way to get him out. But she had to try, even if it meant taking her life in her hands.

  “Your Majesty,” Lila said, hoping to change the subject. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but before Lieutenant Karn and I go, I wondered if you might want to choose a new talisman from this old flash collection.”

  Irritation flickered across the king’s face. “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Well, since people say that old flash is the best, so—”

  “I’m happy with what I have,” Montaigne said, waving her away and turning back to Ash. “Well, healer? The general makes a good point.”

  “He does, Your Majesty,” Ash said. “I am happy to oblige.” He picked up the bottle, uncorked it, tipped back his head, and sipped. His lips were silvered when he lowered the bottle. They all stared as he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and blotted it away. “I don’t recommend drinking it, as it’s not the best use of a precious element. But, as you can see, it is perfectly safe.”

  The king smiled. “I am convinced, healer. And therefore, I will keep the empress’s gift for myself.”

  “As you wish.” Ash bowed. “Careful,” he warned, “it’s heavier than you think.” He put the bottle into the king of Arden’s hands.

  32

  A LITTLE BAD JUDGMENT

  Jenna dreamed she was back at the Lady of Grace, in her Lyle Truthteller guise, with the scent of coal fires and mutton stew in her nose and the laments of a mediocre minstrel in her ears. Behind the bar, her father stood, alive again. She felt the pressure of his anxious eyes, always waiting for her to disappear.

  Across the table, in the client chair, sat Adam Wolf, his hair an honest red.

  Jenna shuffled and reshuffled the cards, once losing hold of them so that they scattered across the battered wood like rose petals. She and the healer both reached for the cards, and their hands collided. They yanked their hands back like they’d been burned.

  Jenna scooped up the cards, stacked them, and slapped them down on the table in rows. One by one, she turned them over, arranging them like puzzle pieces.

  “You will meet a girl,” she said, “who will bring heartbreak and trouble into your life. A thousand times, you will curse the day you met her.”

  “No.” The healer raked the cards from the table and onto the floor. “I won’t accept that.” He reached across the table and took her hands. “We have a future. I know we do. Now tell me a different truth.”

  The scene dissolved, and she was looking into a pair of golden eyes, eyes just like her own. Fierce, hypnotic eyes in a jeweled setting, but the light in them was going out. There was a pain in her shoulders as if she carried a weight too heavy to lift. The stench of rotten meat filled her nostrils and burned her eyes. The floor rocked gently under her.

  Flamecaster. We are trapped in a dark place, and we cannot see the sky.

  The back of her neck prickled and burned. She extended her arms, and saw glittering scales where her skin had been, her nails growing into claws. She breathed in the scent of prey, then realized that something furry was crawling across her knee. Swearing, she sent the creature flying into the darkness, burning like a shooting star. It squealed once as it hit the wall, then went silent. She hunted for it, her wings hitting the walls on all sides, following her nose to fresh meat. She was starving and yet she could not find food. She screamed in frustration.

  Light blinded her. It must be the Skins who had imprisoned her. She gathered herself, found her flame, roared a challenge. She might be weak, but she could still make a kill. Then she caught a familiar scent and knew.

  It was the wolf.

  She heard shouts outside the door, banging, someone fumbling with the latch. The scent of burning fur and flesh slowly faded, along with the remnants of the dream as she remembered where she was.

  She w
as no longer in the dungeon. She was in new quarters, high in the king of Arden’s tower, with a window overlooking the river.

  The door burst open, and the wolf was across the room in a few long strides, kneeling next to her so that he could look into her face and take her hand in his. “Jenna? What is it? What’s wrong?”

  His voice and his scent, more than anything, anchored her back in her body.

  “It was nothing. A dream.” She took a deep breath, then let it out. The wind from the river stirred her hair, bringing with it a memory of fish and salt water and the not-too-distant sea. She’d fallen asleep reading in the chair by the window, the one place where she could see the sky.

  Adam drove off the blackbirds who had swarmed through the door on his heels, saying, “It was just a dream.” When they’d left, he turned back to her. “You’re shaking.” He pressed the back of his hand against her forehead. “No fever.” He stood, and ignited a lamp on the table with the tips of his fingers.

  While his back was turned, Jenna examined her hands and arms in the moonlight. They looked perfectly normal—no claws, no scales. She breathed a sigh of relief, then thought, Are you losing your mind?

  “I dreamed I was back in the dungeon and there was a rat and—and I was going to eat it,” she blurted.

  He turned, hands on hips, and raised an eyebrow. “I know you’re always hungry, but that’s setting the bar pretty low. I’d have brought you some more food, but they told me you’d just had supper.”

  She shook her head, her cheeks heating with embarrassment. “No, no, it’s not that. You know how you just . . . have stupid dreams sometimes.”

  “You’re right,” he said, his face clouding. “Sometimes we do have stupid dreams.”

  He pulled a chair in close and sat, so they were almost knee to knee. “I’m glad to see that Lieutenant Karn came through. I didn’t realize that you had moved upstairs until I went to the dungeon and you weren’t there.” He looked around. “This is much better.”

  And it was. The room was small, being high in the tower, with curved walls. The furnishings were plain—a bed with a thick straw mattress and plenty of quilts and coverlets. A stand with a pitcher and washbasin. Two chairs. A screen in the corner to hide the chamber pot. A hearth with a crackling fire, and a window—a barred window, of course, but a window nonetheless.