Authors: Kate Sparkes
“I’ll be good. Please, Myk.” I lowered my eyes as though embarrassed. “I’ve waited my whole life to see this library.”
At least that’s not a lie.
His expression relaxed. “Of course. Not like you’re going to burn the place down, right?”
I held out my empty hands. “Couldn’t if I wanted to.”
He escorted me through quiet hallways, and I realized I wouldn’t be able to find my way out even if I decided to attempt a quick escape.
He pushed the door open and let me step in first. “It seems no one’s working today,” he said. “You think you can find what you need? Everything the Potioners use is in this nook.”
The library took my breath away. I’d imagined what such a wealth of knowledge might look like, but apparently had done a poor job of it. Though the rows of shelves didn’t call to me as the workshop supply room’s did, the quiet solemnity of the place drew me in and calmed me, and the weight of hundreds of years of writing seemed to send out its own sort of vibration. Not magic, but something else. Something deep and beautiful, and somehow sad.
I looked over the shelves covered in leather-bound paper and nodded. “It’ll take some time, but I think I can manage.”
“You have two hours, and then I’ll be back for you.” His brow furrowed. “Please don’t get me in trouble. I’m trusting you.”
I laughed softly, respectful of the quiet that surrounded us. “I’d be in as much trouble as you would, and I think I’m more disposable.”
He smiled back. “Good enough. Have fun.”
An hour later I’d familiarized myself with the layout of that tiny section of the massive, dimly-lit library. Much of it was old journals left behind by Potioners—records of their experiments, not all of them well-organized. At least half of the books were written in languages I didn’t understand, or in handwriting too cramped for me to puzzle the words out. Still, by the time Myk returned, I’d found a few pages of notes that looked promising, and had sought out a book on dragons as well.
I hoped that if there were library gods, they’d forgive me for the pages I’d torn out and folded into my pockets. At least I had a good idea of how to move ahead, and I had come up with some ideas for the dragon egg.
The next morning, Sara called me to her private office just down the hall from my bedroom—my cell, as I thought of it. Her space was warmed by an abstract tapestry on one wall, shelves lined with papers and books, comfortable chairs, and a massive wooden desk covered in still more papers. A big orange-and-white cat snoozed in a basket in the corner.
“I should apologize for being so busy and neglecting you,” she said, and motioned for me to sit in a comfortable chair next to the desk. The words were civil enough, but her voice remained distant. “I’m still the head Potioner of this palace, and can’t neglect my regular duties.” Her right hand closed over the upper part of her left arm, and she crossed her legs as she sat. “But the king’s needs and requests must come first, naturally, and it’s time to get back to work on his project.”
“Of course.” I smiled as though I believed that was all it was. “No need to apologize.”
Her smile seemed forced, but I didn’t sense any hostility in it. “I have to say that your success the other day took me off-guard. When you chose unfamiliar ingredients, I thought you might be unusually perceptive. Your choice of a poisonous flower did give me pause, even made me question your motivations. But you made it work. I could have done it, but I’ve only known a few other Potioners who could. Perhaps the one who married that Sorcerer in Belleisle. I can’t think of many others. It takes a special gift.”
“I’ll take that as high praise, then.” I still didn’t trust her, but she seemed to be trying to accept me. All I could do was remain as non-threatening as possible, given what she now knew about me.
Sara unfolded her body and tapped a dry feather quill against her desk as she looked deep into my eyes. “Who taught you?”
I silently blessed Aren for telling me to stick to the truth. It made it easy to remember what I’d told Severn. Still, I’d have to improvise as I added to it. “My teacher back home wasn’t much good, but a few years ago an old Potioner passed through. She stopped to instruct me for a few weeks in exchange for a place to sleep. She explained about influencing the components, making impossible reactions happen. I think I got the better end of that bargain.”
Sara set the quill down and ran her fingers over an array of tiny bottles on a miniature shelf mounted on the wall. “I see. Humming?”
“That’s how she showed me. I haven’t stumbled on another way yet. Is it odd?”
“It’s not a well-known technique.” She shook her head as if to clear it. “No mind. I’m happy you came here, Nox. I think your mind will complement mine well.”
Something told me those weren’t her words. Severn must have given her a gentle reminder about his wishes regarding me.
Not so gentle, perhaps,
I thought as she rubbed her arm again.
“I hope we’ll work well together,” I said. “I think there’s a lot I could learn from you. Severn seems to have great respect for your gifts.”
Her smile relaxed as she leaned forward. “He has. He’s making better use of Potioners than any king has in the past, and it will enable him to do great things. What we’re working on now is strengthening his magic. Not that it’s weak. He’s fully recovered from his injuries.”
“I could sense that.”
Sara smiled. “I’m sure. It’s awe-inspiring to be close to that kind of power, isn’t it?”
I chose my words carefully, sensing it wasn’t only her professional position she felt protective of. “Impressive, indeed. I find myself uncomfortable with Sorcerers. I’ve never really been around them much. I’m more comfortable speaking with you.”
Her smile broadened again, and I began to relax. “You’ll get used to it,” she said, “but I’d say you won’t have to worry any more about dealing directly with the king. I’m the only Potioner he typically speaks with.”
“That’s a relief.”
She nodded. “I won’t bore you with the details, but our project is to find a way to build his magic up even beyond his full strength, and especially when the ambient magic in the land is low.”
In case he has to go to Darmid,
I added to myself. Some way of bolstering magic would certainly have helped Aren when he was there.
“What have you got so far?” I asked, and Sara pulled a thick sheaf of papers from the shelf behind her.
“Take a look.”
We spent hours poring over the notes and drawings. Her skill was certainly impressive, and the creativity with which she’d approached the problem astounded me. She’d left no avenue unexplored, had tested every ingredient in that pantry to find its full range of properties. At the pages showing her work on human and magical-animal components, I kept my expression neutral and showed as much enthusiasm as I could muster. Some of her methods were beyond questionable, involving pain and fear, things I’d never considered using to influence reactions.
But,
I reminded myself,
anything for the king.
A knock at the door interrupted us, and Sara stood to answer. “You’re needed in the king’s private chambers,” announced a guard.
Sara chewed her lip, then smoothed her skirt. “Is there a problem?”
“As far as I know, it’s a personal request rather than professional.”
Sara’s shoulders relaxed, and a flush crept into her cheeks. “Thank you.” She glanced at me. “Nox, I’ll be back.”
I looked through the notes again when she was gone, searching her results for something that would help Ulric. The potion I’d made for my test might help bring him strength, but it needed far more. We weren’t recovering magic. We needed to keep it from hurting him.
But with another technique and different ingredients...
Hours later, another knock came at the door.
“Sara’s not here,” I called, and the door opened. The same guard who’d taken her away poked his head in.
“I know. I’m to tell you she’s feeling unwell and has retired to her personal chambers for the remainder of the day.”
“Oh. Thank you.” A feeling of unease swept over me, and I wondered about Sara’s apparent mix of affection for and fear of her king.
“And you’re wanted in the king’s chambers.”
My heart leaped into my throat. “Am I in trouble?” I asked, realizing that Sara had asked practically the same thing.
“I don’t know,” the guard said, expression neutral. “He didn’t seem angry.”
That meant nothing. Severn was obviously good at projecting whatever mood he pleased. I followed the red uniform up a circular staircase to the room I’d met Severn in before.
The king didn’t stand when I entered. He sat in the same chair by the fire, his legs stretched out in front of him, head resting against the back.
“Sit,” he ordered, and again I obeyed. His expression and demeanor were calm, even peaceful, and I found my nervousness decreasing.
Watch that,
I reminded myself. It was probably exactly what he wanted.
“Find anything?” he asked.
“No, I’m sorry. Sara has been explaining everything, though. I think we can work something out.” I thought no such thing, and suspected that we were shooting at a target we could never hit, but that news would not please him.
“That’s good to hear.” His fingers tented over his stomach and he tapped the tips together as he stared at the ceiling. I wondered whether Sara had drugged him, until his gaze focused sharply on me. “There are things she hasn’t told you.”
“Oh.” I tried not to look too interested.
He sat up and leaned forward, and I wished he’d turn that intense gaze elsewhere. “Sara and I work well together in many ways, but we disagree on a few things.”
He waited for a response.
“Unicorn horn?” I offered, remembering his comment in the workroom.
He nodded. “I appreciate everything Sara does for me. I take most of the credit for my survival, but she certainly deserves some. Her potion got me through the worst days. I was angry when I learned what she’d used in it.”
“You care for unicorns so much?”
He smiled. “Not personally, no. But even educated people say that to kill a unicorn brings a curse. To taste a unicorn’s blood, to consume it or use its body does the same. I’m not a superstitious man, but magic is enough of a mystery that I’m not prepared to dismiss such things.” He rose and walked to the window and looked out at the view of the city and the harbor beyond. “At least she didn’t use the damned mer tears, though she wanted to. Harming them is said to be as bad as killing a unicorn, though I do wonder whether the merfolk started that tale themselves.”
Not something I’d heard before. But then, we didn’t tend to deal with merfolk in Cressia.
“In any case,” he continued, “I’d prefer to be safe. Sara doesn’t see that. She only feels the magic and the potential, and if she can do something, she will. I generally find this a positive quality in her, but her insistence that there was no other solution troubled me. I thought it laziness on her part, but she told me that unicorn horn was the only solution.”
And I’d proved her wrong. No wonder she was angry.
Severn poured himself a glass of wine. “I have a specific goal for my life. I can’t have curses getting in the way, unicorn or otherwise.”
“Would it be out of place for me to ask about that goal?”
His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Careful, Nox
. I aimed for a tone of casual interest mixed with a little awe at being permitted to ask a great Sorcerer such things. He liked boldness, I could see that. But not too much. “You seem driven. You took charge so quickly after your father left, and you don’t seem content with just having the throne. You have larger plans, don’t you?”
He smirked over the top of his wine glass, then set it down. “You don’t have to be coy. I’m aware of the rumors about me regarding my father’s disappearance. You think I did him in?”
“Well, I...” I had no idea what he wanted me to say.
He chuckled. “You’re delightful. I do grow tired of the practiced speeches of the city’s flatterers. I’ll tell you this. If I had killed him, he’d have deserved it.” No mirth in his voice now. “My father was a weak man in so many ways. A coward, afraid of his own people.”
“People say he was a good king.” I hesitated to disagree, but it seemed a natural observation, given my story.
Severn watched me, considering something. “He was, in some ways. But he let so many things go. He let people disrespect him. Not a month went by when he didn’t have someone challenge him for his position.”
I narrowed my eyes. “But they all failed.”
He nodded. “They did. Ulric was strong in magic, no doubt. But he made himself a fool. He’d face these challengers and give every one of them a fair shot. He played by the rules, but it was so much worse than that. He could have crushed any of them easily. He could steal a man’s strength, yet he never did that straight off. He always made it a show, gave them a fighting chance when he should have just been done with them as soon as they announced their intentions.”
Hearing more about Ulric as king interested me more than I cared to admit to myself. “Why would he encourage them like that?”
Severn glanced back at the wine bottle, but made no move to get more. “Because he wanted his people’s respect, of all things. He said the challenges weren’t just about defending his position, that the people saw themselves in the challengers just as much as they saw their enemies. They needed to see that their king was capable of defending them, but also that he would deal with them fairly. He didn’t want them to see him as a tyrant, capable of crushing rebellion with nothing more than a flick of his wrist. He wanted to be seen as human. Struggling like them, and always prevailing.”
He ran his hands through his white hair and moved back toward his chair. “It’s ridiculous, yet I find myself constrained by those expectations, and by the laws of magical combat. Threats await just outside the city. I could win a challenge if I allowed it to happen, but I have no wish to meet this particular enemy in front of spectators and those who would judge me for crushing him.”