At Any Cost (7 page)

M
aggie told no one
. Not even Rashel knew about her tryst with the king of Tyrea—not that Rashel would have had time to be shocked about it in the flurry of wedding preparations.

The wedding took place at the school, where Rashel had worked so many hours and spent so many more with Maggie, who stood for her during the ceremony. Rashel’s parents had spared no expense in the decorating or the party. They’d hired a Sorcerer to take care of the lighting, and a promising student with a gift for botany to bring the autumn gardens back to bright, lush, abundant life. Swans floated serenely on a pond created just for the occasion, and the guests were stuffed full of delicious treats long before supper. The beautiful day had been one last gift to their daughter before she made her own way in the world.

After sunset on a crisp harvest night, Rashel and her new husband danced under the moon. They gazed into each other’s eyes, smiling vaguely at well-wishers who chuckled at the happy couple and offered congratulations.

Maggie sat on the new wooden bench that wrapped around the base of an elm tree, a comfortable spot with a good view of the dance floor. She pulled her white fur wrap tighter against the chill and watched the guests as they departed.

“Feeling the pressure yet?”

She smiled up at Cade. “Not in the least. You?”

“Maybe a little. Mind if I sit?”

She moved over. They weren’t courting, exactly, but he’d been spending time at the school. Maggie found him pleasant enough compared to the others, a little more humble and far less demanding. He was interested, but not bold enough yet to say so, and she hoped things would stay that way. Much as she liked him in a lukewarm and comforting fashion, she wasn’t ready to give up on finding what she’d felt with Ulric. She couldn’t imagine feeling that fire with anyone else, that deep yearning, that feeling of complete rightness that she’d felt that night.

And look where that led you,
she thought. Weeks of melancholy followed by another of feeling hardly anything at all. After that came anger at herself for being so stupid, and more anger for still wondering what would have happened if she’d gone to meet him at the bridge.

Misery, perhaps? The realization that he’d meant none of it, that he was nothing but a superb actor desiring another wife for his collection? Or could he be aching as she ached, wondering why she hadn’t come, wishing he’d been more open and wondering whether she would have loved him anyway? He’d seemed to want to explain more about life in Luid, but Maggie hadn’t pried. Time had been short, and Luid had seemed a ghostly shadow when compared with the reality of the room, the bed, and the man who had shared them with her.

What if he wanted to tell me about those wives? What if he meant to later, when I met him at the bridge?

She knew she should take her father’s words completely to heart. He was a walking history tome, aware of every interaction between Tyrea and Belleisle for well over a century. If he said Ulric was a cold-hearted, scheming murderer, she should believe him.

And yet her own name echoed in her ear, spoken as though the word itself were life and hope.

“Van and Rashel look happy, don’t they?” Cade rested his arm across the back of the bench behind her. “I can’t believe how quickly it all happened.”

“They’re in love,” she said softly.

Van, looking undeniably handsome in his gray suit, laughed as Rashel pulled him over for another peek at the gift table. He wasn’t a man with great magic, or with much to offer in the way of material things. Rashel was leaving behind a comfortable home and moving to the western shore, far from friends and family. A small cost in comparison to what Maggie had considered, but huge to her.

Van is a good man, though,
she reminded herself.

Rashel kicked off her slippers and walked barefoot over the cold grass to Maggie, holding a small paper box in her hand.

“Help me guess this little mystery,” she said. “There’s no indication of who this is from, and so far no one remembers seeing it delivered.”

Maggie took the white box and slipped the lid back. The box held a single gold figure, nestled beneath white tissue paper.

Not tissue paper,
she realized, and a chill passed over her. Food wrapping paper. A tiny difference. She turned the box over, and a miniature golden lamb fell into the palm of her hand. Sapphire eyes glittered in its finely made face, and the weight of the figure seemed far greater than its physical mass.

Maggie swallowed hard. “No card at all?”

“No. Just my name on the top and a little picture in the bottom of the box. Take the paper out.”

Maggie almost handed the gift back without looking, but couldn’t help herself. Inscribed on the inside of the paper box in black ink were two rough drawings: a morning glory and a grappling hook vine. Her false name, or as close to it as one might find in a Tyrean market stall.

“I can’t imagine who might have done that,” she said, and handed the lamb back. She held onto the box, and Rashel didn’t ask for it. “A strange present, but pretty.”

“I quite like it,” Rashel said, “and it has to be worth a small fortune. I’d love to thank whoever left it.”

“I’ll pass the message along if I ever find out.” Maggie glanced up at the stars, visible through gaps in the half-bare branches overhead. “Are you two heading out soon?”

“Now, actually.” Rashel pulled Maggie to her feet and into a tight hug. “I’m going to miss you so much. You’ll visit, won’t you?”

“Any time I’m able.” Maggie breathed in the scent of the flowers that clung to Rashel’s dress and hair. “You’ll be so busy that you won’t even notice if I don’t.”

“I hope you don’t believe that.” Rashel squeezed Maggie’s hands before stepping back and taking her husband’s. “You’re important to me, Maggie.”

“Likewise, Shel.” She forced a smile, but let her tears fall.
Everything is changing.
“I’ll miss you, too, but I’m so happy for you.”

Rashel wiped Maggie’s damp cheek with her finger. “Your happy ending will come. And I’ll still be around to see it.”

Maggie excused herself after the couple left and retreated to her room, box clutched tight in her hand. A gift for the happy couple that would see them well set up in their new life if they chose to sell it. Her heart twisted as she remembered mentioning their situation to Ulric. Such a brief comment, but it seemed he’d remembered. The gold was for them, but its form and the message within the package were not.

“And what am I supposed to make of it?” she muttered as she slipped out of her dress and glanced at the drawings again. “That you think of me? That you remember that day?”

The memory of the lamb’s glittering eyes sent a shiver through her. Didn’t some cultures sacrifice lambs? Such weak creatures, so innocent and trusting.
If I went to him now, would I find a shepherd or a slaughterhouse?

She remembered the intensity of his gaze, his discomfort when revealing his deepest self. She’d seen a part of him that she suspected no one else ever had, and had turned away from it.

I have to know.

She moved quickly, not giving herself time to second-guess the decision. By the time the guests had left and the servants had closed off the lanterns in the garden, she had her things packed for a long journey.

Just to have answers,
she promised herself.
Then I can rest and move on.

She pocketed the gift box and slipped out through the kitchen door, racing for the stables as though she had a dragon on her heels.

She only hoped she wasn’t running straight into its jaws.

L
uid
.

Maggie had feared she’d never reach the great city, and had already considered turning back a hundred times. Experiencing Tyrea on her own was nothing like her journey with Emalda. She wished she’d brought more money, a companion, clean clothes that didn’t smell like horse. It was only her own stubbornness that kept her going by the end. That, and the nagging feeling that returning home without answers might mean turning her back on her future.

She’d posted a letter to her father the previous day and paid well to make sure it made it safely to the shores of Belleisle. It wouldn’t reach him in time for him to stop her—assuming he hadn’t already guessed her destination and set out after her. The letter was only meant to protect her should the worst happen. If Ulric tried to hold her or to force her into anything, at least someone would know where to find her.

Her father had said there would be nothing he could do for her, but surely he’d try.

This is foolish.

She dismounted and led her weary horse to the wide city gate, which stood open and welcoming. Carts and foot traffic passed through in a lazy stream.

A green-uniformed guard watched as she passed, hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Excuse me,” Maggie said as she approached him, speaking with the passable Tyrean accent she’d practiced each night after listening in on people at the inns she’d stayed at.

He grunted.

At least they’re friendly here.
“Would you point me in the direction of the palace?”

“State your business.”

She widened her eyes, all honesty and innocence. A perfect lamb. “I’ve never been to the city. I’ve heard the palace is at the center, and worth seeing.”

Another grunt. “If you’ve got any brains at all you’ll observe it from a distance.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You’ll have no trouble seeing it, anyway.”

“Thank you.”

She passed through the gate and the short tunnel through the stone wall that encircled the inner city. The streets within bustled with people, none of whom gave her a second glance. Maggie let her horse’s bulk clear a path through the crowd as they followed the curve of the street.

No trouble, indeed.
A massive, turreted building rose from behind the shops that lined the street, pale stone dotted with jewel-like windows. The palace was far more beautiful and imposing than any building she’d set eyes on in Belleisle.
A place like that could be a paradise or a prison,
she thought, and decided she wasn’t quite prepared to find out which.

Someone snickered behind her, and Maggie turned to find a pair of women in fine dresses, their hair piled on top of their heads in a fashion she’d have laughed at had she seen it on anyone at home. They wore lip and eye color in the middle of the day, and shoes with tall heels. Maggie wanted to ask where the party was, but reminded herself that things were different here. This wasn’t a marketplace in the outer provinces. This was Luid. This was where the nobles played, living out their shallow lives that Ulric seemed to despise.

“Trying to catch flies with your mouth, dear?” asked the one to the left, a middle-aged woman with bright pink hair.

“Just looking at the palace,” Maggie said. “I’ve never seen a building so lovely before.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” The other woman spoke to her friend, not Maggie. She adjusted the parasol that shielded her silver hair and unlined face from the sun. “I hate when the dirty little bumpkins come to gawk.”

Maggie held her chin high and walked away. Ulric had warned her about these people and had promised to protect her from them. She hoped that didn’t mean making her one of them, or twisting her hair into styles so tight they’d make her eyes water.

She watched the crowds that passed by an ornate fountain not far from the palace gates. Well-dressed, all of them. Even the servants who trailed the nobles wore clean suits and dresses, though they were at least allowed more practical shoes than their mistresses. Maggie touched her hair, which hung over her shoulders in messy waves. She’d managed a bath the previous evening, but hadn’t stayed long enough to have her clothes cleaned.

Even if I had, I’d stick out like a goose in a flock of swans.

She approached the heavy wrought-iron gates of the palace cautiously, as though the swirling patterns might come alive and slither toward her, ready to bite. The horse pulled back, nervous.

It wasn’t too late to turn back. To leave the city, to try to forget him, to have a normal life…

Ulric’s voice came to her.
When I’m with you, I am free.

She squared her shoulders and murmured softly to the horse to quiet his nerves and her own.

Green beyond the gate. More soldiers. A familiar, scarred face marked her presence before she could turn away. He stepped closer to the gate, but made no move to open it.

Run.

She moved toward him.

“I remember you,” he said, voice low. “Belleisle. Governor’s dinner.”

“You have an exceptional memory for faces, sir.”

He glowered at her. “I remember anyone who disappears for so long from a party, especially at the same time as the king. People like you make my work difficult.”

She resisted the urge to ask whether there were all that many people like her. This guard had lost sight of his king twice thanks to her—three times, if Ulric hadn’t told them where he was going the last time he visited the island. Obviously this fellow wouldn’t be thanking her for the extra work and worry.

“I’ve brought a message from Belleisle,” she said. “To be delivered to the king.”

The guard frowned. “I’ll deliver it.”

“Verbally. To him alone.”

The guard pursed his lips, drawing the scar tight. “Leave the horse. Someone will see to him.”

He opened the gate to allow her in, and Maggie dropped her horse’s reins. She slung her bag over her shoulder as she followed the guard’s broad green back away from the gate. Not toward the great doors in the front of the building, as she had hoped, but around the side and into a quiet yard. Maggie stayed a few steps behind, ready to run.

“No one sees the king alone,” the guard said. “These days, no one sees the king. No audiences. No messengers.”

The passed under an ivy-laden archway and into a garden dotted with late roses. She stopped and set her hands on her hips. “Then how does one find him if it’s truly important?”

Footsteps rustled behind her. “That depends on why you’re looking for him.”

Maggie’s skin prickled at the sound of his voice. She turned. Ulric stood in the shadows next to a tall hedge, arms crossed over his impeccably clothed chest. Not a silly fashion like the people outside, she was relieved to find, but the same suit he’d worn to dinner the second time they met. She looked into his eyes, desperate to read his reaction. He didn’t seem pleased to see her. Not angry, but his thick eyebrows pulled together in a deep frown.

“I’ve come with a message,” she said.

“In response to the one I sent to the school?”

“Yes.”

Ulric nodded to the guard, who scowled and left.

“We’ll speak in my office,” Ulric said. He didn’t offer his arm, but turned on his heel and moved toward a door in the nearest palace wall.

“Are you displeased?” Maggie asked before she took a step.

Ulric turned. “No,” he said quietly. “But we can’t talk here. Hurry, now.”

She trotted behind him to keep up with his long steps. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dimly lit hallway they stepped into, and even when they did, she had no time to properly take in the tapestries on the walls or the pattern of the polished floor beneath her dirty boots. “Say nothing to anyone,” he said as they rounded a corner.

When she didn’t answer, he stopped. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes. I didn’t want to say anything.”

The corner of his lips turned up, but the half-smile didn’t reach his eyes. Those still looked uncertain, a fact which made her more afraid than anything she’d encountered so far.

Voices drifted down the wider corridor they’d entered.

“Damn the gods,” Ulric muttered.

A broad pile of ornate fabric and curly brown hair swept into view, an astonishing swath of woman escorted by a white-haired young man. Jewels twinkled in the woman’s hair, crowning a face that was somehow round and pinched all at once, as though the generously endowed lady had caught the middle part of her face in a slamming door. The rich brocade of her multilayered skirts brushed against the floor with every tiny step she took.

“There you are,” she called, and scowled at the king.

Maggie stopped moving and let him approach the queen.

“What is it, Daris?” Ulric’s voice sounded calm and cordial on the surface, but Maggie caught a note of irritation.

The queen didn’t seem to notice—or if she did, she was accustomed enough to it that she didn’t care. “People are starting to talk. To complain. You have obligations. Bad enough that you didn’t show your face at a single harvest event, but…”

Maggie tuned her out. Not wanting to look at the king and draw attention to herself, she turned instead to the queen’s companion, and immediately wished she had not.

The young man looked to be about eighteen, but Maggie couldn’t be certain. She often found it hard to judge a young Sorcerer’s age, and there was no question of this one being anything less. Magic pulsed about him, too strong for even someone as ordinary as Maggie to ignore. She tried to look away and couldn’t, drawn in by the power of ice-blue eyes that compelled her to meet his gaze.

A cold smile twitched at his lips, but otherwise the young man stood still as stone. Maggie managed to squeeze her eyes closed, to shut out the handsome face and the blindingly white hair that flowed over the dark shoulders of his jacket. She forced herself to breathe, to close herself as her father had taught her during the years when a young mind-bender had attended the school. She’d never cared for that magical gift, and though she couldn’t tell whether this one possessed it, she wouldn’t take any chances.

When she’d centered herself, she opened her eyes again. The young man lifted his chin and looked down his nose at her. His faint amusement had faded, leaving haughty disdain. And now the queen was giving Maggie much the same look, as though inspecting her shoe after she’d trod in something horrid. The queen then turned back to her husband, but her companion—her son, surely, and therefore Ulric’s—didn’t do Maggie the same favor. He watched her, saying nothing, until Maggie thought she might scream.

“Is that all?” Ulric asked. “I have business to attend to.”

The queen sniffed and glanced over Maggie’s travel-worn clothes and unbound hair. “Strange business.”

She swept away as gracefully as possible in such a cumbersome dress, and her silent son followed.

Maggie released her breath. “Who was that?”

“The queen. She didn’t always look like that, but I’m afraid she’s never been more pleasant.”

“Not her. The other one.”

Ulric turned to watch them. “Severn. The queen’s son.”

“And yours.”

Ulric scratched the back of his neck. “That he is. Sometimes I find it hard to believe.” He pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked a heavy wooden door. “Does that bother you?”

She shuddered as a chill passed over her at the memory of Severn’s compelling gaze. “The fact that you have children? That you’re married many times over? Or that he in particular is your child, specifically bred for that kind of power?”

Ulric closed the door and locked it, then motioned toward one of the leather-upholstered chairs beside a massive mahogany desk. “Any of it.”

“It all bothers me. But not as much as the fact that you neglected to mention why you chose your other wives, or how similar they are to me.”

“They’re nothing like you, believe me.” Ulric sank into one chair, and Maggie perched on the edge of the other. His eyes searched hers, feeling her out. “I should have explained things better. I wanted to, and I swear I would have before we came here, but I didn’t want to frighten you off.” He pulled his hands through his thick hair. “I was moving slowly, trying not to overwhelm you, and I got it all wrong. It’s not as though I do this all the time.”

“My father made it sound like you do. Multiple wives besides the queen, all chosen for their potential to bear children with strong magic. Women from families like mine.”

He nodded. “It’s a terrible thing, I’ll grant you that. They live the life you wish to avoid, loveless and without a clear purpose. But that’s how they’ve all chosen to live. They chose this arrangement, knowing they’d be well cared for, and that when their duty was done, they needn’t have anything to do with me. They’re not my wives in any way besides the title that so benefits them. They never cared for me any more than I did for them, but they’re happy enough to leech off of my coffers. Not one of them has decided to make anything more of her life than to bask in her social status and dote on her child.”

“
Her
child?”

“They’re generally kept away from me.”

Maggie paused to consider his distant tone when talking about his children, and wondered whether that would be the same if he had a true family with someone he loved.
Surely it would be different,
she thought, even as she clung to that coldness to brace herself against the undeniable attraction she still felt warming her.
He would care for them, if he weren’t pushed away. Love them as he did their mother.

If he
can
love.

“You judge your wives for that?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Perhaps. It doesn’t matter. They’re contented enough, every one of them, and the fact that I don’t have to deal with them beyond providing for them and their children gives me more peace than most things. I still have to deal with Daris, of course.”

Maggie rested her face in her hands, took a deep breath, then forced herself to look at him. “Tell me the truth. Is that why you pursued me? To make me one of them?”

He leaned forward. “Quite the opposite. I think part of the reason I find you so intriguing is that you’re
not
like them. You were born with the same potential—more, even, given who your father is. But where they spent their lives fighting for social position, a strategic marriage and an easy life, you rebelled against it. You want to make more of your life, to leave a lasting mark on the world, and I find it fascinating.” One corner of his lips pulled up in a small, sad smile. “And you’re so real. I don’t think I ever knew any of them properly. They’re always wearing masks. You gave me a false name, but I think you’ve been more honest with me than anyone I’ve ever known.”