The Fire Mages' Daughter (24 page)

And the realisation left me shaking with fear.

“Quick! Put me down! The baby! Zandara’s baby!” I scrambled out of his arms.

“What? Drina, I do not think—”

“They asked to see the baby! And they have already started. Oh, sweet gods, what have they done?”

I was about to rush down the stairs, but Arran grabbed my arm. “Drina, think! Zandara will not admit you again, not after last time, and certainly not at this hour. Everyone will be asleep. You will have to wait for the bells.”

“You’re right. But it may be too late, don’t you see? Poison – it could be poison! We have to try.”

“Even if it is, how can you possibly help?”

He was right, of course, but I knew the answer. “I can’t, but Mother can. She can fix anything. You must go and fetch her. Tell her they might have poisoned Zandara’s baby. Go! Go now!” I pushed him towards the stairs.

He stopped, bewildered. “Are you not coming too?”

I shook my head. With one practised motion, I was astride the eagle. “I will see you at Zandara’s. Go!” Then, leaning into the eagle’s beautiful feathered neck, I murmured, “Up, up, my lovely!”

Without hesitation she crouched and then sprang into the air. The guard stared open-mouthed, but Arran, with a quick shake of his head, ran for the stairs. The eagle circled once, then, at my command, plunged over the edge of the roof into the centre of the Keep.

Zandara’s apartment was not far from mine, but two floors lower, and a much grander affair. She’d chosen it to make Axandor and me jealous, but I didn’t care. My apartment had Arran in it, far more important to me than decorated ceilings or imposing furniture. But Zandara had one incomparable asset that I didn’t have – a vast balcony, large enough for an eagle to land, even an oversized one like mine. It was a squeeze, and the poor bird had to fold her wings abruptly at the last moment, but she made it without knocking over more than a couple of potted trees.

And, thank the gods and the hot weather, the doors were open to the sitting room inside. I rushed in, but the room was empty. Wine glasses and plates of half-consumed cake littered several tables, as if a party had been abandoned abruptly. A crincheon lay discarded on the floor.

I passed swiftly through the room. The doors at the far side were ajar, and beyond was a murmur of agitated voices. Through the glass panels in the door, servants rushed back and forth. The whole apartment was in uproar. No one was asleep.

But there was no crying baby. Had I got it wrong after all? I would look pretty stupid if, after all this, the child was peacefully asleep.

Stepping through the doors, a huddle of servants jumped apart, astonishment on every face. They dropped into deep bows, and only one of them, older and perhaps more senior, cast puzzled glances to the sitting room behind me, and then along the corridor towards the apartment’s entrance.

I was not about to explain my sudden arrival. “I came to enquire about the baby,” I said, only slightly breathless after my flight. “Erm… Highness Zandara’s baby.” I didn’t know the child’s name – perhaps I’d never been told – but I didn’t want any misunderstanding.

Silence. They gazed blankly at me.

“Is he all right? Is he well? Answer me!”

“No, Highness,” the senior servant croaked. “He took a turn for the worse a few hours ago.”

A few hours! Merciful gods – perhaps I would be too late after all. “Where?”

He pointed down the corridor.

“I have sent for Lady Mage Kyra,” I said. “When she comes, make sure she is brought at once to the baby. At once! Do you understand?”

“Yes, Highness.”

Then I ran, although what I could do, with no magical powers at all, I couldn’t tell. There were servants everywhere, some rushing back and forth with bowls and towels and ewers of steaming water, others standing in white-faced clusters. They directed me onwards. No one challenged me.

The nursery suite was at the far side of the apartment, and the doors stood wide open. I couldn’t see the crib for the number of people gathered around it, whispering. From the baby there was no sound.

I shoved my way through, and there he was, the poor little fellow, flat on his back, his face grey, his chest barely moving with each tiny breath. To one side, a nurse was wiping his face and body with warm cloths. On the other, a herbalist was blowing a steaming infusion across the child.

I picked out Zandara from a gaggle of tearful waiting women. There were no tears on her cheeks, but she was not her usual composed self, either.

“Drina?” she said, looking at me in bewilderment.

“I have sent for my mother,” I said. “She will fix him.”

“We have already sent for a mage. Someone should be here already.” She looked around helplessly, as if the mage would somehow appear on command. “And I have sent word to Mother. She would wish to be here. So fond of her first grandchild.” Her voice wavered.

We waited, the only sound an occasional sob from one of the waiting women, or a whispered instruction from the nurse or herbalist to an assistant. It was maddening to be so helpless. If only I could use magic, as my mother could, and Cal, too. I could steal it from them, and absorb it from the magical birds at the Imperial City, but I could do nothing with it. I was so useless, no good at anything except stirring up trouble.

A commotion around the door heralded the arrival of a mage.

Zandara sighed with relief. “Thank the Sun God you are here, Jayna. Now he will be well again.”

“I will do my best, Highness. How long has he been like this?”

“A few hours. He has been fretful and crying for a couple of suns, and not improving, but we thought he was teething, or some such. But then he grew quiet…” She stopped, her face twisted. Even Zandara had a mother’s feelings for her child.

“I see,” Jayna said. “May I examine him, Highness?”

I could have screamed at the protocol. The child could die while they were discussing his symptoms and politely asking permission to do this or that.

But Jayna’s calmness spread a blanket of optimism over the room. The nurse and herbalist, with their small skills, stood aside for the wielder of magic. Jayna was one of the stronger mages, so perhaps her magic would be enough.

She placed one hand on the baby’s chest, and closed her eyes, concentrating. I held my breath, hands to mouth. Surely she would be able to see the problem and fix it?

She opened her eyes. “Well. I have never seen anything like this before. I am not sure—”

As she spoke, the baby whimpered. In the quiet of the room, we all heard the sound deep in his chest, a horrible rattling sound. My stomach felt like lead. I’d never watched anyone die before. Zandara gave the tiniest squeak. But the child clung on. With a gasp, he sucked in a great gulp of air.

“Is it poison?” I whispered.

Jayna looked up at me. “Perhaps. Not a kind I recognise, though. I will do what I can.” Putting her hand back on his chest, she began chanting rapidly under her breath.

The baby subsided into stillness, and there it was again, that terrible sound of death.

And then a whirlwind tore into the room, and Mother was there, her hand on the child’s forehead, pouring her magic into him. Thank the gods! Now he would be all right.

“Jayna, spell of general good health, as strong as you can make it, continuous. Cal, you too.”

I’d been so pleased to see Mother, I hadn’t even noticed Cal following right behind her. The three of them knelt around the crib, Jayna chanting, the other two silent. For a long time they sat motionless. Jayna was the first to pull away, her magic exhausted. Mother and Cal worked on. Then it was Cal’s turn to lift his hand, with a shake of the head. Mother reached into a bag she had slung over one shoulder, and produced a jade stone. A vessel, filled with magic, ready to use. Handing it to Cal, they carried on working.

And gradually, oh so gradually, the greyness on that small face changed to a healthier pink, his breathing became normal, and he drifted into an exhausted sleep.

Yannassia tore into the room moments later, her face pinched and white, all her composure gone. “Is he all right? Kyra? Tell me the worst.”

“He will be fine,” Mother said tiredly. She struggled to her feet, leaning heavily on the side of the crib. She swayed, and Arran rushed forward to support her. “Poison is nasty, hard to counter, even with magic. Like a forest fire – you can stamp it out in one place, but it just pops up somewhere else.”

“But you have got rid of it all?”

Mother nodded. “We’ll keep an eye on him, but it seems to be gone.”

“Thank the Sun God! Come and sit down over here, Kyra. Cal and Jayna, too.” She drew them away from the crib, where Zandara and her women twittered excitedly round the baby. “There! You look exhausted, all of you. Kyra, I have never seen you so taxed. Drink a little wine.”

She clicked her fingers and a troop of servants rushed forward with wine and sweetmeats. It seemed incongruous that they had been standing waiting, silver trays in their hands, while the baby battled for his life. There was no crisis so dire that it had no servants prepared to hand out refreshments.

“Now, Kyra,” Yannassia went on in a low voice. “Tell me the truth. Was this Icthari poison?”

Mother’s brow creased. “I cannot say for certain, you know…”

Yannassia waved a hand. “We can never be completely sure, of course, but no one in Zandara’s household is suspect. The only recent visitors to the nursery were the Icthari. The father held the baby for some time, so I understand.”

That was so typical of Yannassia. Having abused me soundly only three suns before for daring to suggest such a thing, nevertheless she had taken the trouble to make enquiries about the Icthari.

Mother sighed. “I don’t often see poison, but the usual ones here are moonrose root, or black toadstools, or perhaps dakkaberry bark. This… this is quite different. I have only seen it once before.”

“Ah.”

“It is not quite the same. Well, this was much slower acting. The one that affected me was very quick – a few heartbeats, no more.”

I gasped. “You were poisoned?”

She smiled. “A long time ago, dear. It was much more powerful than this one, and even harder to get rid of, but it is very similar in style. And that one was definitely Icthari.”

“Good.” Yannassia rose to her feet, and a whole crowd of servants stood a little straighter, awaiting her command. “That is all I wanted to know.”

“What are you going to do?” Mother said.

Yannassia smiled grimly. “I am going to deal with it.”

~~~~~

She was as tough as iron, Yannassia. I supposed that the Drashona had to be, it was an essential part of the job. There was no room for sentimentality, and when she needed to act, she didn’t hesitate.

She called us together within the hour, all her possible heirs. Not just Zandara, Axandor and me, but Vhar-zhin and Hethryn, too. Only the two girls were missing, still too young for serious politics.

Yannassia’s brother Yordryn was there, too, or at least his body was. He sat on the edge of his chair, head down, hands twisting together. He took less and less notice of the world with every passing moon. He was still the heir, but it could not be for long. The Nobles’ Council was pressing strongly for Zandara, the orchestrator of the war, to be named as the primary heir. Well, she was welcome to it.

We sat in Yannassia’s private sitting room looking out over the atrium, but all the doors and windows were closed, despite the heat. The matter was too secret to risk even a servant or bodyguard overhearing.

“I want you to understand the responsibilities of being Drashona or Drashon,” she said. “Ruling this realm of ours is not solely a matter of receptions and feasts and steering a straight course amongst the nobles’ factions. Sometimes there are difficult decisions to be made. A few moments ago I gave the order for a team of assassins to enter Icthari land and hunt down these men who tried to kill little Zefforion.”

“Good,” Zandara said. “They deserve death. What they did was unspeakable.”

Axandor punched a fist into his palm in glee. “Excellent! Ha! But I should have gone with them. That would have been fitting, for the baby’s uncle to strike the fatal blow.”

“Fitting, perhaps, but I cannot risk you,” Yannassia said. “You are a target for them, too, remember?”

“Will these assassins succeed, do you think?” I said.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. The Icthari should be easy enough to find. They will not hide their movements, for undoubtedly they believe themselves above suspicion. After all, babies commonly grow sick and die.”

Hethryn frowned. “But they know we have mages. We can cure the sick, and poison is detectable.”

“Detectable, yes,” Yannassia said. “But only Lady Mage Kyra recognised it for what it was, and knew how to counteract it. It is an unusual kind of poison. So they will be very confident, and that means our people will be able to find them. Killing them might not be so easy.”

“And if they achieve that?” Hethryn said. “What then? The treaty will be in ruins, and we will have a war against the Icthari on our hands.”

“We can handle them,” Zandara said. “Our army is large and well-disciplined.”

“Large enough for a war on two fronts?” Hethryn said. “The army is already stretched with the war to the west.”

“The Icthari are a fractured people,” I put in, before Zandara could answer. “They have no single leader, no army and no method of raising one. They entered into a treaty with us as much for their own protection from the Vahsi to their east, and the rising power of the Port Holdings. So even if they suspect us, they can’t do much about it, not directly.”