The Magic Council (The Herezoth Trilogy) (41 page)

“You can read emotional states?” asked
Zacry.

“It’s like a wave, almost like vertigo
sometimes. How strong it is depends on how strongly the other person was
feeling what he felt, if that makes sense. And how long he held the object, I’m
pretty sure that’s a factor too. I don’t know magically who that person was or
what caused the emotions, but the emotions register with me.”

“How do we test this?” asked the king.

“I know,” said Vane. “I have to run to
Oakdowns, but I’ll be back.”

He turned invisible and transported to
the servants’ door, then transported again to his manor from just outside the
Palace. He entered to the library, and grabbed something wrapped in cloth from
a secret compartment in the desk there. Then he was gone again.

“Would you wait outside?” he asked Rexson
and Zacry when he returned. They consented to leave, and Vane placed the bundle
he held on the desk, around which Francie joined him.

“It’s not in great condition,” he said,
as she uncovered Laskenay’s journal. “That’s why I keep it wrapped like this,
to hold it together. I’m sure no one’s touched it since I did last, and I
remember the occasion.”

Francie grazed the cover with a finger,
and jumped back. She squinted her eyes and rubbed her forehead; she even seemed
to sweat a bit.

“I’ve rarely had a signal that powerful.”

“What did you pick up?”

“An odd mix of things. A strong sense of
grief…. No, not grief as much as simple loss, an opportunity never given. I
can’t say what that would have been. Gratitude too, that’s strong: gratitude
and a sense of envy, and a longing for something, I don’t know what.”

His mother’s conviction and courage.

“There’s more beneath all that, too.” She
touched the journal again. “There’s fear of something, a dread I’d almost guess
you had picked up this book to try to forget, though that might not be true at
all.”

Vane nodded at the woman he had known as
a girl; he had last read some entries in early March, to distract himself from
the ever-approaching announcement of the council.

“My power,” said Francie, “it’s the reason
I never came by after my mother made all that trouble. I couldn’t see you. I
couldn’t bear the thought of touching your doorknob and knowing exactly how I’d
hurt you, how much you resented me for that, how confused my actions made you.”

“Don’t apologize. You were a kid. You had
no idea....”

Francie changed the subject, indicated
the journal. “Vane, what is this?”

“A diary my mother kept in her time with
the Crimson League.”
 
And Vane wrapped it
once again in its cloth.

“That makes sense,”
said Francie. “And the envy?”

“She never doubted she was doing what she
must.”

“And you do? You doubt this is worth the
trouble?”

“Francie, why in the Giver’s name are you
here?”

In two seconds flat, Francie’s face
looked like she had spent an entire July afternoon on the meadow without a
parasol. “You know why I’m here. You were hiding in the corner when I
explained. But you, Vane, why are you
here?
That’s the real question. You’ve been involved in this from the start, haven’t
you? You’ve been a part from the very beginning. The king lied in those
interviews. Vane, what’s going on?”

“That’s none of your
concern. You’ve no business here.”

“I have every right to be here, thank you
very much!”

“Your power’s inactive. Inactive! How do
you propose to protect yourself?”

“I don’t care about that. All I know is
this council is bigger than the both of us, so don’t change the subject. And
don’t ruin this for me, don’t you ruin this. I know I’m not justified in asking
a thing of you, but….”

“I’ll recuse myself from discussing your
appointment, and that’s all I’ll do. Otherwise I’d vote against you, for your
safety’s sake. As for you, now….”

“What about me?”

“If you regret at all what happened when
we were kids, you won’t tell a soul you saw me here today. You say you’ve been
following the
Bugle
. Then you know
what an outcry there’d be if people suspected the king wasn’t exactly truthful
in those first statements.”

“They’d say you’re controlling him with
some spell. Which is utterly absurd, since human will….”

Vane raised an eyebrow. “You do
know your stuff, don’t you?”

“I’ve read up in my spare time: what
little I have, at least. Spend every blasted day in that God-forsaken store.”

“Are you married?” She shook her head.
“Engaged?”

“Not even close. And you, you’re the Duke
of Ingleton. Reading those articles, I couldn’t help but think the man was
suicidal. That’s how it looked. Vane, when did they tell you?”

“Who my parents had been? That Zalski
Forzythe was my uncle? Teena and the king told me together. I was twelve, and I
wasn’t exactly surprised. I’d been going to the Palace for visits since I was
five, though not often. And I knew I was a sorcerer, so with all that together,
I had my suspicions. I wasn’t sure, because I still thought Teena was a blood
relative, but…. I was relieved to learn the truth.”

“Relieved? How would that be a relief?”

“I thought all along I’d been Zalski’s
son.”

With that, Vane opened the door for Zacry
and the king, announcing when they’d entered, “Her power’s legitimate. Whether
you’ll have her on the council is up to you. I told her I wouldn’t interfere in
the decision.”

“Then take a seat, Miss Rafe,” Rexson
directed. “I do have a few more questions.”

Francie blinked a bit stupidly. “You’ll
just take his word like that?”

“If he chose the object I imagine he did,
your magic is more than confirmed.” Rexson glanced at Vane. “The diary?”

“The diary,” Vane agreed.

“Then we can proceed. A seat, Miss Rafe,
if you please.”

Vane paid the rest of the interview small
mind. He took in enough to judge that Francie handled herself well, that she
was far more qualified for the post than the previous hopefuls, but found
himself distracted by attempts to organize the massive clutter of nostalgia,
bemusement, and wonderment, among other things, that Francie’s reappearance had
evoked. He’d made little progress by the time the king dismissed her, and she
asked Ingleton, “I don’t suppose you can join me for a drink? As old friends?
It won’t compromise my application, not if you’ve recused yourself from
commenting on it.”

“I
can’t, Francie. I can’t discuss myself in the open, and I shouldn’t be seen
with you in public, period. I just got married. If someone caught wind….”

“Vane,
I….” Francie’s face turned red again. “Should I even call you that? Do you go
by that name at all anymore?”

“Vane’s
fine,” he said. “With you, Vane’s fine. Just know I’ve gone to great trouble to
keep the papers from printing my life story, because frankly, I don’t deem it
anyone’s business. Teena’s living at Oakdowns for the moment, just as a
precaution, because the nobility know I was raised by a commoner I call my
aunt. She’s using a false name at the manor. I’ve gone four months without
reporters snooping out my childhood, and I’d like to extend that.”

“I
understand,” she said.

Vane
shot Rexson a pleading glance, which the king had no trouble reading. “I can
give you an hour in this room,” he said. “Then I’ll have to have Miss Rafe
escorted out.”

Vane
thanked him, and the king and Zacry left.

“We
came to Podrar,” said Vane, before Francie could ask. “When we left Fontferry
my aunt and I came here, until I was thirteen. Then we made as though we were
moving together to Yangerton, but only my aunt went there. I went farther south
to study, under a different name, with accompanying documentation the king
provided. I came back Valkin Heathdon. That explains how Vane Unsten
disappeared, so to speak. How the papers haven’t traced my background.”

He
had compromised himself enough just revealing his presence to her; no one must
know he had lived in Traigland.

“You
didn’t go south,” accused Francie. “Though it’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t
suppose I deserve the truth from you.”

“Where
did I go, then?”

“East.
Across the sea. You studied with Zacry Porteg, didn’t you? Or his sister.”
Vane’s jaw dropped, and she explained, “You had to learn your magic somewhere.
And Porteg didn’t react in the slightest when I kept calling you by your name.
Your old name.”

“Vane’s
still my name,” he insisted.

“Then
who by the Giver’s lyre are you? Who?”

“The reporters and the nobility and the
protesters haven’t exactly given me time to figure that out.”

“Vane,
what’s going on? Why are you doing this? It’s surely not for giggles.”

“It’s
not,” he confirmed. “You’ll forgive me for not saying more.”

“I’ve
always regretted what I did to you,” said Francie. “What my mother did, I hope
you understand that.”

“Of
course I do. So let it go,” he advised.

“I
always assumed we’d be married or engaged by now, if I hadn’t gone and screwed
everything up. Meeting you here, I know we would have been, no question. Is
that just me?”

“Francie,
don’t do this. There’s no point.”

She
insisted, “The tension in this room, it’s ridiculous. That’s the one
explanation for it. You’re not saying you haven’t been thinking we would have
ended up together?”

“It’s
not just you, no.”

Vane
cleared his throat to try to clear the awkwardness. He failed.

“I
have no prospects,” Francie said, “but you, you
are
married, aren’t you? I’m sure she deserves you, too. At the
very least, I hope she does. Anyway, the point of all this—I wouldn’t be
saying these things without a reason—if the king and Zacry Porteg appoint
me to the council, I want to be clear I would never cause you problems with
August. Isn’t that her name? God knows I’ve caused you trouble enough in your
life before now. Listen, I’ll retract my application. I’ll retract it. I swear
I had no idea you were….”

“I know you didn’t.”

“I’ll retract my
application,” she insisted. “I was hoping to get in touch with you, hoping
you’d apply, I admit it. But I never thought you’d be married this young. You
don’t need me here on top of everything else, that much is obvious.”

“Let them consider
you,” Vane suggested. “You didn’t come here for me alone. You’re clearly
passionate about this. The amount of time you’ve devoted to researching magic,
to following politics…. Francie, you said it yourself, the council’s bigger
than the both of us. Don’t give this up for my sake. It means too much to you.”

“Your wife will
understand?”

If there was one thing
Ursa’s sister understood, it was the search for redemption, to find some way to
forgive oneself. She had tried to help Ursa with that very struggle, though she
had yet to return to the prison since her marriage. Vane said, with conviction,
“If I’m honest with her, she’ll understand. She’s wonderful that way.”

“If she doesn’t,
though…. If she doesn’t, Vane, I want you to tell the king not to consider me.”

“In that case, I’ll
tell him you changed your mind.”

They shook hands to
confirm the agreement, and spent the rest of the hour asking questions about
their respective families. True to his word, Vane asked August after dinner
that night, “Did I ever mention Francie Rafe?”

“I can’t say you
have.”

“Well I need to after
today.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Jorne Warrell

All in all, the following days of
interviews went just as poorly as the first, and the days when the Enchanted
Fist came in worse still. Francie made the cut in the end for her knowledge of
magic and her passion for its history. She had studied much, proved a logical
thinker, and her understanding of recent political developments concerning
magic was one Zacry couldn’t rival, having been removed from Herezoth so long.
Vane accepted the appointment, for after watching the interviews of the entire
pool of applicants, he knew the king had no other choice—but he did talk
Rexson into offering her protection, along with the other appointees, and close
to demanded that Gratton and a small group the captain selected (he had
recently been promoted) would be assigned to Francie in particular.

“Why did no sorcerers apply?” asked Vane.
“No one who could stand up to the opposition we’ll have? Are there really so
few?”

“There are more than you think,” said
Rexson. “More than most people would probably care to ponder. They’re staying
in the shadows.”

Zacry reminded Vane, “It’s a far cry from
admitting you read emotions through touch, admitting publicly that with a
mutter, if you so pleased, you could burn a house with a family inside to the
ground. You can’t blame them.”

“I’ll blame them as much as I want to! I
went public, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Zacry conceded. “And how large
did the crowds get outside Oakdowns?”

Rexson was relieved no unknown sorcerer
had sought a post on the council; the only two in the Enchanted Fist had been
Dorane and its foundress. The king gave neither Zacry nor Vane’s magic a second
thought, and never had, but considering what he’d suffered in the past at the
hands of a sorcerer he
did
know, the
thought of entrusting the responsibility and opportunity the council afforded
to a stranger with that kind of power…. It made Rexson decidedly uneasy, though
he could never have admitted as much in his present company
.
He directed Zacry and Vane’s attention back to those magicked who
had come forward, and pushed the case for Johann Clee. He had little trouble
convincing his fellows to support the selection.

Johann was a banker, forty-two, who had
spent his entire life in Podrar. He had an adept financial mind and would aptly
judge the fiscal liabilities of any project the council undertook. His power
would also be an asset: as he could touch a book and mentally absorb its
contents, he was the obvious choice to serve as council secretary.

As for the Enchanted Fist, two members
married to each other took the council’s final slots. Hart Quin was just under
thirty, and had the ability to bend glass. Zacry liked him because, as a
successful merchant, the man had a head for problem-solving and increasing
productivity. Rexson and Vane leaned in his favor because he held no strong
political opinions, unlike others in Arbora’s group. He just wanted the council
to support sensible, timely measures to reduce the tension between magicked and
non-magicked factions, so his children and grandchildren could live more secure
than he did now.

Casandra Quin was from Gratton’s hometown
of Partsvale. The two had known each other as children, though Gratton never
knew she was Crale Bendit’s great-niece and a firestarter as her uncle had
been.
 
She had joined the Enchanted Fist
at Crale’s invitation, but—according to Bendelof—Casandra and
Arbora’s opinions often clashed. While Casandra held that the magicked should
support one another, she doubted the wisdom of segregating themselves from the
rest of the population to do so: something Arbora tended to favor.

Back at Oakdowns, August was struggling
to make it through each day, what with Vane’s prolonged absence due to council
business. The anonymous letters alarmed her, and they increased fivefold when
the
Bugle
mentioned Vane’s council interview.
August felt nervous at the thought of birthing a child, not to mention her
panic over what the public response would be when word got out she was
pregnant. Despite Vane’s vehemence that she focus on her personal joy and hang
the rest, she could dwell on nothing but the threats already coming in with the
baby still a guarded secret. She could not keep busy with housework because the
servants had returned, so she spent the afternoons reading, or trying to, or
sewing with Teena. She also spent much time with Bendelof, but even her
substitute sister was not the solace August would have hoped, because August
dared not tell Bennie she might be pregnant until she were two months along.

Once the council membership was decided
and Vane could spend more time at Oakdowns, he realized August needed some
distraction. He also thought if he failed to visit Treel’s uncle soon, his
father’s old butler, he probably never would. He cursed himself for forcing
marriage and all marriage entailed upon August before their situation could
allow her peace in her new home. He cursed the protesters and letter writers
who were destroying her hopeful expectations. Beyond that, he asked August if
she would like to go with him to Yangerton; they could visit the old man and
then perhaps explore downtown, where the plaza and the theaters were. They
could see a show, could dress like normal people and buy cheap seats to avoid
unwanted attention. August was thrilled by the prospect of getting out of
Podrar.

They went the following week. Vane bought
tickets ahead of time for an evening opera. They spent the morning exploring
the city, August bringing him to some of her favorite haunts as a child, in
particular a park near the center of town. After lunch in a crowded
café—the two basked to blend in with the masses of people, to be
unremarkable again as each had used to be and never once appreciated—they
headed off to the outskirts where Treel’s Uncle Jorne lived.

The buildings grew smaller and farther
apart as they walked. They passed a circular building with burgundy walls near
the end of their journey, clearly some kind of fortuneteller’s shop. August
wanted to go in, but not so strongly that Vane couldn’t change her mind. Just
the thought of having cards read made his skin crawl. They moved on, and ten
minutes later found the street to which Treel had directed Vane, Mudhole Road.
Luckily, the spring had been dry for Yangerton and the dirt path remained what
it should have been, packed dirt. In no time Vane was knocking on a door made
of wooden boards at a tiny brick cabin. A man seventy years old or thereabout,
with murky brown eyes like Treel, thick white hair, and a shapely beard somewhat
grayer, opened the door with one hand while his second gripped a rounded cane.

“Jorne Warrell?” asked Vane. Jorne nodded
and smiled at him. “I’m….”

Vane’s host cut him off with a strong,
throaty voice. “I know exactly who you are. I’d been wondering if you’d drop by.
And you brought the Missus, how delightful.” Jorne kissed August’s hand, the
custom of his generation. “Do come in. Make yourselves at home.”

Jorne led his guests into a parlor
furnished with wicker chairs, a wicker table, and a thin brown rug. “Have you
gone through the attic at Oakdowns?” Jorne asked, when they all had taken
seats. “I hid a portrait of your parents there, and your father’s wedding
ring…. Ah,” he said, glancing at Vane’s hand. “I see you found them.”

Vane and August shared a shocked glance.
The duke said, “It was you, then? You put them there?”

“The day your mother fled with you. I
knew sooner than most what had happened at the Palace, you see. I helped Rexson
Phinnean and old Crescenton’s boy get the crown prince inside the manor. His
Majesty’s brother was injured something awful. It was me who called for the
duchess and kept other servants away. When your mother left for good, I moved
the portrait. It was only a matter of time before Zalski would send men over,
or come over himself, and I didn’t want that portrait slashed or burned. That
didn’t seem right.”

“And the ring? How did you get the ring?”

“The engraving had worn down, so your
father sent it off the day before he died for re-etching at the goldsmith’s. I
was to pick it up the following afternoon, the day…. We all know what happened
that day. After you and your mother left Oakdowns and she made me swear up and
down not to speak a word, not a blessed word about what I’d seen, I went ahead
and retrieved the ring like the duke had told me. Figured it was the least I
could do in his honor. I’ve always wished I’d been able to pass it back to Her
Grace, but everything worked out in the end, I suppose. She’d want her son to
have it.”

August was sitting next to Vane, and she took
his hand in hers. The duke asked, “And my father?”

“Him too.”

“Not that. What kind of man was he? What
was he like to work for? I’ve had so many people speak to me of my mother, but
my father…. No one’s described him at any length but the king, and I’m sure….”

“The king’s biased in his favor, is that
it?”
                                               

“Rexson’s bound to be,” said Vane.

Jorne leaned forward, still gripping his
cane. “You want the truth about your father, then. Is that what brought you
here? Well, the man knew some foul language, he did, and he wasn’t afraid to
use it when he argued with his brother-in-law. Respected Zalski’s wife
sincerely, though, and she was a nasty piece of goods. Treated the household
like animals, that woman, and if the duke ever told her a word about it, that word
never reached me. He did apologize when she was exceptionally abusive, but not
as often as he should have.

“I wouldn’t call your father bookish, but
given the choice between an afternoon at home or one out hunting, seven times
out of ten he’d stay in the library or see that his horses were properly
attended. A gifted horseman, quite gifted, but a dreadful archer, and I can’t
say he had a sense of humor about that.”

“In regard to his servants?”

Jorne nodded. “He was direct, never one
to talk in circles. And he expected his orders carried out with no fuss. All in
all, he respected the staff and they respected him for it. I heard remarkably
few grumbles about his treatment of anyone. He would ask my opinion about
trivial matters, but drew a line of formality with his servants.”

“Maintained a distance,” said Vane.

“That’s got it. Here’s a fact I just
recalled: he hated carrots something violent.”

“So do you,” August told her husband.

“And I’ll never forget that habit he had
of strumming his fingers when he was thinking. Whenever I’d go in his office,
sure as eggs at breakfast I’d find him strumming his fingers on his arm.”

August’s face lit up. “You do that all
the time.”

“There was a tight-lipped aspect about
him that would have put off a certain type of individual, though it never
bothered me. I said he was just the introverted type, I think that’s the proper
word. Found out later he’d been keeping his wife’s secret all along.” A curious
look came over Jorne. “Her mark, the sorcerer’s mark, it wasn’t on her arm, was
it?”

“Her forearm,” Vane confirmed.

“Never once saw Her Grace without long
sleeves, even the summer dresses she’d wear around the garden.”

They spoke for another two hours. Vane
asked what had pleased the servants about how his father interacted with them,
and what Jorne wished the man had done but didn’t, hoping to pick up tips. The
old man had his share of anecdotes to tell, some sweet and funny, some bitter
when Vane contemplated them alongside the knowledge of how everything had ended
for his parents. August invited Jorne to grab a bite to eat with them before
they went to the theater, and he was happy to accept. Over dinner, the old
butler mentioned his nephew, as Vane suspected he might, and Vane said nothing
of having met Treel or of Treel’s incarceration. Jorne, however, already knew
what had befallen the young man.

“Other men who served your father, they
work for the king now, one or two of them. They wrote me to say Treel had been
arrested. Stealing jewels.” Jorne shook his head, his expression despondent.
“About tore my heart out, that news did. What’s worse is Treel hasn’t written.
Well, I know he can’t write, never let me teach him, but he could dictate a
letter. Won’t do it. Too ashamed, I guess.”

The old man sighed, fighting tears. Vane and
August let him have a moment to collect himself before they changed the
subject.

After taking leave of Jorne came the
opera. Neither Vane nor August had ever been to one, and neither cared much for
it, though that did little to squander the evening. Vane was relieved to see
August let go of her concerns for a night; August was so thankful to get away
from Oakdowns she would not have cared if the sopranos missed every other note,
which they did not. The show was impeccable. She and Vane were among the last
to file out when it was over, and she asked, almost pleading, “Let’s not go
home just yet. Yangerton’s gorgeous by night, especially the theater district.
Let’s just walk around a bit.”

“Let’s,” Vane agreed. He was not too keen
himself to return to Podrar, though the hour was closing in on midnight.

August knew the area, so Vane let her
lead. It was a perfect spring evening, just cool enough that August wrapped her
plainest shawl around her shoulders. They wound through side streets and alleys
lined with shops, all closed, above which hundreds of people lived in tall
housing complexes. They stopped in a tavern less raucous than most for a glass
of wine, then decided they had wine enough in Oakdowns’s cellar and ordered ale
instead. It was past one when they left, but still neither wanted to go back to
the capital.