The Princess of Trelian (3 page)

Master Su’lira’s hand shifted slightly to a new area, and the pain flared up more intensely again. Calen clenched his teeth to stop himself from crying out.

He didn’t want to ask the man to stop. He wanted to be able to sit there and take it, to be strong and get through it without needing a break. He tried again to think about other things. About Meg. About magic. About whether there would be a banquet as part of his marking ceremony. He liked banquets. At the banquet following Meg’s sister’s wedding, there had been every kind of food Calen could imagine. There had been a whole table just for dessert. Calen had had two servings of a baked apple concoction that was pretty much the best thing he had ever tasted in his whole life. Sweet and sticky and hot with some kind of syrup all over it and a delicate pastry crust that flaked off as soon as you touched it with your fork.

Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!

Baked apples. Right. He would just keep thinking about baked apples. Hot, delicious, syrupy baked apples. Nothing painful about those.

Suddenly he became aware that the needle wasn’t touching him anymore.

“Yes, all right,” Master Su’lira said, sitting back. “We’re all finished here.”

Calen took a deep breath. Finished! That hadn’t been too terrible, really. The pain was fading rapidly, and it was already hard to remember just how much it had hurt. But he was glad it was over. He started to reach up to touch his face. The Marker slapped his hand away.

“Do not touch!” he said. “You must wait until it’s been healed.” He looked over at Serek.

Serek straightened up and walked closer, eyeing Calen’s face appraisingly. Then he raised one hand palm out, and Calen saw a faint haze of golden energy gathering around Serek’s fingers. Gold laced with tiny threads of green and purple. At Serek’s subtle gesture, the energy flowed swiftly toward Calen’s face. His skin felt tingly for a moment, and then — nothing. No more stinging, no soreness. He looked up at Serek.

“The marking process itself cannot involve magic,” Serek said, “but healing is allowed after it’s over. There’s no need for you to walk around with a bandage on your face.” He twisted his lips into an almost-smile. “Besides, it takes away from the ceremony if your face is swollen and bleeding the whole time.”

“Oh,” Calen said.
Ugh.
“Um, thanks.”

“The marks are also spelled so that they’ll grow with you, at least until you reach your full height.”

“Oh,” Calen said again. “The green and purple.”

Serek looked as though he wanted to say something, but he glanced at the Marker and just nodded slightly. Calen still kept forgetting that no one else could see the colors he saw when someone was casting. That was another part of what they were supposed to talk about at the meeting tomorrow.

Master Su’lira brought over a hand mirror with a carved wooden handle. Calen took it and slowly held it up in front of his face.

His initiate mark had been a small symbol, a crescent moon with a double-headed arrow running through it horizontally and another line crossing it vertically, centered directly under his left eye. He was so used to seeing that in the mirror that he hardly noticed it anymore. But now — the vertical line had been extended at the bottom into a spiral that curled out and then in and terminated with a tiny star at the center. Along the line that led down into the spiral, on the opposite edge, were three small sideways points, almost triangles. They looked sort of like a sideways crown. Or dragon crests.

He looked back up to see Serek and Master Su’lira both standing before him, arms crossed. Serek’s expression was neutral, as usual. The Marker was smiling and nodding to himself.

“It looks very nice, yes? A fine first true mark for you, Apprentice Calen.”

“But what does it mean?” Calen asked.

“I cannot tell you that,” Master Su’lira said. “I do not know the meanings. I only see what to draw.”

Calen looked at Serek in total confusion.

“Master Su’lira sees the appropriate mark for each mage who comes to him,” he said. “It’s a kind of vision. Markers are gifted in this way and trained to read the symbols and signs they see in people. The mark itself comes from you; the Marker simply transcribes it. Only certain symbols, like the one indicating master status, are ever repeated.”

“Oh,” Calen said yet again, looking back into the mirror. “That’s — huh.” He traced the lines with his eye, trying to see what meaning might be there. He had thought there would be, well, a key or something. A set of standard symbols that stood for different things. It was sort of astounding to think that every single mage’s marks were unique. He would have to pay more attention to the faces of the mages they met here.

“Do we go to the ceremony now?”

Serek shook his head. “No, not for a few hours yet. This is traditionally a time for quiet reflection. You can go back to your room for now if you like.”

Calen nodded. He felt oddly exhausted, maybe from the pain, or from the healing, or just from the whole experience — the anticipation, the importance, everything. Quiet reflection seemed like a good idea. Especially if he could reflect while lying down on his bed.

He stood up and handed the mirror back to Master Su’lira. “Thank you,” he said. “It’s — I like it very much.”

The Marker smiled and bowed slightly. “You are most welcome, Apprentice Calen. I look forward to seeing you again in the future.”

Serek opened the door and then stopped in the doorway. Three mages stood just outside.

“Ah, Mage Serek!” one of them said. “We have been, ah, waiting for you. And for young Calen, of course.” All three mages’ eyes flicked to Calen before returning to Serek. Calen tried to remember if he’d seen them before. The mage who had spoken was the most heavily marked, his face half-covered with lines and symbols with sharp angles.

Serek didn’t look happy. “My apprentice has just received his mark. As I’m sure you realize, this is not an appropriate time for conversation. If you will excuse us, I am going to take him back to his room now.” With that, Serek pushed past the three men and walked quickly up the corridor. Calen hurried to follow.

“Ah. Yes. Of course,” the mage said again, also following. “It’s just that we wished to speak with you before the meeting tomorrow, if possible. There are, ah, things to discuss. . . .”

He trailed off. Serek had stopped and turned around to glare at him. Calen knew the effect of that glare rather well. Trailing off from whatever you had been saying was one of the more common responses.

“Mage Brevera,” Serek said with great emphasis. “Now is not the appropriate time. Do I need to make that more clear to you somehow?”

“But — ah — if we could just arrange a time that would be more . . . ?”

Serek rolled his eyes. “Very well. Meet me in the third-floor vestibule —” He broke off, frown deepening. The mages were shaking their heads and looking uncomfortable.

“Perhaps somewhere more private?” one of the other mages suggested. He was the least marked of the three, although he still had several marks beyond his master tattoo.

“Fine,” Serek snapped. “Come up to my room in half an hour. Will that suffice?”

“But, the boy —” the third mage began. The marks on his face were softer, less angled. They seemed to weave in and out of one another, so that Calen couldn’t make out very many distinct symbols at all.

The first mage cut him off. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, that would be very agreeable.”

Serek turned without another word and strode off toward the stairwell. Calen followed quickly behind. What had
that
been about? He wondered what they wanted to talk about that had to be discussed in private. There had been something a little disturbing about the way they’d looked at him. He glanced back over his shoulder. The mages were standing in a tight clump, whispering aggressively at one another.

He turned back to ask Serek about it, but one look at his master’s face convinced him that now was not the time to ask questions. Well, that was all right. He was more than ready for that quiet reflection. There would be time enough to find out about those mages later. Right now, he kind of just wanted a nap. And to spend some time alone in front of the mirror, looking at his new mark.

M
EG WAS DREAMING. SHE KNEW SHE
was, knew she was back in one of the same nightmares she’d been having for weeks now — but knowing didn’t help her escape it.

In this one, she was lost in the woods, as she had been with Calen once, only this time she was alone. Jakl swirled in her head, a tangle of confused emotions, but he was nowhere nearby. There was something she had to do, something very important, but she didn’t know what it was, or how to do it, or where to go. Every step seemed to take her farther in the wrong direction, even if she tried turning around to go back the way she’d come.

Something crunched behind her in the shadows. Someone was there. Jakl suddenly loomed inside her, filling her with rage and fear and panic.
No,
she thought.
No, no, I have to calm down, I have to think. This isn’t the way.
But she could not control it; the waves of emotion rolled over her, through her, and she was lost, inside and out, and the danger was getting closer and closer and closer and there was nothing she could do.

She woke in a cold sweat, as she had so many nights before.

For a moment, Meg lay there, staring up into the dark, trying to make her heart slow down. Then she got out of bed, pulled on a pair of breeches and an overshirt over her nightgown, and stepped quietly out into the hall. Jakl was awake, concerned; she had to get better at shielding him while she was sleeping. He didn’t need to suffer from her nightmares, too. But at the same time, she was a little glad. She liked feeling him there, ready to try to comfort her. She made her way down to the courtyard.

He was waiting for her when she stepped outside, green scales glinting in the moonlight. He lowered his long neck as she approached and turned to nudge at her with his big, worried head.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around as much of his neck as she could. She lay her face against him and closed her eyes. “We’re okay.” Why did she feel she had to keep reminding herself of that?

Because it’s not really true — that’s why.

She hated that little voice, the one that seemed to always speak her fears to her and make them feel more real. She tried to ignore it. They were okay. They
were.

Silently, she climbed up and felt her spirits lift and then let go as she and her dragon rose into the night sky.
We’ll just fly for a bit,
she thought. Just fly, and not think about anything else.

Jakl had no objections. He soared up, over the castle, away into the darkness. They didn’t come back until the first hint of dawn began to lighten the horizon.

In the morning, Meg slunk into her family’s private dining room long after everyone else had started eating. A serving girl quickly brought her a bowl of porridge and a mug of tea as she sat down.

“We missed you at the briefing this morning,” her father said, not looking up.

“Briefing?” Meg said, still not feeling quite awake. She wrapped her hands around her mug.

“With the Captain of the House Guard.”

Meg winced. She’d completely forgotten. “I’m sorry. I . . . overslept.”

“I noticed.” Now he looked at her, not happily. “It’s not the first time, Meg.”

“I know. I’m really sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“You said that last time,” Queen Merilyn said.

“I
said
I was sorry,” Meg said. She felt her temper stirring and tried to tamp it down. “I didn’t oversleep on purpose. I don’t know why Pela didn’t wake me.”

“You never used to sleep so late,” Maurel put in brightly. “Maybe you’re sick or something.”

“I’m not —”

“
Do
you feel all right, Meg?” asked her mother.

“Yes, I’m fine!” Meg snapped. Her mother’s eyes widened. Meg took a breath, trying to regain control of her voice. “I’m sorry. Please, just — I just haven’t been sleeping well. I’ll ask Pela to be more aggressive when she wakes me from now on.” Pela did seem to give up rather easily.

Her mother looked at her in that searching way Meg was beginning to hate, but she only said, “All right, Meg.” The king didn’t say anything. Maurel was already bored with the conversation, and had turned her attention to making designs in the surface of her porridge with her spoon. Nan Vera wasn’t sitting with them; Meg must have missed her entirely. No doubt she was off giving baby Mattie her breakfast, which tended to be a messy affair that Nan Vera preferred to handle in private. Too many ruined tablecloths and dresses stained from flying food.

It seemed so empty at the table with only the four of them. Morgan had gone home to Prolua soon after the wedding, and Maerlie had left for Kragnir with her new husband shortly thereafter. Maybe Meg’s tardiness wouldn’t have been quite so noticeable if they hadn’t become such a tiny group of late. Although she supposed she still would have missed the briefing.

She really would have to talk to Pela about waking her even when she didn’t seem to want to get up. Meg had managed to avoid having a lady-in-waiting for years, but now that she was preparing to officially take on the responsibilities of the princess-heir, her parents had decided it wasn’t proper for her not to have one. There had always been maids and servants, of course, but a lady-in-waiting felt . . . different. More burdensome. Pela was supposed to be Meg’s companion as well as her attendant, and that meant Meg was supposed to spend time with her, doing . . . she wasn’t even sure. Talking, walking in the gardens, sitting around doing ladylike things, she imagined. She suspected it was her parents’ way of trying to get her to act more princess-like. Although they had also made the point that it was an honor for a girl to be appointed a lady-in-waiting, and it wasn’t really fair of Meg to deny Pela that opportunity.