The Queen of Mages (12 page)

The prince looked up at him and leaned back
in his chair for a moment. “Lord Tarian,” he said affably, and
stood.

Dardan went down to one knee. “Your royal
highness,” he said, eyes cast to the floor. He saw Sir Thoriss out
of the corner of his eye, waiting against a wall.

“Rise,” Edon said at once. Dardan stood,
glad that the prince was not one to needlessly prolong ceremony.
Edon stared at him for a few moments. “You attended the ball last
evening with this Lady Amira, yes?”

Dardan nodded. “Yes, your highness.”

“How did you come to know her?”

“Er… her manse is adjacent to my mother’s,
the Countess Besiana. She introduced us not a week ago.”

The prince nodded. “Does the lady strike you
as unusual?”

“Unusual? Your highness, I confess I do not
know what you mean.” Being rudely summoned before the heir to the
throne with no explanation was highly unusual, but he was not about
to say that.

“Anything strange about her. Anything… odd.”
Edon stepped a little closer. His eyes bored into Dardan’s.

“I’m sorry, your highness, but no. She is a
little less practiced in the ways of nobility, I suppose, but she’s
only been a noble for less than a year. Her husband—”

Edon cut him off with a wave. “Yes, thank
you. Thoriss.”

The knight ushered Dardan out. Amira looked
up as he returned, her eyes wide.
What happened?
they asked,
but he held his tongue. Dardan sat again, taking Amira’s hand and
trying to smile reassuringly.

Sir Thoriss looked at Liam. “Young man, come
with me.” Dardan watched Liam rise slowly and walk toward the rear
door. As he passed by Sir Thoriss, the knight put a hand on Liam’s
shoulder. “The dagger, son,” he said. Liam for once lost his
composure, looking astonished, and drew the sheath out from under
his coat. Sir Thoriss tucked it into his belt and followed Liam
into the prince’s study.

A few minutes passed before Liam returned,
looking collected once again. Liam shrugged a little at Dardan’s
querying look, and he sat back down, glancing curiously at Amira.
Next Sir Thoriss took Katin inside, and this time the door was
closed for many minutes. Dardan began to worry, and saw that Liam’s
foot was tapping madly, his eyes pinned to the door.

But eventually Katin returned, looking
blank, and finally Sir Thoriss asked Amira to follow him. Dardan
rose to his feet abruptly, and the guards in the room lurched
forward, as if to restrain him, but then they stopped. Sir Thoriss
stared at Dardan as if at a harmless insect, and Dardan quietly
lowered himself back into his chair—after giving Amira’s hand one
more good squeeze. She smiled at him, and stepped gracefully
through the narrow door.

Thoriss returned a few moments later,
closing the door behind him. He nodded at one of the guards, who
slipped out into the hall. A minute later, the guard returned,
followed by Captain Portio. “Come with me please, m’lord, and you
as well,” he said, glancing at Liam and Katin.

Dardan stood up, staring dumbly. “But my
lady is still within—”

“Your lady will be well cared for.” The
guard captain had reached the end of his patience. “It is time for
you to leave.” The other guards crowded up behind them, and there
was nowhere to go but out. Dardan glanced back at the narrow door,
now closed, and made a silent prayer to the Aspect of Terror.

“Rise,” Edon said.

Amira came to her feet. She stood motionless
as Prince Edon frowned at her. She was aware of Sir Thoriss
standing by her side, but she kept her eyes forward. Her heart
thumped. She focused on sweet thoughts, trying not to panic.

“Thank you, Thoriss, that will be all,” Edon
said after a moment. Amira heard the door open and close again
behind her, leaving the two of them alone. Warm sunlight streamed
in through the glass doors behind Edon. Up here, high in the
palace, it was very quiet.

Edon stood from his chair. “Turn
around.”

Fright clawed at her insides. What was he
going to do? She turned her back to him, and stopped. “All the
way,” he said, and she came around to face him again. His eyes were
narrowed in scrutiny.

He came to her side and leaned in close. She
dared not move. “So it is…” he muttered, brushing her hair
aside.

His touch made her flinch, and after a
moment it was more than she could bear. She jerked away from him.
“Leave me be!” she exclaimed. For a moment she was afraid he would
grab her or hit her, but he held up his hands.

“Calm, my lady. Please, come here.” His
voice was softer now. He did not seem as menacing, but she was
still frightened. She made herself walk back over to him. He came
around to her side again, gently pushing at her hair. His finger
traced a line along the side of her head, from her crown all the
way down to her ear. He stood half a foot taller, and stretched up
to look down on her from above, then went to her other side and
repeated the inspection.

She shuddered a few times, but held still.
In a moment it was over, and he turned and walked behind his desk.
As he went, she caught a glimpse of silver light from his own head,
but only when he was exactly in profile. At all other angles, it
seemed invisible.

He sat down and looked at her, steepling his
fingers in thought. “I think you see what I see,” he said.

He knows. He sees it too. Oh, by Terror!
Does he have the ember?
She didn’t know what to say. She was
startled a moment later when he grimaced in pain and put his hand
up to his temple, squeezing his eyes shut.
The headaches? The
headaches! Does he not know how to use the ember yet?
“Does
your head pain you, your highness?”

Edon’s head snapped up. His calm had
vanished, replaced with a steel glare. “Don’t concern yourself. We
have much to discuss, you and I.”

A mad thought came to her. She could… she
could use her power to kill him. Couldn’t she? If she aimed it just
right, say, inside his brain, and then ignited it… or perhaps that
would be aiming it wrong. Murdering the crown prince did not seem
like a good idea, even to save herself for the moment.

Even if she did, then what? Sir Thoriss was
just outside; the palace crawled with guards. As she thought, he
stood up again and came over to her. “You see it, don’t you? You
see the light?”

She looked up at him wordlessly. He grabbed
her arms and pulled her in close, his hot breath on her face.
“
You see it, don’t you?
”

“Y—yes, my lord—your highness,” she
corrected, her voice wavering as she tried not to sob. Why was he
being so cruel? She had done nothing to him.

“What is it? Some witchcraft? Some conjuring
of the black spirits?” He shook her roughly. “Tell me! Tell me what
you know of this!”

She cried out. His fingers dug into her
arms, and he was strong, too strong. “I don’t know! You’re hurting
me!”

He seemed to come to himself just then, and
let go of her arms, but he only moved back an inch. “Tell me, or by
the Aspect of Wrath you’ll end up down in the dungeons howling for
mercy. The crown still has men serving who know how to make a woman
suffer.”

She was so terrified that she could barely
register what he meant. She could only whimper a little. Her knees
shook; she locked them to keep from collapsing.

The prince finally threw his hands up and
stalked away. “Useless. You don’t know anything.” He considered
her, eyes icy. “But perhaps not entirely useless.” He approached
again, put his hands roughly around her, and pressed her close. She
could feel him hard against her belly, and with one hand he pulled
her hair, forcing her head back, and leaned down toward her
lips.

She screamed and
pushed
and there was
the sound of sizzling meat. The prince staggered away from her,
shrieking, his hands flying to his face as he stumbled over his
feet and crashed to the floor. Amira saw the ember in her mind,
pulsing angrily, and she felt exhilarated.

Prince Edon writhed on the floor, his hands
clasped against his cheek. Heavy boots thumped outside, and the
narrow door banged open. Sir Thoriss stepped in, his longsword in
hand, and took in the scene. His eyes went from the prince to
Amira, and he brought his sword arm back to swing.

Blood spurted out from his ears, followed by
smoke and a stench of charred meat. Amira realized she’d pushed her
ember out again, this time with deadly aim. Thoriss collapsed, his
sword clattering to the floor from lifeless fingers.

Amira leapt over his body and ran out the
door, pulling it shut behind her. There was no one in the anteroom.
Blood roared in her ears, and the ember pulsed brightly in her
head. She saw the door the servant had come through, the one who’d
brought the food. The tray still sat on the desk, a few slices of
cheese and bread left on it. She’d grown hungry again, and grabbed
what she could before bolting out the servants’ door.

A narrow corridor beyond led past a side
table, presumably where the bread and cheese had been prepared. A
large knife lay on the table, and Amira thought to grab it, but let
it lay. She’d be suspicious enough without carrying a knife around.
And I have the ember.
Sir Thoriss’s corpse loomed in her
mind’s eye. She felt tendrils of panic and grief reaching for her.
No. I have to get out of here.

She found a stairwell that led down several
floors. On the way down, she passed a washerwoman carrying a basket
of linens, but the woman paid her no mind.

Suddenly Amira ran out of stairs, and was
dumped into a room with three hallways leading in different
directions, and one shut door. How far down had she gone? How many
floors up were Edon’s chambers? She had no idea where she was now.
There were no windows down here, just candles in wall sconces.

She tried one of the halls at random. Voices
and warm air came down it, and she peered around a corner to see a
wide room where several women beat at linens with wooden rods.
High, short windows let in what looked like daylight.
The palace
laundry?
Hanging from hooks at one end of the room were a row
of servants’ dresses. Perhaps Amira could disguise herself, but she
couldn’t possibly reach the dresses without the women noticing
her.

When one of them turned about to fetch
something, Amira darted out of sight. She went back and tried one
of the other halls, but approaching voices turned her back again.
On the verge of panic, she pulled open the one closed door. The
room beyond was unlit, but after a moment she could see that it was
a linen closet, piles of sheets stacked as far back as the
candlelight reached.

The voices grew louder. Amira threw herself
onto the frontmost pile and pulled the door shut, plunging her into
darkness. She scrambled back by touch until she slipped and fell
between two tall piles of linens. She held her breath, praying they
wouldn’t open the door. After long, tense heartbeats, the voices
outside began to fade.

She waited a while, listening to her own
breathing in the darkness. The panic and fear were replaced by
numbness and drowsiness. It was warm in here, and the linens all
around her were so soft…

———

Amira blinked awake some time later, in
pitch blackness. It took a few moments before the day’s events came
crashing down on her, one by one. Edon’s summons; his attempt to—to
rape her. Sir Thoriss bursting in, sword drawn. By Wrath, what had
she done? The old knight’s angry face hovered before her in the
darkness, blood streaming from his ears. She saw, now: she’d pushed
the ember right into his head, into his brain, and lit it. Tears
and sobs came unbidden, and she planted her face into the linens to
muffle the sound.

She’d killed a man, and wounded a prince.
The latter seemed worse, maybe because Sir Thoriss couldn’t seek
revenge. But Edon surely would. Couldn’t she just kill him, too?
Can I? I don’t even know what I did. Am I a monster, like
him?

No. It had been self-defense. But waves of
fear rolled over her, driven by the knowledge that she was in
serious trouble. She remembered the willow switch her mother had
kept on the wall of their townhouse, an ever-present threat. But
she’d never done anything like this.
They don’t just switch you
for murder.

She took some breaths and recited the names
of the Aspects.
Terror. Despair. Wrath. Chaos. Edon, you
fiend.
She whispered curses upon his name.
Joy. Ardor.
Sacrifice. Courage. Protect me from him.
She had to get out of
here, to get home, to safety. Katin would be there, Amira knew it.
She and Dardan and Liam had been missing from the anteroom; they
must have been sent away.

She struggled up out of the cradle of linens
and crawled back to the door, listening for as long as she could
stand. She heard no footsteps, no voices. Perhaps Edon’s men still
searched for her, but she could not hide here forever. She
whispered a prayer to the Aspect of Courage and pushed the door
open. The room outside looked the same, though the candles had
burned down a ways.

Her earlier terror still lurked, but now
determination muffled it.
There must be a safe way out of
here.
She did not want to use her power to harm anyone else,
but knew she might have no choice.
I must be careful. Katin
would be careful. Katin was right, curse her.

The laundry was dark and empty, the high
windows admitting no more daylight. She must have slept half the
day. She stole a candle from one of the sconces in the hall and
went to the dresses hanging in the corner. She sorted through them
until she found one that might fit. Her own dress was sweaty and
stained now, and its condition the least of her concerns.

She found a tub of cold water that tasted
clean. Clean enough, anyway, so she took several gulps, then
stripped off her dress and sweat-soaked shift and rinsed herself
off. She shoved the ruined garments in a corner where they might be
overlooked for a day or two, and put on the servant’s dress. She’d
found no underclothes that might fit, but at least her slippers
were still wearable.

Her silver hair clip went into a pocket, and
she tied her hair up in a bun and wrapped a kerchief around it. Now
she could pass—barring close inspection—for a palace servant. Amira
hoped Elibarran was big enough that not all the servants knew one
another. Walking around late at night would be peculiar enough
already.

The servants’ ways were blessedly empty. She
put the candle back and wandered until she found a pantry, where
she ate a pair of sausages and some bread going stale. She took an
empty tray and carried it before her, hoping it would make her look
less suspicious.

If I can find the coachyard…
She
found a door out of the servants’ ways, that led into the open
halls of the palace. A pair of guards stood at one end of the hall
she came into, so she turned the other way. But in the very next
hall, two more guards stood beside an archway, chatting quietly.
There was nothing but to try it.

“Shouldn’t you be in the ways, girl?” one of
them said suddenly as she passed.

She ducked her head. “Sorry, sir, but…
m’lord, you see, he wants for more food,” she stuttered
nervously—not having to feign it—and held up the empty tray. “He
said he’d—he’d beat me if I took too long, an’ this way’s faster.”
She let her speech decay into the common rhythms of western Garova.
It was still easy; she’d only been gone from there a year and
some.

She hoped the guards would think she meant
Edon, on the premise that he’d be as cruel to the servants as he’d
been to her. They exchanged a look, and the one who spoke had a
gentler tone this time. “On your way, then.” Amira scuttled
away.

She wound through other halls until she
stumbled across the grand ballroom. In the dark, its sleeping
grandeur was oppressive rather than exciting. But she recognized
the doorway she’d come in with Dardan, where the herald had
announced them. Could that have been only a day ago?

From there she backtracked, trying hard to
remember which way they’d turned at which crossing. The silver
eagle on the royal sigil seemed to watch her hungrily from pennants
at every intersection.

She rejoiced when she found the foreyard,
and could see the coachyard beyond—but two more guards stood in the
archway that joined them. A servant girl leaving the palace in the
middle of the night would not go unchallenged.
No! I’m so
close!
The guards did not look likely to move any time soon.
There had to be another way.

She spied a narrow door in the corner of a
hall and took it, finding herself in the servants’ ways again. Just
down this hall was a little nook with a privy in it. She took the
opportunity to relieve herself for the first time in hours. The
smell coming up through the hole stung her nose, but then she began
to wonder. Callaston had covered sewers running under much of the
city, allowing waste water to flow down into the Brinemoor.
Elibarran was built at the north end of the city, farthest from the
river and the docks. If Elibarran connected to the city’s
sewers…

She went out and found the nearest
stairwell. At its bottom was a short hall with several doors. She
opened them one by one, finding mostly storage closets. The last
door was half-stuck and creaked when she yanked on it, but when she
finally pulled it open, she was met with a wave of eye-watering
stench. The hall beyond faded to darkness.