Wolfsbane Winter (7 page)

“I can. What hurts is when you care about people and you lose them. I’m never going to let myself care about anyone again. Then I can’t get hurt.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” Deryn started to walk away, but then turned and burrowed into Brise’s arms like a child, letting the sobs come. “I can love you. You’re safe. You know how to keep yourself alive. But I swear. I swear on Shea’s grave, I’m never going to let anyone else mean anything to me again.”

Fire cascaded over the king’s shoulders and rolled down his torso, clothing him in liquid light. Sparks bounced off the steel links of his clothing and landed around his feet as he passed, igniting the few errant blades of grass that sprouted between the cobblestones. Two ice-mages were in his immediate retinue to make sure the flames did not spread. The king’s chief marshal, Lady Kyra Quintanilla, kept pace with him, dressed in shifting bands of lilac and silver iridescence that contrasted pleasingly with her dusky skin tone. Her head was level with the king’s, but since she was somewhat shorter, it meant her feet were six inches clear of the ground. On either side, a row of uniformed guardsmen held back the cheering crowds of commoners as the procession exited the palace gates.

From a position well to the rear of the traditional Midsummer Day parade, Alana watched cynically. The king’s fire was real. Her mother’s levitation was an illusion. In both cases, the aim was the same—to intimidate the spectators and remind them of their proper, subordinate status. The true audience for this was, of course, the lesser nobility, people such as herself. Who cared what the commoners thought?

Alana’s father, Jacian, was indulging in a similar display of gamesmanship, although rather less successfully. He was some way behind the king, dressed in golden armor and riding on a huge white bear. Alana frowned at the sight. The bear was a creature of the northern snows and was suffering in the heat. Its distress was obvious.

Her father had chosen to ride the huge bear as a demonstration of his ability to control the most ferocious of beasts, but as was often the case, what it mainly demonstrated was his poor judgment. Everyone (or at least, everyone who counted) knew that a beast-charmer’s prowess was measured by the intelligence of the animal dominated, not its size or aggression. A kitten was harder to control than a wild bull. The nobles would have been even less impressed if they had known that the bear was drugged. Alana had prepared the concoction herself that morning, on her parents’ orders.

The gold armor was also a sham, made of painted tin, rather than pure gold. The issue here was weight, not cost. The Quintanilla family was wealthy enough to afford the gold, but her father was middle aged, overweight, and hopelessly out of condition. Was anyone impressed by his military posturing? In the hierarchy of magical talent, beast-charmers came well below fire-mages and illusionists, and no amount of gold paint and drugged animals was going to change it.

Alana sighed. Maybe she was being over-cynical, and the sad thing was that her family would have been delighted if she could display a quarter of her father’s ability. Since the day she had been born, they had watched her, hoping for some latent talent to suddenly awaken. After twenty-four years, they had finally given up. She was a member of the nobility by accident of birth alone. Her demon-spawn heritage had left no legacy of magic in her.

Ranks of ordinary people lined the street. Alana studied them as she passed. She was the same as them, but the commoners would never accept one of the demon-spawn living among them. Anger at the demon-wrought devastation had not faded, even though the Age of Chaos had ended almost two hundred and fifty years before. If Alana left the protection of the court, her life would be at risk.

Her gaze jumped from face to face until the crowd became a tableau of open mouths and eyes, a wall of noise, animated and awestruck. If you did not know better, you might read the atmosphere as one of celebration, but beneath the facade lay fear and hatred. Alana could feel it flowing in waves as if it were a physical force, pressing down on her chest. She stumbled under its weight.

“Careful.” Reyna grabbed her arm, catching Alana before she fell.

“Thanks.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. I’m fine.”

Concern etched fine lines around Reyna’s eyes. “It wasn’t one of your dizzy attacks?”

“No. I wasn’t watching where I was going. Sorry.”

Reyna’s expression showed that she was unconvinced, but before she could say anything, Princess Caritina set her own shoes alight, requiring that the ice-mage attend to her royal charge.

“No, no, Cari. You must be more careful.”

“Didn’t mean it.” The toddler gave one of her most endearing, gap-toothed grins.

Over the previous few months, Caritina had been showing signs of getting her fire magic under control, much to her nursemaid’s relief, but it was not surprising that the excitement of the parade had affected her. The talent for fire mastery ran strong in the descendants of Queen Jacaranda.

“Remember what happened to your bed.”

“Got a new one now.”

“You can’t get new feet.” Reyna sighed and took the girl’s hand.

Alana smiled at them and then went back to brooding about the crowd and her place in the world. Did walking with Reyna and the infant princess make it all the more obvious that she did not have as much magical talent as the three-year-old? Despite her mother’s status, Alana’s inclusion in the Midsummer parade owed more to her role as partner to the royal nursemaid. Her own family would have been happier if she had been absent altogether.

For her part, Alana would also much rather have been somewhere else. Only Reyna’s entreaties had persuaded her to take part. Increasingly, Alana found herself trying to avoid large gatherings. Her dizzy attacks were becoming a frequent reaction to crowds, and while common sense told her they were a purely psychological reaction, her body responding to the stress of the occasions, this did not give her any more power to control them. She was so much happier alone in her garden.

“You can’t hide from the world behind your plants,” Reyna had said repeatedly.

Alana was still waiting for her partner to add a good reason why not.

The ranks of commoners again drew her attention. How much of their hostility toward the demon-spawn nobility was due to resentment of the current inequality and injustice, and how much was due to history?

It was true that during the Age of Chaos the demons had killed untold millions, and inflicted wholesale ruin on the world, but the demon-spawn were not to blame. If anything, their ancestors had suffered the most, losing their very souls when the demons possessed them. The avatars had been mindless puppets, devoid of free will, used and discarded by the demons. They had been no more than tools, through which the demons fought their magical battles. Without exception, their lives had been short and their ends violent.

Although children conceived and born to the avatars retained some of the demons’ magical powers, there was no collusion with the demons and it was unfair to hold the demon-spawn descendants to blame. Yet when the demons had left the world, at the end of the Age of Chaos, the common people had hunted down the demon-spawn and slaughtered any they could find.

Who could say how many had been murdered? The more fortunate were able to hide. Some led secret double lives, concealing their abilities. Others had fled to remote areas, such as the large family who had sought refuge in the mountains inland from Ellaye, overlooking the desert springs. This was the group who had ended the persecution of demon-spawn in the most decisive manner, when the matriarch of the family had led them in the brief battle to take control of Ellaye and subjugate the common folk.

Only after Queen Jacaranda founded the Kingdom of Galvonia had it become apparent how many of the demon-spawn had survived, passing themselves off as ordinary people and keeping their magical abilities hidden. So if her ancestors could do it, Alana reasoned, why not she? After all, it was not as if she had any ability to hide.

Her parents would object, of course. Alana wished she had the courage to confront them and demand that she be allowed to leave Ellaye. But they would not listen to her. They never did.

The head of the procession reached its destination. The central square was decorated for the occasion. Flags hung on the building fronts. The trees lining the edge were covered in glowing red and white blossoms—an illusion, but a very effective one. A platform had been erected in the middle. Since it was made of wood, King Alvarro II had to end his display of fire magic before he mounted the steps. Lady Kyra could have continued appearing to float above the ground, but it would not be prudent to outshine the king, and Lady Kyra had not reached her current rank without a shrewd grasp of politics. The third person to join them on the platform was Orrin, the king’s newly appointed high counselor. Alana eyed him with surprise and suspicion. This was a departure from tradition, but Orrin had been showing signs of wanting to change things round.

Orrin cultivated a long beard, possibly in an attempt to disguise his age, and seem older and wiser than he was. Alana would have put him at nothing over thirty, but it should not be difficult to find out for certain, if she felt so motivated. Although a new arrival in Ellaye, Orrin was actually a distant cousin of hers. One of her relatives would know when he had been born.

His rise in the king’s favor had been spectacular. How far did Orrin’s ambitions go? Alana had heard rumors of his plans for the country, and the monarchy. The stories he was weaving seemed like nonsense to her, yet he had, apparently, convinced the king that they held some truth.

Alana’s gaze hardened. Was she being fair, or was it just that she did not like mind-mages? Even if you accepted the commonly voiced belief that their so-called magical talent was nine-tenths trickery, it still left the conclusion that the remaining one-tenth involved poking around inside other people’s heads.

Orrin stepped forward to address the crowd, usurping the role of herald. “Today we celebrate the founding of the glorious Kingdom of Galvonia. The day when Queen Jacaranda led her family down from the mountains, and accepted her divinely allotted mission. For one hundred and seventy-six years, she and her noble descendants have been true to their calling. For you, they have established order and security. For you, they have fought back the windigos. For you, they will lead the world onward to a new Age of Wonders.” Orrin paused, dramatically. “People of Ellaye. I give you your king.” His voice had been loud. Now it rose to a shout. “All hail his majesty, Alvarro II.”

The watching crowd broke into a respectable imitation of a cheer. The king now claimed the front of the podium and began the traditional address.

Alana edged closer to Reyna. “Do you think he’ll get the people to buy it?”

“Who?”

“Orrin.”

“Buy what?”

“All the stuff about demons of light, and the king’s ancestors defeating the demons of darkness.”

“Why not?”

“But it’s not true.”

“You don’t know that. He might be right.”

“Reyna. Be serious.”

Alana’s exasperated tone only drew a carefree smile. “Anyway, what does it matter?”

Alana took a deep breath, but then stopped. The parade was not the place to have the discussion, and no matter where they were, would she ever get Reyna to understand the games of politics and power?

Perhaps if Reyna’s family had been closer to the monarchy, she might have grown up knowing that everything mattered, when it came to the king’s favor. But then, one of the things that drew Alana to the nursemaid was her total lack of interest in the double-dealing, maneuvering, and game-playing of court. And if Reyna had possessed more acute political instincts, would she have aligned herself with a no-hoper, devoid of magical ability?

Alana sighed and turned back to the podium. She started. Orrin was staring straight at her. The intensity of the calculating look in his eye caught her off guard. Whatever the reason for his attention, its roots lay in more than idle curiosity.

The king’s high counselor was very definitely someone who knew all about politics and power. Alana was struck by the worrying idea that he was making yet more plans, and she was clearly involved in them.

*

The blue spikes of wolfsbane were just coming into flower. In another few weeks they would be at their best. The potent drug extracted from the leaves and roots had many uses. It could save lives or take them. The beauty of the flower was a bonus. Beauty always was.

Alana touched the tip of her finger to a swelling bud, while running a quick mental inventory. Her potion jars were currently well stocked. She could afford to wait until the flowering was over before harvesting. Beauty should not be wasted.

She moved away from the damp shade of the wall and knelt beside a bed of plants, blooming in the full sun. Her dark hair absorbed the heat on the back of her head, but the rays were not so powerful as to make her go in search of a hat. The sprouting weeds she pulled up left behind miniature craters and mountains in the soil for trains of ants to scramble over. The work was relaxing, allowing her mind to wander.