Halfrid said, “It took me several days but I was finally able to break that ward over Wren. However, when I tried to scry her, I was unsuccessful. And the next attempt brought me against another ward, this one imposed from within, you might say.”
Teressa frowned. “What does that mean?”
Halfrid said, “I suspect it was Wren herself. The magic had her signature, so to speak.”
“Signature?” Teressa repeated. “Is it Wren, or is it not?”
Tyron would have commented on her imperious tone had they been alone—had they not lost their habit of private talks. But Halfrid only gave her a calm smile. “Magic seldom carries identifiers, unless they are put in. But when you have worked with mages long enough, or have taught them, you can recognize how they put their spells together. Think of it as handwriting. You would recognize a note in Wren’s hand, even if she did not sign it, would you not?”
Teressa’s anxious look eased somewhat. “Yes, I would.”
Halfrid sat back, hands on his knees. “Well, then. To repeat, I suspect Wren set that ward herself, probably assuming that my scry attempt might be whoever had put the first one on her. From this we may surmise: first, that she’s both alive and active, and second, that she’s being careful.”
Teressa let out a long sigh. “Then you think she’s all right.”
“Yes,” Halfrid said. “I think she’s all right. In fact, I am comfortable enough with that assumption that I am trying to deal with all the other matters arising in the kingdom, rather than dropping them in search of a journeymage who, so far, has proved that she can take care of herself.”
Halfrid reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a paper. “Here is one of those matters I mentioned. It is crown business: Fliss’s report from Hroth Harbor. That is, the purely magical portion of her report has been removed, for you’ve no use for it. Instead, what you will find is a report of her investigations of what appears to be a thriving business, called ‘booming,’ which is the abduction of mostly young people and selling them to captains who have less than savory reputations and cannot seem to get sailors by legitimate hire. Fliss found evidence that Wren was boomed, along with some others, which is how Wren’s scry stone ended up in the curio shop.”
“Is the Harbormaster involved, then?” Teressa asked, anger kindling.
“Not that Fliss could discover. But one of his clerks definitely was, a fellow who is part of a well-organized network of thieves making plenty of money in the reselling of items taken from the victims they boom. That fellow was Sanga’s contact. It’s all there—names, statements, and the rest, for your perusal.”
Teressa leaned forward. “Thank you. I will read it carefully before I talk to Fil Gaen’s ambassador, you can be sure. And if we do get our treaty with Senna Lirwan, we might actually be able to do something about these matters, through monetary pressure if nothing else.”
Halfrid nodded in approval, as the midday bells echoed melodiously through the marble halls.
Teressa jumped up. “I will be late for Aunt Carlas’s river barge party. And I really ought not to be.” She flushed, not meeting anyone’s eyes.
Halfrid rose. “Then I shall leave you to it and return to school business.”
Tyron stepped aside for the Master Mage to leave first, and was about to follow when Teressa lifted a hand. “Wait. Please.”
Halfrid kept going. Tyron knew what Halfrid would say: if the queen needs to talk, she might actually listen. That was Tyron’s first duty.
Never mind how he felt about being alone with her again. It had always been that way. Maybe it would always be that way. But he’d learned to keep that half-pain, half-joy to himself.
“You never come to see me anymore.” Teressa’s forehead puckered below that striking hair-style, with the looped braids threaded with pearls.
“That’s because we just seemed to end up arguing. There are better things for both of us to be doing,” Tyron said.
“I won’t argue—if you’re not going to harangue me about who I choose to kiss.”
Tyron forced a smile. “Why would I?”
“Will you walk with me to the river?” she asked abruptly.
“Of course.”
Tyron had gotten into the habit of wearing his white master’s robe whenever he walked into Cantirmoor instead of his comfortable old brown one. He was thus as properly dressed as anyone would expect him to be.
She said, “Last night Garian did see fit to harangue me. What’s more, Aunt Carlas is apparently going to make some grand gesture at her stupid party today, and then formally withdraw from court, he warned me. Just because they don’t like Hawk.”
“Are you sure it’s not because they don’t trust Hawk?” Tyron asked.
Teressa sent him a sharp look. “You’re not going to start, are you?”
“I asked a question. If questions have become harangues, let me know.”
“Let me ask one of my own, then. Has Hawk given you any cause to distrust him?”
“Yes,” Tyron said.
They crossed the terrace before Teressa said, “Well?”
“I answered the question,” Tyron said.
Teressa sighed. “All right. Let’s hear it.”
“He didn’t tell us about Falin. Oh, he gave us his sarcastic retort about us not believing him, but that seemed more of a convenience. He certainly isn’t hampered from expressing opinions when he wants to. Truth is, I think he was entertained by the whole episode.”
“Now you’re expressing opinions.”
“Fair enough. Then let me say two things, and I’ll drop the subject.”
“Go ahead.”
They were on the tree-lined walkway leading down to the river. Light, shadow, light, shadow, passed before Tyron spoke again. “First, though he seems to care about you—very much, whatever anyone else might say, I think it’s true—he doesn’t give any evidence of caring about Meldrith.”
“He set up my interview with Idres, and I don’t think that ever would have happened but for him.”
“But that was for you. Think about it. Except for his poking around watching people, or sending his followers around to . . . observe, let us say, has there been any evidence whatsoever that he takes an interest in the kingdom’s well-being? Not for the sake of the power it’s regaining, which he might one day use, but for the sake of the people who live in it?”
Teressa smoothed her hands down her green and gold gown with its tiny pearls embroidered in patterns. Against the backdrop of summer trees she looked more handsome than she ever had.
She glanced sharply at Tyron. “Your second observation?”
“Just that your own family library is full of personal memoirs by kings and queens who found themselves in situations like yours. I think it was Queen Rhis herself who said that the problem with attraction is that it is just attraction, no more and no less. And where people make mistakes is in trying to redefine attraction into honesty, into devotion, into a meaning outside of, well, the strong response one feels to a handsome pair of eyes.”
Light, shadow, light, shadow, they paced through the rays slanting between the trees along the pathway. Most of the leaves were yellow. Some had already fallen. Their footsteps whispered through the leaves, sending leaves skittering over the old worn stones.
Tyron lifted his head in time to spot one of Garian’s ceaseless roaming patrols vanish over a low, rounded hill on which the grass was already turning golden.
Teressa said, “Are you done?”
“I told you, two things. That makes two.”
“So let me ask you this. How much experience do you have, to lecture me about attraction?”
Tyron looked at her in surprise. “Not much. So that makes my reading and thinking worthless?”
Teressa bent her head so all he could see was that profusion of braids. He realized that they took the place of a crown.
Then she mumbled something in which the name Orin could be made out.
Tyron felt a jab of rueful laughter, but he hid it. What could he say?
There
has
never
been
anyone
but
you
,
from
the
first
moment
I
saw
you
when
I
was
a
scruffy
brat
playing
tricks
on
my
fellow
students
and
you
an
awkward
girl
in
an
ugly
dress
just
escaped
from
the
orphanage
.
No. The day he could say that might come in five years, or ten, or never. He liked Orin. He respected her. It was possible one day he might feel more—if Teressa never returned his feelings.
So he said, “I don’t mix with students, even attractive ones. It’s pretty much one of the rules, and a rule that’s existed for generations usually is in place for good reasons.”
Teressa muttered something, then she looked up, and took him by surprise again. “I’m sorry. It was none of my business.”
Tyron tried for that light tone. “It’s not like I have much time for flirting anyway. You have no idea how behind we’ve been with this year’s classes, and—oh, here we are at the river. I’d better turn back.”
Teressa stopped, staring. Tyron took in the long river barge, decorated with garlands of aromatic leaves and flowers, the court in their fine clothes passing slowly over the ramp into the barge, their voices a little too sharp, laughter too much like the tinkle of broken glass.
“Please come,” Teressa said. “You know Aunt Carlas wouldn’t mind.”
Tyron hesitated, scanning the knots of people in tight conversation groups. Was anyone having a good time? Yes, young Robin, over there with two other girls beginning to flirt with Hawk, who until the three girls walked up had been sitting quite alone. “I think I will,” Tyron said. “Food ought to be better than the soup and leftover breakfast biscuits that I know are waiting for us back at the magic school.”
Teressa smiled, her chin up, and descended the brick-lined path to the landing. Duchess Carlas, waiting at the top of the ramp to greet her guests, led the bows. When the duchess straightened up, she gave Tyron a welcoming nod that was far less cold than he was used to receiving.
As soon as Teressa and Tyron stepped on board, the lines were cast off and the big, strong fellows dressed in Rhismordith livery plied their poles, sending the boat gently out into the middle of the wide, placid river.
At the back end, musicians under their own canopy began playing softly on flutes, tiranthe, and hand drums. The melodies were all traditional ones, recognizable songs about summer and peace and plenty, as servants uncovered a long buffet filled with fresh fruits, cheeses, a selection of at least a dozen types of fancy bread, and fine pastries, each set on flower petals carefully arranged. At the front end was iced punch, and crystal glasses to drink out of.
People crowded around, but it was soon apparent to Tyron that they did so to have something to do, rather than because they were hungry.
Hawk was still seated at the far side, talking to the group of admiring young ladies led by little Robin in her bright crimson dress covered with knots of pink and white ribbon, with a white ribbon in her hair. The ladies still stood; he had not invited any of them to take a seat by him.
As Teressa stepped onto the deck the courtiers all bowed—everyone except Hawk. Then they resumed their seats and their conversations as Teressa made her way to sit beside Hawk.
Carlas said in a strident voice, “Today we’re having an old fashioned picnic, as I promised. The music, the food, are all the ones we older people loved when we were young.”
Several barons and baronesses murmured in agreement.
The Duchess smiled. “And so what we’ll do next is play a few of the old-fashioned games. We’ll begin with one we used to call Word Mask.”
The old Baroness of Arakee laughed. “Oh, I remember!”
“Then you shall give us the first word,” the duchess declared, moving to the side of the river barge opposite Hawk, forcing everyone to shift position. They stood in a rough ring, facing her.
“Button,” the Baroness said.
The Duchess gestured. “Button it is. Now I will quote a line from a famous old song, but I will put in place of the regular nouns the word ‘button’ and the one who guesses the correct line can say the next word, and pick the one who must provide a line.” She paused, as people whispered, then pronounced in a slow voice, “
Long
rode
the
button
across
the
fiery
button
,
button
at
his
side
and
button
in
his
hand
!”
A spatter of laughter and clapping, and then Perd said, “Easy! That’s from the song about the Wizard Morayen,
Long
rode
the
seeker
—”
People clapped, then the Duchess called, “You get the next word!”
“Nutcake.” Perd raised the pastry in his hand.
“Who shall say a line?”
Perd looked around, then pointed at his old friend Marit, who shrugged. “Uh, let’s see. Old song, old song. How about
My
nutcake
said
to
me
,
let
us
go
together
down
to
the
nutcake
and
there
we
shall
wed
!”
Laughter again, and this time, several people called out the correct line. For a little while the atmosphere was full of fun and laughter as especially silly words changed the meanings of famous old songs, but when the Duchess interrupted, saying, “It’s far too easy! You young folk are too clever by half! We shall change the game. The winner names the song as well as the word, and picks someone who has to know it, and if he or she doesn’t, there’s a forfeit!”