Chapter 1 #2
Patrick’s hand was on Elowen’s shoulder now, but she shrugged it off.
Her brother’s light praise of Simeon’s heroics only irked her.
The injustice of any credit at all going to Bertrand was galling.
As was the swift look of annoyance that Bertrand directed at Simeon, as if he resented even the prince’s moderated praise of the servant.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” Simeon bowed low, his body straightening more slowly than was natural. Elowen felt a surge of sympathy for him.
“You must be exhausted,” she said, turning to one of the guards. “Assist Simeon to somewhere he can sit.”
The guard did so, but Patrick frowned as he watched. “We can’t linger, Elowen. We can’t be certain the danger has passed, and to be on the safe side, we should ride back to the capital immediately.”
“Just give him a minute,” she insisted. “It must have taken a lot of magic to stop those stones mid-air like that. You don’t want him to pass out during the ride, do you?”
The prince didn’t look happy, but he didn’t protest. He’d received no more official training in magic craft than Elowen had, but he knew she was right, because they’d both been taught the basics.
All movement stirred up the invisible magic that was known as Dust, and theoretically, anyone could learn to harness it and craft it into useful enchantments.
Most people had basic comprehension of how to use the tiny amounts of Dust which were stirred up by the movements of their own bodies and which were therefore automatically harnessed to them should they choose to take hold of them.
To be able to do anything significant with that magic, not to mention to harness Dust generated by other sources of movement as Simeon had just done, required not only a natural aptitude, but years of dedicated training.
It wasn’t a part of royal education in Torrens.
Elowen knew it wasn’t considered dignified for members of the court to study any trade, magic included, but she had always regretted the policy, more even than her family imagined.
At the thought of her secret, her eyes flicked to Sophia, but her friend wasn’t looking at her.
One aspect of magical theory that Patrick knew as well as Elowen did was that the act of harnessing magic drained the human body of energy like no other activity under the sun.
And the cost increased relative to the scope of the enchantment.
Proper practice was for a craftsman to use half the magic seized from the relevant movement to pour back into his own body as energy.
That energy couldn’t be stored, but it could be used to fuel whatever activity the craftsman directed the magic to do—or rather, directed the remaining half of the magic to do.
This practice avoided over-exertion which could lead to serious damage and in extreme cases even death.
Looking at Simeon’s face, which had gone so pale that the faint sprinkling of freckles on his nose had become prominent, Elowen wondered if he’d cut a corner in how much magic he repurposed as energy for himself.
It was surprising, because she knew he was skilled in the craft, and given the source of magic used had presumably been the motion of the falling stone, there should have been plenty of magic at his disposal.
The chunks of masonry had been enormous, and their movement had been rapid.
And yet, he looked like he was about to pass out.
Patrick had ordered the group to remount, ready for departure, but Elowen ignored the instruction. Side-stepping the guards still protectively flanking her, she approached the servant, Sophia by her side.
“Thank you,” Elowen told Simeon earnestly, speaking quickly. She likely didn’t have long before she would be chivvied onto her horse whether she liked it or not. “You saved my life, and Sophia’s, and I’m incredibly grateful.”
“You needn’t thank me, Your Highness,” he told her, his head bent deferentially and his form sagging a little. “I’m honored to be of service to you.”
She disregarded these expected niceties. “Are you well, Simeon? You seem to have been hit particularly hard by that enchantment.”
“I…Yes, I’m well, Your Highness.”
But Elowen had caught the moment of hesitation, and she frowned. Simeon’s brow was furrowed, the worried expression unfamiliar to her.
“What’s on your mind?” she pressed him. “Please speak freely.”
“It’s probably nothing, Your Highness,” he said.
“But…?” she prompted.
His eyes drifted over his shoulder, back toward the tower. “Something felt strange about the magic generated by the tower’s collapse. It didn’t respond as I expected, which is why my energy is more depleted.”
“Strange how?”
The question had been on the tip of Elowen’s tongue, but she wasn’t the one who uttered it. Patrick had appeared unnoticed behind her, and his expression was keen as it rested on the servant.
Simeon straightened, his tone becoming even more respectful as he addressed the prince.
“I’m not entirely sure, Your Highness.”
“Just do your best to explain what you experienced. You needn’t try to have all the answers.” Knowing him as she did, Elowen could tell that Patrick was making an effort to be reassuring. He still sounded stern.
Simeon nodded slowly. “Yes, Your Highness. I only meant that there was a lot of movement. But there wasn’t a lot of magic. At least…not a lot available to me.”
“What do you mean, not a lot available to you?” Patrick’s voice was sharper now, and Elowen looked between him and the servant in confusion. Why was her brother so tense?
“I sensed a relatively small amount of magic.” Simeon smiled deferentially as he explained himself. “But perhaps I overestimate my abilities of assessment.”
“Perhaps so,” Patrick said thoughtfully. “Were you formally trained in magic craft by the Craftsmen’s Guild?”
Simeon shook his head. “No, Your Highness. I was trained by a tutor, by the generosity of His Grace.”
Sophia shifted slightly beside Elowen at the words, but she made no comment.
“Ah, I see.”
Patrick’s tone seemed to dismiss the subject.
Elowen had the impression that her brother had decided that Simeon’s inferior training explained any problems he’d had with the magic he harnessed.
She didn’t believe it though, given how consistently she’d seen Simeon manipulate magic with ease. Usually for Bertrand’s benefit.
The viscount had pushed his way through the guards, and he chose that moment to insert himself into the conversation.
“Are you still making a fuss, Simeon? Surely we’re ready to depart by now.”
“I’m ready to travel, My Lord,” Simeon said. “I apologize for inconveniencing the group.”
“Not at all.” Patrick waved a magnanimous hand. “You’ve acquitted yourself well, young man.”
The epithet was comical to Elowen. If Simeon was younger than Patrick, it would only be by a couple of years.
But Patrick was like that. He never exploited his position for his own gain, but he always seemed to converse with others from the height of his status.
Sometimes she wondered if it made him feel lonely.
“If you need more time to recover, a guard can stay behind with you,” Patrick added.
“Thank you, Your Highness, but I’m well,” Simeon insisted.
“I’ll see to my servant, Prince Patrick,” Bertrand told the prince reassuringly. “You needn’t concern yourself with the details.” He sent a reproving look at Simeon. “There’s no need for you to keep addressing the prince, Simeon, try to behave with decorum.”
Elowen was well used to the imperious way Bertrand treated his servant, and she didn’t let it distract her from studying Simeon himself as she remounted her horse.
“Do you think Simeon is all right?” she asked Sophia quietly.
“No, I don’t.” Her friend’s reply was immediate. “I’ve never seen him so affected by harnessing magic.”
Elowen looked around, making sure no one was watching her as she rhythmically slapped the reins against her saddle in a gentle but persistent motion.
Ochre, well used to her, ignored the movement, but Elowen’s senses immediately caught the Dust it was stirring up.
Harnessing it, she sent it toward where Simeon was mounting his own horse.
Under her clandestine direction, the magic caused the stirrup to rise helpfully as soon as Simeon’s weight shifted onto it.
The young servant’s movements were smoother as he moved into the saddle, and he cast a furtive look around.
When his eyes caught on Elowen’s, his face relaxed into the smallest of smiles.
Elowen wasn’t sure if it was gratitude or professional pride, but either way, it lasted only a moment before his expression returned to a neutral one.
“Be careful,” Sophia murmured, as always nervous of getting into trouble. She’d pulled her horse alongside Elowen’s.
“Don’t you think he deserves a little help and consideration after saving our lives?” Elowen demanded, also speaking in an under-voice.
“Of course I do.” Sophia sounded unhappy, and Elowen didn’t push the point.
As they left the watchtower behind, Elowen glanced back. The damage was considerable—more of the tower had collapsed than she’d realized during those terrifying moments of chaos. The top third of it was gone, the base surrounded now by rubble.
How had that much falling stone not created enough magic for a skilled craftsman like Simeon?
She could only be grateful Simeon had found a way to work with what he had access to.
She and Sophia were lucky to be alive—although at the same time, she couldn’t help thinking that it was very unlucky that the tower had chosen the moment of their visit to fall, after being reported as unstable and potentially dangerous weeks before.