Chapter Thirty
“She’s plotting something.” Lord Marshal Tarwain scowled as he paced before the fireplace in their family chambers. His bootheels rang against the stone floor as he strode back and forth.
Halithe sat on her stool, back straight, hands folded in her lap, eyes down as befit a young lady of quality. She had no doubt as to who her father was referring to. He’d been stewing since the morning meal.
She’d almost rather be sewing.
Almost.
“I was supposed to subdue the Black Hills until she got it into her head to send that scribe there first. I agreed that it was a good way to rid us of a problem, but who knows how long it will take. There are riches to be found there, wealth to be pulled from the very ground.”
Halithe made a soft sound of agreement, as she’d been schooled. Long experience had taught her to always be attentive, but never to offer her own thoughts. That didn’t stop her thinking, though.
Father was right, something was happening. There had been a flurry of activity in the wee hours of the morning. The Queen had closeted herself with her Bondmaidens, pleading illness, and all the noble ladies had been sent to their own chambers. There was a new tension in the air since the new Lord High Baron had been sent to his barony.
Almost as if others had discovered that they too could be “honored” in such a way.
“I think she’s avoiding the council.” Father turned on his heel and marched the other way. “She’s avoiding all discussion of lands and grants. And the King can’t be bothered with details. He spends all his time beating on the pells.”
Halithe would have nodded her understanding if her input had been welcome. Instead she kept her thoughts to herself.
“The only way that brainless idiot came to power is through her,” Tarwain said, making no effort to lower his voice. Halithe glanced carefully around, seeing no servants. But this was the Royal Court of Wyvern House, where one never knew who watched and listened. Did Father think himself immune?
“She’s the power, the brains, the manipulative she-wyvern,” Tarwain continued. His voice had changed, ever so slightly, growing deep, sultry—
Halithe closed her eyes, and willed herself not to react. It could not be, her father could not have—
“She is magnificent,” he mused.
Halithe must have made a noise, must have unconsciously twitched in a way that drew his attention. He came to stand in front of her, his hands behind his back. “I’ve strived to bring our family to the forefront,” Tarwain groused. “Done everything I could to bring us to a position of power and influence within the Court.”
Halithe tried very hard not to imagine exactly what he and the Queen had done.
“And what have you done, chit? These mage lessons are nonsense. The Queen has allowed them for now, for some reason, but you and I both know there’s no power for you other than that a woman gains through marriage. A good marriage, one that brings wealth and more influence, should be all that you strive for, all that you want. To build a foundation to pass on to the heirs of your body.”
Well, this was familiar ground, and she could ignore the rest, even as he returned to pacing, hurling barbed words at her for her failures. She didn’t sigh, didn’t shift in her seat, just settled in, knowing he’d have to let her go soon, for the noble ladies were to gather in the chapel in the next hour, to recite prayers for the health of the Queen and her child.
A soft knock at the door interrupted Father’s tirade. “Enter,” Tarwain barked.
Halithe raised her head as the door opened. Ritathan entered.
How did he do that, she wondered. Glide into a room so quietly, with no announcement, no boots ringing on stone. Just quiet assurance of power, and maybe the smallest clink of his chains. As if to say “I can kill you in an instant.”
She loved that.
“Forgive me,” Ritathan with a tone that implied anything but a plea. “I need my apprentice for a lesson.”
“She’s to go to prayers,” Tarwain grumped.
Ritathan nodded gravely. “A quick lesson,” he assured Tarwain. “There’s enough time if we hurry. Come quickly, apprentice.”
Halithe rose, curtsied to her father, and went to the door, keeping her eyes down to hide her glee. But once they were in the corridor, the door closed. she looked Ritathan full in the face.
He raised one of those shaggy eyebrows. “Control yourself, apprentice.” he said mildly, his eyes twinkling. “Come. We’ve not much time.”
He swiftly led her to a bank of windows that looked out over the Palace courtyard. He carefully cracked open one of the casement windows. “Look,” he ordered, tucking his hands into his robes as the cold air flowed in.
She stepped closer to him, close enough to smell the incense that clung to his robes. The cold air snapped at her cheeks. She’d a clear view of all the bustle, normal for the afternoon. Guards, tradesmen, servants going about their chores. All seemed normal, until she spotted four figures coming through the gate.
“Is that the Guildmaster?” she asked, although it clearly was. The portly man was decked out in vibrant blue and green robes; the other three wore black robes, their bond-chains clearly visible.
“Yes,” Ritathan said. “The escort sent to the Black Hills is returning. He and the others will open the portal for their return.”
Guildmaster Forterran was shouting orders, clearing the area.
“Watch,” Ritathan said. “Remember that not everything is as it seems.”
“I don’t see—” Halithe started, but then snapped her mouth shut when Ritathan’s fingers encircled her wrist, cold under the metal of her bracelet.
“ See .” At that single word, a tingle of power ran through her.
The world shifted .
Startled, she looked at Ritathan, saw lights swirling around him and glittering among his chains. She felt, saw, sensed his Ramathan’s strength, his knowledge, his…resignation?
“Not me,” Ritathan chided and nodded to the window. “Down there.”
Halithe’s gaze went to the window and beyond, the lovely, wide sky and the world…she was lost in amazement.
“What do you see?” Ritathan whispered.
She lowered her gaze. “The gates,” she breathed.
“Wards,” Ritathan explained. “Very old spells, cast deep within the structure. They feed off the energies of those that live within, although they do have to be renewed at intervals.”
“The Guildmaster,” she frowned as the man started to chant and wave his arms. He glowed then, as did the area before him. “But the others, they aren’t really casting, are they?”
“Good,” Ritathan said. “Forterran is putting on a bit of a show. He would say he is giving them their money’s worth.”
Halithe jerked back as a wide, white, swirly circle of energy opened in the center of the courtyard, glowing intensely.
In another breath, blindfolded horses emerged, men at their heads, pulling a carriage. Another carriage followed, with an empty wagon behind, followed by men leading their mounts. The last man through, seemingly in charge, called for a head count. Once he had it, he gave the Guildmaster a nod, and the circle disappeared.
The Guildmaster staggered a bit and his apprentices ran up to offer aid.
“Trust Forterran to add a dramatic touch,” Ritathan scoffed. “You can close the window, now.”
Halithe did so with her free hand.
“This,” Ritathan squeezed her wrist, “this is what we call mage sense. When you first experience it, it is usually just your sight that seems enhanced. But it can be so much more than that.
“Think of it as more than just an extension of your physical senses, because given time and practice, it may allow you to sense strong emotions.”
The wagons and carriages were leaving through the palace gates, as was the Guildmaster. It looked like the man in charge of the expedition was being directed toward the Royal Quarters.
“I have shared my mage sense with you today,” Ritathan said, “but you must develop your own. For each of us, mage sense has inner ways, some stronger than others.” He released her wrist, and the effect was immediate—the sense dulled, slipping from her grasp to lie just out of reach.
“You must learn to invoke this for yourself,” Ritathan murmured. “My spell will linger for an hour, maybe more. You must focus, concentrate on summoning it.” His mouth quirked. “Perhaps while you are at your prayers.”
The chapel bells started pealing.
“We are done for this day,” Ritathan said. “The rest is up to you. Report to me tomorrow and we will continue to work on control.”
“Yes, Master,” Halithe said as he strode off, his robes flowing around him.
The chapel was crowded and over warm, since no lady of the nobility wanted to be counted absent. It was said that the Matriarch herself would lead the service, so they stood in silence in the pews, waiting, the only sound the rustle of skirts and the occasional cough.
Halithe felt sweat start to gather on her neck. The sun was beating in the windows and the heat was rising. The chapel wasn’t large and none of the colored glass windows opened. She looked around, realizing some recent repairs had been done. Was that to please the Matriarch?
Perhaps politics played a larger role in faith than she had imagined.
A glitter from the altar, drew her attention. The sun disk that hung above the marble glittered again. She focused, trying to invoke mage sense.
The disk flared bright, white and pure and—
A wave of hate hit her, almost like a blow to the chest.
Anger. Rage, deep and furious, but with an odd tang to it. It poured from the gated entrance to the crypts. Halithe focused again, trying to find a source, concentrating as hard as she could—
Then Caris stepped into view and all other thoughts fled.
Caris glowed, as if covered in ground gold and diamond dust. So beautiful that Halithe’s breath caught in her throat. Caris was warm amber and Halithe’s heart was caught within.
The golden cords of the bond danced with sparks of red and writhed like a silken web that clung to Caris’s skin, tight enough to be a trap, a prison, a binding. It moved with her, yet restrained her at the same time.
Caris glanced in her direction and for a long moment their gazes locked. Halithe’s mouth went dry as a surge of longing rose up in her soul. A deep, abiding hunger to rip those restrains free.
The hand bells chimed and the call for prayer rang out as the Matriarch led a procession of clerics to the altar. Halithe knelt with all the other women, but her mind was not on prayer.
I know what I want, Father , she thought as she bowed her head, and I will strive for it.