Synchronicity
There is still so much about magic that we have yet to discover. If you discount something as impossible, that simply means you have found the limits of our current understanding of magic.
Fundamentals of Magic by Eroland Lockhart
WITH MUCH PROTESTATION from the Immen King, the peace talks begin. Apparently his heir still hasn’t arrived, and Luther Barclay is set on making that everyone else’s problem. In the week since their commencement, the talks have been a mess.
I haven’t made an appearance yet, but I’ve gathered more than enough of the proceedings by listening in the alcoves. So many places in the palace are designed to carry sound, and I use them to my advantage. From what I hear, frustrations are already mounting.
But I can’t avoid making an appearance any longer.
My self-imposed isolation ends tonight. To close out the first week of the talks, the Shykhdar is hosting a ball to help ease tensions.
I doubt they’ll succeed there, but it will be the perfect event to enact the first part of mine and Samira’s plan.
I’m going to prove that I’m the pariah the Shykhdar has already rumored me to be. And I dress the part.
The sunflower silk gown that Varice made is perfect for this. Formal enough for the occasion, but with its corset top and lack of sleeves, it’s overly revealing by Cairish standards. On top of all that, the Shykhdar will see nothing but a man wearing it.
I adorn it with some accessories Samira stole away from my old room, things that only my countrymen usually wear.
Gold rings circle my fingers, and a web of thin gold chains hangs around my neck and shoulders.
They’re befitting of my station as a Shykh’s heir, put on display against the bare skin of my collarbone.
The outfit comes together in a perfect meld of masculine and feminine without belonging solely to either.
It makes me feel powerful, but I hope that confidence holds fast when I step into view of the Shykhdar.
Yet as I leave for the main chamber of our wing, I’m met by Alix’s low, appreciative whistle. He’s smiling from ear to ear as he looks me over. “Gods, Olbric. That’s a hell of a statement.”
I chuckle, face heating. “Wanted to go with something simple and understated.”
“What a failure,” Alix snorts. “You look incredible.”
The King, his advisers, and Arlon are all huddled awkwardly in a corner near the King’s grand accommodations.
They were having their little talks at the banquet table in the center of the room until I pointed out how easily their conversations carried into the courtyard outside.
That corner is the one place that doesn’t echo, but with them all crammed into it, they look like hens hiding from a hawk.
Yet over the King’s shoulder, Arlon catches sight of me, and a small, soft smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“I have a feeling the only people who would agree with you are in this room,” I mutter, though I can’t help but admire Alix’s own finery.
He’s wearing a clean-cut obsidian tunic that’s bordered with silver rope, his spells draped proudly around his neck.
The dark fabric against his bronzed skin is rather dashing.
“I doubt that. Your sisters will approve, I bet,” Alix says, giving me a knowing look. Even as quiet as I am, I’m sure I’ve woken him up a couple of times sneaking in and out to visit Samira.
“If they can be bothered to come,” I say. “These events are far less exciting when you have to go to one every Goddamn week.”
Remembering the endless lavish events I was forced to attend as a teenager makes me shudder.
With the power of the majority of the continent in their halls, I’m sure the Shykhdar is doing everything they can to impress.
The peace talks with Immenbach are the main reason for gathering here, but I have no doubt that the Shykhdar is using every trick to try and woo Straetham into allowing magic to be brought to Cairish.
The King’s conversation abruptly ends when he waves Arlon and his attendants away.
Thermilious looks frustrated, and I can’t blame him, honestly.
From what I’ve overheard, the Immen King is treating him like a punching bag with his demands.
There are murmurs of him being a weak king for not executing Demica after her betrayal.
The cutthroat sensibilities honed in me by the Shykhdar even agree with that assessment, though I’m relieved it didn’t happen. As complicated as their relationship is, that would have destroyed Galiva.
Arlon breaks away from the King and his attendants, and Alix clears his throat as he gets to his feet.
“I’ll meet up with you in a bit,” he says, dipping away just as Arlon approaches.
Traitor.
I straighten my back without thought as I look up to meet Arlon’s eye. But that slight smile is gone, replaced by the full force of the Grandmaster’s stern look.
“Glad to see you’ve finally taken an interest in joining the proceedings,” he says, voice tight with restrained frustration. “Your father has been... persistent in asking after you, but I told him you caught a cold.”
“Thank you,” I say quietly. I’ve had the time I needed to sort through my own feelings about being home.
Talking to Samira has helped, and though she claims my father has changed, I have a hard time believing her.
He always treated her differently than he treated me.
“I wasn’t ready to face him yet. I think I am now. ”
Arlon’s heavy hand rests on my shoulder, squeezing gently. “He’s already speaking like you’ll be staying behind when the talks end. But if he wants to bring magic to Cairish, he will drop that request.”
There’s steel in his voice, and I can’t stop a smile at the threat. “I hope I can save you from such drastic measures.”
“How so?” Arlon asks warily.
I hold up a placating hand. “My sister has ambitions to take my father’s seat in the Shykhdar. She’s already done most of the work obtaining approval from three of the five other seats. I’m going to help her get approval from the two holdouts.”
Arlon sighs before his hand drops from my shoulder. I miss it immediately. There’s something safe in the warmth of his touch.
“I trust you will keep this insulated from the talks?” There’s a slight warning in his voice. Meaning, you better keep this away from the talks.
“I promise,” I say quickly. “If anything, it may even help smooth over some of the negotiations between Cairish and Straetham, because I’m going to enlist Feisal’s help.”
Arlon raises a skeptical eyebrow before he lets out a long sigh. “Alright,” he says at last. “I’m trusting you in this, Olbric. The talks are in a... delicate place.”
We’re still on tentative ground with each other, but hearing that helps. And though I’ve been privy to the gossip, I haven’t had a chance to ask about what’s being said inside the conference chamber.
“How... are the talks going?”
Arlon suppresses a wince and glances towards the King as he retreats to Allisande’s quarters. “Let me get dressed for the ball, and I’ll fill you in.”
WITH THE QUEEN’S APPROVAL, I start hammering out the logistics for the Crucible.
Location is the first thing to solidify, but out of the parcels the Queen gave us to choose from, one is just about perfect.
It’s located halfway between town and the Crux, just close enough to be accessible for the residents of Straetham and the Crux alike.
After the location is settled, Garrett helps me create a plan to break ground.
I gather Cancassi, Thaddius, Iona, Rega, and Jonas for the job.
All have their transmutation masteries, and while the utility of magic can’t be overstated, it is especially useful in matters of construction.
As we go over the build plan, Cancassi’s excitement bubbles over.
“Gods, yes. Whatever you need done, I am yours,” they say, their copper eyes bright with delight as they flip through the sketches of the building. “When are you opening up auditions? Because you are freeing my exhibitionist with this.”
“Your exhibitionist isn’t already running wild?” I laugh. “Consider yourself a performer.”
Rega looks over the drafts of the structure and interior before she asks, “When do you hope to have the building done?”
“I hope to have the grand opening before the first snow hits,” I say. “Weather permitting, that likely gives us a little less than a month.”
Iona whistles.
“I know that’s a tall order,” I say quickly, “but since we’re... slow with assignments right now, hopefully this will give us all something to focus our attentions on.”
“I don’t mind construction,” Thaddius says. He gives Iona a hopeful look, and I can’t miss the collar locked around his neck.
Iona’s full lips flatten into a knowing hum. “You just want me to let you out of your cage.”
Thaddius’ grin is crooked. “It’s for an assignment. Wizardly duty, and all that.”
“Aww, eager pup.” Iona smirks up at me. “Use him however you need.”
Thaddius’ grin widens, and I hope he keeps that eagerness when the heavy lifting starts. Which it does two days later.
Garrett agrees to oversee construction, which I am endlessly grateful for.
I underestimated how much the prospect of the Crucible would light a fire under the Crux, but after I make an official announcement later in the week, I’m flooded with a wave of interest. Yet no one is more excited than Cancassi, though as I set the paperwork in front of them, their excitement dwindles a little.
“An activities list?” They bat their lashes at me. “You’re saying you don’t know all my proclivities?”
“I’m saying I have at least twenty interested performers, and I can’t remember all of your masteries, on top of the special ‘want to do in public’ list that everyone seems to have,” I snort.
“What can we say? The Crucible has sparked inspiration.” Cancassi picks up a pen before they start marking the parchment I’ve given them. “It’ll be fascinating to see what magic comes of it. And, good gods, did you say twenty?”