Chapter Six
In the Palace of Xy
Arriving at the palace, Guildmaster Forterran made it a point to emerge from his carriage smoothly, then settled his robes and chains about him with a twitch.
There was no show of weakness this time, no struggling out of a sedan chair.
Now was the time for the Guildmaster of the Mage Guild to radiate power and authority.
He’d chosen his robes as carefully as ever: crimson this time, complete with matching hat and feather, the fabric worked with silver stars. A pulse of his power, fueled by his anger, made the cloth glimmer, a trick he had learned from his mother.
He hoped the Queen choked on her envy.
“Guildmaster Forterran, be welcome.” The courtier bowed low. “I am instructed to bring you unto the presence of their majesties for your audience.”
“My thanks.” Forterran nodded to the lad. He strode forward, not waiting for the courtier, heading through the doors of the Palace.
The courtier scurried to catch up. “Make way,” he called out from behind. “Make way for Forterran, Guildmaster of the Mage Guild.”
Forterran refrained from rolling his eyes. As if they couldn’t see him coming, couldn’t feel the power he was making sure to radiate. This time, he was not a supplicant and he wanted that clearly known.
He’d come for what was his.
The crowd of courtiers was thick, but the path before him cleared. His escort managed to get in front of him, but he coursed close at the man’s heels, wanting the escort to feel his breath on his sweaty neck.
Fear and uncertainty hovered in the air, along with a dire sense of curiosity. Good. Forterran kept his eyes on his path, didn’t acknowledge anyone, not even the occasional nod of recognition. None of the polite gestures that eased tensions.
Let them stew.
The courtier paused before the throne room doors, almost out of breath, a trace of sweat trickling down his temple.
Forterran raised an eyebrow, waiting.
The courtier hastily bowed low and the guards opened the double doors. Forterran sailed through, not even pausing as he marched toward the thrones.
Behind him, the Royal Herald struck his staff on the floor. The sound of oak striking ancient stone rolled through the room, bringing complete silence in its wake. “Your Majesties, Guildmaster Forterran, Guildmaster of the Mage Guild.”
Forterran kept moving, locking eyes with first the King and then the Queen. Quite the crowd had gathered here, though clustered to the sides. Noble lords and ladies, councilors, a fair number of crafters and tradesmen. A large number of guards as well, including Lord Marshal Tarwain.
The King and Queen were dressed in mourning black, as was the entire court. Bless their tiny, deceitful souls.
King Xyrath was seated on the edge of his throne, as still as Forterran had ever seen the man. His eyes were bright, and was that a trace of fear in their depths?
Queen Satia stared at Forterran, eyes glittering as she took in his finery.
There was no fear in those dark eyes, of course.
Behind her were her entourage, Bondmaidens all dressed identically, all tense and watchful, all with their hands in their skirts, no doubt clutching their sharp knives.
Only four of them. The fifth was still missing, still a mystery.
Well, that little puzzle would have to wait.
Forterran stopped an appropriate distance from the throne platform and nodded his head in a less than appropriate bow. “Your majesties.”
“Guildmaster,” Xyrath said as he returned the nod, “thank you for coming so promptly.” He glanced at Satia. “We regret to inform you that—”
“Just now? It’s been how long?” Forterran interrupted. “You thought I would not know?”
One did not interrupt a King. The room went silent at Forterran’s audacity, breaths being held all around in anticipation of the royal wrath.
“All this time, no official word, no messages to the Guild.” Forterran observed, letting his gaze drift over the crowd. He looked back at Satia. “I have come for Ritathan’s chains.” Forterran continued. “And to discuss the breach of the Guild contract.”
Xyrath turned an interesting shade of red, shifting on the throne. Satia put her hand out and laid it on the King’s wrist.
“You cannot mean to imply—” Satia started, but ganders and geese fry in the same sauce. Forterran interrupted again.
“I make no accusations.” he said mildly. “I merely observe. I observe the untimely death of a chained-mage under contract to the Royal Court of Xy.”
Satia didn’t flush or darken, but there was cool rage building in her eyes.
“There was no body,” Xyrath blurted out. His shock and disgust seemed real as he glanced at the Queen with what seemed to be apprehension. “Just this tremendous stinking pile of goo that melted into the carpet.”
That brought a buzz of whispers and exclamations of horror from the crowd. Satia looked none too pleased and seemed to clamp down harder on the King’s wrist.
That put paid to their lie about Ritathan’s heart, didn’t it?
Forterran had played this game for far too long to let his reaction be seen. “Leaving nothing but his chains.” He nodded and strived to look as if this was a common occurrence. “The details do not matter, Your Majesties. The damages do.”
The King and Queen were silent, unblinking.
“Ritathan was an old and wise member of our guild, skilled and loyal to Throne and Guild.” Forterran put his grief into his voice. “This is a great loss to Edenrich and all of Xy.”
The King nodded, clearly sincere, and pulled his wrist out from under Satia’s hand. Forterran had a moment to wonder at that. Was there a breach between them? Then he set that thought aside to wrestle with later. “Rather than insist on exact contract terms, I offer a compromise.”
Satia’s gaze grew even sharper.
“I demand Ritathan’s chains and his apprentice.” Forterran noted a movement in the back of the gathered crowd. “Surrender them both to me and the matter is settled.”
“Settled?” Satia asked sharply.
“Settled and done,” Forterran nodded his head. “No questions, no repercussions, no further reparations.” He repeated himself, for the sake of clarity and loudly enough for all to hear. “Settled and done.”
“Well—” Xyrath started.
“Agreed.” The Queen cut him off sharply.
“What?” Lord Marshal Tarwain stepped forward. “Majesty,” he protested.
Queen Satia did not look at him, just jerked up her hand for silence.
Tarwain sputtered, red-faced, but obeyed.
“Step forward, Halithe,” Forterran called and watched as the young woman emerged from the crowd, her black dress matching her hair, but not the red around her eyes. She looked a wreck, truth be told, but there was hope dawning in those sad eyes.
He pointed to a place by his side. She lifted her chin and started toward him. He watched as her grief and hope turned to rage, her gaze flickering toward the Queen.
Oh, that would not do. Forterran clamped down on her through the apprentice bracelet on her wrist. No outburst from this chit.
She stepped to his side, eyes widening as she felt the constraints fall into place around her.
Forterran could just imagine the things she wanted to say, and all of it was better left unsaid. He turned back to their majesties. “The chains?”
“Caris,” Queen Satia commanded. The auburn-haired one, fairly pretty, stepped forward. In her hands were the chains.
Forterran held up a hand. Like he was going to let any of those knife-wielding she-bitches close to his person.
“Apprentice.” Forterran gestured. “If you would.”
Halithe stepped forward.
Forterran let his gaze flick over the watching crowd as the two women approached each other. Lord Marshal Tarwain looked like he was going to start frothing at the mouth and Satia’s cold eyes were on Halithe.
Interesting.
Halithe drew closer to Caris, who held out the chains, letting them dangle from her hands. They both stopped and stood still, and then Halithe took the chains in such a way as to make sure their hands touched. There was something else. Something that wasn’t normally on the face of a Bondmaiden.
Was that regret?
Ah.
The moment froze between them, as the young are wont to do in their moments of drama. Forterran watched closely.
Halithe spun on her heel, chains in hand, and marched back to the Guildmaster, her face crumpled, her eyes even redder.
Caris, her face stark and shadowed, watched her go. Then turned and made her way back to her place behind the Queen.
Powers that be, there was something there. He tucked that away for future use.
When Halithe reached his side, Forterran didn’t wait for formal dismissal.
“Come, apprentice,” he said. “Your majesties, the Guild will be in mourning. It will be some time before I can return to your court.” He ignored the release of tension from the crowd, gave their majesties the barest of nods, and turned to leave.
He’d barely taken a step when the Queen’s voice came from behind him. “We would have discussion,” she said. “A new contract for another mage.”
“Or a portal, perhaps,” Xyrath said hopefully.
Forterran had to bite back his first impulse. Instead, he stopped abruptly, facing the doors, pausing just long enough to cause concern. Then he turned his head slightly to speak over his shoulder. “Of course, your majesty.”
Halithe shifted her weight; about all she could do to express her rage.
Xyrath started to smile.
Forterran dropped his head, filling his voice with anguish and deep regret.
“I will speak to the members of my guild and see if any have an interest in entering into a contract with your majesties. But please understand that a strong emotion, such as grief, can interfere with the casting of certain spells.” He shrugged, making sure the movement caused his robes to shift and sparkle.