Chapter Forty-Three #2
Forterran’s eyes opened and he glared at her. “No, I couldn’t,” he spat and then picked up the chant that rang around them. He called out three last, harsh words.
The glow of Halithe’s bracelet went dark. It snapped open and he pulled it away from her wrist.
Halithe staggered as the restraints around her fell away.
“Halithe of the House of Tarwain, you are no longer an apprentice of the Mage Guild,” Forterran’s voice rang out. “You are to forget anything you may have learned from the traitor and you are forbidden the practice of the power in any way, shape, or form.”
He lifted his chin. “You are banned from the practice and the use of any knowledge you may have garnered or think you have garnered. Any talent you might thought you had may have been a trick of that foul traitor. In any case, do not think to use what you have learned. The exercise of our powers is forbidden to the unchained.”
Halithe grabbed her wrist, which was throbbing with the absence of the bracelet. She fought down her anger, and frustration, blinking away tears. Damn him, damn them all—
An odd feeling rose in her as Forterran turned away. Rage and…defiance. Who was he, to tell her—
Forterran faced their Majesties fully. Both King and Queen had wide eyes, taking it all in. “It is done,” Forterran bowed. “With your leave,” he said, and started to back away.
“Guildmaster,” Xyrath said. “Before you go, I have something I’d like you to pass on to another guild member.” He held out a strip of metal that glittered in the light, with odd lettering running down it. “For Mage Ila.” Xyrath had the oddest half-smile on his face. “If she still lives.”
The King’s words shocked Halithe out of her anger. Wasn’t that Forterran’s mother? Halithe frowned as she took in the stiffness of the Guildmaster’s back. Maybe there was more to this than she knew.
Forterran recovered quickly. “She does, Your Majesty, although she is quite elderly.” He took the piece from Xyrath’s hand. “Is there a message?”
“No,” Xyrath said. “That elven funerary token says it all.” He leaned back on his throne. “Our thanks, Guildmaster. Captain Ussin will see you to your carriage.”
Forterran’s expression remained bland. He gave a bow, and he and Ussin took three steps backwards before turning to the doors and leaving.
“Leave us,” the King called to the guards and the onlookers. “We have private matters to discuss.”
The guards bowed and they and the guests filed out. Queen Satia was giving the King a long, considering look. He tossed her a careless grin before turning back to Halithe. “So, girl, what did you learn?” he asked.
The Queen played with Ritathan’s chains, spilling them from one hand to the next. Halithe’s anger rose. How dare she, with her plotting and scheming and—
Fire rose in her, heat tingling her hands, begging to be used, to be thrown at that stupid, smug face and catch that hair on—
She caught herself, eyes wide. There was no restraint. The Guildmaster had freed her.
Freed her.
“It matters not, Your Majesty,” Tarwain spoke with deep satisfaction in his voice. “I’ll have my daughter taken to my country estates. She can stay there until I can arrange a proper marriage.”
Halithe ignored him, rubbing her wrist and thinking furiously. Forterran could have restricted her forever, he had that power, he’d threatened it before. From the country estates, she could escape and head back to the Black Hills, rejoin her family—
A movement caught her eye. Caris, just behind the Queen’s throne, had turned her head, ever so slightly, and was looking at her with wide, doe-brown eyes.
Halithe’s mage sight opened and she saw the Bond cords swirling about Caris, seeming to tighten.
“That would be for the best,” the Queen said. “Remove her from Court and the gossip will die down and be forgotten.” The Bondmaidens around her stirred, like leaves rustled by a slight breeze. All except Caris, who still held Halithe’s gaze.
“Hmmm…” King Xyrath made a noncommittal sound, lifting his eyebrows, pressing his question to Halithe.
For a moment, as she met the King’s gaze, Halithe was back in Aramal’s workshop, pot of dried glue in her hands, and his voice in her ears. “You have to figure out what they need, and fill the need, that’s all.”
Halithe raised her chin. “I learned much, Your Majesty.” With a thought, she extinguished all the torches in the room.
In the sudden, shocked silence, Halithe called fire into the palm of her hand, a soft glow that with any luck reflected on her Papa’s black silk robes and made her look powerful. Strong.
The Queen stopped playing with Ritathan’s chains.
Her father took a step back, hand on the hilt of his sword.
Xyrath, on the other hand, leaned forward and stared at her.
“In truth,” Halithe continued, “I learned that I have potential.” She spilled the fire from her hand, letting it cascade down into her other.
“I don’t think—” the Queen started, and Tarwain chimed in a protest, but Xyrath lifted a hand to cut them off.
“A fine thing,” he said. “What would you need to learn more?”
“Chambers,” Halithe said promptly. “Access to my master’s old library. Time to practice and hone my skills. Who knows what I might achieve, or how I might be of service to the Crown.”
“Intriguing, don’t you think, dear heart?” Xyrath asked, never dropping his gaze from Halithe. It was a possessive look. A calculated look. The kind of look you gave a horse. Or a sword.
That was fine. She was calculating too.
“Dangerous…” Satia responded.
“The winds favor the bold, beloved.” Xyrath chuckled. “Besides, all we will do is provide Lady Halithe with chambers in the Castle, a stipend, and access to books.” His smile widened. “What she chooses to do from there is all on her.”
Tarwain stepped forward, clearly seething. “Your Majesty—”
“Come, Lord Marshal.” Xyrath’s smile vanished. “She has more value to Us for her skills then as a baby-maker.”
There wasn’t much her father could say to that.
The Queen leaned forward, intent on Halithe. “Could you break—” she caught herself. “Could you undo a spell?”
Halithe smiled, projecting as much confidence as she could. With a thought, she extinguished the fire in her hands, reignited the torches, then folded her hands into her sleeves. “With study and practice,” Halithe mimicked the sonorous tones of her mentor, “who knows what is possible?”
The Queen leaned back, giving Halithe a long, considering look. She turned to Xyrath and gave him a sharp nod.
“There, you see?” Xyrath rose and descended from the dais.
“We will see this done, Lady Halithe. You will be installed in Ritathan’s old chambers.
Not sure where we stuffed all his goods, but they’re here somewhere.
” He waved his arm about, vaguely. “Satia, my love, can one of your women escort her?”
A quick movement, Caris pressed forward.
“Avice,” Queen Satia snapped.
Caris froze as blankness passed over her face. The Bond again, acting to protect itself.
“Well, enough talk,” Xyrath said. “I’m famished and they are holding dinner for us.” He laughed. “Hardly fair to keep the Lords and Ladies languishing over empty plates. Come, Satia, my love.” He held out his hand.
Satia rose, handing Ritathan’s chains to Avice. “Of course, my love.” She placed her hand in his and they headed for the doors.
Halithe faced her father, glaring at her with a rising fury. But before he could speak, Xyrath called over his shoulder, “Tarwain, do come along.”
Her father turned on his heel and followed.
With a rustle of skirts, the Bondmaidens surrounded her. “Come,” Avice said.
Halithe glanced at Caris and smiled. “I know the way,” she said to Avice, and strode toward the door, with her master’s old stride, and in her master’s old robes.
But her determination?
That was her own.