Wizardly Duty #3
I straighten my back as a thought strikes me. “Give me another sending spell, and I promise I won’t.”
Arlon’s frown grows more pronounced as he searches my face.
I’m sure he’s going to refuse such a petty request, but then he surprises me yet again as he tugs a focus from his necklace before folding it and the teleportation into my hand.
His big palms close around mine, and I try not to let show how the familiar touch makes me ache.
“Thank you, Olbric.”
I nod wordlessly, still not meeting his eye. He gives my hand one last squeeze before he sweeps around me to talk to Thora. I vaguely hear their murmured conversation about final preparations as I spot Allisande.
She’s with Margeurite near the main doors of the Crux. Tears shine in Margeurite’s eyes as she cups Allis’ face, kissing her deeply. Allis is pale and drawn, her expression stony, though it’s not hard enough to hide the anger that roils just under the surface.
Reluctantly, she lets go of Margeurite’s hand before she descends into the courtyard.
She moves to stand next to me, and I can almost feel the heat of anger emanating from her.
My presence at these talks is only an added bonus for my father, but Allis...
as the killer of an Immen heir, she’s likely to be a major bargaining chip.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” I murmur.
Allis swallows, her blue eyes rimmed with red. “I’m afraid it’s worth very little.”
I let out a long breath before Alix comes to join us.
He seems to sense the mood and stays quiet, though he gives my shoulder a reassuring nudge.
I offer him a wavering smile, glad to have at least one other familiar face to talk to.
Allisande and I have never been particularly close, and after I drag her to whatever fate awaits her in Marikadar, I doubt that’s likely to change.
“I believe we’re ready to depart, Grandmaster,” Thora calls out, her voice carrying easily over the chatter.
Arlon nods, and Alix goes to sit on the trunks we’re transporting. Arlon takes his hand before holding the other out to me. As I take it, I feel the focus held in his grip. My free hand wraps around Allis’ clammy fingers, holding tight.
“If everyone would gather round, please,” Arlon calls.
“Your Majesty, if you, your guard, and attendants would keep a hand on me, Master Olbric will be transporting your advisers. Ambassador Feisal, you will be accompanying Master Alix. It is imperative that everyone keep a tight hold. We don’t want to lose anyone. ”
There are a few nervous chuckles, and I realize Arlon’s separated everyone like he has to help distribute the weight between the three of us. Teleportations can only carry so much so far, but no doubt Arlon has done the calculations to be sure we can make the jump.
There’s some shuffling as everyone gets into position. The King’s four advisers find a place to hold onto me, but one of them grips my arm with such force, it’s like she’s afraid of losing her hold.
I offer her a small smile. “You may feel a little seasick, but it passes quickly, I promise.”
The woman gives me a wavering smile as Arlon calls out, “Is everyone ready?”
There’s a murmur of affirmations. Arlon gives my hand a squeeze, and I let out a long breath as I close my eyes. I’ve been thinking so much about Marikadar the past few days that summoning the image of it is easy.
The palace is large, walled in, and lavish, with a wing for each of the five Shykhdars and their families for when they’re in attendance.
A grand courtyard rests at the center, and its manicured trees and vibrant flowers provided a much-needed refuge when I was young.
I think of the shady pavilion at the center, surrounded by rose bushes and shrouded by vines of star jasmine.
I can almost smell the flowers, feel the heat of the sun, the crunch of the marble chip path underfoot.
“Everyone hold tight,” I say as the magic blooms between mine and Arlon’s hand.
He and Alix release their spells as I do, and the swell of magic surrounds us before there’s a sudden tug behind my navel.
The attendants holding onto me gasp in shock, and as the dizzying wave of vertigo follows, I take a wide stance, trying to provide an anchor for the people surrounding me.
It’s as intense as it is brief. The sudden motion comes to a stop, and my head spins, stomach roiling. Then, hot, humid air caresses my skin. The delicate scent of roses reaches my nose. I let out a breath as I open my eyes.
The pavilion is exactly as I remember it, nearly unchanged after six years. It’s disorienting. As if the entire palace has been frozen in time since I left. But the illusion is broken when I see my father’s face.
He stands out among the crowd that’s gathered around the pavilion. In just six years, he’s aged decades, his skin sagging and sallow. And as his rheumy eyes find mine, a flurry of emotions pass behind them, too quick to read.
I steel myself, meeting his gaze with a glare. It’s a bit vindicating when he looks away first. Instead, he puts on a diplomatic smile as he turns to King Thermilious and gives a polite bow.
“The Shykhdar welcomes you and your delegation, King Thermilious,” he says, his accent thick over the Strae words. “I pray that the talks we host here will facilitate continued peace across the continent.”
His eyes float back to me, and there’s a cold sort of determination on his face that I know well. It’s that same look he’d give anytime I refused him. The look that would be followed by a swift and sometimes painful rectification of my attitude.
And in that moment, I know he isn’t planning on letting me return home to the Crux.
I grit my teeth, hands clenched in anger. He used the threat of war to get me here, but he had best be ready for the one I brought with me. Because I won’t be forced by him ever again.