Mark of the Mage: Scribes of Medeisia Book I

  Chapter 2

  “Really, Mother! You honestly expect me to share a carriage with that awkward, dusty child?”

  Mareth's voice was shrill, the servants loading the carriages tense as Aigneis and I skirted the workers carefully. The journey to the capital was not a long one, but the forests along the way were full of outlaws, desperate marked men full of bloodthirsty rage.

  “I honestly expect you to,” Taran answered, her voice firm, final.

  Even in simple travel attire, Taran was magnificent and Mareth had inherited her mother's looks. Petite, with dark silky curls, and the same golden skin, Mareth stood in a fiery, red dress, her green eyes sparkling with malice.

  “She should be marked and sent away, and you know it,” Mareth hissed before lifting her skirts to kick angrily at the dirt beneath her feet.

  Dew-covered soil and grass clung to the hem of her dress as she spun and stomped to the carriage. The footman on duty did not open the door fast enough, and he was rewarded with a slap as Mareth climbed haughtily to her perch within the coach.

  The footman's expression was even, his eyes averted as I approached, and I winced. There was a visible five-fingered mark along his whiskerless cheek. His jaw was tight, and his eyes bright as he fought to hold his tongue. He was barely thirteen turns. The boy was young to be a footman, but times were hard and a more experienced man required higher pay. My father wasn't the only nobleman who had begun hiring younger servants, children even.

  “Jarvis,” I acknowledged as the boy helped me into the carriage. He didn't answer. He simply assisted Aigneis before shutting the carriage door, leaving me alone in a musty coach with an irrational, mumbling half sister and eerily calm companion.

  “You shouldn't speak with the servants, Stone,” Mareth scolded.

  I looked away, my gaze on the window. It was damp outside, the morning blanketed by fog, turning the landscape grey despite the sun burning behind the clouds. It promised to be a humid day, sticky and warm. I suddenly appreciated Aigneis' choice in clothes. My light blue dress was thin, and we had left off several petticoats due to travel.

  “There is to be a great reception, I hear,” Mareth said, her tone laced with excitement. Her thoughts, like her mother's, were on court.

  There were shouts from outside, and the carriage jerked, throwing me against the seat as Mareth continued to chatter across from me.

  “ . . . a magnificent feast, dancing . . .”

  A kek, kek broke through Mareth's words, and I let my eyes wander to the sky where a dark shadow flew against the grey backdrop. Ari.

  “ . . . so many eligible noblemen. We are quite lucky, you know.”

  The carriage was moving away from the manor. Away from the scribes I'd grown up amongst, and from the Archives that would now stand empty, the books within yellowing with age as dust overtook the tomes.

  “Do you even hear me, Stone?” Mareth asked.

  I looked back at her briefly and nodded. It was the only encouragement she needed.

  “If we play our cards right, we'll both be married within a fortnight. Just think—”

  My eyes fell to Aigneis' wrist, and I stiffened.

  “Is that all you care about?” I interrupted, my voice tight. Aigneis glanced at me in warning as Mareth paused, her eyes narrowing.

  “Marriage?” Mareth asked. “Of course I care about it. If we marry well, the family will be established, our position guaranteed.”

  My lips thinned. “Safety shouldn't depend on who we marry.”

  Mareth laughed, the sound harsh. “In your case, marriage is all you have.”

  “Mareth!” Aigneis warned.

  I stiffened, my eyes moving between them.

  “What do you mean?”

  Mareth laughed again, and she clapped merrily as the coach bounced along, hitting a small rut that threw me into Aigneis. I pushed away from her.

  “You don't know?” Mareth asked, clapping again, her giddiness turning into something darker, malevolent. Her green eyes met mine evenly. “Have you not heard of the scribes? About father's post?”

  Aigneis leaned forward. “I don't think now is—"

  The scribes I knew of, but my father?

  “No,” I interrupted. “What about father's post?”

  Mareth watched me, her gaze greedy.

  “It is no more, dear Sister.”

  She spat the endearment as if it hurt her to claim any relationship to me. I sat unblinking, her acid tone leaving me cold.

  “Stop there, Mareth,” Aigneis ordered, her face flushed.

  Mareth's gaze moved to the older woman, her eyes flashing.

  “I take no orders from the likes of you.”

  I wanted to defend Aigneis, but I was frozen, my gaze now on my companion.

  “What is she talking about?” I asked. “What does she mean by no more?”

  Aigneis sighed. “Your father's post has been suspended. The ambassadorship has been dissolved.”

  A numb feeling swept over me as Aigneis lowered her head, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, one hand low enough it instinctively covered the mage's mark on her wrist.

  “W-what? Why?”

  There was only one reason the king would dissolve my father's post. One reason only. There was no need for an ambassador if Medeisia had no intention of having relations with Sadeemia. I didn't wait for Aigneis' answer.

  “The king would risk war with a nation twice our size?” I asked.

  Mareth's expression was dark. “It's treason to question the king.”

  I ignored her. “What will Father do now?”

  I expected Aigneis to answer, but her head stayed lowered. It was Mareth's gaze that met mine, watching me a moment before her expression turned wicked.

  “Garod has been offered a post at Court. You see, this is the reason why marriage is so important to you, Sister. Without marriage, you will die.”

  My eyes widened despite my attempt to disguise my unease. Mareth sat up straight, her back firmly against the coach's cushioned seat, her green eyes brighter than they'd been before.

  “You think no one will notice your lineage, Stone? You think no one will notice your scholarly ways. You will be marked, and you will die.”

  “No,” I whispered. “Father wouldn't let it happen.”

  Mareth smirked.

  “You honestly think he could stop it? We aren't children anymore. You are a bastard child with an unknown history, and an uncanny interest in the Archives, in the past. Marriage is the key, Stone. If I were you, I'd play the giggling debutante and snatch the first nobleman drawn in by your fluttering lashes.”

  I didn't answer my sister. Instead, I let my gaze move away, my eyes once more on the window, on the slight drizzle that had started to fall outside. I could still hear the kek, kek in the distance, and I tried in vain to see Ari in the sky above. Kek, kek. The falcon's call was eerie. If I didn't know better, I'd swear she was calling out, “Run, run.”