The Queen of Mages

“Rise,” Edon said.

  Amira came to her feet. She stood motionless as Prince Edon frowned at her. She was aware of Sir Thoriss standing by her side, but she kept her eyes forward. Her heart thumped. She focused on sweet thoughts, trying not to panic.

  “Thank you, Thoriss, that will be all,” Edon said after a moment. Amira heard the door open and close again behind her, leaving the two of them alone. Warm sunlight streamed in through the glass doors behind Edon. Up here, high in the palace, it was very quiet.

  Edon stood from his chair. “Turn around.”

  Fright clawed at her insides. What was he going to do? She turned her back to him, and stopped. “All the way,” he said, and she came around to face him again. His eyes were narrowed in scrutiny.

  He came to her side and leaned in close. She dared not move. “So it is…” he muttered, brushing her hair aside.

  His touch made her flinch, and after a moment it was more than she could bear. She jerked away from him. “Leave me be!” she exclaimed. For a moment she was afraid he would grab her or hit her, but he held up his hands.

  “Calm, my lady. Please, come here.” His voice was softer now. He did not seem as menacing, but she was still frightened. She made herself walk back over to him. He came around to her side again, gently pushing at her hair. His finger traced a line along the side of her head, from her crown all the way down to her ear. He stood half a foot taller, and stretched up to look down on her from above, then went to her other side and repeated the inspection.

  She shuddered a few times, but held still. In a moment it was over, and he turned and walked behind his desk. As he went, she caught a glimpse of silver light from his own head, but only when he was exactly in profile. At all other angles, it seemed invisible.

  He sat down and looked at her, steepling his fingers in thought. “I think you see what I see,” he said.

  He knows. He sees it too. Oh, by Terror! Does he have the ember? She didn’t know what to say. She was startled a moment later when he grimaced in pain and put his hand up to his temple, squeezing his eyes shut. The headaches? The headaches! Does he not know how to use the ember yet? “Does your head pain you, your highness?”

  Edon’s head snapped up. His calm had vanished, replaced with a steel glare. “Don’t concern yourself. We have much to discuss, you and I.”

  A mad thought came to her. She could… she could use her power to kill him. Couldn’t she? If she aimed it just right, say, inside his brain, and then ignited it… or perhaps that would be aiming it wrong. Murdering the crown prince did not seem like a good idea, even to save herself for the moment.

  Even if she did, then what? Sir Thoriss was just outside; the palace crawled with guards. As she thought, he stood up again and came over to her. “You see it, don’t you? You see the light?”

  She looked up at him wordlessly. He grabbed her arms and pulled her in close, his hot breath on her face. “You see it, don’t you?”

  “Y—yes, my lord—your highness,” she corrected, her voice wavering as she tried not to sob. Why was he being so cruel? She had done nothing to him.

  “What is it? Some witchcraft? Some conjuring of the black spirits?” He shook her roughly. “Tell me! Tell me what you know of this!”

  She cried out. His fingers dug into her arms, and he was strong, too strong. “I don’t know! You’re hurting me!”

  He seemed to come to himself just then, and let go of her arms, but he only moved back an inch. “Tell me, or by the Aspect of Wrath you’ll end up down in the dungeons howling for mercy. The crown still has men serving who know how to make a woman suffer.”

  She was so terrified that she could barely register what he meant. She could only whimper a little. Her knees shook; she locked them to keep from collapsing.

  The prince finally threw his hands up and stalked away. “Useless. You don’t know anything.” He considered her, eyes icy. “But perhaps not entirely useless.” He approached again, put his hands roughly around her, and pressed her close. She could feel him hard against her belly, and with one hand he pulled her hair, forcing her head back, and leaned down toward her lips.

  She screamed and pushed and there was the sound of sizzling meat. The prince staggered away from her, shrieking, his hands flying to his face as he stumbled over his feet and crashed to the floor. Amira saw the ember in her mind, pulsing angrily, and she felt exhilarated.

  Prince Edon writhed on the floor, his hands clasped against his cheek. Heavy boots thumped outside, and the narrow door banged open. Sir Thoriss stepped in, his longsword in hand, and took in the scene. His eyes went from the prince to Amira, and he brought his sword arm back to swing.

  Blood spurted out from his ears, followed by smoke and a stench of charred meat. Amira realized she’d pushed her ember out again, this time with deadly aim. Thoriss collapsed, his sword clattering to the floor from lifeless fingers.

  Amira leapt over his body and ran out the door, pulling it shut behind her. There was no one in the anteroom. Blood roared in her ears, and the ember pulsed brightly in her head. She saw the door the servant had come through, the one who’d brought the food. The tray still sat on the desk, a few slices of cheese and bread left on it. She’d grown hungry again, and grabbed what she could before bolting out the servants’ door.

  A narrow corridor beyond led past a side table, presumably where the bread and cheese had been prepared. A large knife lay on the table, and Amira thought to grab it, but let it lay. She’d be suspicious enough without carrying a knife around. And I have the ember. Sir Thoriss’s corpse loomed in her mind’s eye. She felt tendrils of panic and grief reaching for her. No. I have to get out of here.

  She found a stairwell that led down several floors. On the way down, she passed a washerwoman carrying a basket of linens, but the woman paid her no mind.

  Suddenly Amira ran out of stairs, and was dumped into a room with three hallways leading in different directions, and one shut door. How far down had she gone? How many floors up were Edon’s chambers? She had no idea where she was now. There were no windows down here, just candles in wall sconces.

  She tried one of the halls at random. Voices and warm air came down it, and she peered around a corner to see a wide room where several women beat at linens with wooden rods. High, short windows let in what looked like daylight. The palace laundry? Hanging from hooks at one end of the room were a row of servants’ dresses. Perhaps Amira could disguise herself, but she couldn’t possibly reach the dresses without the women noticing her.

  When one of them turned about to fetch something, Amira darted out of sight. She went back and tried one of the other halls, but approaching voices turned her back again. On the verge of panic, she pulled open the one closed door. The room beyond was unlit, but after a moment she could see that it was a linen closet, piles of sheets stacked as far back as the candlelight reached.

  The voices grew louder. Amira threw herself onto the frontmost pile and pulled the door shut, plunging her into darkness. She scrambled back by touch until she slipped and fell between two tall piles of linens. She held her breath, praying they wouldn’t open the door. After long, tense heartbeats, the voices outside began to fade.

  She waited a while, listening to her own breathing in the darkness. The panic and fear were replaced by numbness and drowsiness. It was warm in here, and the linens all around her were so soft…

  ———

  Amira blinked awake some time later, in pitch blackness. It took a few moments before the day’s events came crashing down on her, one by one. Edon’s summons; his attempt to—to rape her. Sir Thoriss bursting in, sword drawn. By Wrath, what had she done? The old knight’s angry face hovered before her in the darkness, blood streaming from his ears. She saw, now: she’d pushed the ember right into his head, into his brain, and lit it. Tears and sobs came unbidden, and she planted her face into the linens to muffle the sound.

  She’d killed a man, and wounded a prince. The latter seemed worse, maybe because Sir Thoriss couldn
’t seek revenge. But Edon surely would. Couldn’t she just kill him, too? Can I? I don’t even know what I did. Am I a monster, like him?

  No. It had been self-defense. But waves of fear rolled over her, driven by the knowledge that she was in serious trouble. She remembered the willow switch her mother had kept on the wall of their townhouse, an ever-present threat. But she’d never done anything like this. They don’t just switch you for murder.

  She took some breaths and recited the names of the Aspects. Terror. Despair. Wrath. Chaos. Edon, you fiend. She whispered curses upon his name. Joy. Ardor. Sacrifice. Courage. Protect me from him. She had to get out of here, to get home, to safety. Katin would be there, Amira knew it. She and Dardan and Liam had been missing from the anteroom; they must have been sent away.

  She struggled up out of the cradle of linens and crawled back to the door, listening for as long as she could stand. She heard no footsteps, no voices. Perhaps Edon’s men still searched for her, but she could not hide here forever. She whispered a prayer to the Aspect of Courage and pushed the door open. The room outside looked the same, though the candles had burned down a ways.

  Her earlier terror still lurked, but now determination muffled it. There must be a safe way out of here. She did not want to use her power to harm anyone else, but knew she might have no choice. I must be careful. Katin would be careful. Katin was right, curse her.

  The laundry was dark and empty, the high windows admitting no more daylight. She must have slept half the day. She stole a candle from one of the sconces in the hall and went to the dresses hanging in the corner. She sorted through them until she found one that might fit. Her own dress was sweaty and stained now, and its condition the least of her concerns.

  She found a tub of cold water that tasted clean. Clean enough, anyway, so she took several gulps, then stripped off her dress and sweat-soaked shift and rinsed herself off. She shoved the ruined garments in a corner where they might be overlooked for a day or two, and put on the servant’s dress. She’d found no underclothes that might fit, but at least her slippers were still wearable.

  Her silver hair clip went into a pocket, and she tied her hair up in a bun and wrapped a kerchief around it. Now she could pass—barring close inspection—for a palace servant. Amira hoped Elibarran was big enough that not all the servants knew one another. Walking around late at night would be peculiar enough already.

  The servants’ ways were blessedly empty. She put the candle back and wandered until she found a pantry, where she ate a pair of sausages and some bread going stale. She took an empty tray and carried it before her, hoping it would make her look less suspicious.

  If I can find the coachyard… She found a door out of the servants’ ways, that led into the open halls of the palace. A pair of guards stood at one end of the hall she came into, so she turned the other way. But in the very next hall, two more guards stood beside an archway, chatting quietly. There was nothing but to try it.

  “Shouldn’t you be in the ways, girl?” one of them said suddenly as she passed.

  She ducked her head. “Sorry, sir, but… m’lord, you see, he wants for more food,” she stuttered nervously—not having to feign it—and held up the empty tray. “He said he’d—he’d beat me if I took too long, an’ this way’s faster.” She let her speech decay into the common rhythms of western Garova. It was still easy; she’d only been gone from there a year and some.

  She hoped the guards would think she meant Edon, on the premise that he’d be as cruel to the servants as he’d been to her. They exchanged a look, and the one who spoke had a gentler tone this time. “On your way, then.” Amira scuttled away.

  She wound through other halls until she stumbled across the grand ballroom. In the dark, its sleeping grandeur was oppressive rather than exciting. But she recognized the doorway she’d come in with Dardan, where the herald had announced them. Could that have been only a day ago?

  From there she backtracked, trying hard to remember which way they’d turned at which crossing. The silver eagle on the royal sigil seemed to watch her hungrily from pennants at every intersection.

  She rejoiced when she found the foreyard, and could see the coachyard beyond—but two more guards stood in the archway that joined them. A servant girl leaving the palace in the middle of the night would not go unchallenged. No! I’m so close! The guards did not look likely to move any time soon. There had to be another way.

  She spied a narrow door in the corner of a hall and took it, finding herself in the servants’ ways again. Just down this hall was a little nook with a privy in it. She took the opportunity to relieve herself for the first time in hours. The smell coming up through the hole stung her nose, but then she began to wonder. Callaston had covered sewers running under much of the city, allowing waste water to flow down into the Brinemoor. Elibarran was built at the north end of the city, farthest from the river and the docks. If Elibarran connected to the city’s sewers…

  She went out and found the nearest stairwell. At its bottom was a short hall with several doors. She opened them one by one, finding mostly storage closets. The last door was half-stuck and creaked when she yanked on it, but when she finally pulled it open, she was met with a wave of eye-watering stench. The hall beyond faded to darkness.

  Amira took a deep breath and plunged forward. The wooden walls quickly gave way to stone, meaning she was in—or under—one of the old towers. The hall here was narrow enough that she could touch both sides at once, until the walls fell away on both sides and her footsteps began to echo. Burbling water sounded from ahead of her.

  It occurred to her that maybe her ember could light the way. She concentrated and pushed it out of her head. She could see the little silver bead floating before her, but it did not illuminate anything, not even when she moved it near to the wall. Perhaps there was something in here she could set alight, but without being able to see, it might be futile or even dangerous to try. She sighed and let the silver bead dissipate. She thought about returning to find a candle, but the prospect of backtracking sickened her.

  She took probing steps forward until her slipper landed in something wet. She felt liquid flowing over her foot, and tried to pretend that it was clean water, despite the stench. But she could feel which way the liquid was flowing—and that meant downhill was to her left. She turned that way and followed the rivulet slowly through the darkness. After several minutes, a faint silhouette became visible—or was she seeing things?

  The silhouette resolved into bars. She came to a metal grate that spanned the width of the tunnel. Dim light crept in somewhere ahead. Almost dawn? I really did sleep half the day. Katin and Dardan would be worried sick by now… if they were still all right.