With so much power in the room, Chime formed a spell before she even thought about it. Beneath Jarid’s impassive exterior, his moods surged: anger, hope, fear, confusion, wonder, a sense of loss. Too many impressions were flooding his senses. For fourteen years he had lived in the silent dark; now it all came too fast, too bright, too loud. She even caught brief images from his thoughts, sights distorted or wavered. Sounds echoed, became garbled, swelled, then faded.
Chime’s fear receded. No wonder he sat there staring at her with such imposing silence. He was trying to find some coherence in that chaos of impressions.
“It is all right,” she said. “Take your time.” As soon as she spoke, she flushed, realizing she gave insult in suggesting the king needed to take his time.
Jarid, however, took no offense. He breathed out slowly, as if recovering from a long run. When he spoke, his voice had an unfinished quality. “I am unsure of protocols. If I offend, please forgive.”
Chime took more care this time in her response. “You could never give offense, Your Majesty.”
“No title…” He stopped as if it hurt to speak. Then he said, “Call me Jarid.”
“Yes.” She almost added, Your Majesty, but caught herself in time.
He uncrossed his arms, but he didn’t seem to know where to put them. Finally he sat forward and rested his forearms on the table. “Mistress No-Cozen says you are her other mage student.”
“Yes, I am.”
“I need your help.”
“What can I do, Your—I mean, Jarid.”
“Something in Harsdown.”
“Harsdown?”
“An Other.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” She had trouble following his fragmented sentences.
He inclined his head, his hair rustling over his collar. It reminded her of Muller, who moved his head in exactly the same way. She saw the resemblance: both men had those high cheekbones, large eyes, and regular features. But where Muller was lithe, Jarid had a well-muscled physique; where Muller was gold, Jarid was dark; where Muller looked like grace and air to her, this man had stronger line to his jaw and a brooding demeanor.
“Harsdown,” he repeated.
“Have you news about King Varqelle?”
“No.” Resting his elbows on the table, he pressed his fingertips against his temples.
“Hai, Sire, I don’t mean to push.” Chime made a spell to soothe his headache, but it skittered around the edges of his mind, deflected by the sheer force of his own power.
“From Harsdown.” He lowered his hands. “Its presence darkens the sun.”
“But the day is bright.” Belatedly it occurred to Chime that contradicting the king was a bad idea.
“Suncroft,” he said.
She grasped at his choppy words. “Harsdown has threatened the castle?”
“Yes. Or no.” He winced, rubbing his temples. “Something here. Nearby.”
Chime glanced uneasily around the room. “With us?”
“No. Not in here.” He stared at the table with a look so distant, she wondered if he had stopped seeing.
Then his spell formed.
It coalesced from the power around them and filled the chamber. Chime knew the truth then; Jarid had no match as a mage. Trapped within his dark, silent world, he must have fostered his gifts without ever knowing what he did, concentrating his power, undistracted by outside influences. He saw himself as darkness, but to Chime he was radiant.
He created a mood spell unlike any she had known. It saturated the room and spread outward, taking her with it like a mighty river carrying a leaf. Farther and farther it reached, throughout Suncroft and beyond. Jarid sat with his head bowed, no longer seeing, not blindness, but an immersion so deep into his trance that he lost touch with the world.
His spell was glorious.
Closing her eyes, Chime gave herself to the river of power. Her thoughts floated with his spell across the countryside, through the hills, into each succulent blade of grass, until she felt the burgeoning, fertile life. She submerged into nodding skybells, rosy box-blossoms, ancient trees draped with moss; she spanned the sky, as wide and as far as forever; she became part of Croft’s Vale, cottages of sod and thatching, some with crumbling brick and mortar. She knew the blacksmith shop, the lumber mill, the inns and taverns, the market with fish carried in from Lake Mirror.
Then she hit a spike.
It disrupted the serenity of the spell the way a knife pierced a royal-bud. A darkness festered in Croft’s Vale. The malevolence came from another mind, a sharp contrast to Jarid. Recoiling, Chime fell out of the spell.
She became aware of the room. Across the table, Jarid raised his head, meeting her gaze. With awe, she realized what he had done, creating a spell beyond any recorded in any of Della’s histories. Green mages could sense moods only if they were near the other person, a few paces away. Jarid had reached across the land.
“That was incredible,” Chime whispered.
He spoke in his rusty voice. “You felt the Other?”
She shuddered. “Yes.”
“It came to Croft’s Vale from Harsdown.”
“How do you know?”
“I cannot…explain. But I know.”
“What would you like me to do?”
“I cannot go into Croft’s Vale.”
Chime could imagine the tumult it would create if the long-lost prince, now king, showed up in the village. Nor did she think Jarid could handle such a commotion. He struggled to integrate the flood of impressions from his newly awakened senses. And he needed rest. His fatigue weighed on her mood spell like a great weight.
“You would like me to go?” she asked.
“You know the people,” he said. “They accept you.”
Chime had doubts about how much anyone here accepted her, but she let it go. His request puzzled her, though. “Wouldn’t Iris understand what you need better?”
“She says she hasn’t your experience with spells.”
That surprised Chime. Iris had never said such to her. “Would you like me to search out more about the Other?”
“Yes. Bring a hexagon of army officers with you.”
That seemed an overreaction. “I would draw too much notice if I went with guards.” She smiled ruefully. “It would be obvious I’m not in the village to visit the market or a friend.”
He paused, thinking. “Take Brant and Della.”
It was a good idea. Even the most nefarious forces would quail before Lord Firestoke and Mistress Non-Cozen. Unfortunately it wouldn’t work. “They are King’s Advisors. They would draw just as much attention.” She felt a blush spread through her cheeks. “People don’t take me seriously, and I visit Croft’s Vale often. They won’t suspect anything if I turn up at the market.”
He frowned. “You must take someone with you.”
“My maids, of course.” She brightened. “We can buy cloth for new gowns and tunics.”
“You do this often?”
“All the time,” she admitted. “No one will suspect us being there.”
He nodded to her. “I thank you for your help.”
Chime wasn’t sure he should thank her for anything. Without his incredible spell flowing through her, she doubted she would find much in Croft’s Vale. He seemed unaware of the full extent of his power.
Unease trickled over Chime. If Jarid ever chose to use his powers for other than good, nothing could stop him.
The market was a swirl of color, noise, and smells. Chime strolled with Aria and Reed, her circle-maids, two young women from the palace staff. They weren’t mages; their circle rank signified their status, highest among the apprentices, but not yet full-fledged members of the Server’s Guild with three-dimensional ranks.
Her maids chattered to each other, enjoying the market. Each carried a basket over one arm, and they had both let their hair down so it could blow in the wind. Chime longed to free hers as well, but propriety demanded she sweep it up on her head. She
had asked Aria to braid gold and silver cords into it, though. If she had to present a restrained appearance, at least she could sparkle in the process.
They passed stalls where red-cheeked men sang out about their produce: oranges and tangerines from the south, apples and quinces from the west, fat carrots and lettuce, beans of every kind, and turban-shaped squash that resembled the exotic headpieces worn by merchants from the countries of Shazire and Taka Mal. Chime saw women in tunics embroidered with the geometric designs popular in western Aronsdale; men in the heavy boots and rough garb of the north; and children in flapping, colorful tunics who ran everywhere. The clang of metal hitting metal rang through the air as a blacksmith showed off his wares.
Aria, a slender girl with white-gold hair, smiled at Chime. “I do so love to come here on a sunny day.” The maid indicated Suncroft on its distant hill, its yellow stone glowing in the sunshine. “Truly a home fit for the sun.”
“A sun’s croft.” Although it comforted Chime that the castle had a humble name, she felt out of place in its elegance. She had wanted to accept Della’s offer for her mage students to live in her cottage, but had feared that she would have had even more trouble then fitting in with the royal court at Suncroft. Yet Iris had stayed in the cottage until her marriage. Chime wished she had that confidence to ignore what people thought of her.
This morning, though, she enjoyed herself, exclaiming over glimmering bolts of cloth with Aria and Reed. As they sorted through the fabrics, she concentrated on those with patterns, using their shapes to focus her search for moods of the Harsdown presence. Cloth just provided flat shapes, though, limiting her spells. The only three-dimensional form near enough to help was the wooden ball that topped a nearby pole, a shape too powerful for her to use.
Chime hadn’t risked wearing her faceted emerald ball. Given its great value, far beyond any other jewelry she had ever owned, she donned it only on formal occasions. It would have drawn attention here, besides which, it would be easy in this crowd for someone to steal it. She felt sure Della would have cautioned her about it, had Chime told her what she intended to do during her trip to market. But she hadn’t revealed her plans to Della, knowing the mage mistress would also caution her against going. Chime wanted to do this, both for Jarid, who had asked for her help, and to prove to herself that she could be an asset here.
Eventually she bought two bolts of cloth and moved on through the market. She made a spell each time she passed an object she could use to focus, a pyramid box in a stall, a decorative faceted orb, a star hanging from a beam, but she found nothing unusual, no trace of menace. She only skimmed the moods of people around her; any more would have felt like an intrusion, a misuse of her gifts, making her nauseous.
The market filled a plaza, with buildings on four sides. Chime and her maids wandered among the stalls, stopping here and there until they reached the Clover Inn. Relieved to rest, Chime sank down onto a bench against a wall of the inn, under an awning. Aria and Reed settled next to her, talking companionably with each other.
To their right, the inn’s door formed a rectangle, as did the sign hanging from a chain above it. A blue lamp swung by the door, a faceted orb hanging from a beam. Chime felt its shape. Twenty sides. It called to her. She hesitated to use such a powerful form without Della, who could help if her magecraft faltered or her spell backfired.
Chime sat listening to Aria and Reed until she firmed up her resolve. Then she focused through the faceted orb—and a surge of power hit her like a flood of cold water. With a sharply indrawn breath, she sat up straight.
“Lady Chime?” Aria turned. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, fine.” It astonished Chime that she sounded so normal; inside she was humming with power. She smiled at her maids. “I’m just going to rest a few moments.”
“Aye, ma’am.” Aria made solicitous noises until Chime leaned back and closed her eyes. Then the maids began to chat again, their voices low.
Chime looked through her lashes at the faceted lamp. Seeing rather than touching it didn’t let her build as much power, but with such a high level shape, her spell still formed with strength. The moods of her maids washed over her like sparkling water, Aria’s amiability and Reed’s curiosity. She reformed the spell to give them privacy. Then she let it hover around her like an invisible cloud. The pleasant day eased her thoughts, though she worried about Muller. He was struggling so hard to adjust to the changes in his life, so different from what he had expected these past fourteen years.
At first Chime thought her thoughts about Muller had stirred her disquiet. Gradually, though, she realized the disturbance came from outside of her mind. If the beautiful day, the voices of her maids, and the breezes were all part of a lovely melody, then what she picked up now were discordant notes. That bitter chord had the same threatening aspect she had sensed in Croft’s Vale this morning. A presence lurked here, one she feared.
Then it noticed her.
Chime couldn’t keep her voice from shaking. “I had to leave. He knew I was there.” She was too agitated to sit, so she stayed on her feet, standing with Brant Firestoke in the Hexagon Room where he did his work. She felt slight and insubstantial compared to his tall, powerful figure.
Brant was half-sitting on the table where he spent many hours working on government documents, one of his legs braced against the ground. Jarid paced by the wall, his hair rustling about his shoulders like a dark curtain. Della and Iris stood at the other end of the table. Brant had also called in Cube-General Fieldson, commander of the army in the king’s absence. Fieldson stood near the wall, intently watching and listening.
“You are sure he knew you were there?” Brant asked.
“I’m sure.” Chime wished Muller were here, but he had gone out hunting for game earlier with a party from the castle.
Jarid stopped pacing and stood by a tall window, facing her, silhouetted against the light. “You said ‘he.’ Not it.”
Chime made herself stop twisting her hands in the hem of her yellow tunic. “Yes, Your Majesty. The mind I touched was human.” She shuddered. “Inhuman, too.”
“How can he be both?” Della asked.
“How?” Fieldson’s voice was as dry as a desert. “Ask any warrior in combat, Mistress No-Cozen.”
“He felt so cold,” Chime said. “Like ice.”
“Do you know his identity?” Fieldson asked.
She shook her head. “I couldn’t tell. But he might recognize me. His spell was stronger than mine.”
In the same instant Della said, “His what?” Iris asked, “He is a mage?”
“Yes. His power was huge. But it had—holes.” She didn’t know how to put into words the lack she had felt. “It was missing something.”
“No green,” Jarid said.
They all turned to him.
“Green?” Fieldson asked. “You mean the mage color?”
“Yes.” Jarid’s voice rasped. “He doesn’t have it.”
The door to the office suddenly banged open. Chime jumped, her pulse ratcheting up, then exhaled when she saw Muller. He wore his heavy leggings, riding boots, and hunting jacket, and he hadn’t even bothered to straighten his windblown appearance, which told her just how fast he must have come when he heard she had returned.
He strode over to her. “Are you all right?” Then he seemed to remember the others. Turning to Jarid, he bowed, his hair swinging forward. “My apology at my precipitous entry, Your Majesty.” He sounded furious rather than apologetic.
Jarid nodded, his gaze hooded.
Chime felt Muller’s emotions roiling. Obviously he had heard about her trip this afternoon, probably from his valet, Sam Threadman, who spent a great deal of time with Chime’s maid Aria. To head him off before he blew up, she said, “Stop fuming, love. I am fine.”
He took hold of her shoulders. “Then why did I hear such terrible rumors?”
Chime didn’t try to hide what had happened. He needed to know about the danger. She outlined he
r trip to the village, using as neutral terms as possible, but by the time she finished, his face had turned red. He swung around to Jarid, his eyes smoldering. “You had no right to ask her to take such a risk.”
“Take care, Lord Muller,” Brant warned. “You are addressing His Majesty, the King of Aronsdale.”
“He speaks truly,” Jarid said tiredly.
Chime frowned at them all. “It was fine.” It wasn’t fine; she would never feel safe again, but that didn’t change her responsibility. Nor would she stand for them treating her as if she were made of lilac-glass. “I am perfectly able to carry out such a mission.”
“I don’t want you going to the village again,” Muller said. “Blazes, Chime, what if he comes after you?”
Jarid walked over to them. Chime had an eerie sense, as if he had shut out everyone but her and Muller.
“He is gone,” Jarid said. “He was at the Clover Inn. After Chime found him, he left. He journeys to Harsdown.”
Iris joined them. “Can you locate him now?”
Jarid glanced at his wife, including her in his sphere of concentration, shook his head. “I have lost him.”
“How can you be sure it is him?” she asked.
“Through Chime. She linked to him and I followed his…” Jarid hesitated. “I don’t know the right word. The echo of his mind?”
Chime wasn’t sure what he meant, but if anyone had the power to sense another mage, it was Jarid.
Brant regarded him dubiously. “The echo of his mind?” He glanced at Della No-Cozen. “Perhaps I don’t understand.”
Chime suspected he was offering her a chance to make Jarid’s comment look less strange. Della, however, remained true to her No-Cozen name. She spoke briskly. “I have never heard of a mage echo.”
Inspiration struck Chime. “It is like a harmonic in music. Or the second arch of colors in a double rainbow. Jarid senses an echo of the power from other mages.” She stopped as her sense of sanity caught up with her impetuous comments. She had never spoken up during a council among the King’s Advisors. They would probably laugh now.