Here's the next installment of Weave a Wizardry Web, chapters 8 & 9.
Dysfunctional family dynamics are influencing the information that reaches the Arch-Clans Letheina of the Wizard Enclave, grandmother of Alstera and mother to Camissa. The two women are directly affected ... yet they have not yet envisioned the long-term consequences.
Camissa plans a minor defiance to show that she is not under her brother's command.
Alstera, however, senses a greater evil within the Enclave.
Pearroc Seale, the disguised Fae, realizes his alliance with Camisse may grant him access to the Arch-Clans and win his mission a hearing in the Enclave.
VIII
“I have set aside this gown for the reception, my
lady.” Hravda held up a grey gown streaked with silver. Camisse had worn it on
her previous visit. She might not be aware of the latest styles, but even three
years ago the gown deserved a wallflower. She did not intend to be a wallflower
tonight. And never again, she vowed as she scrubbed her toes.
“I think not, Hravda. Faone is bringing a few
selections. Let us see what she brings first, shall we? And let’s donate that
gown. I hated it three years ago; I still hate it.”
“As my lady wishes.”
With no additional conversation to engage her
mind, Camisse finally had a chance to mull over her meeting with the Drakon
this morning. Pushing its way forward was her memory of the tall outlander who
was the Drakon’s protégé. A broken nose and scarred lip did not mar his good
looks. His mossy eyes reminded her of a Fae at the Pass. Bregan Ciele. His eyes
had gold striations that gleamed. Bregan had died two years ago, but his eyes
were a strong memory. This man, this Pearroc Seale, his eyes had seemed to gleam
from the shadows, just as Bregan’s had. Fae blood might run in Pearroc’s family.
He had the look of a wiry Fae, all lean strength tightly gathered and held. He’d
watched her through that meeting, as if he expected trouble from her. She
hadn’t read his power; she had never been able to do that.
He looked her age or a little older. Mid-thirties
was old for a first attempt at the Wizard Trials. Had he had commitments that
kept him from coming earlier? A wife and children? Her mouth turned down at
that thought. Tall, handsome, intense. With a sharp edge. At Chanerro she discovered
that she liked the thrill of danger. But Pearroc Seale likely had commitments,
bonds she wouldn’t cross. And then there was his mentor, the Drakon himself. Letheina
would not be pleased if Camisse involved herself with anyone in Clan Drakon. Raigeis
would ring a peal over her if she flirted with Pearroc Seale.
The commander of Chanerro Pass didn’t have to
listen to their complaints.
Smiling, Camisse ducked underwater to rinse suds
from her dark hair.
“—finished, Tante Camisse. What did Grandmère want
to speak with you about?”
“Nothing important,” she lied.
“Uncle Raigeis was not happy that he was left out
of your talk.”
“Did he confide in you?”
“It was obvious.”
“When did you see him?”
“I came on him outside Grandmère’s study. He
looked thunderous.”
“He thinks I am a toddler needing my hand held. I
cannot convince him otherwise.”
Alstera chuckled. “He calls me ‘girl’.”
She wiped water from her eyes and stood for a last
rinse. “Who was your letter to?”
“It was a list. Things I must do no matter how
hectic it is. Camisse—.”
When Alstera’s pause lengthened, she advised, “Say
it quick, before better sense snatches it away.”
“Oh, I missed your saying that. Everyone else
wants me to stop and think first.”
“A wise precaution, but sometimes we just have to
spill it out.” I wish I could take my own
advice. But a commander had to be well-reasoned, and the ArchClan’s
daughter should have diplomatic tact. “What is worrying you?”
“I am still being tutored by Rombrey. The past
weeks are a repeat of things I learned years ago. I don’t know if he’s
forgotten I had those lessons, or—I want to be doing things, Camisse. I have
had offers from Lucerna lords and tradesmen. I even had an offer from the
palace. Raigeis told them I was not available, and he let mere adepts take the
contracts. Adepts!”
“What reason did he give you?” As she used the
sheet to dab at wet trickles, Camisse remembered her own lack of contracts to
work wizardry. Raigeis gave as reason her inadequate power. Alstera didn’t have
that problem.
“Not a one. Nor did Grandmère when I finally had a
spare ten minutes with her.”
“You are a powerful wizard, Alstera. The most
powerful in the Enclave. Letheina said that just this afternoon.”
“Did she also say that I dabble in spells that I
should not touch?”
She wouldn’t lie. “Yes. I suppose Rombrey is
reviewing lessons that cover taboo subjects?”
“Yes.” Her pause even through the half-open door
seemed weighty. “I do know what I’m doing. I never cross the line. I would not,
not like—some I could name, who lost their good sense.”
“Are you walking too close to that line?” She
slipped on the robe Hravda gave her then opened the door fully. Still dabbing
at her wet hair, she headed for the fireplace. A touch of power would slick the
wetness away, then she could comb it rather than struggle with tangles. “What
are you trying to do that makes them suspicious?”
“We need more wizards if we are to defeat Frost
Clime and stop Dragon Rising. We need adepts who can fight like wizards.”
That little bit revealed everything. “The Nexus. No,
Alstera. Saldoran taught us its dangers over a century ago.”
“It was not taboo in the Enclave until Saldoran
corrupted the practice. We could institute safeguards and protections—.”
“Safeguards are not foolproof. Your path is
dangerous, Alstera. If Raigeis finds out—.”
“I haven’t actually started any spells. And
Raigeis wants me just twiddling my thumbs.”
“Do not despair. He can’t turn all the important
positions over to his own family.” She tapped the comb on her fingers. She
couldn’t agree with Alstera’s frustration, even if she hit the mark with it. The
greatest wizard in the Enclave should not practice old lessons. “A wizard’s
greatest danger is taking advantage of others. The second greatest is not
considering the consequences of our spells.”
“I know. Ruidri Talenn lectured me about those
consequences. He mentioned so many threads that I didn’t think of—and I am the
smartest as well as the greatest of wizards.”
“Talenn de Ysagrael is a great wielder of the
elements. Take his words to heart. As for Raigeis, he is overly cautious, but
he does have to guard our clan and the Enclave, two great burdens.” Surprised
at her defense of him, Camisse flicked away the last of the water then handed
the damp towel and comb back to Hravda.
Alstera perched on the upholstered bench at the
foot of the bed. She tossed little sparks of silvery power from fingertip to
fingertip. “I want to do something, Camise. I have power going to waste. I want
to use it instead of endlessly practicing with it. Grandmère says only that I
am needed here while Uncle Raigeis grills me on the hidden weight of silver
cord woven with gold in a black suit. I learned that lesson in my teens.”
“Letheina schemes for years. You know this.”
“She prepares for what never comes, you mean. Or
she steps between us and our goal, as she did with you and Reteif of duCian.”
Her heart throbbed at that lost dream. “Reteif
would have been a mistake.”
“You did not think that when she broke you apart
by pushing you to the Border.”
“Where I found the best use for the little bit of
power I have. I have more skills as well, skills I never would have explored
without that posting. I have no regrets, Alstera.”
“Skills like swordplay?”
“Just like swordplay.”
Alstera let the motes of power drift away, winking
out as they wafted from her energy. “You argue sense, but neither Grandmère nor
Uncle Raigeis anticipated the best use of your power. Sending you to the border
was merely expedient. Admit that, dearest aunt. They created the rift between
you and Reteif. I love my grandmother, but she is politically ruthless. Valmont
had just become Clan Pater. Reteif’s family seemed blocked from any advancement
for decades. Then Valmont dies after only seven years as pater, and duCian is
selected. Reteif is now his brother’s magister, second in his clan.”
Good sense dictated her answer. “His proper place.
Would that position have come to him if he’d married the ArchClan’s daughter? No,
he would have allied to Clan Letheina. His brother would never have selected
him as his magister.”
Alstera waved that aside. “When you came back three
years ago, you could have resumed your relationship with him. He was already magister.
He wasn’t married then. He hadn’t even looked at Euphemia.”
Camisse shook her head then fluffed her hair. “He
would have wanted my alliance to duCian. I would not have given up commander.”
“Do you think Grandmère saw you choosing commander
over him?”
“Letheina is not that prescient.” Or is she? “She sees thresholds and
possibilities.” Camisse gave a huff of laughter. “You think I was sent to
Chanerro Pass to prevent my marriage to Reteif. I think I was sent to stop my
coddling of you and Romert.”
A knock came on the outer door. Hravda went, and
light footsteps clicked into the room followed by heavier ones.
Faone appeared. “I escaped! And I have dresses for
you.” Two servants, their arms overflowing with vivid silks trailed her. “Put
the gowns on the bed, then off with you.” She clapped her hands to hurry them
out. “Alstera, lock it, please. We don’t want to be interrupted.”
Hravda stared at the colored gowns then sniffed
and retreated to the bathing room.
“You survived your hours with Fleur, I see,”
Camisse teased her.
“I thought it would never end. Maman kept
interrupting. She liked none of the ideas for Fleur’s dress until the last one.
Pale pink with white ruffles all down the bodice and four layers of them around
the hem. And on the sleeves! Not the best choice, I thought, but Maman is as
enamored of ruffles and furbelows as Fleur is. I did manage to influence the
choice of chemise. White with a vivid pink ruffle. It will just peek along the
bodice. Fleur was scandalized, but I told her ‘faint heart never won fair game’.
And I reminded her of the girls who were chasing her beloved.” She sorted out
the mound of dresses on the bed.
“My goodness. However many gowns did you bring?”
“Five. No six. I forgot this one.” She fingered a
cerise silk. “We’ll save this for last.”
“I am not trying on six gowns.”
“Of course you are. We may have to stitch you into
the cherry one. Have you a lacy chemise?” She dived toward the wardrobe. “Do
you have panniers?”
“Faone—.”
The girl pulled her fair head out of the wardrobe,
her hands filled with the cloth and wire contraption.
“I am never going to fit into that.”
“Don’t be a spoilsport. You won’t even feel it.”
“Yes, she will,” Alstera said, “but it’s not as
horrible as it looks, Camisse.”
“Do let me dress you, cousin. I have excellent
taste. The queen has even complimented my gowns.”
Camisse looked helplessly at her niece then
retreated to put on the requested chemise and hateful panniers.
“You should let her select all of your clothes. Not
your commander’s gear, but your gowns and day dresses and perhaps the shirts
you wear with those breeches.” Alstera took a chair far from the bed. “I
consult Faone when I am buying new gowns. If you want to hide, wear that horrid
grey I saw your maid holding. If you want Raigeis to stuff himself into a
wardrobe, wear a vivid color he can’t miss.”
Faone sorted out the first dress. “Clothes are the
one thing I do well. Oh, and needlework. Maman complimented my work on the
tapestry that Pater Perrault commissioned. He will die before we finish. I hate
needlework.”
“But you are good at it,” Alstera countered.
“Only because of endless lessons.” She finished
unhooking the gown. “Fleur gets the best tutors for wizardry, and I am shuffled
off to the dancing master and needlework lessons. No one has ever asked what I
want to do.” She giggled, a quicksilver change. “But I have found something
else that I am good at and enjoy. I enjoy it very much. And I’m learning what
I’ll need at court to get ahead.” She held up the gown that was a richer color
than her aquamarine eyes.
Alstera helped drop the dress over Camisse’s head.
“Court?”
“Yes. I’ll never be more than a Naught in the
Enclave, which means I’ll never be more than a servant. At the palace I am
surrounded by people without power.” She half-hooked the laces, stepped around
to eye Camisse in the gown, then turned her about and undid the laces. “We can
do better, I think.”
“You have a sponsor at court?”
Faone dropped the gown on the bench and picked up
a yellow confection with white lace.
Camisse winced at the color. “Not yellow.”
Faone didn’t protest, just shifted the gown over
and picked up the leafy green. Touches of black lace decorated the bodice and
hemline. The lacing in the back was even black ribbons. “This may be too short.
You have a few inches on me, and I have to wear slippers.”
“Who is your sponsor at court?” Alstera persisted
as they dropped the green gown over her head.
Faone half-hooked her up then stepped back. “Oh, I
like this one on you. But I think it’s too short even if we let out the hem. Do
you think it’s too short, Alstera?”
“Everyone will see her slippers and ankles.”
“How scandalous. We only want to show our ankles
when we’re flirting. I will leave this one with you, though. It is the perfect
gown to flirt in. Remember that, Camisse: the green for flirting. And look! The
hem is deep enough to give you the extra inches you will need. You can even
wear heels. Your maid will know what to do.””
The next gown was the silvery with a sparkling net
over the skirt. Enchanted, Camisse helped lift it over her head.
“Your sponsor?” Alstera asked again.
“No, I won’t tell you. You’ll run to them and tell
them I’m too young to know my mind. And then I will be forced to take scribing
lessons and wind up as Fleur’s secretary. No, thank you. I have lived in her
shadow all my life. This is for me. Just for me. There.” She had tightened all
the laces and turned Camisse to the mirror. “What do you think?”
She looked a princess. A silver gown with silvery
tulle, the bodice sewn with brilliants in the cobwebby lace. It fitted
perfected. And it wasn’t her.
“It’s suitable for the ArchClan’s daughter,” she
said. ‘I look like a fragile dream.”
Faone’s head tilted. “You are the ArchClan’s
daughter.”
“She’s also commander of a border citadel. She
fights sorcerers and wyre.”
“Ah.” She stripped loose the lacing.
Camisse regretted the gown. “It is so pretty.”
“It’s for next week, when you’ve already given
them the image of who you are now. This silvery dress is the one the queen
liked. I designed one in gold for her. She has the coloring to carry off that
shining yellow. Your dark hair and eyes need the silver.” She picked up the
crimson gown. “I nearly didn’t bring this one. Let’s see it on.”
“I never wear crimson.”
“You may surprise yourself. I’ve never worn this
one. The color’s too strong for me, but I think—.” She tossed the gown over
Camisse’s head.
When the gown cleared her eyes, she saw that Faone
had turned her away from the mirror. Looking down at the bodice as Faone laced
the back, she thought the neckline revealed too much skin. She tugged at it.
“Leave it alone, cousin. You’re covered.”
“I’m exploding out. I didn’t think I had anything
to explode out.”
Alstera laughed then bent to fluff the skirts into
place. Faone gave one last yank then tied the lacing. Then she came around to
stand beside Alstera.
“Raigeis’ virtuous jaw will be on the floor.”
“I would like to see that,” the girl said, “but
I’m not going. And more than Raigeis will be catching flies when she walks into
the room.”
“Is it that bad?”
“It’s your gown.” Alstera turned her to the
mirror.
Crimson should have overwhelmed her. Instead, it
framed her, warming her skin, giving flame-colored tints to her dark hair as if
she tempted fire into being.
“Are her ankles showing?”
“I don’t think anyone will notice her ankles.”
Camisse splayed her hands over her upper breasts. “No.
It’s—no.”
“Everything’s covered.”
“Not enough.”
“Don’t be a coward. It’s the perfect dress for the
commander at Chanerro Pass. It’s the dress that a victor over sorcerers and
wyre should wear. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
She stared into the mirror. The dress fit like a
glove. The crimson warmed her stark coloring. The bodice allured even as it
covered. It wasn’t a modest gown, but a commander took risks in order to win. She
had learned that her first year at Chanerro. She needed to remember that the
lesson applied to more than battles.
“I will shock them all.”
“About time,” Alstera retorted. “I think a corset
is needed, Faone.”
“No! It will push me higher. I won’t be able to
breathe.”
“The ladies won’t pop out, if that’s what you’re
afraid of. A little spell will hold everything in place.”
“And everyone will know I had to use a spell.”
“Uncle Raigeis scolded me,” Alstera added with a
solemn nod at odds with her grin, “just this afternoon for a profligate waste
of power on my gown. But I liked adding the sparkles.”
The door opened. Hravda appeared. “My lady, I
should fetch your dinner tray—. My lady! Oh, my lady. You are—you are—.”
“There, your maid is speechless. That’s a good
sign.” Faone unlaced the gown. “It’s this dress and no other. Hravda, does
Camisse have a coronet? A gold one?”
“An old one. I must find it,” and the old maid
hastened back into the dressing room.
“We won’t even try the cherry pink.” She began
lifting the gown.
Camisse clutched the skirts, as reluctant to part
with the crimson as she was the silvery cobweb. “Why are you taking it off?”
“You will not want to dine in this dress. And I
want to see the cherry on you, after all.”
The vivid cerise also cast warmth into her skin. Not
as stark as the crimson, the color complimented her more than any sapphire blue
gown ever had. The severe cut would serve for a serious occasion, like a formal
audience at the Moot Court or presentation at the king’s palace.
Once it was removed and draped across the bed,
Camisse worked herself out of the pannier then sank onto a chair, as much
shocked as tired. Hravda brought her a tray and returned to her hunt for a coronet.
Camisse stared at the soup and the bread and the apple and thought about
lifting up the spoon. She sighed.
Alstera laughed. “You would think that trying on
gowns was a battle you just won. You cannot be weary. Faone and I did most of
the lifting.”
“I will say that it has never gone so easily
before. Will you be there tonight?”
“She has to be,” Faone said. “Who else will report
your triumph to me?”
They laughed. “I’ll need to dress soon,” Alstera
said, “but I will stay a few more minutes. We can make an entrance together and
outshine the room. You should come, Faone. Please. After all this work, you
should see their reactions for yourself.”
“No, thank you. I have another commitment. And I
have someone I want you to meet soon. Both of you. He’s a wizard, newly come to
Tres Lucerna. He wants to pass the Wizard Trials.”
Camisse’s heart stopped.
“His name is Sanglier.”
Not Pearroc Seale. Her heart resumed with a strong
thump.
“I do not know that name,” Alstera said. “If he’s
not passed the Trials, he cannot call himself a wizard.”
“Oh, he’s a wizard, just not an ‘official’ Enclave
one. They are out there, just not here in Mont Nouris where the Enclave rules.”
The girl propped her elbows on the table. Her earnest expression emphasized her
youth compared to the women a decade older and more. “Sanglier has great
powers.”
“How do you know?” Alstera quizzed. “What spell
has he impressed you with?”
“Not just me. Other people, too. And here is an
extraordinary thing. He said I am not a complete Naught. He unlocked my power. I
worked a spell.”
Camisse, who knew what it was to struggle to work
any deep spell and also knew what it was to be mocked by those who called power
without difficulty, understood Faone’s joy. Most Naughts had a little power,
enough to work simple spells. Faone had never lit a candle from across the
room, the simplest of spells. How could this wizard help her unlock power when
the best wizards in the Enclave said she had none? “Faone—.”
“I did work a spell, four nights ago.”
“You are a Naught,” Alstera said, a hardness to
her voice that hurt Camisse as well. “all the tutors tested you. Letheina
tested you.”
“Sanglier said that they must not have tested me
with all the elements. He showed me how to blast a candle to bits at the last
meeting. We have another meeting tonight. I want you to meet him. I want you
especially, Camisse, to meet him. Just think if he unlocked your power. How you
would shock Raigeis if your power exceeded his. Then he wouldn’t be so sure of
becoming the next clan pater.”
“We have the reception tonight,” Camisse demurred.
Her tone managed not to shut down Faone’s request completely. Her own jaw felt
like it was still on the floor, the reaction she had wanted others to have at
the reception. Faone’s power unlocked? Her power not tested with all the
elements? She picked up the soup and tried to concentrate on that, not on
Faone’s comment that seemed to be up-ending her own world. What if her own
power had not been fully tested? What if she didn’t wield Water or Air? What if
she were Fire or Earth?
But to be Fire or Earth meant that her father was
not Letheina’s husband. That wasn’t possible.
“I confess,” Alstera said, “I am intrigued, but
neither of us can miss this reception.”
“We can meet after, silly. We always meet at the 22nd
Bell.”
“Late indeed. Past my bedtime.”
“Letheina expects the reception to go into the wee
hours,” Camisse said. “I must stay for the entirety. She implied that my return
added me to the honorees.”
“Faone, how long have you attended meetings with
this man Sanglier?”
“Only a few. Worm-Moon was the first time that
Sanglier worked with me alone. He said he saw a seed of potential, and there it
was.”
“That sounds like an Earth wielder.”
“Oh, he wields all the elements. I’ve seen him
call all four. He may be at tonight’s reception. Arct—um, it was hinted that he
had an invitation, but he won’t miss tonight’s meeting. He never misses. Sometimes
he is late. His apprentice has missed the last few meetings. Please come,
Camisse.”
Suspecting Letheina’s plans were more than
mentioning that the commander of Chanerro Pass was present, Camisse refused to
commit. She worked on finishing her soup before it congealed completely.
Alstera leaned back and picked up the baguette. “How
did you hear about this man? This Sanger?”
“Sanglier,” Faone corrected. “I heard about him
from another Naught.”
The wizard frowned at the bread as Faone chattered
about the meetings—although Camisse noticed that the girl was careful not to
name anyone else. When she wound down, Alstera ventured, “I cannot help but
warn you that this Sanglier could be a tinker selling silver when it’s only
plated pewter. No one can change a Naught into a wizard. What method is he
using? How is he drawing up your power? Could he be transferring his power to
you? That spell would make you think that the power was yours.”
“To know that you must come to a meeting.”
“This could be a trick,” Camisse warned around her
apple.
“Why trick a Naught? I have thought this through,
Camisse. I have. He cannot steal my power. If I’m truly a Naught, I have no
power. He cannot bespell me to attack someone, not if I’m truly a Naught. Perhaps
he could so trick and bespell the adepts who come, hoping to increase their power,
but he focuses primarily on us Naughts. I am not the first he has sparked power
in. I am no naïf unused to power. I have seen it wielded all my life. When we
were little, Fleur tried to share her power with me. It never worked, and when
Maman found out—well, we never did it after that.”
“It would take training that Fleur didn’t have.”
“She used the same spells that the tutors use,
when a student can’t grasp a concept, and they fold the wielding into the
student. But Fleur worked with our clan elements.”
“What did he call from you?”
“Earth.” She rolled her eyes at their carefully
blank expressions. “I know, I know, not our elements. But we do have a few who
work the other elements, sometimes Water with Earth, or Air and Fire, or all
four, like Alstera. Sanglier calls it atavism, elements from previous
generations lurking in our bloodlines. Please come, both of you. See what I
have seen. See my success. You will see failures, that’s expected, but if you
see one success—if he can unlock one small seed of power—.”
Alstera set down the torn remains of the baguette.
“I cannot go this evening. After the reception, Gage has leave from his post at
the palace. I haven’t seen him for days and days. I will go to a meeting with you, Faone. This I promise. Just not
tonight.”
“Camisse?”
“I will go.”
“Tonight? After the reception? Surely after the
formal ceremonies and two or three hours, you will not be missed. If you
promise to come, I will go to the reception, and we can go on to the meeting
tonight.”
“You said Sanglier will be at the reception.”
“Yes. I won’t introduce you, though. It’s best
that you meet him in his environment. That’s what Adala said to me.”
“Adala? That’s Sebastian and Orania’s daughter? Clan
Drakon,” Alstera said as an aside to Camisse. “Did she introduce you to this
Sanglier?”
Before Faone could answer, Hravda appeared,
triumphant with the coronet. She held it aloft. “Found, my lady Camisse. Far
back in the cupboard.” The gold flashed in the candlelight. “I have just the
way to design your hair, but we must begin soon.”
Faone went flying. Alstera rolled her eyes at
Camisse. “You are truly going to this Sanglier’s?” When she nodded, the wizard
frowned a little. “You will take care?”
“Should I take care not to stomp Raigeis’s toes
when he patronizes me? Or should I take care not to fall into Sanglier’s trap?”
“Both.”
“If I were a Naught, I’d have no trouble with my
brother, but I’d be a prime pawn for Sanglier. As little more than an adept,
I’ll have no trouble with the man, but plenty at the reception, for I won’t grovel
to my brother.”
“Definitely don’t grovel. At tonight’s reception
he is not your brother. He is the ArchClan’s magister, and you are a commander
of Chanerro Pass, with a clan leader’s status.”
She stilled, remembering Letheina’s requests for
her proxy. “Do you know something, Alstera?”
“No, silly, but you might forget that you lead
wizards and Fae and Naught soldiers against sorcerers and wyre.”
“I have commanded for more than a decade. I’m not
likely to forget.”
“When pushed, we fall into old patterns. Don’t let
him push you.”
“I won’t. You sound as if you’re not coming to the
reception. I thought you were.”
“A token appearance only. I did say Gage is
coming.”
“You did. You’ve missed him.”
“I should miss him. He’s
good-looking, tall and braw with just enough scars to give me shivers when I
think how dangerous with a sword he must be. He is clearly fascinated by me.”
“But you don’t love him.”
She pretended to be contrite, then her infectious grin peeked out. “I confess to enjoying him greatly when he has leave and to being relieved when he returns to his posting. Now, get dressed. Wear the crimson with pride. Faone is right. It suits you very well, indeed.”
IX
He had. He narrowed his eyes, a reprimand that
still deflated her even though she was no recently fledged wizard. She waited
till he looked away then rolled her eyes. Waiting for the reception’s start was
the worst part. A late dignitary, a clan patriarch’s demand for a private word,
a spell on the room’s tapers or the breeze keeping the temperature bearable or
the food waiting to be served—something always went wrong and delayed the
beginning.
Grandmère mounted the dais. Raigeis stopped three
steps below her. The Fae comeis stood
at her left shoulder. Then Camisse in that crimson gown separated from the
crowd. Along with a young woman in green, she climbed four of the steps then
curtsied. The murmurs increased. Faone had chosen wisely with that gown. Camisse
overshadowed everyone on the dais, especially her brother in his subdued grey
and charcoal.
Letheina began, her speech projected with a spell.
Alstera admired her grandmother’s talent to create an intimate circle even in
the large room. She captured the crowd. By the time she finished, she could
have called for a revolt, and they would have stampeded from the room. Instead,
she told of a new wizard come to the Enclave and the temporary return of the
commander of Chanerro Pass. The applause and hails deafened Alstera.
Raigeis stepped forward and lifted a hand. The
room quieted. “Isabeau of d’Aulnois, come forward.”
The young woman standing beside Camisse climbed
the remaining dais steps then knelt before the ArchClan. Her upswept hair and
green court gown glittered with silver brilliants. Alstera recognized her, a
sassy imp who had flirted with Gage on his last leave. Her Wizard Trials
recently achieved, Isabeau would have reached for what she wanted, but who she
wanted belonged to Alstera. Gage had merely laughed and looked admiringly then
shook his head and came across the room to her. And Isabeau had shot a
dagger-look—until she recognized Alstera.
Alstera had led Gage away. He was hers until she
released him, not a toy for a new wizard to play with. She wouldn’t release him
for a while yet and certainly not to a chit a decade younger.
Letheina again used the projection spell. “Does
Clan d’Aulnois accept this Isabeau, daughter of Cecil of d’Aulnois and Yvgenie,
now of d’Aulnois, formerly of Galfrons?”
Clan Pater and the fourth Aged Sage, d’Aulnois
spoke. “We do. We gladly do so.”
The ArchClan stretched out her hand. He climbed
the seven steps. She placed his hand on Isabeau’s bent head. Power thrummed
then created a swirl of mixed energies, Letheina’s elements mingled with
d’Aulnois’ Earth and Air.
Isabeau looked up as the ArchClan spoke, her voice
no longer projected. The audience strained to hear. Wizards stood on tiptoe,
remembering their own alliance to the clan leader, adepts wondering how wizard
vows were different, and Naughts desperate to know anything to do with
wizardry.
In the rise and fall of Letheina’s voice, Alstera
recalled the pace of her own vows. How would Isabeau—yes, her hands lifted. Energy
sparked from her fingertips. The elder wizards grasped her hands, forming a
link.
Alstera’s eyes narrowed. A link. She still recalled
that surge of power during her own oath-taking. Letheina was both her ArchClan
and her clan mater. For Alstera’s binding ceremony, no one had stood third. How
many ceremonies had she watched and never realized that linkage of power? From
this point forward, both Letheina and d’Aulnois would know where Isabeau was,
no matter how distant, until Isabeau herself broke the linkage, either by a new
alliance or a spell to break the chains.
Great-Uncle Rombrey’s droning voice sounded in her
memory: Should occasion call for it, each
leader can call upon the powers of his clan. Alstera had thought he meant
drawing the clan members together. Yet this was a binding ceremony. Had Rombrey
meant that the clan leader could draw upon their powers? Linkage was forbidden
since Saldoran. Was this a legal form of the Nexus?
Only a spell powered by the wielder’s own blood
could break the clan alliance. Except for that one instance, blood spells were also
forbidden.
A memory swelled up: Corwin, breaking his alliance
to Metallin to ally with d’Aulnois when the man became pater. Even after four
years, Alstera could smell the coppery tang of blood. She could ride the energy
released like a maelstrom. She sensed power running loose and free,
uncontrolled, ready for the taking. The upswell almost drowned her and the
others in that small room.
The knife had clattered to the floor. Corwin
pressed a cloth to his arm. Laurenz worked a healing to seal the wound while
her husband Guimalle steadied his friend.
“A little deep,” Corwin had laughed. “I wanted
it done and over.”
“You were too eager,” Guimalle cautioned, “but
it’s done. Tomorrow you’re free to talk with my father. He’ll get you an
interview with Grandpère, and you’re in.”
Corwin had grunted. “Not so simple as that.”
“Of course it is,” Laurenz countered. She gave
a pat to the healed wound. “I did it myself not a year ago when I married
Guimalle.” She smiled at her husband. “Thank the gods I did not need to repeat
the blood spell when d’Aulnois inherited the clan bindings from Bourdonnée.”
Alstera surfaced from the memory with a little
gasp. Nexus and blood spells. Taboo outside the bindings to clan leaders.
Isabeau was standing. She looked ashen. Two sets
of powers, both greater than her own, had swirled through her system. d’Aulnois
lifted their linked hands as the sign that the bonding had taken. Applause and
hails rippled over the room.
But Alstera eyed her grandmother. Letheina looked
pale.
Raigeis ushered Pater d’Aulnois and Isabeau down
the steps. They descended into a swarm of clan members.
Camisse took the side stairs off the dais. Alstera
moved to intercept her, but she kept an eye on her grandmother and her uncle. Raigeis
had returned to urge Letheina to the deep chair on one side of the dais. She
gave him a little push. For a second he stood irresolute while the comeis silently came to Letheina’s side.
Then Raigeis turned to the room and stationed himself to block anyone he didn’t
want to gain access to the ArchClan.
What would her own clan become when Raigeis became
pater? If he were selected. Who would
oppose him? He’d served as magister for three decades. Who could oppose him?
She trailed behind Camisse. The crimson gown was
easy to spot as her aunt worked through the crowd pressed close to the dais. And
then a tall man intercepted Camisse.
Reteif, the duCian’s brother, now a magister. He
captured her hand and gave it a courtier’s salute. Her face lit up. He pulled
her close and bussed her lips. She drew back, shaking her head, but her smile
was wide and her eyes sparkled.
Alstera paused, letting people eddy around her,
and watched as her aunt talked to the man she had once dreamed of marrying.
Camisse shook her head again. Reteif spoke. She
said a clear ‘no’. Another question, another rejection, then a decided nod, as
if she agreed to something—but it had brought a frown to her smooth brow. He
stepped closer, spoke against her ear. She smiled when she said ‘yes’ this time
and glanced around. Reteif’s wife came forward. Her prominent belly clearly
carried their next child. As they talked briefly, Alstera started forward again.
She was fiercely glad Camisse had worn the crimson gown.
Reteif and his wife eased away as Alstera arrived.
She stepped into Reteif’s place. “You handled that very well.”
Camisse blinked. “They are happy together, aren’t
they?”
“He waited six years for you.”
“If he had wanted me that desperately, he could
have come to Chanerro.”
“Perhaps he wanted you to choose him over your
obedience to Grandmère. No one knew, before your posting, that she would
manipulate circumstances so much.”
Camisse looked down at her hand, the one that
Reteif had kissed. “No. No one knew that.
She wasn’t ArchClan then. Her machinations only controlled our clan.”
“Did he ask you to dine? I saw you refuse him a
couple of times.”
“Oh. Yes. I thought it would be awkward. Perhaps
not, though. His wife looks happy.”
“Will it be difficult, looking at his son, looking
at his next child on the way, and thinking that could be your family?”
Her aunt inhaled deeply. “You ask hard questions,
Alstera, but I will answer them. That dream is the past. What did you think of
the ceremony with Isabeau?”
“That it’s very similar to a Nexus.”
“Is it? I didn’t study any linkages.”
“I am on my third round of it with Rombrey.”
“A little revolution might help.”
“I’ve never seen it help. Besides, what else am I
to do with my time?”
“I hear thumb twiddling is an occupation.”
“Oh, you! Seriously, Tante Camisse, I wish that I
could choose my studies, instead of squeezing my interests around Rombrey’s
ideas of what I should learn.”
A grey vestment planted itself in front of them. “You
left the dais before we talked.”
Uncle Raigeis blocked his sister’s progress
through the room. His habitual frown deepened into a scowl.
“I thought you had duties to our mother.”
Alstera glanced toward Letheina. Her cousins
Gerhardent and Arendt stood ready to intercept any casual aspirants. “My duty
appearance is over. I’m off.”
“You’re leaving?” Camisse reached for her then
drew back her hand.
“Not yet. I want to talk to Rhodia.” She eyed
Raigeis and added, “Nevil’s sister.”
The connection floated past him. “Off with you
then.”
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
Alstera grimaced at Raigeis’ dismissal.
Camisse wished for her own easy escape, especially
when he commandeered her arm and steered her to the wall. He drew a Shield
around them. She raised her eyebrows and saw nearby people glance to see the
reason a spell yanked power into the room.
“You can talk to me privately tomorrow.”
“I’ll do it now. My time is highly scheduled, and
chasing you all over the Enclave is inefficient. What did you talk about with
my mother?”
She kept back the retort of ‘my mother, too.’ Raigeis simmered with anger. Pushed, he could
get ugly. “She asked for the Shield. I spelled it into place. She obviously
wanted privacy. If she wishes to inform you of our conversation, then she must
be the one to do so.”
“You don’t command here.”
“Did I give an order? Our mother requested a
Shield for privacy. I respect her wishes.”
His lower lip jutted. He folded his arms over his
chest. He reminded her of a little boy not getting his way and preparing a
tantrum. “She won’t tell me.”
“Nor shall I.”
“I am your magister.”
Camisse thought about pulling rank, but he looked
close to yelling. “You are my brother first. That would be the stronger appeal.
Not magister. Consider relationships, Raigeis. I am back two full days, and
already you have offended more than a handful of people in my presence. That’s
not wise. They will remember your behavior when the new clan leader must be
chosen.”
“Letheina’s hale. She will not die for years. The
Fae bond extends her viable years.”
“Have you forgotten our mother is eight and
seventy? She is bonded to a Fae, but her body looks frail. Are you so
preoccupied with your machinations that you forget to watch her health?”
“She is hale. Her mind is sharper than mine.”
“Few people have a mind sharper than hers, brother.
The body, however, does not always keep up with the mind. If all you wish to do
is pester me—.”
He stepped closer. Camisse pressed against the
wall to maintain distance. “I bring up your Shield conversation. You bring up
clan transition.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“I tell you that she is still sharp; you tell me
the body does not keep up with the mind.”
Am I that obvious?
“I think I know what you talked about. Tired of
your command, little sister? Do you think as Letheina ages that she will need
additional magisters, as Perrault has his three?”
He feared losing his position. “We didn’t talk of
that.”
Raigeis ignored her denial. A vein pulsed in his
temple. “Do you know the reason I fought against your having any authority in
our clan? You are the ArchClan’s daughter. Even as weak as your power is, you
should have had some position.”
He had the bit and was running with it. She tried
her own steel to shake sense into him about where they were. “Oh, I answered
that years ago. Your ambition for yourself and your children preclude’s anyone
else’s advancement. Your posting of your twin sons to my command proves it.”
“Not hardly. I fought your position as commander
because you aren’t even—.” Something stopped him. Some noise, some surge in the
crowd, something. He glanced around.
“Finish it, Raigeis.”
He frowned. “That’s for another place, another
time.”
“You chose this place and this time. Tell me. I’m
not some weak miss who will cry out in pain. I’m not even—what?”
But he took a half-step back and eyed her up and
down as if she were a foreign entity he couldn’t quite understand. “You have
never questioned it, have you? I cannot believe you blithely went on—. It’s an
open secret with everyone my age and older. And you never heard the whispers? You
never saw the pointing fingers or heard the laughter? You seem to think so much
like Maman, but in this most basic way, you prove you aren’t her caliber. Did
you never realize you weren’t Guilliame’s daughter? She shunted you aside as
her guilty secret.”
The floor shifted under her. Camisse leaned harder
against the wall as the world spun. “I do not believe you,” but the cog wheels
were flying. She had inherited too much of Letheina’s cold intellect. Things
that never fell into place—her father’s distance, his preference for his other
children, his covert and overt antagonism—all locked into the cog wheels and
started making sense. “How do you know this?”
“You professed to love history, but you never
connected history to your own life. It’s in the lineage. Guilliame was on the
border during the half-year when you were conceived.”
“Letheina had an affaire?” Her rigid mother, so
bound by social strictures that no one dared openly break any rule.
“It wasn’t described to me as an affaire.” He
half-smiled, and she knew she should wipe the shock from her face. He was
enjoying her reaction too much. The cog wheels, though, weren’t ready to let
her process his glee. “She wanted to be ArchClan, even then, before she became
clan mater. She wanted to rule the Enclave. She needed to gain the allegiance
of other clan leaders, and she chose the oldest and least magical method. Wise
in some respects. No one could claim magical interference when she was selected.”
The people behind him were a blur—except for one
face, with mossy eyes, a broken nose, a scarred lip. The very stillness of that
face helped still her churning thoughts. “Who?”
“What do you mean?”
But he knew. She saw it in the gleam of his eyes. She
didn’t have to look far to understand his anger. He must have discovered either
that she had a vote in Enclave matters or that she would not give him her proxy.
Whichever, it drove his craving to lashout. “Who is my father, Raigeis?”
He smirked—proving this confrontation was
deliberate, time and place chosen, public and immediate. He wanted to discredit
her—and that steadied her rocking mind as nothing else could. “The way it was
described to me, not even Letheina knew which one was your father.”
That sounded like her father’s Guilliame’s venom. Not,
not her father. Never had she been more glad that Guilliame wasn’t her father. “Careful,
Raigeis. That’s my mother you’re maligning.”
She startled him. In battle, sometimes that was
all it took. Magister for thirty years, Raigeis recovered quickly. In battle,
though, she would have already taken his head.
“Ask Letheina if you think she’ll give you a
straight answer,” he ground the words out. “After all these years, she will not
want it brought up. She won’t enjoy her machinations being disinterred. Ask our
brother Malboys or our dear sister Cestinna. Ask dear Uncle Rombrey.”
“Does everyone know? How many?”
“Not many. It’s old gossip.”
“I should
have known.” Guilliame’s poison now had a reason stained more sinister by
Letheina’s machinations. Camisse’s lonely post at Chanerro Pass took on more
than at simple banishment, for it had never been the proving ground she had
turned it into. The command of Channero transformed into a convenient disposal
for an inconvenient reminder of prostitution for votes. “I should have been
told.”
“By the time you were old enough to understand,
everything was long since over.”
“Raigeis, I want to know who my father is.” The
man had to be a clan leader or one who would soon become a clan leader. No,
only a Clan Pater, whose vote would be assured. Letheina never gambled. Whoever
the man was, did he suspect Camisse was his child? Did he care? Or would he be
equally ashamed of an illegitimate child who barely passed her Trials? “I want
to know.”
“Ask our mother.”
Ice covered her. “No.”
He laughed. “Scared to exhume the past? I would be.
I doubt she would even acknowledge you had asked, let alone answer. If she
could.” With that taunt, he dropped the Shield and walked away.
Camisse tore her gaze from his back and turned to
the dais.
Letheina talked with Pater Metallin. Her steely
gaze scanned the audience as she laid out some plan six or more moves ahead on
the chessboard of the Enclave.
Camisse’s world still flew, all the cog wheels
whirling to create a new system. She couldn’t concentrate in this place.
She saw Faone chattering to a tall man, his back
to Camisse.
I must get out of here.
Meeting Faone’s outlander who broke rules and had
Naughts thinking they wielded power seemed the perfect way to snub her nose at
Raigeis.
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
Pearroc saw the instant Camisse decided. What she
decided, he didn’t know, only that the hard glitter in her black eyes promised
rashness. He wanted to cross her path and distract her, but Drakon muttered in
his ear.
He hauled his attention back. “Will I have a long
wait?”
“It should not be long. Three weeks. Do you
worry?”
“I am as prepared as a Fae can be.”
“Hsst. Look how close people stand to us.”
“I dropped a Shield over us. I am not the only
person to want a private conversation.”
“Do not even hint you have a stronger association
to the Fae. You are a neighbor, only a neighbor. If your masquerade is
discovered, our alliance with the Faeron could be set back decades. The ArchClan
already thirsts to set back our progress. Fae bonding to the clan leaders. An
increased Fae presence in the Enclave. Fae tutors for wizards’ children. These
were hard battles. She refused her first comeis
until we demanded it. When Ruidri Talenn replaced her first bond, she wanted to
refuse again.”
“What grudge does she bear against us?”
“Her oldest son disappeared into the Faeron. He
entered north of Petrosse.”
“That’s deep forest. No wonder the commander
flinched when I mentioned Petrosse.”
“You understand Enclave history now, don’t you? You
understand what Saldoran did to us, one hundred and forty years ago? We
restrain our powers, voluntarily through the five tenets and legally by
forbidding the Nexus and the old magics, blood magic, primitive magic.”
“What does that have to do with Camisse? Do I need
a history lesson to understand this woman? Unless she’s been breaking tenets
and laws.”
“No, she would not, and you do not need it. You’ve
got wit, Pearroc.”
“You just made my teaching her Fire appreciably
harder. Ah, forgive me, sir, but our quarry is on the run.”
“Watch your step,” the aged man said. “Her brother
Raigeis just upbraided her. She will be angry enough to turn on you. Use her
anger at him to your advantage.”
Pearroc intercepted her only because she stopped
to speak to a young lady. They turned together for the door, and his last step
blocked their path.
He gave an exaggerated bow. “Lady Camisse. Are you
in flight already? I had hoped for a few minutes of your time. I understand we
will have dances later. I planned to accost you then—and not so openly now.”
The narrowed eyes opened a fraction. A smile
played on her mouth. His pretense of subterfuge had won him a few moments.
“Pearroc Seale, good evening. This is my cousin
Faone, also of Clan Letheina. Faone, Pearroc of the broad shoulders.”
“Lady Faone.” He bowed again. The young lady
giggled.
“Pearroc Seale is awaiting his Wizard Trials. The
Drakon sponsors him.”
“Drakon?” The young lady’s lake-blue eyes widened.
“He is a master wizard and an Aged Sage. I am impressed. Cousin, I will wait
for you by the door.” She curtsied to Pearroc then slipped away.
Camisse’s smile dropped. Her eyes once more
narrowed. “How may I assist you?”
“I believe Drakon foisted me off on you this
morning.”
“He is a council elder. If he thinks you need
lessons from me—or I from you—then he sets his plan in motion, and we must hope
to be more than simple pawns. I don’t have his power or his status or his
experience. Who am I to deny his request?”
How did he break her formality? He had glimpsed a
quirkiness earlier; he wanted to see it again. “I confess my wish for time with
you had little to do with lessons.”
Her mouth compressed. Misstep. She found flattery suspicious. A shame, for she deserved
compliments. In a simple shirt and breeches, she looked long and lean; add in
her skill with the sword, and she was lethal. Tonight, gowned in crimson, she
needed no jewels for adornment. Having watched her since the reception began, Pearroc
reckoned that only one person had told her how glorious she looked in crimson. And
that sole person had been married with a pregnant wife.
She did look glorious. The rich color enhanced her
eyes and creamy skin. Fire colors. Ice blue and cold silver would do nothing
for her.
“I must leave soon.”
Her words spurred him to try for a few minutes
more. “Have you remembered a duty? Or do you regret agreeing to Drakon’s
proposal? In my little time here, I have encountered the rivalries among the
clans. Clan jealousies, however, do not interest me.”
That quirk of a smile played at the corner of her
lips. “Not many can say that to me.”
“May I have a dance with you this evening, Lady
Camisse?”
“Lord Seale, I do regret saying ‘no’,” and her
drooping mouth added truth to that regret. She glanced to the large
double-doors of the audience chamber. “My cousin has first claim on my
attention.”
“A pity.”
Her smile returned.
“The magister will not harangue you for conversing
with Drakon’s protégé?”
“He will. I will not listen.”
Pearroc smiled with her this time. The aged man’s
advice had hit the target. “You intrigue me, Lady Camisse.”
“You intrigue me, Pearroc Seale. Most wielders
come to the Enclave at a much younger age, for training before their Trials.”
“So, you call me an old man?”
She brightened even more. “I very carefully did
not say that. I think we are very close in age. Who did train you?”
“I will speak heresy here. A Fae who came to my
mother’s house. He also had my first training with the sword.”
Her black eyes gleamed with interest. “Did he
shift during the duel?”
“You have seen Fae do this?”
“A few. Only the best, they tell me.”
“Then I must admit that Tiele d’Oran did shift. He
said he needed to keep me off-balance. Tell me the reason that a wizard goes to
Chappelle’s practice arena to keep her sword skills sharp?”
Her merriment dimmed. “I may edge my sword with
magic, but I cannot easily draw up spells. I fight amongst the Fae. Since I may
soon return—.”
“Not too soon, I hope,” he interjected and earned
a flashing gleam. She glanced at the doors again, and again he tried to keep
her longer. “I hear great battles are fought and won against sorcerers and wyre
at Chanerro. Have you fought the wyre?”
“We keep them off the wizards. A wizard’s power is
no use against the wyre, and the soldiers are afraid of them. Only the Fae will
confront them.”
“The Fae and
the commander at Chanerro Pass will confront them.” A little lift of her
shoulder; another clue that compliments disquieted her. “Since wizardry cannot
damage wyre, that explains how the wyre killed the adept and the wizard while
the Fae survived.”
Her brow constricted. “You are the second person to
say this. When did the wyre attack? And where?”
“The Fae was attacked on Knave Moon. The wizard
died on Worm Moon. The first attack, when the adept died, happened on Dragon
Moon. And the where is here inside Enclave walls.”
That slight constriction of her brow turned into a
frown. “Three attacks in less than ten days? And on nights when the moon shifts.
Are they tracking the cycles? Were the wyre shifted?”
“I do not know. If they wanted to shift outside of
Dragon Moon, they would need a sorcerer. Sorcerers control the wyre—.”
“Yes, yes, I know. The sorcerers wyrded men to
counter a wizard’s power, just as the Rhoghieri are the wizards’ response to
the wyre.”
“Your training is better than most wizards.”
“I’ve fought side-by-side with Fae for over a
decade.”
“You should use the Rho on the border. They are
shapers and shifters of the elements. Their alliance would allow Fae to assist
the wizards against the sorcerers.”
She tilted her head. Her unwinking stare was a
commander’s contemplation of forces. “The Rho cannot completely control their
element. It bursts out of them. Much like some of my attempts at spells.”
That slip of information gave him something to
consider, but he ignored the trap it could be. “Only the Rho who are trained in
the Havens fully control their elements. The Havens are not just sanctuaries. And
the Rho have a natural shield against sorcery.” He smiled ruefully. “I am
teaching an old lesson to you. I apologize.”
“An old lesson for you, yet I assure you that most
of the Enclave need to learn it. That includes me. Perhaps our teaching will be
mutual. Thank you, Lord Seale.”
He smirked. “Our lessons will be very formal. ‘Lady
Camisse and Lord Seale.’”
“I did not want to offend—very well, Pearroc. Now,
my cousin has waited patiently. I must away.” She gave him her hand for the
perfunctory bow and curtsey. When he pressed his mouth to her fingers, she gave
a jerk of surprise. Then she slipped her hand free and hurried off.
Pearroc watched and planned and decided an early
visit to Chappelle’s practice rings were on his agenda for the morrow.
