Weave a Wizardry Web ~ chapters 10 & 11

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Chapter 10

Alstera did not escape the reception as easily as she wished.

Trapped in conversation with a courtier her brother had introduced, she listened to his rattle about the prince’s newest pursuits and watched Camisse and Faone slip away. After the courtier, her brother’s fiancée waylaid her. A facile smile welcomed Lucrece, and soon Alstera’s ears filled with lace and beading and tulle and silk. They debated the rival merits of ribbons over ruffles until Lucrece had decided for ice-blue ribbons to complement her silvery wedding gown. She promised to attend a fitting for her attendant’s gown in three days’ time.

“Ice-blue again,” Lucrece promised. “You are right. Ribbons are much better, and the ice blue is appropriate since I am allying to Clan Letheina after the wedding.”

“I cannot wait to see the design for your wedding gown.”

“As long as you say nothing to your brother.”

“I might steer Romert to select ice-blue for his robe. You should be the only person wearing silver and white. Ice crystals in summer.”

“The perfect décor for the reception. I am so glad we talked. I rarely have an opportunity to see you. Does your great-uncle keep you so focused on the deeper studies?”

Alstera rolled her eyes. “He finds gaps in my earlier training.”

“Romert has said that you and he raced each other through your earliest lessons. What could you have missed?”

“I have no idea, but if Rombrey insists that I re-learn it, then re-learn it I shall.”

“He must want you to be the repository of all things magical, as he is.”

Living in that enclosed tower, consulted but rarely venturing forth—the walls closed in so tightly Alstera couldn’t breathe. “I cannot. I refuse.”

“Someone must replace him in due time. How old is Rombrey?”

“Seventy. Still younger than our ArchClan.”

Lucrece looked rueful. “Yes, she is older. Do you think the ArchClan’s age is the reason your aunt Camisse was recalled?”

She might be her brother’s fiancée, but until she married him, Lucrece remained d’Aulnois clan. Alstera didn’t gossip about the clan to someone outside the clan.

And they spoke with no Shield.

“Lucrece.”

Her name in that tone was warning enough for the young woman, more evidence that she was a great partner for Romert. “I know I should not have asked that.”

And Alstera could not help asking for herself. “Is that what Romert thinks?”

She stepped closer. “He spoke in confidence. I did not intend to mention it, only—.”

“I see that I need to take afternoon tea with my brother and you.”

“When have you time from your studies? Perhaps after your fitting?”

At Alstera’s nod, Lucrece smiled brilliantly. She wasn’t pretty until she smiled, and Alstera—who often wondered about her brother’s choice of wife—realized yet again that Romert saw more than most gave him credit for, the ‘most’ being Raigeis. Lucrece was only an adept. Her family had no real standing in d’Aulnois clan. She didn’t attract attention. Yet she had quick wits. Her innate kindness was a rare commodity in Clan Letheina. And had probably attracted Romert first. As court liaison, he had learned to look past the way the Enclave measured people.

“I will tell Romert. Hopefully, this is far enough in advance that he can avoid court duties for an afternoon.” She gave Alstera a spontaneous hug. “Until then, Alstera.”

She infused joy in her response before Lucrece flitted away.

Then her smile dropped, and a frown creased her brow.

Alstera hadn’t considered her own future after Letheina died and the clan chose a new leader. After excelling at her Trials, she had expected a celebration. Letheina had merely announced that she would continue her studies with Rombrey. The plan allowed Alstera to pursue her own interests, so she obediently followed the order. Rombrey let swing her from subject to subject or delve so deeply she passed even his understanding—until last Yule, she realized. His watch on her interests had sharpened then. His orders to re-learn the accepted tenets and the forbidden spells had started then.

Her friends had taken so many different paths. A few were contracted for their magical skills to cities and countries far beyond Mont Nouris. Several were stationed to border outposts and fought Frost Clime. A handful—like her brother—were attached to the Enclave legation to the palace. Many of those had wedded and were building a family.

She had drifted. She realized it, now. Her freedom was only a glass cage. She could see out, but she didn’t go beyond the Enclave’s walls. Her liaisons with various men were approved, but she could hear Letheina and Raigeis and even Rombrey poking gentle fun at the men. Their mockery persuaded her to move to someone new. Researching spells amused her, but she never did anything significant with those spells. She had wanted to win her grandmother’s approval by seeking methods to increase a wizard’s puissance; instead, she had been played at the end of a line. A line that her great-uncle had jerked several times in the past weeks.

Did Rombrey prepare her to replace him? Romert must think so, or Lucrece wouldn’t have mentioned it?

She pressed her fingers to the frown, but she could not smooth the lines away. She did not want to sit in a tower, imparting information to new wizards, training the best with deeper spells, emerging when the ArchClan or the Aged Sages needed facts about the past or about power. Gods, how boring.

Had Letheina planned years ago for Alstera to take Rombrey’s place as the sage for the entire Enclave?

How little her grandmother knew her.

Or cared about her.

She turned, and as she turned, a hand grasped her arm. She felt a Shield descend. Power sparkled in her fingers at this presumption—then died as she saw who had grabbed her.

“Lord Crispin.”

He dropped his hold. “They’ve arrested Nevil.”

She looked up at her friend’s father and didn’t know what to say. “Yes. I discovered it this morning.” She did not mention her eavesdropping.

“They have him in a cell at Moot Hall. They won’t let me visit him.”

“Oh, Crispin.”

“You know what he was engaged in, don’t you?”

“He sought a method to increase our puissance, to defeat Frost Clime.”

“And Dragon Rising.”

Even with the Shield up, she worried about his open statement of Dragon Rising. No one mentioned the dragons openly. Banished to the Wastes after Dragon Dark centuries upon centuries ago, the dragons were more legend than history.

Sweat beaded Crispin’s brow. “Nevil was seeking information about the Nexus, the very linkage that the Fae have urged the Enclave to resume since the first comeis was bound to the ArchClan. He wasn’t stealing power from anyone. He would have been better served to have gone to the Wastes and reported back.”

“If he survived.”

“Nevil would survive. I know my son.” He glared at the dais where the ArchClan still sat, a queen in state. “She will never admit Dragon Rising, will she?”

“Crispin—.”

His gaze pinned her, squirming like a bug in a child’s insect box. “Nevil said once that you are also investigating how to increase power. In her own house! How have you kept it secret? Or do they know and turn a blind eye to you while they imprison my son?”

She lied. She didn’t know what else to do. “I gave up my investigations into that. It led nowhere helpful. Nevil should have admitted that once he discovered the only method was the forbidden Nexus.”

“Nevil discovered—the people he trusted lied. They claimed he worked the Nexus. He didn’t. My son wouldn’t touch the forbidden. I have heard, though, of another method.”

“What other method?”

“Do you think I’ll tell you? I’ll find myself in a cell alongside my son when you report it to your uncle the magister.”

“I didn’t report Nevil to my uncle, Crispin. Or to anyone else. We talked, last spring, about our defeats by Frost Clime. Not about Dragon Rising. It was after all those wizards were killed at Iscleft.” The older man nodded, remembering, matching what she said to what his son must have told him. “We have no defense against wyre, and they were fools to confront them without backing by the Fae and their swords. That’s when we talked of it, Crispin. Both of us thought a linkage would work. I wish he’d given up when I did,” she lied again, hoping the truth that preceded it would bolster the lie. “Did Nevil find a linkage before his arrest?”

“Not Nevil, no. I heard of it last week, after that wizard was killed. And that’s another problem your grandmother and your uncle are ignoring. Two killed, here inside Enclave walls. A wizard and an adept. By wyre.”

“We have no proof of the wyre. My uncle says so.”

“Your uncle says so,” he mocked.

“What have you heard?”

“I won’t answer that. I can’t. I will say this: don’t go out on a moon-turn night, Alstera, not without a swordsman to guard you. My family will have heavy protection, I promise you.”

“Crispin—.” But he had left her nothing to say except, “My thanks for the warning.”

“Heed it, Alstera.”

“I will. Can you tell me anything more of this other method?”

“I know nothing. Nothing definite. And your uncle will only want what’s definite.”

“I don’t run to my uncle. Ask Nevil; he knows.”

“I would if I could,” he retorted, and once again she saw the pain in his eyes. “They won’t let me talk to my own son.”

She brushed her hand down his arm. “Then know this: My uncle thinks nothing good of me or of anyone except his own children.”

He laughed. “That’s ripe, it is, since his daughter—.” Then he clamped his mouth shut.

“Was Malinde your source?”

He relented. “No. Briella.”

“My cousin Briella? Raigeis’ daughter? She is a minor adept.”

“A minor adept, the very ones who are desperate to unlock their powers.”

Startled at words so similar to Faone’s, Alstera gaped.

“Yes, they think their powers are locked.”

“How can their powers be locked? They are trained in all the elements. They are tested in all the elements. Their tutors would have to collude somehow.”

“I do not know that. Konarr said—.”

Konarr was a d’Aulnois adept, courting Briella while Raigeis frowned. But Briella was six years past her Trials. She would never be more than a clumsy adept. Raigeis, therefore, had not forbade the couple’s attachment. “I thought Briella was your source.”

“Konarr told me what Briella was doing, after Nevil was arrested. He wanted to warn me, but Nevil wasn’t using the method he described.”

“Tell me.”

She felt Crispin test his Shield’s strength. Even though it felt intact to her, the man backed off his earlier candor. “I have said too much. Talk to Briella.”

“If you want me to intervene on Nevil’s behalf—.”

“Can you? Did you not just say that your uncle thinks nothing good of you?”

“I can tell Rombrey. His word holds weight with his sister. What do you know of this method to unlock puissance?”

“They are channeling power in their own lifesparks.”

“Lifesparks? That sounds like blood spells, Crispin. That is also forbidden.”

“Not blood spells. I do not know the particulars. Konarr did not. Briella didn’t—couldn’t show him. But this method allowed her to channel power she didn’t know she had.”

“How can Briella have power that she cannot wield?”

“Talk to Briella. She is in your own house. If she’ll talk to you. She has no reason to share her information with the greatest wizard in the Enclave. And talk to your great-uncle Rombrey. You are right; the ArchClan will listen to her brother. She has certainly not listened to my mater Charanaise,” he added bitterly.

“Crispin.” Yet what could she say?

“No more.” He dropped the Shield and walked away even as she reached to stop him.

People flowed past while Alstera tried to sort thought all he had said—and not said.

I will go with Faone. I’ll go alone if I must. I will meet this outlander Sanglier and discover how he has so impressed her. Sanglier’s lies about a training designed to cripple wielders of power had to be stopped.

And she needed access to Nevil. If the Enclave guards had instructions to prevent visits from his family, they would block her visit as well. Unless she had approval from the ArchClan herself or one of the Aged Sages, who decided the fate of those who broke the tenets or meddled with the forbidden.

Perrault’s magisters kept a tight grip on his visitors. The Drakon had no liking for Clan Letheina. Of the remaining three Aged Sages, the only one who might bend the no-visitors edict for her would be Galfrons. Her grandmother would be an easier approach.

Would she taint Rombrey’s approach on Nevil’s behalf if she made her request tonight?

Could she even guarantee that Rombrey would intercede for Nevil?

What a coil.

Crispin had changed her intention to leave early. Staying late was no guarantee that Letheina would be willing to grant an audience to her granddaughter, especially as the line to speak with the ArchClan lengthened even as Alstera gauged it.

She waited.

Her uncle began to move along the line, vetting who would speak to the ArchClan tonight and who must wait until morning or afternoon or the next day or never.

Music began. Dancing followed. Pretending a blitheness far from her mood, Alstera worked through several partners. She talked of her brother’s approaching wedding. She flirted with friends. She answered questions about her aunt’s return and her twin cousins’ departure for Chanerro Pass. No one else accosted her to have a Shielded conversation.

In the midst of a bourée, she saw her grandmère rise from her chair, speak briefly to Raigeis, then rest a hand on the arm of her comeis who led her from the room.

Raigeis watched their departure before he returned to those remaining in the line he had shortened. He kept a spell in the air, noting times for each person as they spoke. Letheina would have several full afternoons ahead of her.

And Alstera had missed her chance.

She wouldn’t petition Raigeis for an appointment to see her grandmother.

Perhaps tea?

Or she could follow the maid with the breakfast tray?

She excused herself from the next dance. Guests and family and servants roamed the first-floor corridors, but their numbers were fewer on the second floor. No guests climbed the next stairway which led to family chambers. Those corridors were empty, people still below or already abed.

She climbed another stair, to the fourth floor. The wall sconces had guttered out, and no enterprising servant had replaced the candles, but a faint light from far down the corridor lit the way.

The light streamed from beneath her door. Power trickled into her fingers as she opened the carved door.

A man, shedding his shirt, his leather jerkin and weapons already cast aside. Gage.

As she shut the door, Gage removed the bleached linen. He lifted an arm, and she sped into his embrace. She burrowed her head against his chest and sniffed then pulled away. “You need a bath.”

“Just now off-duty. I knew about the reception. I thought you’d stay until it ended. You usually do.”

“Not this time.” She tugged the laces of the court gown’s bodice. “I thought your duty ended much earlier.”

He splashed water into the basin, wet a cloth then scrubbed soap onto it. “The colonel called us into a meeting. We need to double our patrols.”

“Every night? Or just moon-turn nights?”

Cloth forgotten and dripping, he faced her. “On moon-turn nights. What do you know, Alstera?”

“Nothing.” She dropped her gown and petticoats, leaving them for the maid, and crawled into bed. He hadn’t moved. “You’re getting the floor wet.”

“You must know something.”

“I overheard a rumor. Someone said the attacks were wyres.”

“Who?”

“I overheard it. I don’t know who said it. Does your colonel think that wyres are inside the city walls?”

He turned back to the basin and plunged the cloth into the water. “He’s not saying.” Gage shoved off his breeches and finished washing. He left the cloth in the basin. Old habits had him picking up his discarded clothes and folding them to place them on the bench beneath the window. He picked up her gown and underthings and draped them over a chair. “Wyre makes better sense than random attacks. Fits the timing, too. Doesn’t explain the attack on the Fae, though. We don’t know enough is the problem.”

“We never know enough. I’m trying, though.” She scrunched down on the mattress when Gage climbed into bed. “Do you know anything about the prisoner in Moot Hall?”

“My troop’s not there. I know he’s in a power-bane cell, with spell cords in his chains.”

“Chained? Nevil’s chained?”

“How do you know who it is?”

“His father talked to me tonight. He thought I had turned Nevil in to Raigeis so I could continue my own search.”

He pulled her to him, resting her head on his chest and stroking fingers through her hair. “You never told me what you’re searching for.”

“A better defense against Frost Clime,” she lied. She wanted an offense. She wanted an offense that would defeat Frost Clime for a long time. Without sorcerers as allies, the dragons would never rise.

His fingers stilled then resumed. “If there’s a better defense, you’ll find it. You’re the greatest wizard in the Enclave.”

As always, the statement left her feeling hollow. She lifted up. “Will you help me?”

“I’ve got no power, but I’ll do what I can, love. You know this.”

“You have power. I can sense it.”

“Not enough to flick light, but it’s yours if you need it.”

Guilt shivered across her skin. She hid her true purpose when he offered unselfishly. “I’ve seen you flick light. Your power is not ‘nothing’.”

“Whatever I’ve got, it’s yours, Alstera.”

She grinned wickedly. “All your power, Gage?” A gleam in her eyes, she reached under the covers. She had a spell to work, and she wanted Gage well asleep before she burrowed it into his brain.

He groaned, shifted his legs. “Gods, yes. All of it.”

She wrung another promise from him later, to let her work a spell on him. He didn’t hesitate. It was unfair, perhaps, to force the promise by teasing him with her body. But he got what he wanted. When he was drowsily content, he dropped his head onto the pillow. “Enough. I’ve got patrol tomorrow.”

She lay beside him. “Patrol tomorrow and the next day and the next and the next. When is your next leave?”

“Not soon enough,” and he groaned when she flicked her tongue over his chest.

 Chapter 11

 Arctos’ ears pricked up when he heard Faone’s lilting voice. He had lingered after all the others had gone upstairs, not with hope that she would appear but with an expectation that his Prime had scoffed at. “That flighty Naught?” Still laughing, he had followed Sanglier up the stairs for the gathering.

And here she was, as he’d expected, as loyal as Sanglier’s other dupes.

More loyal, he realized when he stepped into the dimly lit entrance hall, for she’d brought a woman with her. They were gowned, rich colors with glittering gems.

Faone chattered to Pannoth, on watch at the door. “My aunt Camisse.” She broke off when Arctos loomed out of the shadows and slipped past the brutish Septimus. “Arctos, are we late? I brought my aunt. Camisse, this is Arctos. She is commander at Chanerro Pass. Have you heard of her?”

Every wyre knew the successful Commander Camisse. “Who has not? A pleasure, Commander.” His smile was broader than ever before. Should Sanglier incorporate this woman into his Nexus, then he would know everything she did when she returned to her command. Faone may have scored a greater coup for their plot to seed discontent and cause disruption in the Enclave.

The woman sketched a curtsey.

“We were delayed several times,” Faone said. “I thought we would be late.”

“They have only now gone upstairs.”

“Already? Tante, we must hurry.”

She turned, but Arctos caught her left hand. He lifted it, examining the finger he had bitten. “Already healed, little one.” He thought of the bite on her upper breast. “Did you have someone look at it?”

“No. Does this mean my own power healed it? That’s never happened before. Sanglier is powerful.”

Not her power but the wyrding within her, proof that she would shift at the next Lady’s Moon, probably on Crone Night. In some wyre clans, such an early sign portended a Prime. He hated giving credit to the sorcerer, but for now he must. “Your power,” he agreed, for that wasn’t fully a lie.

“I will tell Sanglier.”

“That news may please him,” her aunt said dryly, “but we will still be reprimanded if we are late. I confess, Arctos, I am now very eager to meet this Sanglier.”

Arctos followed them up the stairs to the grand receiving room where the gatherings were conducted. The room overlooked the back garden, a wildness among the tamed grounds of surrounding houses. Runniger, sent in advance of the great sorcerer and his wyre, had chosen the old house for the gathering room alone.

With his acute shifter sense, he heard Sanglier before the two females did. The sorcerer had formed the circle but had not yet initiated the link, the “fuse” as he called it to these dupes.

Faone paused at the closed door and looked back at him, her eyes bright and large. Her aunt’s comment must have worried her.

He opened the door and preceded the women. More than a dozen attended tonight’s gathering, not the crowd at Lady’s Moon, but definitely more than the two preceding weeks. “My lord?” he said, the acceptable title to use when the Enclave-raised were present, “Lady Faone brings us a guest. The commander of Chanerro Pass, Camisse of Clan Letheina.”

The two sorcerers startled at the name. Sanglier broke the circle to come greet this exalted guest, and the others followed suit, everyone except the wyre standing as guards.

The Prime came to Arctos. “A true prize,” Martel conceded. “But not the wizard she was told to bring.”

“A greater prize.”

“Defending your little Bitten?”

“Angry that Sanglier did not appoint you to do it?” he retorted. “Her loyalty deepens. This is her first proof. And you did not even expect her to attend tonight.”

“Careful, Arctos. I hear a challenge.”

He angled his head to one side, exposing his neck, all he could do in a room full of humans who did not know that wyre surrounded them.

“Martel,” Sanglier called. That gracious tone, however, the wyre had learned to beware, for it revealed his ire. “Come meet the commander. He is my chief guard, Lady Camisse, an excellent fighter. Should you need practice before you return to the border, Martel will oblige.”

“I thank you,” the woman said. “I prefer changing opponents often. I wish to remain as sharp as my blade’s edge when I return to my post.”

“You are returning?” one of the humans asked. “We heard your nephews replaced you.”

“Temporarily. I must be away a few weeks. It is best not to leave the command position open. My brother sent his sons, but they have no border experience. This morning Colonel Haukbern rode out to replace them. They should return next week.”

Arctos watched her expressions, from the fleeting contraction of her brow to the sweetened curve of her lips, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Martel bowed deeply. “I will be pleased to offer any skills that the lady Camisse needs.”

The woman’s eyes widened while Faone giggled beside her.

“Come,” Sanglier said, taking her arm. “Join our circle. Faone achieved success at our last gathering. I sense a great puissance in you. I am eager to test it.”

“You flatter me. My clan is more apt to say that my puissance is a sinkhole. Power drains away when I call it up.”

“Not this night,” he assured her.

Sanglier kept tight hold of her hand. His left hand seized the young woman’s beside him. Runniger stood opposite the chief sorcerer, to balance the flow of power through the linkage. “Call up your power, even you, little Faone,” he added in an indulgent tone.

Arctos stepped to the wall. A wyre had no place in a circle of power. Soon, Faone would have no place there as well. Energy built in the room, crackling over his skin, brightening the candles.

He watched Faone, pleased that her blood had responded so strongly to the wyrding, when he saw the commander shake her hand to free it from Sanglier’s.

The sorcerer tightened his grip. She winced but didn’t cry out in pain. “Do not break the connection,” he warned her. “Power will be loosed without a spell.”

She must have known the danger, for she stopped fighting his grasp. “This is wrong. This is a linkage. The Enclave forbids it.”

“No,” Sanglier said, and others echoed him. Runniger frowned in concentration. The circle must be wielding more power than he had anticipated.

“Nexus,” she gasped. “Forbidden.”

“Not a Nexus,” Sanglier denied. “The Nexus centers power in one person, for that one person’s use. All can use the power in this linkage, once their own power is unlocked. Faone, show your aunt. Call power.”

The young woman nodded eagerly. Her eyes unfocused. Her grip tightened on the hands she held, one of them Runniger’s. Sweat beaded on the young sorcerer’s brow, and Arctos knew who would spark the spell.

An orb, faintly blue, formed in the circle’s center. It didn’t quite solidify. It wouldn’t. The sorcerers would want Faone’s ability to wield power to appear fumbling and untrained. She was frowning, so intent on the orb, so eager. Arctos’ heart ached for the lie she believed.

“Make it spin,” Sanglier ordered.

Camisse glanced at him, then at her niece, then at the orb.

Slowly it began to rotate. Silver crazed through the orb.

“You’re drawing too much,” Sanglier warned.

Faone scowled. The orb lost the silver. The rotation sped up. Then it pulsed, the blue brightening then receding. And again. The third pulse was greater, longer.

Thunder cracked. The orb vanished along with every light in the room. Several women and a man cried out. Then the candle flames grew back.

“Enough,” Sanglier said. “Draw back your power.”

As one, the dupes frowned in concentration. They shut their eyes. Some bit their lips. Brielle, a recent convert, bit the tip of her tongue as she concentrated on performing nothing. All of them did as Sanglier commanded yet did nothing.

Except for the commander. She looked around the circle with a little crease between her eyes. Sanglier released the woman on his left to clasp Camisse’s hand between both of his.

“Do you see? The fuse supports a wielder. We all share. No one takes.”

“It seems very like the Nexus.”

Faone hurried to her aunt. “Did you see, Camisse? Did you see? I can wield power.”

“I did see.” She tugged at her hand, but the sorcerer kept his hold. She didn’t glance at him, though. ‘You will need to practice a few basic spells before you try tonight’s spell again. That could have been dangerous.”

“I keep watch over all spells,” Sanglier said.

She did look at him then. One eyebrow arched. “As long as the combined powers do not overwhelm your skills.”

It was a challenge. Arctos saw his master try to answer twice before giving a shake of his head. Anything he said would ruin the great deception.

“Runniger will help you, little Faone. Come tomorrow—.”

“Or her cousin Alstera can help her. She will be intrigued by this, Faone. You must tell her.”

Sanglier sidestepped the commander’s interference. “Bring your cousin here. She can see for herself and guide Runniger as he teaches you.”

Faone stopped the tug of war. “If Alstera has time. She rarely has time.”

She dashed away to talk to one of the dupes. Arctos saw Martel waylay her. She preened at his congratulations. He scowled at his Prime’s interference with his Bitten, but he remained near Sanglier, wanting to hear what the sorcerer would say to this suspicious commander.

“Do you understand how this fuse is not the forbidden Nexus?”

The commander puzzled over the question, and the sorcerer let her. She finally shook her head. “Linking is forbidden. We’ve considered it. Frost Clime use it, and some have urged that we must adopt this method of the enemy in order to defeat them. But we do not.”

“The Enclave accepted the Nexus in its earlier years. The Nexus funnels all power to one wizard to wield.”

“Saldoran corrupted the Nexus,” she countered. “He showed how easy it is to seize power from others.”

“Yet the Enclave continues the link wizard to wizard. The bonding ceremony we saw this evening, that is a type of linkage, is it not? The clan leader may call upon the power of any in the clan, and the ArchClan may call upon all those who are bonded to a clan leader. That is a true Nexus, funneling all powers to the ArchClan.”

“Letheina does not draw up power that way.”

“You say this because she is your ArchClan and your mother and you trust her.”

Her mouth quirked as if amused. “I won’t chase that rabbit, Lord Sanglier.”

Her comment startled him. Arctos covered a chuff of laughter behind his hand. This woman had surprised the great sorcerer more than once this evening.

“Did you not feel your power fusing with ours through the linkage?”

“I certainly felt power running through me. That was not mine, though. I cannot evoke power as easily as the rest of those in the circle.” She shook her head, a decided rejection. “My power was not in use.”

His eyes widened. “Not in use?” His head lifted back, and he looked down his stubby nose at her. “Is that what they have convinced you of? I do sense great puissance in you.” He touched her breastbone. And her eyes widened at his presumption. She lifted her hand to push his away, but he had already removed it. “I can help you access your power, Lady Camisse.”

“In the same way that you unlocked Faone’s power?”

She sounded skeptical, and Arctos narrowed his eyes. Had this inept wizard managed to see through the sorcerer’s ploy?

Sanglier, though, did not hear her doubt. “If you will let me. Give me both your hands.”

Her mouth twisted, but she offered her hands.

He drew up power. It glowed around his hands, a shining halo of silver, then spread to hers. Brighter streaks, like lightning, came out of her flesh. Arctos saw her eyes narrow. When the halo added a blush of blue, she shook her head. “That’s you. Not me. My power doesn’t come up like that.”

The light faded. Sanglier bit his lips. The shining halo covered his hands; blue flashed—and Lady Camisse chuckled.

The great sorcerer dropped her hands with a muffled cursed. “You are blocking me.”

“If I could, perhaps I would, but I am doing nothing. My power has never reacted quite as anyone expected.”

“I can work with you—.”

“I am intrigued, but I think my time is better spent honing my sword skills. Your chief guard Martel may be of more benefit to me. For his sword skills,” she added with another flash of humor, “not for his other skills. I am glad, Lord Sanglier, that you have helped Faone.”

And she took her leave, gathering up her cousin.

Arctos escorted them from the room, anticipating at every moment to hear an order to take the commander to the cellar, where Clemayya and Jhennanni still suffered their punishment.

Yet no such order came.

Faone giggled when he bent over her hand and pressed a kiss to her bare fingers, with a surreptitious tongue lick to her bitten finger. He bowed just as deeply over Lady Camisse’s offered hand but gave no kiss. When he straightened, he caught her studied look on him. Then she nodded to her niece and turned away from the house.

The other dupes gradually dispersed. Arctos stayed below until the last one had left, close to the Bell for dawn. Only then did he return upstairs.

Sanglier and the others had retreated to his private chamber on the floor above. Runniger talked quietly to the master sorcerer, but his words didn’t cool the seething anger that filled the room. Voldt lay on the floor. He clasped a bloody cut on his arm. Martel stood back, hands behind his back, his smirk in place—and Arctos wanted to punch it off the Prime’s face.

“We lost an opportunity to chain the commander to us,” Sanglier snapped.

Runniger flashed a look at Martel. His eyes widened a fraction, a tiny expression, then he turned back to his master. “Do you think she suspects?”

“No, or she would have confronted me. She left, thinking that I believe her an unusual Naught that somehow earned the rank of ‘wizard’. She is no wizard.”

“You said she had great puissance?” Martel allowed confusion into his question.

“Do you begin to believe the lies, Prime? Fool.”

Prime lifted his upper lip in a snarl that the master sorcerer did not see as he paced from one side of the chamber to the other, stepping around the sextus with his dripping blood.

“We will not ask the little Naught about her cousin the commander. If she speaks to us about Lady Camisse, we will shrug and say merely that it is her choice to return or not. We cannot help those who are unwilling. We will not present any more questions that the commander will decide that she needs to investigate. The commander is not known for backing down from a challenge. She is known for answering challenges in unexpected ways. She may return, looking for more information. Should she return, then we will need to be very wary of her. She will come with her suspicions, looking to snare us.”

Runniger and Martel shared a glance. This time Runniger risked his master’s wrath. “And she is not suspicious now?”

“She left believing that we play with a type of Nexus.”

“She could report that to the Council of Five. She could report us to the ArchClan’s magister.”

“But she will not. She came to see for herself what the little Naught is getting up to. She seemed genuinely pleased that Faone’s power was unlocked. She did not seem to understand the spells are a ruse.” He gave a smug smile, pleased with his own reasoning. “She could not tell the spells are a ruse.”

“You truly could not evoke power from her?”

“She responded to neither Water nor Air, her clan’s two elements. She was a blank, even more so than the Naught.”

“Then how is she called ‘wizard’?” Martel asked.

“Fool. Her mother is ArchClan. Of course, they awarded her that rank.”

“You said you sensed power in her.” Runniger winced when Sanglier rounded on him.

“Must I teach you how to dupe these false wizards and simple adepts and useless Naughts? The lady Camisse does have power, not as great as I claimed, but steady. It almost glows. It sucks out of her, somehow.”

“Sinkhole,” Arctos inserted.

He glanced at the Secunde. “Very good, Arctos, very good indeed. That is how she related that her power is described by her clan. It drains away before she can evoke it. That mother of hers may have shackled it years ago. She will not return, I think. We cannot capture her with power. We will capture her another way. That is for you, Martel. You brag of your prowess with humans. They say she practices at Chappelle’s. Go there at noon. We will catch us a commander—and we will kill her.”

The next installment will appear on October 1.

Enjoy your early Autumn reading!

Missed Previous Installments? Try these links.

On this site:

Chapters 1, 2 and 3 https://remiblack.blogspot.com/2026/04/weave-wizardry-web-opening-chapter-1-2.html

Chapters 4 and 5 https://remiblack.blogspot.com/2026/06/weave-wizardry-web-chapters-4-and-5.html

Chapters 6 and 7 https://remiblack.blogspot.com/2026/07/weave-wizardry-web-chapters-6-7.html

Chapers 8 & 9 https://remiblack.blogspot.com/2026/08/weave-wizardry-web-chapters-8-9.html

On the Main Site for Writers Ink Books:

On WIB 1, 2 and 3 https://writersinkbooks.com/celebrate-with-remi-black/

On WIB 4/5 https://writersinkbooks.com/free-fantasy-chapters-4-5-of-weave-a-wizardry-web/

On WIB 6/7 https://writersinkbooks.com/free-fantasy-chapters-6-7-of-weave-a-wizardry-web/

On WIB Chapters 8 & 9 https://writersinkbooks.com/free-fantasy-continues-weave-web-chapters-8-9/

On WIB Chapters 10 & 11 https://writersinkbooks.com/free-fantasy-continues-weave-web-chapters-10-11/

Weave a Wizardry Web ~ Chapters 8 & 9

 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

 Camisse stripped and climbed into the hot water. She sank deep into the bath and sighed in satisfaction. Then she set to work scrubbing the dirt and sweat from the practice ring.

“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 22^nd 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

 Alstera yawned then glanced sideways to see if Uncle Raigeis had spotted that obvious signal of her boredom.

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.

Next installment will be on September 1.