Daughter of the Disgraced King (20 page)

Grandmama grabbed her hand and pulled her forward. “Don’t be
ridiculous, girl. I’ve rested and I’m fine. I’m not
that
old and
decrepit, yet. We can’t be late for this.”

Ailsa allowed herself to be hurried along. The lower floor
of the tower building was lit by magic balls of floating lights, which would be
extinguished just before Mayra entered. Until then, the assembled mages could
mingle and converse freely. They both bowed slightly to the new master, an
elderly woman who couldn’t have been that much younger than the previous
master, and then looked around. It wasn’t hard to spot Jathan in the crowd.
Ailsa and Grandmama threaded their way through the crowd to his side.

“Any time now,” Jathan said, eyes on the door.

Grandmama laughed softly. “I do believe you’re more nervous
than you were for your own testing.”

Jathan shrugged and grinned. “Could be. Mayra so wants to be
a healer. She’ll be crushed if it doesn’t work out.”

Ailsa reached for his hand. “It’ll turn out all right.” She
leaned closer so that only Jathan would hear. “Besides, I really don’t think
Grandmama should try to do more magic today.”

Jathan looked at the older woman and nodded.

The magical lights winked out and a few moments later the
empress led Mayra into the square of light at the center of the room. Mayra
dropped a curtsy to the master though the empress only acknowledged the older
woman with a slight nod of her head. The master told Mayra to sit on the center
bench. It was exactly the same ritual that Ailsa had gone through not so long
ago. She empathized with her friend’s confusion. It seemed that was
intentional.

The empress took a seat on the right hand bench, since Mayra
was to be tested for healing magic first. A pink-robed man took the bench on
the left and a much older woman in pink robes sat behind Mayra. A young man
with an injured hand was led out into the space between Mayra and the master.
From her position near the front, it looked to Ailsa like a pretty bad cut,
deep enough to cause damage to muscles and nerves.

“They bring the least serious patient over from the Healers’
Hall for the testing,” Jathan whispered. “I’d hate to think what the worst
cases are like.”

Ailsa could feel the tingle of unfamiliar magic building
around her. Unlike working with Jathan, or even with Grandmama, this felt
unpleasant. Was that because it was healing magic? Or was she just more
sensitive now to her own green magic, so that anything else felt wrong? She’d
have to ask Grandmama later.

At first nothing seemed to be happening. Jathan drew in a
ragged breath. Ailsa squeezed his hand in sympathy. Then the magic surged and
the young man gasped. The cut shrank visibly. The magic subsided again and the
younger healer came forward to finish the healing.

“Well, that was quick,” the master said. “We have found a
new healer.”

Ailsa let out her held breath and heard Jathan do the same beside
her. Mayra leapt off the bench, just barely restraining herself from dancing
around the room.

~

It was two more days before they rode back out to the oak
hollow. That wasn’t very long, really, and Ailsa wished that Grandmama would
rest longer. Still, it was obvious as they approached that the trees on the
outer edge of the dell were greener and stronger already. They rode around to
the far side, where the leaves were still yellowish since the magic hadn’t
reached that far.

Jathan helped Grandmama down from her horse. “Let Ailsa and
me try by ourselves this time. We watched what you did last time and we’ve both
been studying up on oak root fungus. If we do it wrong, you can stop us and
take control again.”

Ailsa smiled across at Jathan. “Yes. Let us try at least.
How else will we know what we can do?”

Grandmama frowned and looked from one to the other. “I’m not
that old yet. However, one of the points of this particular exercise was to
teach you about working together—correctly. This time, Jathan will take control
of the magic and direct it. Next time will be your chance, Ailsa. Spread out
again, but, for now, stay within line of sight. Just in case.”

When they’d taken their positions, this time with Jathan in
the middle and Ailsa and Grandmama to either side, Ailsa began to let her magic
build. She felt it join with Jathan’s and the scintillation of that bond almost
swept her away. She bit her lip and concentrated on feeding her magic to Jathan
and watched as he repeated the same process Grandmama had started, burning out
the fungus that was killing these oak trees.

She concentrated on keeping the flow of magic constant. She
didn’t want to overload Jathan the way they had Grandmama, but Jathan seemed to
be able to handle the magic much better. As Ailsa relaxed, confident in Jathan’s
leadership, she was aware that the intoxication of their joined magic was
steadily growing, too. It was not at all like sending her magic through
Grandmama. That had never produced this euphoria.

As their work continued, Ailsa felt only exhilaration, but
she began to worry about Grandmama. Surely, they’d worked almost twice as long
now as they had the first time. She was fine, but could Grandmama keep it up
this long? She couldn’t see her grandmother around the curve of the hollow, so
she looked at Jathan. Most of his concentration was naturally on their work,
but he did periodically glance over at her and in the opposite direction. He
must be keeping tabs on her and on Grandmama.

Jathan took a step back, leaning against the shoulder of his
horse, and the magic recoiled. Ailsa quickly mounted and rode to his side. He
was standing, but sweat had popped out on his forehead, more than could be
explained by the heat of the day.

He looked up at her and smiled. “Oof. That does kind of take
it out of you. And it happens all at once. One minute, everything is flowing
and the next the magic just . . . slips out of your hands. But . . . wow, what
a high!”

Ailsa grinned back. “It is, isn’t it?”

Grandmama rode up more slowly. “Are you all right?”

Jathan stood up straight. “Yes, ma’am. Are you?”

Grandmama nodded. “It’s easier when you’re not the one
leading. You did a very good job. Let’s get back and find something to eat.
This kind of magical work really builds up an appetite.”

Jathan grinned and winked at Ailsa. “It sure does.”

~

Ailsa stood in the center of the arc and looked left to
Jathan and right to Grandmama. Both of them nodded to her. She took a deep breath
and let her magic build slowly, reaching out to either side. She met Jathan’s
magic first, sparkling and enthralling, then Grandmama’s joined the bond. Hers
was more comfortable, less exhilarating, but it also seemed to help regulate
the effect of Jathan’s. Ailsa turned her attention to the work at hand.

Directing the flows was a very different experience. She was
working on trees farther in, since their previous efforts had cured the
outermost ring of oaks. These trees were more heavily infected. Paying
attention to the minute details, separating the fungus and destroying only
that, while leaving the roots intact, required a lot of concentration. Ailsa
had to remind herself to stop periodically to check on both Grandmama and
Jathan. The attention needed to wield the magic offset the intoxication to a
certain extent, but not completely.

She felt the magic flows falter and glance up and to her
right. Grandmama was nearing her limit, but the flow was still strong from her
left. Without hesitation, Ailsa dropped Grandmama from the circle and continued
working with just her own magic and Jathan’s. This was even more exhilarating
than the three-way bond. She felt buoyed up by it, like she could work all day.

When she began to feel a little dizzy, she sat down on the
grass and continued to work, reveling in the feel of their combined magic.
Only, the feel was different. It wasn’t a balanced mixture of her magic and
Jathan’s. Nearly all of this was Jathan’s magic. It felt like an embrace. And
it was slipping away from her. Ailsa tried to hold onto it, sweat popping out
on her forehead.

“Stop! Let it go, now.” Grandmama’s voice said from
somewhere close behind her.

Ailsa blinked as the flow of magic abruptly ceased. Hooves
thundered from her left.

Jathan reined his horse to a stop and almost leapt from the
saddle to her side. “Why didn’t you stop?”

She hadn’t wanted to let the warm touch of his magic go, but
she couldn’t say that. Instead, she huffed. “I can work as long as you can.”

Grandmama crossed her arms. “No, you can’t. Ailsa, you’re may
be a level ten green mage or, at least, a very high level nine. Jathan, on the
other hand is at least a level ten. Though he does seem to work best with
someone near his level to push him a bit. If you two are going to work together—and
together you can be the greatest green mage team in generations—you’re going to
have to be willing to let him know when you reach your limit.”

Jathan nodded, not grinning the way she’d expect at the news
of his rating.

Ailsa grinned in spite of her splitting headache. A green
mage team? She and Jathan? That would be . . . potentially complicated, but a
lot of fun. It would be the best way to work as a green mage that she could
think of. “Next time, I’ll be more careful. I won’t do that again.” She looked
up at Jathan. “We can’t have anything endangering the team.”

Jathan returned her grin. “No. I don’t suppose we can at
that.”

She looked up at Grandmama. “Would it be better for Jathan
to lead from now on?” As long as she could continue working with him, she
really didn’t care who led.

Grandmama pursed her lips. “We’re still quite early in your
training. Both of you need more experience leading a circle. Part of that, is
learning to recognize both your own limits and the limits of your partners.
It’s not only the leader who can drop out of the link if it’s necessary.”

Jathan nodded firmly at that.

Savyon handed his reins over to the groom. “Give him a good
rub down. He’s earned it.” He started toward his chambers to bathe and change,
but a commotion at the palace entrance made him change direction to see what
was up.

A squad—a full fifty-man squad—of Imperial cavalry sat in
ranks on their tall horses in front of the palace. Now where could Imperial
cavalry have come from? And why?

No. There were fifty-two men. The two in front of the squad
dismounted, along with the squad captain. Two young men—one possibly about
Savyon’s age, the other a year or two younger—both just above middling height,
with brown hair. Enough alike to be brothers and, though dressed richly, not
wearing the black and silver cavalry uniform. The older one carried the silver
baton of an Imperial embassy. Savyon remembered the letter he’d had from the
emperor. Could it be his summons to Terranion, come at last? He couldn’t
suppress his curiosity and followed the three men into the palace. The cavalry
captain spoke to the nearest servant and the three were conducted inside,
toward the king’s main audience hall. Oh, Savyon wouldn’t miss this for the
world.

When he followed the three newcomers into the audience
chamber, Savyon looked to the dais and his father’s throne-like chair. Clearly,
Father had been interrupted in his office and had only just managed to arrive
before his unexpected guests. Father was still arranging himself to best effect
when he looked up at the sound of booted feet on the tiled floor, and he did
not look happy. Savyon quietly moved around to the side, where he could see the
faces of both sides.

“By what right do Imperial troops invade Far Terra?” the
king demanded.

The officer, who had just raised his spear to tap its butt
on the floor in preparation for a formal announcement, paused and, with one
glance at the brothers, brought his spear back into the rest position. The one
Savyon had mentally identified as the younger brother scowled and his hand
drifted toward the sword at his side. The officer placed a restraining hand on
his arm.

The older brother raised his eyebrows and gazed at the king
coolly for a moment, allowing all eyes to turn to him before he replied. “I’d
suggest you revise your tone, King Ewart. My imperial father can hardly be
accused of invading territory that already owes allegiance to him.”

Father blinked. “Your . . .” He paused to clear his throat. “Your
imperial
father?”

The older brother smiled slightly, not in a particularly
friendly way. His eyes flicked toward the officer. When he spoke, his voice was
smooth as silk. “I regret that we had no chance to introduce ourselves, your
majesty. I am Imperial Prince Rishiart.” He nodded his head in the barest
indication of a bow and pointed to the other brother. “And this is my brother, Imperial
Prince Arrigo.”

Prince Arrigo didn’t even nod, but continued to scowl at
King Ewart.

Father took a deep breath. “Well, in that case, you are most
welcome, your highness. Your highnesses. Ah . . . to what do we owe this signal
honor.”

“Oh, no honor is intended,” Prince Rishiart said without
missing a beat. “We are merely here on our father’s behalf. My specific mission
is to escort Prince Savyon, Prince Cergio, and Prince Perion back to Terranion
as our guests.”

Prince
Perion? Well, Lady Izbel would have been
Princess Izbel before ex-King Sandor’s abdication. But neither Perion nor Ailsa
had ever claimed a royal title. Then again, would they have dared, here, under
Father’s suspicious eye?

Father half stood from his chair. “My sons are not going
anywh—”

Prince Rishiart interrupted him. Savyon couldn’t remember
the last time anyone had dared to interrupt the king. “You misunderstand, your
majesty. My imperial father is invoking the clause in our treaty that
requires
all potential heirs to spend at least a year at the Academy in Terranion. It
was not a request.” Prince Rishiart paused, giving the last statement full
weight. “The emperor greatly regrets that his father had not seen fit to
require you to be presented at court in Terranion before the unforeseen
circumstances that resulted in your ascension. He does not intend to allow that
. . . oversight to be repeated.”

King Ewart sat with his mouth open. A smile tugged at the
corners of Prince Rishiart’s lips, but he managed to restrain himself as he
nodded to his younger brother.

“Meanwhile.” Prince Arrigo placed his hands behind his back
exactly like a school boy reciting a memorized piece. “The bulk of the imperial
cavalry squad will remain here with me, as your guests. My mission is to ensure
the safety of any and all mages within the territory of Far Terra. Our imperial
father has been very disturbed by some reports that have reached him of
mistreatment of mages operating under the aegis of the Institute of Magical
Arts and, by extension, of the emperor, who is the patron of that august
body.”

“I am more than capable of protecting my own subjects,” King
Ewart roared.

Prince Rishiart held out a hand and Prince Arrigo subsided,
biting back some comment he’d been about to make. “In that case, your majesty,
we will be glad to make that report to our father—just as soon as either of us
can make that statement from our own observations. Until then, I’m sure you
understand, our imperial father’s instructions are law, even to us. Also, as of
today, the Imperial mail in Far Terra will report directly through Prince
Arrigo.”

Prince Rishiart was clearly the more diplomatically inclined
of the brothers. Savyon suspected Prince Arrigo of a temper that could rival the
king’s.

Prince Rishiart waited for a response, which didn’t come. “At
the moment, however, it’s been a long ride. My brother and I would appreciate a
chance to clean up and rest. And, I’m sure, Captain Damek would like to see his
men settled.”

King Ewart waved his hand dismissively. “Of course. I’m sure
there’s room for both of you in the guest wing. One of the servants will help
you. As for your cavalry—”

Savyon stepped forward. “That won’t be necessary, Father.”
He bowed to the imperial princes. “I am Prince Savyon of Far Terra.” He turned
half back toward his father. “There are empty chambers in the wing occupied by
my brother and me. I was just going in that direction myself and I’d be glad to
show you the way.” He thought fast. “It seems to me that the guard barracks on
that side is but lightly manned. It shouldn’t be too difficult to clear it for
the use of the imperial cavalry. It has the advantage of being between the
palace and the stables, which may be desirable.”

Father scowled. “Yes, yes. Whatever. See to it.”

Savyon bowed to his father and gestured for the others to
follow him. Best to get out of Father’s sight before he could get any more
worked up. There’d be plenty of explosions later. Father wouldn’t like this at
all. Savyon, on the other hand, could barely keep from laughing.

“Prince Savyon—”

“Savyon, Prince Rishiart. Just call me Savyon. We’re all
princes here.”

Prince Rishiart smiled. “Indeed we are. And none of us
particularly like having our titles thrown at us every five minutes. It’s
Rishiart and Arrigo.”

Savyon nodded.

“Well, Savyon, I have particular instructions from my father
the emperor to talk with you about the situation here. Also, I need to meet
with both Prince Cergio and Prince Perion as soon as possible. In addition, I
have private messages for ex-King Sandor.”

It was still a little disorienting to hear that title in
front of Perion’s name. “I had a letter from the emperor telling me to expect a
messenger. I never expected it’d be two of his own sons.”

“Father decided that this assignment required someone with
sufficient . . . gravitas . . . to get the king’s attention,” Rishiart said.

Savyon nodded. “Probably smart. At least you’ve certainly
got his attention. Let’s see. Cergio’s around here somewhere. He’ll be at
supper if I can’t round him up sooner. I can take you to see Perion any time
you like.” He bit his lip. “Father’s already going to be stirred up about this
visit. Maybe it’d be better if you let me arrange for the ex-king to meet you
when we go to see Perion. Even Father can’t get too suspicious about Sandor
visiting his own sister.”

Rishiart and Arrigo scowled and exchanged a glance. “We’ll
be guided by your judgment in this. For now.”

Savyon led the way to the best unoccupied rooms in the east
wing, a large suite with two sleeping chambers and a private bath. He pointed
out his own chambers and Cergio’s on the way down the hall. “I hope these will
do. I’ll ring for the servants to bring fresh linens.” He pulled a bell rope in
the corner.

Rishiart smiled. “This will do very well. Thank you.”

Savyon smiled. “Good. I’ll leave you to refresh yourselves.”
He bowed slightly to the brothers. “Captain, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you
to the east guard barracks, which I hope will suit.”

The captain saluted. “Thank you for your kindness, Prince
Savyon.”

~

Savyon sat still while Perion paced across the front room of
his parents’ house. “I am
not
an heir. I want no part of ruling Far
Terra.”

“Your pardon, Prince Perion,” Rishiart said, “but a
generation ago King Ewart was not considered an heir, either. Father requires
you to visit Terranion. I am not empowered to excuse you from that.”

Lady Izbel placed a hand on Perion’s arm. “You’ve wanted the
chance to be tested at the Institute like Ailsa. It’s all you’ve talked about
since Delea’s father betrothed her to Baron Jazep’s oldest son. This is that
chance. Take it.”

Rishiart smiled. “Of course. We will be glad to arrange for
that during your visit.”

Perion looked from the prince to his mother. “How can I
leave after what Baron Mikel—”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Arrigo said. “I have specific
instructions to see that all mages—and in particular Princess Izbel—are treated
with all due respect. Even with the ten that will be going back as your escort,
I’ll have forty of the best imperial cavalry to help me with that.”

“Of course, Princess, if you wished to accompany your son,
that could also be arranged,” Rishiart put in. “I’m sure Father would welcome
you.”

Lady Izbel shook her head. “I’m not a princess anymore. And
my place is here. There are too few of us, now. We’re losing the fight to
maintain Far Terra, let alone expand it.”

Rishiart nodded. “That’s the point. My father intends to do
something to amend that situation. He’d appreciate your perspective on that, if
you were so inclined. In your case, however, I was instructed only to extend
the invitation. The choice is yours.”

A soft tap on the door was followed by the entrance of ex-King
Sandor. Both imperial princes stood and bowed to him—more deeply and
respectfully than they had to the present king. Savyon thought about the
implications of that. For the first time, it occurred to him to wonder just
what the emperor might do if he was seriously annoyed with King Ewart. Unlike
his father, Savyon had read the full treaty. He knew the emperor’s powers in Far
Terra.

Savyon had been provoked beyond caution by his father’s
short-sighted policies and baseless suspicions, but he’d always assumed that
he’d
be the one to set things right. Optimally by persuading his father to see the
light, but if not, then by succeeding him to power. The emperor could change
that at a whim. The treaty gave the emperor the final say in the selection of
the heir to the Far Terran throne. There’d been no choice to make when ex-King
Sandor abdicated. Lady Izbel was already an established mage and Father was the
only other male heir. There were three potential heirs now. Four, if you
counted Ailsa and her future husband. True, things had to change, but . . .

“Prince Sandor—” Rishiart said.

Sandor held up his hand. “I gave up the right to that title
long ago. The most I am entitled to now is Lord Sandor.”

Rishiart shook his head. “Nevertheless, you are a male of
the royal line. There is no other requirement for the title that I’m aware of.
I, for example, will certainly never rule, but I am still a prince. So are you.”
He smiled. “Besides, Father would flay my hide off in strips if I didn’t show
you the proper respect.”

Sandor smiled. “Your father has always had very definite
ideas about such things.”

Rishiart nodded agreement. “Indeed. I am instructed to
extend you—and your wife—an invitation to visit the imperial court. My father
wants most urgently to consult with you about the current state of affairs in Far
Terra.”

Sandor grimaced. “I’d love to visit Terranion again. And see
my daughter, too. But . . . politically, it’s difficult.”

Rishiart winked. “Not if my father orders it. I have been
instructed to phrase his invitation in that way
if and only if
you wish
to accept and think that this will make the situation any easier.”