Mage's Blood (58 page)

She stared after him with trembling belly and a bitter taste in her mouth.
Brilliant, Elena. Maybe if Cera comes in you can scream at her too
.

Elena recovered her strength in time for the council during the week of the Dark-moon. The court was packed with the retinues of the provincial lords. Massimo di Kestria, Lorenzo’s elder brother, arrived with a swarm of golden-skinned Rimoni knights kitted out in Jhafi robes – the di Kestria family were one of the better-integrated of the Rimoni noble houses. The di Aranio family also arrived, with their many womenfolk. Lord Stefan di Aranio was a big, smooth-faced man with the manner of a merchant on a horse-trading mission; advantageous marriages were his stock-in-trade. His sons paid court assiduously to Cera, while clashing in private with their chief rivals, the local Brochena noblemen and the Gordini family of Lybis. Elena watched with amusement as the pieces on this particular tabula board moved, but Cera gave no signs of favour. There were rumours
that Lorenzo had been ordered to renew his courtship too, and Elena discovered she had mixed feelings about that: though Lorenzo had not spoken to her since she had driven him from her bedroom, there was an unresolved tension between them that was fraught with complexity.

It was the full moon of Martrois and the skies were brilliant blue. Early summer heat was rolling across the plazas and festering in the alleys; mosquitoes were proliferating in the open sewers and down by the lake, though the Jhafi servants had an ancient recipe for candles that drove the insects away, so the palace was largely unaffected by them. Brochena was filling up with people, trade tentatively returning as the merchants felt out the new lay of the land. Many goods were still scarce and the people remained wary, the purges first by Alfredo Gorgio then by Cera still fresh in their mind.

It was odd to watch Lorenzo courting Cera. The queen-regent’s young mind was too full of law and politics to care about small talk and dance-steps. At least she enjoyed his company, as they perambulated about the gardens while the court looked on and rival suitors simmered. Elena, always close by, found herself admiring his face and manner more and more, and witnessed Cera’s polite indifference with puzzlement.
Hel, I’ve never been forward with men, but I’d take him on if I were in her shoes
.

‘So, what do you think?’ she asked one evening as she set the wards.

Cera, her skin gleaming bronze in the candlelight, pulled a nightdress on and shook out her hair. ‘About Lori? I can’t take it seriously.’

Elena snorted. ‘I think he senses that.’

‘Is he offended?’ Cera asked, looking concerned. ‘I can’t afford to lose the friendship of the Kestrians.’ She scowled. ‘Though they’re neutral on the shihad – they’re supposed to be my allies.’

‘They think that after the bloodshed, neutrality is best for our people. But they remain loyal.’

Cera sniffed and observed, ‘If Timori was dead, they’d hold enough votes to gain the throne.’

Elena was shocked. ‘Cera, these are the Kestrians – they are the truest of the true.’ She was a little worried; her protégée was increasingly seeing plots everywhere.

Cera harrumphed irritably. ‘Anyway, I don’t wish to marry him, but his courtship prevents me from dealing with all the others sniffing around.’ Her voice was tinged with disgust.

Elena sighed. ‘Lorenzo understands that.’

Cera frowned. ‘Am I that obvious?’

Elena laughed. ‘To me, perhaps.’

Cera giggled. ‘Poor Lori. I do like him – I had a crush on him once.’

‘Once – but not now?’

Cera lifted her head a trifle pompously. ‘No, I think I’m well past that part of my life.’

‘Listen to you!’ Elena laughed. ‘Just like an eighteen-year-old, to think you’re all grown up.’

‘I have to be grown up,’ Cera insisted. ‘I meant what I said: I won’t marry until Timi is king.’

Elena frowned. ‘But some kind of alliance with the Kestrians—?’

‘Ella, I’ve had all that from Pita and Piero and the others, I don’t expect it from you. The Kestrians are with us anyway, so why make concessions when we already have what we want from them?’

Elena looked at her, a little surprised at her maturity and dispassion. ‘Someone should warn poor Lorenzo so you don’t break his heart.’

‘Oh, I doubt he’ll be so affected as all that,’ Cera said dismissively. She looked at Elena with amusement. ‘I see you’re wearing makeup tonight, Ella. Maybe you hope to catch someone’s eye?’

Elena threw up a hand. ‘Just making sure no rumours reach Gurvon that I look unwell. I’m already worried enough that my absence from your side these past weeks will have been noted.’

Once she had set the wards, Elena retired. She slid between the sheets and closed her eyes as she conjured a handsome face before her, one that smiled intently as it looked into her eyes. The small illusion wasn’t taxing and it gave her something to focus upon as
her hands slid down her body. She took her time as her sighs became gasps and it felt like a small dam burst inside her as she climaxed.

She woke next morning feeling better than she had for weeks.

Lorenzo’s courtship continued to fascinate and puzzle the court, which had thought to witness a blossoming romance and instead saw distant politeness and a young queen-regent whose eyes remained firmly on the issues of the day. ‘What’s wrong with the girl?’ they wondered. ‘Has she no juices?’

‘Some people blame you,’ Tarita told Elena boldly one morning.

Elena smiled at the young maid’s frankness. ‘Why?’

‘Well, some say you are overly protective, and using spells to shield Cera’s heart.’

Elena grunted. ‘Is that all they say?’

‘Oh, others think you have seduced her yourself!’ Tarita giggled.

Elena snorted in disgust.
Have these people no originality in their filthy minds?

Tarita grinned. ‘Everyone is scandalised by you! They think your short hair is barbaric, and proves you’re safian. Others say you want Lorenzo for yourself.’

Elena raised her eyebrows and fought to keep the blush from her cheeks. ‘They do?’

‘I started that one myself.’ Tarita snickered proudly. ‘I tell them you’re randy as a goat for him.’

‘
Tarita!
’

‘You are – your sheets sweaty as a brothel. I have to change them every day. And people see you watching him. They think it’s funny.’

She felt a flash of anger. ‘Why funny?’

‘Oh, only that you’ve shown so little interest in men until now.’

‘Men have hardly shown any interest in me either.’

‘That’s not true – everyone says half the knights tried to bed you when you arrived. There was a barracks wager among them, who’d be first to seduce you.’ She laughed aloud. ‘The men boast a lot amongst themselves, mistress. They don’t mean all that they say; it’s
just expected, that’s all. It’s normal for them to compete with each other.’

Elena flexed her fists. ‘Well, if that’s all they think of me, they can all go to Hel.’

‘It was just men’s talk, mistress – you should take Lorenzo as you find him, not on hearsay.’

‘I’m not planning to “take him” at all,’ Elena replied crossly, and stomped off to the queen’s morning session with the Regency Council.

Being in the same room as Lorenzo and seeing the way that he too was growing into his role didn’t help her much. He spoke well, displayed awareness of the strategic situation, displayed wit and gravity as appropriate. At times his eyes would meet hers, and she could tell that he’d forgiven her. He jested about claiming the kiss she’d promised him that deadly night, and teenage insecurities and flutters of the heart plagued her, she who had thought herself beyond such emotions.

You are ridiculous, Elena. Don’t make a fool of yourself. He’s two decades younger than you and you’re hardly the prettiest woman at court
. But she couldn’t help herself.

Massimo di Kestria was still in his brother’s ear though, and he was determined Lorenzo would uphold family honour – so Elena found herself walking through the ornamental gardens on Massimo’s arm yet again, their eyes on Lorenzo and Cera while the baron bored on about his many children and the sun slowly fell toward the horizon, turning into a discus of pinky-orange light as it descended.

Massimo was about to launch into another diatribe when he froze, his mouth hanging open. Elena followed his gaze to see Lorenzo suddenly down on one knee before Cera in a pretty little rose bower.

His voice carried clearly: ‘Queen-Regent, Cera, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

Cera’s face remained composed. ‘Alas, Lorenzo, I cannot accept,’ she replied in a measured voice. ‘Though your company pleases me and your family are very dear friends to the Nesti, I have vowed to remain an unwed virgin until my brother attains his majority. Please
respect this promise, and know that you have my utmost respect.’

Good Kore, she sounds closer to forty than twenty
, Cera thought, her heart pounding with some kind of relief that she daren’t examine.

Massimo’s face had turned purple and he looked flummoxed. Elena whispered in his ear, ‘Massimo, please give us some privacy,’ and the baron backed off uncertainly.

Cera turned to Elena. ‘Elena, I must rejoin our guests. Could you please ensure that Milord di Kestria is comforted and vouch for the veracity of my oath and of my feelings?’ She bowed lightly, looked down steadily at Lorenzo for a second and then turned and walked away.

Elena stepped into the bower, conscious suddenly that she was alone with Lorenzo. ‘Er … are you all right, Lori?’

Lorenzo climbed apologetically to his feet. ‘I am sorry, Elena, that you have witnessed my discomfort.’ He gave a cautious smile. ‘I have never suffered rejection before.’

‘Have you proposed marriage often then?’ Elena asked drily.

Lorenzo gave her a crooked grin. ‘In truth, my previous proposals have not been of marriage.’

Elena plucked a rose from the bower and pinned it to a buttonhole on his doublet. ‘From what I have observed, there are many women about court who will not provide you much of a challenge when you get over your disappointment.’

‘But it could be that I prefer a challenge,’ he returned, looking her full in the face. ‘When I get over my disappointment, of course.’

‘You don’t look
that
disappointed to me,’ she remarked severely.

He suddenly looked uncertain again. ‘Donna Ella, are we friends again?’ He cocked his head as music started up. ‘Shall we dance?’ he asked, bowing in invitation. ‘That is, if Rondian magi dance?’

She felt a dangerous heat in her breast. ‘Not today – but we do apologise occasionally. I’m sorry for yelling at you. I know you meant well.’

He bowed again. ‘Apology accepted. May we talk then?’ He indicated a seat among the roses.

Elena smiled. ‘All right, but not here. It’s too public, and if one
of Gurvon’s agents is out there and notes us talking, you will be a target.’

‘I’m Captain of Cera’s guard, so I’m a target anyway, but I take your point.’ He looked about the bower and she did too, suddenly enjoying the delicate scents and vivid colours. The city was blossoming, with frangipani and marigolds coating the green spaces in white and orange splashes of colour, filling the air with lovely scents.

‘So,’ he said, ‘my courtship is over.’ He smiled and admitted, ‘I am relieved. She had no interest and if my brother wasn’t being such an ass over it we could have spared everyone the fuss.’

‘You should probably grieve publicly for a while,’ Elena suggested awkwardly.

Lorenzo laughed. ‘Truly there is no one like you, Elena Anborn. In this whole world I’ve heard of no one like you. Even your fellow magi women do not fight like you, with weapons as well as gnosis.’

‘I know this – I’ve heard it from many men. What point do you wish to make?’

‘Just that it does not repel me – and neither do your past sins, or your strange skills. Nor the scars on your body or your soul. I believe I see past them to the woman beneath.’

‘I am twice your age, and I am a foreigner.’

‘Yet you risk your life to remain here.’ He looked back at her, the setting sun catching his face, painting it bronze, like the statue of some hero. ‘My family despair of my ever settling down, but I have several brothers, and my brothers have many sons. I’m not needed at home.’

There was a restlessness in his voice she could empathise with. ‘Is “settling down” what you want?’

‘No: when this danger has passed, I wish to travel again,’ he told her. ‘I love to see new places.’

‘I thought what I wanted was a manor beside a lake in Bricia.’
With Gurvon beside me
. ‘But now I’m a traitor to my people and outlawed throughout the continent of my homeland. I have no home at all.’

‘Then perhaps you too will find solace in the open road, Donna Elena?’

Her mind’s eye showed her an image of herself, dressed in strange robes, standing in an exotic temple, with Lorenzo at her side. It wasn’t an unpleasant thought. She swallowed slightly. ‘Lori, if we live through this, who knows?’

He smiled softly at that. He had a nice mouth and she could remember the way it tasted.
But
…

She clenched her jaw. ‘Lori, I need to tell you something.’

His face tightened. ‘I sense it is something I won’t like.’

‘You won’t. After the Noros Revolt, the Church commissioned Gurvon to destroy an enclave of magi who’d gone into hiding and were fighting on. It was a test – the Inquisitors could have done it themselves, but they wanted to see if Gurvon could be trusted to go after his former allies. They’d fled to a castle town in Schlessen. The population was sympathetic, they sealed off part of the keep and held it secure – with gnosis, defence is often stronger than attack, so they couldn’t easily be taken.

‘They thought themselves safe, but first Gurvon struck those he could reach, human outsiders, and used them to lure the magi out of the keep, singly or in small groups. Any we took were broken and sent back, barely alive, needing the gnosis to keep them living. The city folk began to fear interacting with the rebels. The magi had to pour increasing energies into keeping the injured alive and it quickly broke them down. They split up and we picked them off one by one.’