The Fire Prince (The Cursed Kingdoms Trilogy Book 2) (54 page)

“You were the only one who woke,” Innis said. “Maybe that’s why you remember.”

“Yes,” Rand said, frowning. “And that’s another point. How were you able to wake up? Why did it affect you least of all?”

Harkeld shrugged. “I didn’t like the dream. I was trying to stop it. Maybe it couldn’t feed off me as much?”

“Maybe.”

“They’re here because the curse shadows got darker, aren’t they?” Innis said. “Guarding the anchor stone. Like the corpses.”

“They certainly weren’t here before,” Cora said. “Sentinels have been coming here for centuries, checking on the stone. Someone would have noticed.”

Rand snorted.

“They can’t possibly be natural,” Hew said.

“They’re not, or at least the ones in Sondvaal weren’t. They were created by magic.” Rand’s voice became mellow and sing-song, like a story-teller’s: “Once upon a time, long, long ago, when the moon was young in the sky and the oceans were newborn, there lived a maiden so lovely that skylarks sang of her beauty.” His tone became brisk again. “Beautiful virgin betrothed to powerful mage. Mage goes off on a quest and doesn’t
quite
trust his intended’s fidelity. Lays a curse that will kill her if she’s unfaithful—and, incidentally, almost every adult nearby.” He grimaced. “And she
is
unfaithful. And the mage is so righteously enraged that he refuses to remove the curse, and it takes a couple of centuries before someone figures out how to destroy it. Or so the tale goes.” He shrugged. “Who knows how true it is?”

“It’s safe to say Ivek knew the tale,” Harkeld said.

Rand tilted his head in agreement.

“And we can assume the breathstealers will stop once Flin destroys the anchor stone,” Cora said. “Like the corpses. All we have to do is survive another couple of nights and we’ll be all right. Thank the All-Mother you haven’t finished your training, Innis, or we’d be dead. It was a great stroke of fortune to have you with us.”

An emotion briefly crossed Innis’s face. Grief? She shook her head.

“Training?” Harkeld said, not following that last comment.

“One of the last things a mage is trained in is sex,” Rand said.

“Trained in
sex
? You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?” He glanced at Cora for confirmation.

Cora shook her head. “Losing one’s virginity can be dangerous for mages. In the past, deaths weren’t uncommon. Nowadays... well, there was a terrible incident about fifteen years ago, but no deaths since then that I’m aware of. And very few for the past century.”

Harkeld gaped at her. Ebril hadn’t mentioned training in
sex
. “Dangerous how?” he asked, disbelief clear in his voice.

“It depends whether you’re male or female, and what your magic is,” Rand said. “A young male fire mage such as yourself could lose control of his magic while experiencing the, er, throes of passion for the first time and burn his bed partner. A shapeshifter such as Hew”—he nodded across the fire—“might inadvertently change shape and harm whoever he’s lying with. Or just scare her half to death.”

Harkeld realized that his mouth was still open. He shut it.

“It’s much more dangerous if the mage is female,” Cora said. “That’s when the deaths usually occur. Losing one’s virginity can hurt, you see. Quite badly, for some girls. And sometimes mages panic, even though they know what to expect. That’s what happened with young Ana, fifteen years ago. She set fire to her instructor, burned him to death. Very distressing for everyone. Ana never got over it. Killed herself a while later.”

“And a female shapeshifter can badly maul her bed partner if she panics,” Rand said. “It’s natural to fight back, after all, if someone hurts you. Hence the training.”

Cora nodded. “To lose your virginity in controlled surroundings, after theoretical instruction, with someone who knows what he—or she—is doing, considerably reduces the risk.”

Harkeld opened his mouth again, and then closed it, speechless with astonishment.

“For healers like me, the risk is somewhat different,” Rand said. “Our magic doesn’t harm, but it... how to put it...? it
nurtures
. If a healer has strong feelings for his bed partner, he’ll impregnate her every time he lies with her, even if sponges or dung-root juice are used. A casual tup with a serving maid, probably not...” There was a sly gleam of amusement in Rand’s eyes. “But with someone he loves, yes. And she’ll probably give birth to triplets or even quadruplets.”

Harkeld shook his head. His mouth had come open again. He shut it.

“Female healers such as our Innis have a similar problem. Extreme fertility. Especially if they’re deeply attached to a lover. With training, they can learn how
not
to become pregnant every time they have sex, and how to have only one or two babies at a time, not four or five.”

Harkeld shook his head again. Not because he didn’t believe Rand, but because it was almost too much to take in. “Ebril told me a bit about your training, but he never... ” His thoughts wouldn’t sit still long enough for him to catch them. He tried to grab one of them. “But I’m a fire mage and I’ve been having sex for years without any accidents!”

Rand’s lips quirked. “Yes, Katlen was horrified when you went off with that maid. She wanted to stop you.”

“If you’d been a female and a virgin, we
would
have stopped you,” Cora said.

Harkeld tried to assimilate this.
They discussed stopping me?
He felt indignant and affronted, and then alarmed. “But... I could have burned her, couldn’t I? The serving maid, I mean. I didn’t know about my magic before then, so all the others were safe, but by Gdelsk...” He trailed off in response to Rand’s headshake.

“It doesn’t work like that. You’ve had the ability to do magic since you were about eleven or twelve. You could easily have burned a bed partner. In fact, it could have been the first expression of your fire magic. You obviously keep magic and sex quite separate up here.” Rand tapped his temple.

Harkeld sat for a moment trying to think this through. Another thought spun past. He grabbed it. “But Ebril said that some mages only stay a year or two at the Academy. Do they get this... this kind of training before they leave? They’d still be children!”

“Of course not,” Cora said. “They come back when they’re older. And if their ability is slight, it’s often not necessary. A fire mage with no more strength than it takes to light a candle wouldn’t need the training.”

Harkeld absorbed this information, his thoughts settling into place. “So... there are instructors at the Academy who just spend their lives giving lessons in sex?”

“There’s an instructor who teaches the theory,” Rand said. “But not the practice. She’s in her fifties now, I believe.”

“The practical instructors are strong mages, often Sentinel strength, whom the Council judge to have the right qualities,” Cora said. “They make themselves available for a year or two, between their other duties.”

Harkeld’s eyebrows rose. “Sentinels?”

“Some Sentinels choose not to. It’s certainly not required. Sex is a very intimate thing, after all, and losing one’s virginity to someone who’s little more than a stranger is... awkward, and can be embarrassing and even distressing if it’s not handled correctly.”

“Or deadly,” Rand said, with a grimace. “I knew Keran, the instructor who was burned. It was extremely upsetting for everyone. Especially his wife and children.”

Harkeld’s eyebrows hitched even higher. “He was married?”

“Some instructors are, some aren’t. Obviously one’s spouse must support the choice. Not all do.”

The mages must have a very odd society if it was acceptable for married men—and women?—to give sexual instruction to strangers.
But very sensible, too,
a tiny voice in his head pointed out. Especially if the risks were so high.

He glanced from Cora, to Rand, and then back to Cora again.
Have either of you been instructors?
But he couldn’t bring himself to ask the question aloud.

“Late-twenties to mid-thirties is the age range for instructors,” Rand said. “Old enough to be confident and experienced, but not
too
old. Someone who’s as old as your mother or father is obviously... hmm.” Rand left that thought unsaid. “Patience, tact, a sense of humor... What other things do they look for, Cora?”

“Probity. Integrity. I’m sure you appreciate that the system is open to abuse if the wrong instructors are chosen.”

Harkeld nodded.

“An instructor receives tuition himself, before he or she begins,” Rand continued. “Teaching someone how to control their magic during sex is quite different from bedding a lover, or a quick tup with a casual bed partner. It’s demanding, and I don’t just mean physically. Trying to give magical instruction at the same time as performing a, er... complex physical act—without giving the student a distaste for sex, or even worse, a fear of it—is... well, it’s not easy.”

Yes, Rand had done it.

Harkeld stared at him, fascinated. Rand was in his mid-forties, wiry and weather-beaten, but a decade or two ago, he’d instructed young female mages in sex. Young healers probably. Like Innis.

He glanced at Innis. Who would instruct her?

It was an unsettling thought. He barely knew Innis, but he didn’t like the idea of a stranger bedding her. It gave him an uncomfortable feeling in his chest.

“If it’s Sentinels who instruct, and Sentinels who’re the students... wouldn’t that mean that people can end up working with the person who instructed them? Wouldn’t that be, um, awkward?”

Cora shook her head. “Dareus was my instructor.”

Harkeld gaped at her. And then consciously shut his mouth.

He examined Cora’s face. Dareus had been her instructor. Had Cora been an instructor in her turn? He thought she probably had. Cora was a good teacher. Patient and matter-of-fact.

“Are you married?” he asked abruptly. Did Cora have a husband waiting for her?

Cora nodded.

Harkeld glanced at Rand. “And you?”

Rand nodded too.

“Children?”

Both mages nodded.

Cora and Rand had children. The knowledge gave him a leaden, constricted feeling in his stomach.
I mustn’t let them die for me.

“What about Dareus?”

“A wife and three children,” Cora said. “Two of his children are training to be Sentinels.”

“And Katlen? Gerit?”

“Katlen’s husband died several years ago. One of her sons has nearly finished his Sentinel training. Gerit was married too, but his children aren’t old enough for the Academy yet.”

Young children? The leaden feeling in his stomach swelled. It felt like a tumor sitting inside him, heavy and malignant. Harkeld recognized it for what it was: guilt.

“Their families don’t know they’re dead,” he said. “Do they?”

“Dareus’s may, by now. Katlen sent word back from Stanic.”

Did she tell them it was my fault?

Harkeld rubbed his face. The skin felt stiff beneath the scratchy stubble. “What about Ebril? And Frane and Susa? Were they married?”
And why did I never ask Ebril that myself, while he was alive?

“No.”

But they’d have parents, brothers and sisters, people who loved them, who would grieve for them. Harkeld squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the guilt swell inside him.

“Sentinels’ families are aware of the risks,” Rand said. “We all know, every time we leave, that it could be the last time we see each other.” Harkeld opened his eyes and looked at him. Rand’s face was as calm as his voice. He’d accepted that he might never see his wife and children again.

If I can help it, you will see them
.

“And most missions are achieved without loss of life,” Cora said. “It’s rare for Sentinels to die. Truly.” She glanced at Innis as she said this, her expression difficult to interpret. Sympathy?

Harkeld looked down at his hands.
No more dead because of me,
he vowed.

But even as he made the vow, he knew it was impossible to keep. Until the last two anchor stones were destroyed, he needed the mages’ protection, and while they protected him, they were at risk.

“Did you never consider...” He looked up, swallowed. “Did you never consider cutting off my hands and taking my blood?”

Cora recoiled slightly. “All-Mother forbid! Of course not!”

“It would be easier for you to travel. Safer. Quicker. Shapeshifters could take them and fly ahead. If you’d done it back in Lundegaard, then—”

“Flin,” Cora said, uttering a laugh that was more horrified than amused. “Do you
want
us to do that?”

“No.” He wanted to live. But so had Ebril. “But I don’t want any more of you to die because of me.”

Cora’s horrified amusement faded. Her eyes narrowed slightly. Her gaze seemed to see inside him. “It’s not your fault they’re dead.”

He set his jaw.
Yes, it is
.

Cora glanced at Rand. “What is it about young people?” she asked, her tone wry.

Rand shrugged and shook his head.