The Princess of Trelian (12 page)

“I’ll come for you in the morning,” Thomil said.

“All right. Thank you, Mage Thomil.”

The man nodded and stepped out into the hall. Calen sat down on the bed as the door closed. A second later, he was startled to hear the sound of a key turning in the lock. He sprang up and tried the door, just to be sure. They had locked him in. Suddenly the room felt more like a prison cell than just a place to sleep.

Calm down,
he told himself.
You can’t really blame them for not trusting you to stay here after you made it clear you didn’t want to.
Except, he’d agreed to stay, hadn’t he? Who were they to think he’d lie and break his word?

It was insulting, really. But more than that, he just didn’t like being locked in. What if there was some emergency? He supposed he could try to contact Serek if necessary. But . . . not yet. Not about this. Serek would just think he was being unreasonable. He could almost imagine his master’s irritated voice:
What does it matter if they locked you in, if you were planning to stay in the room anyway?

Calen noticed a pile in the corner and took one of the candles over to investigate. Someone had brought his things from his rooms. Well, at least he could change his clothes and wash up. That had actually been pretty considerate of them. Maybe he really was being unreasonable about all of this. Sure, Brevera was obnoxious and surly, but he was just doing his job, after all. And Thomil seemed all right.

Calen got himself ready for bed and lay down on the narrow mattress. Somehow, even though he was very tired, it took him a long time to fall asleep.

In the morning, Calen was up and dressed and waiting impatiently by the time Thomil came and unlocked the door. When the mage led him back to the testing room, Calen stopped in the hallway, dismayed.

“Aren’t we going down to breakfast first?”

Thomil looked uncomfortable. “We’ll have something brought up.”

They did, but not until after Calen had suffered hungrily through another hour of spell identification under Mage Brevera’s unfriendly direction. When a servant finally knocked on the door and was admitted bearing a tray, there wasn’t very much on it. The mages had already eaten, Calen realized with irritation. Probably while he had been sitting there waiting for them to come release him.

He took his time, ignoring the exasperated sighs of Brevera and the worried glances of Thomil. Mettleson still didn’t seem to have an opinion about anything. He just waited silently, sitting on the edge of a table and staring into space.

Once Calen had finished his meal, they resumed the endless testing. They continued until lunch, which was also brought up to the room — this time by two serving maids, bearing much more fully laden trays. After lunch they switched over to divination spells. Calen was relieved at first, since at least this was different and divination was especially fascinating to him. But they wouldn’t explain anything they were doing, and he was unfamiliar with the patterns. Sometimes the mages had him hold the cards or dice or bones or whatever they were using before they began; other times they just looked at him while doing the spells themselves. After one whispered conversation, during which the mages huddled in a corner, Thomil approached Calen, bearing a small knife.

“What is that for?” Calen asked suspiciously.

“We need a drop of your blood,” Thomil said.

“Uh . . . no. Sorry, but I don’t think so.” Were they
crazy
?

Thomil looked over his shoulder at Brevera, who stood with his arms crossed firmly over his chest. Then he turned back to Calen. “Please,” he said. “It won’t hurt. It’s for the next spell.”

“Not unless you explain to me what you’re doing this time,” Calen said. “You’re the ones who keep saying I represent some sort of danger to the Magistratum. If that’s true, I deserve to know what it is.”

“That is what we are attempting to divine,” said a new voice. It took Calen a second to realize it was Mettleson. “We do not yet know exactly how you will harm the Magistratum —”

Calen pounded his foot against the floor, barely missing Thomil’s toes. “I’m not going to harm anything!”

“And the more talking we do about it,” Mettleson continued, ignoring Calen’s outburst, “the less effective the divination spell is likely to be. I believe you know enough about divination to understand that, Apprentice.”

“Don’t waste time cajoling him,” Brevera growled. “Just take his blood and be done with it.”

Calen gaped at Brevera. Thomil closed his eyes for a moment. “Please, Brev,” he said wearily. He opened his eyes again and looked at Calen. “It is not a harmful spell,” he went on in a softer voice. “And really, it won’t hurt. If you refuse, Mage Brevera will only send for the council masters to give you a direct order to comply. Assuming he doesn’t just take it himself by force. I would like to get these tests over with as much as you would, and your cooperation is the quickest way to make that happen. Please, Calen. Hold out your hand.”

Calen closed his mouth and tried to think. He didn’t like the calm way Thomil had informed him that Brevera might just take his blood without his permission. That was not okay. Absolutely not okay. Things were definitely getting out of hand now, he decided. He glanced at the door. He had no doubt that if he tried to run, one of the three mages would be able to stop him before he reached it. And he knew that they could restrain him magically if they chose to. They could do . . . almost anything they wanted to, he realized. His recent lunch felt like a hard little lump in his stomach.

Slowly, he held out his hand.

Thomil nicked him swiftly with the knife, a narrow swipe that nonetheless resulted in an impressive welling up of Calen’s blood. He then healed the tiny cut immediately, before it had a chance to do more than sting. At least he’d been telling the truth about its not really hurting.

The mage carried the bloodied knife back over to where Brevera and Mettleson waited near the larger table in the room. Mettleson seemed to be leading the divination procedures, even though Brevera was clearly still in charge of the whole operation. As Calen watched silently, Mettleson picked up a small pouch made of some kind of shiny black cloth and held it open. At Mettleson’s command, Thomil tipped the knife over the pouch and let the blood slowly drip down into it. Calen felt a little sick. Mettleson pulled the pouch’s drawstring closed again and shook the contents vigorously, then spilled them out across the table. The three men leaned forward, muttering and pointing to different stones and patterns in their arrangement. Calen looked away, not wanting to know if he could see his blood marring the surfaces of any of the stones.

When the mages told him he’d be staying in the locked room again that night, Calen was too shaken to object. He followed Thomil obediently down the hall and sat down on the bed. He watched the door swing closed and heard the key turn in the lock on the other side.

They threatened me,
he thought after Thomil’s footfalls had faded away. But as soon as he thought it, he wasn’t sure. Had they, really? Did Thomil’s assertion that Brevera would have taken his blood whether or not Calen assented count as a threat? Or had Thomil just been trying to be convincing, in order to avoid trouble? They hadn’t really hurt him. Just . . . scared him.

Calen thought again about contacting Serek. But Serek had told him to cooperate. And Calen wanted his master to see that he could do what was required. How would he ever prove that he was capable of so much more than Serek allowed him if he called for help as soon as things got difficult?

Calen made himself get up and get ready for bed. What was he really afraid of, anyway? Brevera and the others weren’t
evil.
He could think of a lot of unpleasant things to call them, but they were still all on the same side. They weren’t going to do anything terrible to him. Okay, the blood thing had been . . . startling, but if they needed it for the spell, then he shouldn’t be a baby about it. It was in his best interest to help move things along, really. Sooner or later they would realize they’d made a mistake about him. They had to, because it
was
a mistake.

Surely they’d finish up tomorrow, anyway. How much more could they really need from him?

But they didn’t finish up the next day. They kept testing long into the evening, and when Calen finally asked them when they would be finished, no one responded — not even Thomil, although he did at least have the grace to look somewhat guilty as he ignored Calen’s question. They took his blood again that day, too. Twice. Calen didn’t object either time, although he wanted to. He kept telling himself it would be over soon, and as Thomil had said, the best way to hurry it along was to cooperate.

But that night, when Thomil led him once more back to the locked room at the end of the corridor, Calen stopped outside the door.

“Please,” he said. “Can I at least talk to Mage Serek? I don’t think he realized how long you would want to keep me here.”

Thomil would not quite look at him. “I’m sorry, Calen. I don’t think Brevera will allow that. Please just continue to cooperate. Don’t — don’t argue with him or give him any reason to be more suspicious.”

“But —” Calen reached out and took hold of Thomil’s arm. “I don’t
understand.
Why is he suspicious at all? What are you trying to figure out with all the testing? I swear, I did not have anything to do with that attack. What is it that you think I’ve done?”

Thomil sighed. “It’s not what you’ve done. It’s what you will do.”

“I’m not going to —”

“Yes. You will.” The mage finally met his eye. “Mettleson is extremely gifted in divination. All three of us have talent in that area, but Mettleson is the most skilled Diviner to come through the Magistratum in many years. There is no doubt about this, Calen. You represent a danger to us. A serious danger, involving — in some way — Mage Krelig. We just can’t figure out exactly what you’ll do.”

This was crazy. Crazy! And wrong. Calen narrowed his eyes. “I know a little about divination,” he said. “You can’t know anything with that much certainty. It doesn’t work that way. Events are always in motion, and things can change. Whatever you see, or think you see — nothing about the future is set in stone.”

“That is true about most kinds of divination, yes,” Thomil agreed. “But Mettleson has a touch of the Sight. When he’s sure about something, he’s sure. He knows that you will act against the Magistratum. If we could just figure out how, maybe we could —” He stopped and looked up the corridor, suddenly seeming to remember where they were. “Please, Calen. Just . . . just continue to cooperate. Personally, I believe that you don’t intend any harm. But that doesn’t matter. You will cause harm all the same. Brevera is a difficult man, but he’s dedicated to protecting the Magistratum. He will do anything to ensure its safety.”

Thomil looked at Calen silently for a moment. Calen didn’t like the expression on his face.

“Be careful,” Thomil said finally. “Don’t . . . provoke him.”

He gestured, and Calen went into the room without another word. Thomil locked the door behind him.

It was definitely time to contact Serek.

He had done it twice before, months back, without really knowing what he was doing. The first time he had reached out to Serek in desperation, when he had realized Sen Eva was trying to kill him and Meg, after they’d overheard her plans. The second time Sen Eva had also been trying to kill them, and he’d had to borrow some of Meg’s strength in order to cast the spell, feeling his way through the whole process as he went along. Since then, Serek had taught him how to do it properly, letting him practice during lessons but warning him (
several
times) not to otherwise use the spell except in emergencies. Serek claimed it could only be used to contact other mages, but Calen had learned long ago that not everything Serek said was impossible really was, so he had wasted no time in trying it out on Meg. They hadn’t been able to work it out, though. He was sure there was a way to do it, but he was going to have to keep experimenting, trying to find the key.

For now, though, he only had to contact Serek, and that he knew how to do. He took a deep breath and cleared his mind, pushing all the worry and irritation and exhaustion away to a place where it couldn’t distract him. He began to gather the magical energy he needed, opening himself up to it, feeling the potential power of it growing inside him. Carefully, he created a picture of Serek in his mind, preparing to open a channel of communication between them. And then, once he was ready, he sent out the beam of white energy he’d constructed, just the right amount to get Serek’s attention without scaring the pants off him, which is what had happened that first time, when Calen had sent everything he’d had at his master in his panic and lack of knowledge. Amusement tugged at the edges of Calen’s consciousness as he remembered this, but he pushed it away, forcing himself to focus. The energy streamed out, seeking Serek, and — smashed into some kind of barrier.

Calen jerked backward, startled out of his careful concentration.
What —?
He must have let himself get distracted after all. He composed himself and tried again. But again he felt the spell come up against a wall of some kind, stopping its progress.

They’re blocking me,
he realized, fear and anger growing in equal measure inside him.
Brevera and the others are blocking me from communicating with Serek.

He tried again, even though he suspected it was hopeless, pushing as hard as he could against the barrier. Nothing. It felt very solid and secure, and he didn’t see a way to get around or through it.

He thought for a moment, then sent a flicker of magic at the candles, blowing them out. That worked, and lighting them again worked, too. It seemed he could cast at will within his room, as long as he didn’t try to send anything outside of it. That was somewhat comforting, although not immediately helpful. Unless . . . He looked at the door.

He thought of Thomil’s final words in the corridor, and how anxious and unhappy the man had seemed. Thomil did not think Brevera was going to release Calen anytime soon. They were keeping him here against his will, as a prisoner. Blocking his ability to communicate with his master.