The Magic Council (The Herezoth Trilogy) (14 page)

She was through with him, all right.
Dorane knew she meant to stay in Yangerton, mainly because she had only that
day learned of his leave from work. A full month, and she hadn’t once taken a
picnic lunch to the mill to eat with him like she used to do three times a
week, sometimes four if the weather allowed. On top of that, she had learned
how he’d spent that month, days as well as evenings, with the Fist, which was
an indirect way of saying with Ursa. Drea hated Ursa, was insanely jealous of
the woman for no reason at all, even after Dorane swore up and down there was
nothing between them and never would be. Which was the truth.

Drea hadn’t mentioned Ursa that night.
That was another sign she had given up on Dorane. If she hoped for a future
with him, Drea would have raged about the magicked woman, would have gotten
everything in the open in order to move past it.

Dorane
had not expected to find his wife resolved to leave him, but then, he had only
seen the woman twice in the last six weeks. Neither encounter had gone well,
which should have served him as a warning. He’d mentioned business with the
Fist that would take him to Yangerton each night for the foreseeable future; he’d
explained that things were hectic with the group, and he could not sleep at
home but would have to stay at headquarters for a while (a bold-faced lie). He’d
forgotten their picnic lunches at the mill, forgotten to tell Drea not to go
out to meet him, but in the end hadn’t needed to broach the topic. After
cursing Ursa and magic, yelling about caring for Zate by her lonesome, and
finally telling Dorane to do whatever he wanted—after all that, to bring
her son and some sandwiches to her husband’s place of work was the last thing
on her mind.

To
think of Zate was far more painful than of Drea. Dorane could only tell himself
that at this point, both his son and his wife were better off without him. They
were safer without him, if nothing else, provided they left home. Dorane hoped
the king might grant the council and let August go—the girl would be in
no danger if he granted the Fist’s council—but there was no guarantee the
man would bend, for Rexson had proved obstinate in the past. Come time for
Arbora to leak rumors of his telekinesis, well….

The
news would cause protests, panic, and violence. Dorane’s family should be
somewhere no one could associate Zate with magic, somewhere like Yangerton,
where no one but Drea’s immediate family knew she had married one sorcerer here
in Podrar and given birth to another. Dorane could offer to transport Drea and
the tot, but he knew she would refuse, and he still deemed it better for
himself not to see his son. So he leaned against the logs of the cabin’s front
wall, determined to keep vigil until Reeta’s carriage came up the dirt road.
Drea wouldn’t know, she mustn’t know, but he figured one night’s watch was the
least he owed her.

CHAPTER TEN

The Next Move

The next morning, after breakfast, Vane
and August went to the Palace library. The room was an impressive one, not wide
but three stories tall. A staircase and series of platforms around the
perimeter gave access to the shelves, shelves that covered every inch of every
wall not occupied by a window or the fireplace. August had borrowed a servant’s
frock, one that fit her well, and so felt more at ease than she had in the
queen’s gown, though her brain still went fuzzy when she looked at the
portraits of the king’s forebears in the halls and marked the swagger of the
men’s expressions, the women’s haughty elegance. Vane had just recounted his
dilemma about binding his powers. August had to admit:

“I don’t know what you should do. To be a
duke and a sorcerer at the same time…. I understand why you feel torn, but I
haven’t the foggiest idea if it’s best for you to take your own powers away.
Maybe things will clear up if you imagine someone else in your position,
someone you respect.”

Vane’s mind hit upon Zacry. “Do you have
someone?” she asked. Vane nodded. “Well, pretend that person, just the way you
know them, was Zalski’s nephew instead of you. Would he have a duty of some
kind to abandon sorcery?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Oh,” said August. She screwed her face
in confusion. “That was mighty quick, and a strong response. Are you sure
you’re as torn you think?”

“Maybe I’m not,” said Vane. No doubt
remained in his mind. To view the problem from August’s suggested vantage point
had shown him he imagined any responsibility to give up magic.

“It took me forever to fall asleep last
night,” said August. “I kept thinking about you and your uncle. Do you ever
wonder what would have happened to you if he’d survived? I mean, do you think
you might have ended up his right-hand man or something?”

“I try not to consider that. It hasn’t
done me any good, and it’s really just empty speculation.” He paused. “Is that
why you thought I was a spy? Because of my uncle?”

“The king told you about that?” August
pulled on her curls. “Vane, that wasn’t the reason, not at all. Your uncle had
nothing to do with it. The king warned me the spy might be friendly, that he
might want me to confide in him, and I realized what a great deal I’d already
told you because you were so kind after, well, after knocking me on the head.”

Vane had knocked no one on the head. He
had tripped her and she’d hit her face on the stairs, but he saw nothing to
gain from voicing the distinction.

“It had nothing to do with Zalski,”
August insisted. “It really didn’t.”

The sorcerer relaxed his tense
expression. He was astounded how relieved he felt by the girl reinforcing her
denial; he remembered Francie running away, dripping wet, from the riverbank
after seeing his mark.

This
girl’s different. She’s telling the truth. She doesn’t hold my birth against
me. She resents that I tripped her, though. How could I have been so dumb as to
think she was Ursa?

“You did right to suspect me,” he said.
“You should be wary of strangers around here. Not paranoid, there’s no reason
for that, but honestly, we don’t
know
who told your sister where the boys would be.”

“I didn’t want it to be you. I was a bit,
a bit shaken when it struck me that it could have been.” Her voice grew quiet,
like on the day before. “You know, I wonder sometimes how I’d have turned out,
if my father had raised me. Whether I’d be like Ursa, or whether her magic
would have made me bitter. Things like that are strange to contemplate, aren’t
they?”

“So don’t bother with them.”

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot since
Ursa stole those boys away. That’s what troubled me about you and your uncle.
It reminded me of myself. It’s more or less the same, isn’t it? The nightmares
that could have been.”

Vane agreed it was the same.

“Vane,” said August. “Vane…. It’s an odd
name, isn’t it? I don’t know that it suits you. It makes me think of a
weathervane spinning any which way with a gust of wind. Like you let people
bully you. I’ve always loved names,” she explained. “I like to think they
reveal something about people. My name doesn’t fit me either. August’s the
hottest month, when the sun’s overbearing, but I’m not. At least, I like to
think I’m not.”

Vane admitted, “My parents named me
Valkin.”

August’s eyes grew wide. “Did they?
That’s a good name, a strong name. Much stronger than Vane is. Does anyone call
you Valkin? Would you mind if I did? Not Valkin perhaps—that’ll always be
the king’s son— but Val, maybe?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” said Vane. It seemed
appropriate to have at least one person call him by his father’s name, after
what he had read in Laskenay’s journal. “And your name has a second meaning,
did you know that? It means
majestic
.”

August thought of herself clad in the
queen’s gown, feeling drowned by mounds of fabric. “That doesn’t match me
either.”

“You could learn to be august,” Vane told
her.

“How? I don’t know who August is.” Before
Vane could respond, the oak-paneled doors of the library flew open, and the
princes barged in. August smiled, a strained smile.

Neslan told her, “We have an hour before
lessons.”

“You never finished that story about Sir
Brogle,” said Valkin.

“Could you finish it now?” asked Hune.

August told him, “Of course I can,” and
motioned for Hune to climb up next to her. Vane started to rise, but Neslan
told him to stay.

Valkin looked put out. “We’re halfway
through the story. What if he doesn’t know it?”

Hune said, “August can start from the
beginning again and finish up tomorrow. Or the day after. And after that,” he
looked up at the girl, “could you read us more about Adage? We have that book
around somewhere.”

August patted his shoulder. “Most
definitely,” she agreed. It would be nice, for an hour a day, not to worry
about spies, or when she might be able to leave the Palace, or where she would
go when that time came. She had started telling stories to bring comfort to the
boys, and now, with no idea of it, the boys would comfort her through
listening.

* * *

After breakfast, Bendelof and Zacry were
talking outside the guest stables, waiting while a teenager saddled two horses
for them. They planned to go for a morning ride before meeting with Rexson to
discuss the king’s next move: like in the old games of strategy Zacry had read
about, rarely played nowadays, where two men each hoped to capture an
opponent’s tokens while defending his own. Players alternated turns and, each
round, moved one of various pieces usually carved from wood.

Such a game was the analogy that kept
coming to Zacry’s mind—a battle of wits between Dorane’s supporters and the
king’s—though the comparison had its flaws. There was no patient waiting
for the opponent to slide a piece, and no rules of engagement existed but those
each enforced upon himself. Zacry thrived on the distinction. He had always
been a restless soul, so the freedom to act whenever he should choose suited
his inclinations. Mostly, he wanted to nab the culprits and get back to his
family. For now, Bennie’s company was a pleasant substitute, and he told her he
would be glad to transport her to Yangerton later in the week, to pack her
things.

“What do you think of Gratton?” she
asked. “He offered his help to get settled here. I think I’ll take it.”

Zacry’s response was immediate. “Let him
help you move, that’s fine. As for any connection beyond that, you can do
better.”

Bennie blinked. “He’s rough around the
edges. So what? So was Ranler, but it never stopped him being kind to me. You
know how much he taught me. He meant more to me than all the rest. Oh, not in a
romantic sense. I would never have married him, but that’s because his value
system never quite meshed with mine, not because he was gruff. Bluster doesn’t
bother me. What I can’t handle is a…. I guess you could call it coldness. A
calculated control of what you feel. Zalski had that.”

“Look, Bennie, I don’t like Gratton. He’s
got a military mind, and the way he uses it irks me. I trust him well enough.
And he’s wise to suggest you move to Podrar. I just don’t like the man, which
has nothing to do with you and him. If you want to give him a shot, give him a
shot. If he hurts you, put the details in the next letter you write Kora and
he’ll have me to deal with.”

“You think he’d break my heart, then? Or
beat me? Which one?”

“Neither. Like I said, I trust him. But
if he does a thing to you, you let me know.”

“If you trust him, why do you insist…?
What’s that?”

“Where?”

“On the window.”

Something flat and rectangular was just
visible where it stuck out beyond the sill. Zacry went up to it; it was a
letter, fixed against the wind with one of the larger pebbles from the
cobblestone path a few yards away. The missive, the note—whatever it
was—was sealed and addressed to the king, but Zacry slit it open and
whispered it aloud for Bendelof’s benefit, forgetting she had learned to read
in the past few years. The script was uneven, untidy, but he had no trouble
making sense of the symbols that composed it.

To
the king:

I’m
dismayed, heartfully dismayed, that you would think it appropriate to imprison
family members of the magicked. You’ve become a tyrant—August Hincken
won’t be safe in freedom, but nothing justifies holding her captive. Consider
this an official request for her release. She has no business in the Palace,
none at all, and I’ll accept no excuse or explanation for her presence there.
You are not within your rights to enslave the girl. You fear social unrest?
Then don’t force me to make everything that’s happened public knowledge. The
magicked will rise as one against you for August’s sake, and the kingdom itself
may revolt when it learns your secret, unless—you know my demands. You
have one week to let the girl go and to publicly declare your intentions.

                                           
-Arbora
Anders

Bennie said, “Intentions for a council?”

“Yes, for that council she wants.”

Anger reddened Bennie’s cheeks. “How dare
she accuse Rexson of kidnapping that girl? After what she let Dorane and Ursa
do to his boys?”

The sorcerer said, “Arbora knows what a
hypocrite she is, she has to. Knows the king’s no danger to August. This is
just a ploy. It’s the only way she could grab a position to bargain from, now
she’s lost the children, and she jumped at it, probably feeling desperate.
Unluckily for us, it just might be enough for her, if she’s prepared to keep
her word. Come on.”

Zacry grabbed Rexson’s spy by the arm,
and they walked back to the Palace. They didn’t bother to take leave of the
stable hand, who led out two saddled mares to find their riders gone just as
Zacry and Bendelof found the king in the library. He had removed his outer robe
and had a stack of papers, dealing with trade laws, set beside his armchair and
looking like it might tumble any moment. He folded the document he was reading
when the all too familiar incantation for a sound barrier reached his ears.

“We’ll need to act on this,” Zacry told
the king. He threw Arbora’s letter to Rexson. “They planted it at the stables.”

“When?” asked Rexson. “How?”

“How should I know?” said Zacry.

Rexson began to read. Almost immediately,
he lowered Arbora’s letter with a steady hand. “Bennie, get Gracia. And
Gratton, on second thought.” He was oddly calm, overcome by a forced serenity.
Zacry took down the sound barrier and Bennie darted off, leaving Rexson to ask
the sorcerer, his tone as though they discussed the weather, “Can your wife and
Kora take my children in between them? Two each? I wouldn’t want to force all
four on one of them.”

“Don’t split the boys up,” suggested
Zacry. “Kora can take Melly. Heaven knows she can handle a little one. The boys
can play with her kids during the day, or study with them, and sleep at my
house. Kora’s place is already overflowing. Otherwise, she’d insist on keeping
them too.”

“I don’t want to impose, but if word
should get out I have powers….”

“Listen, your kids have been through
enough. They don’t need some prejudiced lunatic coming after them because they
inherited your magic. They’ll be safe in Traigland, which is all that matters,
all right? What’ll we
do here in
Herezoth? That’s the question.”

“We’ll find Arbora and her stooges within
the week. We have to.”

“And August?”

The king had no answer, but the girl
herself soon entered the library behind Vane, Gratton, Bennie, and the queen.

“I figured August should be here,” Bennie
said, a bit sheepishly. “The letter does concern her.”

“And I decided to tag along,” Vane said,
half-apologizing. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”