Daughter of the Disgraced King (4 page)

She took a moment to catch her breath. “See. That’s what makes
all of this so confusing. I can’t think straight when—”

“Then don’t think.” This time he did pull her across,
spilling the wine he’d poured for them, until she was nearly sitting in his lap
and kissed her again. It seemed to go on forever—and she wanted it to—but
eventually they had to stop to breathe.

Ailsa backed off and stood up on shaky legs. She couldn’t
let this go on, or else . . . or else she really never would get to the Institute of Magical Arts. “I really think we should go now.”

Sav stood up and held his hands out to her. “I’m sorry. I
shouldn’t have—”

Ailsa took his hands and then dropped them in favor of
wrapping her arms around him. They fit together so nicely. Her head felt just
right against his shoulder. “Don’t be sorry, Sav. It’s because I don’t want to
stop that I know we need to.” She breathed out a long sigh. “You aren’t making
this any easier for me. I want to go to the Institute and I want to stay with
you. I just wish I didn’t have to choose one or the other.”

“But you will have to choose. You know how the barons feel
about magic mixing with politics.”

She snorted. “No one better. If they weren’t so stupid about
that, my father would still be king.” And Sav’s father would still be just a
distant cousin of the king, running estates out in the borderlands. And she and
Sav might never have met. It wasn’t like they were even close family. Not like
Perion, who was Papa’s sister’s son. The blood connection between King Ewart
and Papa was six or seven generations old, dating back to the founding of Far
Terra. Not even close enough for them to have met at occasional family
functions.

Sav stiffened. “Do you . . . do you wish your father hadn’t
abdicated when he married your mother?”

Ailsa leaned back to look in his face. “Not for myself.” She
looked back toward the overlook. “For Far Terra, yes. We wouldn’t be in this
fix if Papa were still king.” And Mama, a mage, would have been queen.

Sav pulled her back against him. “Things would be simpler
for us, too, I guess.”

Ailsa shook her head against his chest. Would have, should
have, but would never be. Everything was just too complicated right now. She
needed time to think—without him confusing her still more. A year away seemed
like a very good way to do that right now. She took a step back.

Sav winced. “Will I see you again before you go?”

“Not . . . not alone. I don’t think either of us can trust
ourselves right now. But if you don’t come to say goodbye to me tomorrow night,
I’m going to be very upset.”

Sav’s voice was ragged. “Well, then, we can’t have that.”

~

Ailsa stood in the doorway of the stables, blinking as her
eyes adjusted to the cool, dark interior. Pearl whickered a greeting from two
stalls down. Ailsa stepped forward, past her father’s big gelding, and offered Pearl
the carrot she’d brought from the kitchens. The mare accepted the offering gravely
and munched despite the full manger. Finished with the carrot, Pearl lowered her head and nudged Ailsa’s chest. Ailsa rubbed the velvet nose and buried
her face in the silken mane. “Oh, I’m going to miss you! But it’s only for a
year, Pearl. Remember that. I’ll be back.”

“We’ll see that she’s well taken care of for you.”

Ailsa jumped at the sound of her father’s voice. “Papa, I
didn’t expect you to be here.”

“I thought I might find you out here. And there are a few
things I want to say to you before you go tomorrow.”

Ailsa smiled wryly. “I think Mama has already given me every
kind of advice there is—including some that are mutually exclusive. I don’t see
how I can both study hard and make sure I get out a lot and meet new people.”

Papa guffawed. “Well, that’s because your mother isn’t sure
what it is she wants for you—great magic or a good marriage. That last is
something you can’t have here.”

Part of her wanted to tell her father about Sav’s proposal.
It would be a relief to have someone to talk to about it, but Papa would certainly
not keep it a secret from Mama. Ailsa didn’t think this was the sort of thing
she wanted to discuss with her mother. Not yet, anyway. That gown Mama had had
made for her suggested that Mama would probably push her to accept Sav’s
proposal. The one thing Ailsa was sure of was that she didn’t want anybody
pushing her to make this decision before she was ready.

Papa went on before she had a chance to say anything. “That’s
because of my decisions. I’m sorry, Ailsa. I never thought at the time how my
choices would constrain yours, how much of an outsider they would make you even
here. I’m sorry for that.”

“Well, Papa, if you hadn’t chosen Mama over political power,
I wouldn’t even exist would I?”

Papa smiled and leaned on the edge of Pearl’s stall. “It
wasn’t only the choice to marry your mother. I could have chosen to fight the
barons. I was already king and the emperor would have backed me. The Far Terran
attitude toward mages has been a frustration to the Imperial government for
decades.

“But, by then, you were on the way, and I didn’t want to
risk things turning bloody, which they might have. Of course, I never
anticipated Ewart’s insecurities, either. The choice to abdicate didn’t
guarantee your safety the way I’d hoped, after all.

“But the Imperial capital is a different world, a world in
which political power and magical power are not artificially separated. The
Empress herself is a healer mage of some talent, I hear. If you think you can
find happiness there, Ailsa, take it. Take it with both hands and don’t look
back.”

Ailsa threw her arms around her father. “I don’t think I
could be happy anywhere but Far Terra.”

He sighed. “I’m afraid we’ve made it impossible for you to
be truly happy here.”

Not necessarily.
But Ailsa decided to keep that to
herself for now. Both Mama and Papa seemed set on matchmaking for her. She’d
rather take the time to consider her choice for herself. And, surely, Sav
deserved to be the first one to know whatever she decided. That was the least
she owed him.

Early the next morning, Ailsa gave each of her parents one
last hug and turned to board the stagecoach that would take her to the imperial
capital. It was a plain, functional coach that, from the visible wear, had made
many trips across the desert. When she put her weight on the small folding step
to climb in, the coach swayed alarmingly. Evidently, maintenance hadn’t
included replacing the worn springs. Hopefully, the roads wouldn’t be too rough
or this was going to be a very bumpy ride. The padding on the seats was thin,
too. Ailsa sighed. It would have been faster and more comfortable just to ride Pearl
all the way. She wouldn’t have had to share the cramped space with strangers,
either.

As soon as she was aboard, the four guards climbed up to the
seats on the top of coach. Ailsa placed the smaller valise that held the things
she’d need en route under her seat and leaned out of the window to wave goodbye
one more time. She caught a glimpse of Sav at the back of the crowd, shoulders
slumped. She couldn’t remember him looking quite so sad since his mother died,
four years ago.

She waved to him, but her palm itched to take his hand, touch
his face, and tell him that it would be all right. She almost reached for the
door latch before the coach started to move. No. She couldn’t go back. Not
until she’d at least found out what kind of magic she had. She waved once more
and sat back in her seat, resolving to write to Sav as soon as she arrived.
That much, she could do. She’d already promised to write her parents to let
them know that she’d arrived safely. It was time to look forward, not back.

Ailsa had never traveled far before—and never alone or in a
public conveyance. Papa could have sent her by private coach, but that might
have been construed as an impolitic show of wealth and privilege. The public
coach wouldn’t be as comfortable, but there were royal guards riding on top, so
it should be, if anything, safer than a private carriage.

Ailsa sat back and turned her attention to her fellow
passengers. An elderly man had the seat next to Ailsa. He’d already leaned his
head against the opposite wall of the coach, closed his eyes, and started to
snore—loudly. A young girl sat across from Ailsa, apparently accompanied by the
woman about Mama’s age sitting next to her.

On the other side of the woman, sat a slightly younger man—too
old to be her son and too young for her husband. From the distance between them
on the bench, Ailsa didn’t think they were traveling together. His clothing and
appearance would be consistent with a well-off merchant or maybe some distant
relative of one of the barons. Nothing about him should be alarming except for
his manner. His open, appraising stare made Ailsa want to pull the demure
collar of her traveling dress closed in spite of the growing desert heat. Ailsa
looked away. He had no business looking at her like that, but perhaps a closed
coach wasn’t the best place to confront him about it. They were already as far
apart as the coach permitted. It would be best to try to ignore him.

Ailsa smiled uncertainly across at the woman and turned to
look out her window. The road was wide enough for two coaches to pass each other
going in opposite directions. Ailsa’s seat gave her a view on the outer side of
the road, where a double row of sycamore trees shaded the highway from the
desert sun. The trees weren’t thick enough to completely obscure the desert
beyond.

Ailsa felt heavy and enervated.
It must be all the
emotional ups and downs of the last few days.
She had trouble even keeping
her eyes open, but she didn’t want to miss anything on this trip. If only
everything along this highway didn’t look so much the same . . .

Ailsa jerked awake as the coach pulled to a stop. She couldn’t
have slept all day. No, the sun was high overhead and the heat was oppressive.
They’d come to a wider green area, surrounding a small oasis. A rustic building
made of crude mud bricks stood across a cobbled yard. The coachmen leaped down
and began to unhitch the sweaty horses.

One of the guards climbed down from the roof right in front
of her, making Ailsa start. He opened her door and stood back. “We’ll stop here
for a meal and to change the horses. If you’d care to disembark . . .”

Ailsa stepped down and stood in the yard, uncertain what to
do now. She stretched gratefully, easing out the kinks in her neck and legs.
The coach’s springs weren’t nearly as good as those on her father’s coach. It
was surprising that she’d been able to doze with all the bouncing, but maybe
she’d needed that nap. She certainly felt better. The midday
heat didn’t seem to bother her so much, even though there was no air moving at
all. The others climbed out of the coach more slowly. Ailsa followed them inside.

Inside, a long table of rough boards was already set with
five places, platters of cheese, fruit, bread, and two pitchers of water
.
Ailsa sat down at one end of the table, across from
the older woman and her daughter. She poured herself a cup of water before
anything else. She’d forgotten how parched the desert could make her feel, even
without moving around much. The rude man sat down beside her—too close beside
her for Ailsa’s liking. She shifted over a little away from him.

The older woman watched Ailsa as she helped herself to some
of the cheese and dried fruit and pulled a piece off the loaf that was clearly
meant to be pulled apart rather than sliced.

“So, where is it you’re going?” the older woman asked.

Ailsa swallowed the bite of cheese she’d been chewing. “I’m
on my way to the Institute of Magical Arts.”

“By yourself?”

“Oh, my grandmother lives in the capital. She teaches at the
Institute, in fact. She’ll meet me when we arrive.”

“Ah,” the older woman said and seemed to relax slightly.

The offensive man edged still closer to Ailsa as he reached
across for the pitcher of water. Ailsa moved away from him again.

“What about you?” Ailsa asked the woman across from her,
trying hard to ignore the man next to her.

“I’m taking my daughter home. I don’t know what my husband
was thinking, moving us out into this horrible desert, but he’ll have to choose
between this place and his family. I refuse to stay.”

Ailsa tore a bite-sized piece off her chunk of bread and
chewed it, reminding herself that not everyone could be expected to like Far
Terra. “What does your husband do?”

“He’s a water mage who came out to this dreadful place on a
contract with Baron Mikel. But the baron isn’t living up to his side of the
bargain. I wouldn’t stable a cow in that hovel Baron Mikel calls a cottage. And
the way he treats Darek—more like a slave than a contracted mage. I know work
is hard to come by in Terranion, what with so many higher level water mages to
choose from, but there’s no way I’m going to raise my daughter in this
wilderness.”

Ailsa stiffened. Far Terra is not a wilderness! Five
generations of my family have labored to turn it into a garden. She took a bite
of her dried fruit and chewed while she considered what to say. And another
mage lost to Far Terra, where they’re needed so badly. Of course the man would
follow his family. And, from the sound of it, never come back again. There
certainly wouldn’t be anything to keep him here if Baron Mikel wasn’t even
keeping his side of the contract. From everything Ailsa had ever heard Baron
Mikel was one of the worst and most repressive of the barons. Why couldn’t any
of them see that mistreating mages only resulted in fewer and fewer mages to do
the work they so desperately needed.

“I don’t understand why the baron would treat Father and us
so badly,” the girl said. “Why does he seem to hate mages so much?”

Ailsa sighed. “It’s not hate, exactly. It’s fear.”

The woman slapped her hands down on the table. “Fear? He’s a
baron. Second only to the king to hear him tell it. What has he got to be
afraid of?”

Ailsa paused to organize a simple version of the very complex
central problem of Far Terra. “It’s complicated. Some of it is history. The
second king of Far Terra was a wind mage who . . . may have misused his
abilities to reinforce his political control over the barons, depending on whose
history you read. Mostly, though, it’s that the barons resent how dependent
they are on mages to keep Far Terra green. Some of them think that if they don’t
keep tight control of mages they’ll either run amok with their talents or
withhold them completely. Baron Mikel is one of the worst of those. The more
enlightened barons realize that the best way to prevent that from happening is
to treat their mages well. But that second king left nearly all of the barons
with a deep-seated fear of letting any mage gain too much power.”

The woman across from her chewed thoughtfully. “So, Darek
might do better with another baron, then?”

Ailsa shrugged. “Depending on the baron. But he won’t be
able to transfer his contract now. There’s a rigid code among the barons
against poaching one another’s mages.”

“Too bad.”

Ailsa looked up. Maybe Far Terra didn’t have to lose this
particular water mage forever. “He’d have to come back to Terranion first,
before he could contract out to another baron—one of the better ones, like
Baron Welfel.”

“Ah.”

The ill-mannered man shifted closer again for no reason. “Maybe
it would be better not to talk so about those above our station, eh?”

The man was so close now that his arm rubbed against hers
and the smell of his sweat spoiled Ailsa’s appetite. She had no farther to go
without falling off the bench, so she leaned out. A plump woman, the wife of
the station master, appeared at the end of the table next to her. Ailsa was
aware of someone standing behind her, too. She hunched automatically.

“Is this man with you, miss?” the station master’s wife
asked.

“No!’ Ailsa answered more forcefully than she intended.

“Right then,” said the station master from behind Ailsa’s
left shoulder. A broad hand came down between her and the rude man and pushed
him unceremoniously several feet down the bench.

Ailsa sighed in relief. “Oh, thank you.”

The station master’s wife sniffed. “We run a respectable
place here. No one harasses one of the coach passengers under
this
roof.”
She patted Ailsa’s shoulder. “And just you remember, don’t be shy about calling
for help from them royal guards. They’re not supposed to let anyone, passenger
or not, harass travelers either. That’s what they get paid for.”

Ailsa nodded.

The woman looked over at the brash man, her eyes boring into
him. “Wouldn’t be the first time a difficult passenger was put off the coach to
walk back on his own, either. It can be a long, hot, dry walk.”

The man glowered at her and shot one more undecipherable
look at Ailsa before turning his attention to his food. Ailsa suppressed a
shudder, reminding herself that if the guards would make sure he didn’t bother
her until she got to Terranion, then she wouldn’t have to worry about him after
that.

The woman walked away, shaking her head, and muttering
something under her breath about folks who’d send a defenseless chick like that
out on the highway alone. Ailsa didn’t like to think of herself as defenseless,
but she had to admit that nothing in her life up ‘til now had prepared her for
anything like that unpleasant man. She dropped her eyes to her plate and
concentrated on chewing the rustic food in front of her, washing it down with lukewarm
water.

Soon after, the coachmen and guards came in for their meal,
filling up the unused portions of the table. Then they were all climbing back
into the coach. This time, the unpleasant man and the elderly one changed
places. Ailsa leaned as far to her side of the coach as she could and looked
out the window. After a moment’s thought, she pulled her valise from under her
seat to set as a barrier between them. She felt the same lethargy creeping up
on her, but she wasn’t comfortable enough to doze off with the unpleasant man
staring at her across the narrow coach seat. Fortunately, a breeze had come up
in the afternoon, moderating the desert heat somewhat so that she didn’t feel
quite as lethargic as she had in the morning.

This trip wasn’t turning out to be as exciting as she’d
hoped.
It’s going to take
four days
to get to the Imperial capital.
She
suppressed a shudder at that thought. She could have stayed safely and comfortably
at home—with Sav.

Much too early to be getting homesick.
She tried to
study the surroundings, instead of thinking about home. The highway they
traveled along through the afternoon was indistinguishable from the one they’d
traversed in the morning. It ran straight as the flight of an arrow, without
even a tiny rise or fall. It was very boring. The only variation of any kind
was the two places where they passed smaller way stations where the imperial
couriers changed horses.