empress of storms (25 page)

Pelas gave her a smug look that made her want to slap him. “Perhaps that might be best discussed in private, your majesty,” he said. “After all, it’s been quite some time since our lessons, and your skills must be rusty by now.”

She wouldn’t be surprised to find out his idea of “privacy” meant her bedroom. “Oh, not at all,” Danaë said. “I’ve been practicing on my own, you see. I feel confident that I’m ready to take the test.”

Luna fussed a bit and Flavia picked her up, earning a glance of annoyance from Pelas. “I … see. I’m afraid I cannot administer an adept’s test on such short notice,” he said. “And really, it would be quite improper to consider the idea at all until I’ve had a chance to evaluate your skills for myself.” A thick, dark eyebrow rose. “In private.”

Oh, Pelas, I’m not that foolish anymore.
“Grand magister,” Danaë said, letting a hint of steel slide into her tone, “my time is at a premium, especially with the wedding tomorrow. I insist on taking the test now.”

His mouth curled in a humorless smile. “And I refuse to administer it,” he said, folding his arms. “Which puts us at an impasse, your majesty.”

“I see. In that case, will you release me to another tutor so that they may administer the test?”

His smile turned venomous. “Oh, I think you may find it difficult to locate a new tutor in Hellas who has the time to take you on.”

Meaning that no Aqua mage in Hellas would risk his ire. “How lucky I am, then, that one mage has already volunteered to tutor me,” Danaë said, gesturing to Ife. “Grand Magister Pelas, allow me to introduce Magistra Aqua Ife of Mons. Magistra Ife, this is Grand Magister Aqua Pelas.”

His venomous expression flashing into a cold fury, Pelas turned to the Ghobian mage. “
You
have been tutoring my student, magistra?” he asked, his tone larded with contempt.

“In an ad hoc fashion, of course,” Ife said, giving him a bow. “After all, any qualified magistra can tutor an adept in the absence of his or her tutor, as you know. But it remains up to the adept’s tutor to administer the final test.”

“Indeed.” Pelas turned his attention back to Danaë. His earlier arrogance and expectation was gone, replaced by a scathing scorn. He made another show of studying her, then shook his head. “No, I’m afraid I cannot release you, your majesty. A mage of your status requires the most skilled tutor available, and while I am loathe to call accolades upon myself, I must admit that the most skilled tutor in Hellas would be me.”

“Ah.” Ife’s voice was gentle. “Begging your pardon, grand magister, but I’m afraid that’s not true.”

Pelas’s head snapped to the side, a snake about to strike. “Mage, are you calling me a liar?” he hissed. “Do you know who I am?”

“Of course I do, and I apologize if I have given offense where none was intended,” Ife said, still mild. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you aren’t the most skilled mage in the room.”

Pelas drew himself up, throwing his chlamys back over his shoulders so that his hands were free. “I will you stripped of your ranking and barred from practicing magic,” he said, opening his hands and flexing the fingers. “But first I intend to discipline you for your arrogance.”

The atmosphere in the room grew charged, and a whimpering Luna buried her face in Flavia’s shoulder. Danaë’s skin rose in goosebumps. In a flash she knew what Pelas planned to do and jumped to her feet. “Grand magister, stop this!” she demanded.

“Silence, student. This magistra has given offense and will be punished.” Pelas clenched one hand, then opened it palm out at the other mage. To Danaë’s horror fine violet bolts of lightning sprang from his fingers and shot towards Ife, too fast for the older mage to dodge.

The bolts stopped inches from her body, splashing off an invisible barrier. “Would you like to try again, grand magister?” she said politely.

Pelas gaped at her for a moment, before his jaw snapped shut. He fired more crackling bolts at Ife. They dissipated just as the first ones did. 

“I should mention that her majesty’s introduction of me wasn’t quite accurate,” the little mage said in a conversational tone, as if they were having tea. “It’s not her fault, of course. Those who know me in Mons only know me as Magistra Ife, which is what I prefer. Less pomp and ceremony, you know.”

Sweating now, Pelas glared at her. “What is your full name, then?” he snapped.

“Grand High Magistra Aqua Ife Jogimo,” Ife essayed a little bow, one hand splayed on her chest. “Otherwise known as one of the Four Elements. You may have heard of me?”

Danaë’s knees went wobbly. She dropped into her chair, staring at Ife. The little mage was one of the Grand High Magisters, the most powerful magic users on the continent.
And I’ve been behaving as if she was nothing more than a simple magistra. Oh Lis, be merciful and kill me now.

Pelas had turned the sickly color of cheese. “You—but you never leave—you
can’t
be—” he stammered.

Luna chose that moment to let out a piercing wail. The grand magister’s head snapped around. “Shut up, you mewling brat!” he bellowed.

Before Danaë could call for the guards a howling wind tore through the room like a miniature hurricane, scattering scrolls and lighter furniture in its fury. Pelas yelped as he was picked up bodily by the wind and flung backwards against a tapestry-covered wall. Landing with a meaty thunk, he slid to the floor, stunned.

The hurricane wind stopped as if cut off by a slamming window. Trembling, Danaë found herself clinging to the edge of the heavy desk as an impromptu anchor. “Gods protect us,” she breathed. “Magistra, give me a little warning before you do something like that!”

“Oh, that wasn’t me.” Ife struggled to untangle her robes, but seemed otherwise undisturbed by the windstorm. “That was our new Aeris mage.”

She nodded at an astonished Flavia. In her arms was Luna, still red-faced but with her thumb corked in her mouth. Her fine blond-brown hair, however, danced around her head as if lifted by a gentle breeze.

Danaë felt her skin tingle from the remaining magic in the air. “Luna?” she whispered. “She’s a mage?”

“I’d suspected it since that storm in the mountains, but I didn’t have a safe way of testing it until we arrived.” Ife stepped to Flavia’s side and brushed the little girl’s hair back from her forehead. “Yes, there it is. You would have noticed soon enough.”

Standing shakily, Danaë joined them and studied her foster child’s hair. A small but definite streak of creamy white could now be seen winding through the golden strands. “Oh, my. That’s going to make things interesting.”

“I suspect she’s going to be a very powerful mage, so she’ll keep you on your toes.” Ife dug into her robe pocket and brought out a plain  golden chain. She looped it around Luna’s neck, murmuring linking spells under her breath. “There you go, lovie,” she said when she was finished. “Your very own necklace, one that you can never lose.”

Luna touched her new binding collar. It was loose enough to slide around her neck but not over her head, and the links jingled with a musical chime. She squealed in delight. “Dan!”

“Yes, love, it’s so pretty,” Danaë said, catching her chubby little hand and kissing it. “And it’s all yours.”

Luna went back to exploring the musical possibilities of her binding collar. “I’ll speak to Epilonious and make sure she’s assigned an excellent tutor when she becomes of age,” Ife said. “In the meantime, you can help her through any growing pains she might have.”

“It’ll be my honor,” Danaë said. “Matthias will be so happy when—” She chopped off the sentence, wincing.

Ife chuckled and shook her head. “My dear girl, I’m old, not blind. She’s his grandchild, yes?”

Reluctantly, Danaë nodded.

“Mm. Best she’s fostered in Hellas, then. Her abilities showing so early will be complication enough. She doesn’t need a tangled mess of politics on top of that.”

A low groan came from the other end of the room. Amused expression disappearing, Ife turned and headed over to the fallen grand magister. She dug in her pocket again, pulling out a dull grey band this time. Bending down, she picked up his hand and slapped the band around his wrist. The ends met with a muted clunk and sealed. Even at that distance Danaë could feel the cold iron taking hold, walling off Pelas’s access to his elemental magic.

Pelas’s eyes cracked open at that. “What did you do?” he croaked.

“Visited a judgment upon you,” Ife said crisply. “Consider yourself lucky that I’m feeling magnanimous and didn’t want to traumatize an innocent child with your death.”

The cheesy pallor slid over his face again. “You wouldn’t dare—”

Ife dropped into a crouch, the smooth movement belying her years. “You have no idea what I would dare, Pelas,” she said in a quiet, pleasant tone that sent chills up Danaë’s spine. “Your life is of no more importance to me than the passing of a mayfly. Open your mouth one more time without my permission and, child present or not, I will demonstrate that to you.”

The man’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, pressing his lips together so hard they went white.

“Good boy.” Ife patted him on the head, then stood. “Majesty, if you’ll be so kind as to have some of your guards escort former Grand Magister Pelas to the quarterhouse, I would be most appreciative. Oh, and since he’s no longer qualified to act as your tutor, may I offer my services?”

Danaë’s cheeks ached from the width of her grin, awed happiness flooding through her. “Yes, thank you, Grand High Magistra.”

Ife waved that off. “Magistra Ife will be fine. Since you already had this afternoon marked out for your adept’s test, let’s not waste the time. Are you ready?”

Impossibly, Danaë’s grin grew wider. “As a matter of fact, I am.”

“I thought so.” Ife toed Pelas’s leg. “See? That’s how you treat an adept.”

****

The bench at the bottom of the garden was a simple one of olive wood. Matthias waited until Lukas had lowered himself onto it with a grateful groan. 

His son looked up at him, bemused. “You won’t sit with me?”

“I prefer to stand.”

“As you wish.” Lukas bent over and pulled a small leathern canteen from under the bench, uncapping it and taking a deep swallow. “Before we begin, Father, may I ask if you still have the cheval mirror I gave you?”

It was said so prosaically, as if they were discussing the weather. “You mean the one that was a portal to a demon realm?” Matthias said, his tone icy. “It’s being stored until I can dispose of it.”

Lukas went very still. “Ah. So you know about it.”

“Yes, I know about it.” He wanted to grab the frail form’s shoulders and shake him until his teeth chattered. “Why, Lukas? Why would you do such a thing?”

His son leaned back against the garden wall. “Why,” he murmured. “That’s a long tale, Father, and not a pleasant one. Suffice it to say that the idea was suggested to me, and I agreed with it. But I never thought….” He bit down on his lower lip, worrying at it. “Why did you have to give it to Mother? It was supposed to be on your side of the chamber.”

Matthias felt his throat tighten. It was a question he’d asked himself any number of times. “She’d asked for it. She liked the look of the thing, and a cheval mirror was of more use to her.” He hardened his tone. “If you wanted to see me dead you should have chosen a better directed weapon.”

Lukas let out a soft hiss. “Yes. Another of my many mistakes.”

He couldn’t stand it anymore. “So tell me, son, why did you want me dead? What horrible sin did I commit that I deserved to be driven mad by demons?” His voice rose. “Was I that terrible of a father? Did I not give you enough power? What did I do that was so wretched that I deserved to die for it?”

Lukas closed his eye. A single tear glittered in the lashes of the functional one. “You didn’t protect me.”

Of all the answers Matthias had expected to hear, that was not one of them. “Protect you? From what?” he demanded. “You lived in a fortified castle, with guards around you from the day you were born. What was I supposed to protect you from?”

“Not what. Who. Or is it whom?” Lukas smiled faintly. “I can never remember that rule.”

This conversation was sailing into uncharted waters. Matthias sat down on the bench, hands finding an uneasy perch on his thighs. “Lukas, can you please tell me in plain language whom I was supposed to protect you from?” A horrible thought came to him. “Did one of the guards hurt you? Or one of the nobles?”

“Ah, it is whom. Good to know.” The scars on Lukas’s face stood out against his skin, darkened from working outdoors. The one that ran over his empty eye socket was wide and ragged. “It never hurt, at least not physically. It felt nice. It started out as a game, you see. Just a silly game, like tickling. At first it was over the clothes, and I couldn’t stop giggling. Then it was under the clothes. First under my arms and around my waist. Then lower. That felt strange, but nice as well. It was very confusing.”

A cold, sick feeling began to grow in Matthias’s gut. “When did this happen?” he said, praying that he was misunderstanding.

“Oh, when I was very young,” Lukas said. “Did you know that little boys can get erections? That’s a stupid question, you were a little boy, of course you knew. But did you know that they can do a lot of the things that men can do? I found that out, too.”

The sick feeling started to roil. “Lukas, who did this?”

“She always smelled nice, like rosemary and lavender,” Lukas continued, unheeding of the question. “And her hands were so soft. She said she would make a man of me. I suppose she did, come to think of it. Of course, we had to be more careful once I started growing hair on my privates. It would be very bad if I got her with a baby, she said. You and Mother would be so angry with me, and you’d cast me out of the kingdom without any money or guards, and I’d have to beg on the side of the road for food. You would do it anyway if you found out what I was doing with her.” His eye opened and he glanced at Matthias. “I did that, you know. Begged for food. It was as bad as she said.”

Matthias tried to remember all the female servants who had served the royal family over the years. He would get back to Mons, find the depraved bitch who had done this to his son, and make the rest of her life brief and miserable. “Was it your nursemaid? One of the chamber maids? Give me a name, Lukas, and I’ll see her punished for this.”