empress of storms (28 page)

“My own damned capital.” Matthias slammed a fist down on the breakfast table, making the plates rattle.

“Listen!” Danaë insisted. “‘To win the day you must travel the road of dawn.’ Ife figured out what that meant. It’s the Morning Road, a spell that creates a portal between two mirrors. If they’re big enough, you can walk into one and out the other.”

Matthias stopped in mid-stalk. “Can you cast that spell?”

“No, but Ife can.”

They found the grand high magister in her rooms, explaining the news from Mons. To Danaë’s dismay Ife shook her head regretfully. “It’s a damned clever idea, my dears, but it won’t work.”

“Why not?” Matthias snapped. “Can’t you do the spell?”

“Yes, I can do the spell. The problem is impression.”

Danaë winced. “Of course. I didn’t think of that.”

He glared at both of them. “Would one of you care to explain what the hell you’re talking about?”

Danaë looked to Ife, who nodded. “Elemental magic is a wild force,” his wife said. “A mage channels it, controlling it and directing its use. By channeling magic you leave an impression on it, a sort of trace of yourself.”

“That impression is how you can link two mirrors together,” Ife took over. “This spell functions by enchanting one mirror to act as an anchor.” She held up one hand. “Then you travel to the place where the other mirror is, and have it find your impression on the first mirror.” Her other hand went up, an arm’s reach from the first one. “The Morning Road opens a path between the two mirrors, allowing instantaneous travel over any distance. The problem is, we don’t have an anchor mirror in Mons.”

“Not even at your husband’s shop?” Danaë asked, hopeful.

Ife shook her head. “I did, but one of my grandchildren broke it the day your maidservant came tearing in and begged me to go to the palace. I didn’t think to anchor another mirror before we left.” Her expression turned woeful. “I’m sorry, your majesty. I’ve failed you and the patriarch.”

Matthias had started pacing again during Ife’s explanation. Now he stopped. “This impression you mentioned, does it happen during any sort of magic use?”

“Well, yes, but—” Ife broke off, eyes widening. “Oh, I see what you’re getting at.”

“What?” Danaë demanded.

Ife turned to her, triumphant. “There
is
a mirror in Mons that bears my impression. And it’s in already in the palace.”

“The pa—“ Danaë’s eyes went wide. “The demon mirror? You’re going to use that foul thing?”

“Yes,” Ife said fiercely. “The original spell is broken so we won’t be troubled by demons, and it’s the only mirror in Mons I can use as an anchor.”

“And the storeroom it’s in is on the same floor as the dungeon,” Matthias added. “We should be able to grab Reniel with a minimum of fuss. It’s a brilliant idea, magistra.”

Ife waved that off. “It’s your idea, majesty. I’m merely a humble magic worker in your service.”

“Remind me to make you a marchioness, then we can argue about your humility.” He scowled in thought. “The problem will be getting out of that storeroom. It’s locked and I don’t have the keys.”

Danaë’s eyebrows rose. “It’s a good thing I know how to pick locks, then.”

****

“B-but your majesty!” the Master of Ceremonies yelped, his attention split between the queen and the cluster of grim Ypresian soldiers checking their arms in the audience room. “You can’t just
reschedule
a royal wedding!”

Matthias and Schrader exchanged an amused look as Danaë glowered at the official. She’d already changed into her dark blue riding leathers, something that had horrified the man when he’d first arrived at the audience room. 

“Yes, I can. I’m the queen, I can do whatever I like,” she informed him. “And I want the wedding pushed back to sunset. Cancel the trip to the Fisherman’s Chapel and reschedule the route so that it goes straight to the cathedral. And be ready to stall.”

“S-s-s—”

“Stall, yes. I can’t guarantee when we’ll be back.”

“
Back
?” the poor man wailed, tearing at his hair. “You can’t leave now, the entire city is ready, where are you
going
?”

“Never you mind,” Danaë said, taking him by the arm and guiding him to the audience room door. “Do as your queen commands, there’s a good man.”

She pushed the spluttering official out the door and closed it, leaning against the whitewashed wood. “Rank may hath its privileges,” she said, “but there are times when it’s also a bloody nuisance.”

“Very true,” Matthias agreed, checking that his sword was free in its scabbard. Mohrs hadn’t packed battle armor, but Schrader had been able to piece together enough defensive gear from the Ypresian soldiers. “That being said, I’m going to enjoy pulling rank on my viper of a sister-in-law.”

“Just remember, you have to get to her first,” Ife reminded him. The mage was studying a large cheval mirror that had been brought in from Danaë’s bedroom. “It’s still early morning in Ypres. With luck, we may catch her in her rooms.”

Danaë touched his arm. “Even if we don’t catch her, we’ll spoke her guns by freeing Reniel and bringing him back through the mirror.”

“If he’ll fit.” Matthias considered the mirror and its relative size to his patriarch. “We may have to grease him like a pig to get him through.”

“Fat contains a great deal of water,” Ife said, attention still on the mirror. “Danaë can dehydrate him if necessary.”

Matthias winced at the thought. “Once Reniel and her majesty go back through the mirror we’ll head up to the royal wing,” he said to Schrader. “We’ll need to evade the guards—see if any of the men with us knows the current duty schedule. I’d rather not kill my own guards if I don’t have to.”

“Agreed,” Schrader agreed. “We can appeal to their loyalty. If that doesn’t work, a sword pommel to the head should do the trick.”

Danaë bit her lip. “I still think we should rescue Reniel and leave it at that. We can always march back to Ypres at the head of an army,” she said.

Matthias went to her, resting his hands on her shoulders. “My love, I’m not going to invade my own country, particularly since doing so will lend credence to whatever lies Margot has been spreading,” he said, rubbing her tense muscles. “Once I have her under arrest and the city re-opened, I’ll come back through the mirror and we’ll hold the wedding as planned, if not as scheduled.”

She stared at him, eyes wide.

“What?”

“Can you say it now? Please?”

They didn’t have time for this, but it was too important to delay until later. If something went wrong, he would never forgive himself for not telling her what was in his heart. 

Pulling her close, he rested his forehead against hers. The rest of the room with its waiting soldiers and mage faded away, leaving only them. “I love you, Danaë. You hold my heart in your hands, and I will spend the rest of my life cherishing every moment with you.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, belied by a brilliant smile. “I love you, Matthias. So much.”

He kissed her, meaning it to be brief and chaste. But her lips opened under his and he sank into her kiss, forgetting for one blessed moment everything but his love for her.
I will come back, my love. And we will be happy together.

Dimly, he could hear his men cheering him on. Disengaging from his wife’s kiss, he glared at them. The cheers died down but the supportive grins remained.

Blushing, Danaë stepped back and nodded at Ife. “Whenever you’re ready, magistra.”

“Very well.” Ife moved in front of the mirror, facing it. Her hands opened now, pale palms towards the glass. She started a low, melodic incantation that was in no language Matthias recognized. At his side Danaë straightened, attuning herself to the summoning magic.

The air in the room changed, beginning to thicken. No, not the air—something underneath it, if there was something that underlaid air. Matthias could feel his scalp tingling from the rising power and fought the urge to scrub at it with both hands.

Ife’s head lowered, the incantation growing faster. She reached out, touching her fingers to the edge of the wide oval glass. Light shimmered across it like sunlight on a calm lake, a pure, clear glow that came from no source within the room. It swirled round, rainbow colors rising in bright flashes, then blazed sun-bright. Matthias shut his eyes but the dazzling glow turned the inside of his eyelids into a pink-tinged sky starred by a fireworks display.

When the light died away, he cracked one eyelid open, then the other. The glass of the mirror had darkened into an obsidian oval. 

Chest rising in a deep, ragged breath, Ife stepped back from her work. “It’s done,” she said, sounding breathless. “Although I’m guessing the other mirror is in a room with no windows, judging by the lack of light.”

Danaë moved to her side, studying the stygian glass. “How long will it stay open?”

“As long as I wish, although keeping it open for more than a day will tire even me.”

Matthias had no intention of his recapture of Mons taking that long. “I’ll go through first.”

Both Schrader and Danaë objected to that but he silenced them. “I am king of Ypres. The theft of my capital city targets me personally. It
offends
me personally. If something happens to me, I charge the two of you with bringing Lady Margot Pauwels to justice. Queen Danaë will stand as regent over Ypres until my chosen successor Crown Princess Luna, daughter of former Crown Prince Lukas, comes of age.”

The soldiers gaped at the announcement, but Schrader didn’t seem shocked. “We pledge our lives to Queen Danaë and Princess Luna, majesty,” he said, bowing. “This I vow on my name’s honor.”

Matthias nodded once. Not wanting to give himself time to reconsider, he stepped through the mirror. A faint tingle ran over his skin as his descending foot touched the familiar stone floor of his palace’s lower level. He ducked his head under the mirror’s upper curve, stepping out into the dark storeroom.

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” he muttered.

“Magic isn’t always splashy, sire,” Ife said, reaching through and handing him an oil lamp. He held it up, studying the storeroom’s interior. It held nothing more than a splintered bench, one barrel of bent and rusty pikes, an old broom, a few odds and ends, and the mirror.

He padded to the door, a sturdy one made of iron-banded oak and tested the handle. Locked.

It went against every instinct in him to bring Danaë into a dangerous situation like this, but her lock picking skills would come in handy. He returned to the mirror, where his wife stood next to Ife. “Time for you to go to work, love.”

****

Danaë took Matthias’s hand and stepped through the mirror. “Move the mirror back against the wall and have Schrader’s men start coming through,” she said as she knelt down next to the door. “I’ll have this open in a bit.” Pulling the appropriate picks from her tool roll, she slid them into the keyhole and felt for the tumblers.

To her relief the servants had been diligent about their oiling duties. After a handful of seconds the tumblers slid back with soft click. Pulling out the picks she tried the handle, grinning when it opened. “Door one unlocked, my king.”

Schrader and the rest of his men were now in the newly crowded room. The cavalry officer worked his way to the door, opening it a crack and peering into the hallway. 

What he saw must have satisfied him because he waved forward two of the royal guards. They slipped into the hall and he followed.

Danaë and Matthias were next, followed by the rest of their men. They crept along the gloomy hallway, taking various turns that Danaë had to hope led to the dungeon, backing into the shadows when a pair of palace guards walked by. 

After yet another turn the hallway widened into a long barrel-vaulted foyer. A series of barred cells lined the left wall. Schrader checked each one quickly, then waved Danaë to the last one.

Inside, a filthy Patriarch Reniel knelt by the side of a dingy cot, praying. A dull bruise stood out on the side of his pudgy face, and smears of dark rust decorated the cuffs of his robe.

She went down on one knee and started working on the cell door as Matthias joined her. “Reniel,” he said.

The patriarch’s head turned towards them, and he blinked hard. “Please tell me you’re not a hallucination, old friend,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“Not at all,” Matthias assured him. “Get up. We’re getting you out of here.”

Danaë bit her tongue in concentration. The cell lock wasn’t quite as well-tended as the storeroom lock had been, and she could feel the flakes of rust inside the mechanism. “Come on, you whore-faced bastard,” she muttered.

The tumblers finally grated back. She got to her feet, swinging the cell door open.

Reniel tottered into the hallway, grabbing onto Matthias’s arms for support. “I suppose I should be chiding you for unladylike language, majesty, but right now all I want to do is kiss you,” he said. “And I
will
kiss anyone who has something to eat on them. They haven’t fed me for three days.”

“Food will wait until we get back to Hellas,” Matthias said, keeping a firm grip on Reniel’s thick arm as the guards reversed their path, snaking back through the hallways. 

“Hellas?” Reniel spluttered. “I can’t last that long, Matthias. I’ll drop dead, I will.”

“It won’t take that long, your grace,” Danaë assured him. “You’ll see.”

In a few minutes they were back in the storeroom. Reniel looked at the mirror distrustfully. “I’m not sure about this, your majesty,” he said to Danaë. “Members of the church aren’t supposed to partake of magical practices.”

“Do you want to have your bones smashed to pebbles and your limbs woven through the iron wheel?” Matthias growled.

“Um. Good point.”

“It won’t hurt, your grace,” Danaë said, hoping she wasn’t lying. “Just step through.”

As it turned out Reniel’s days of starvation had reduced him to the point where he was able to squeeze through the mirror with only a small push from Schrader. 

Matthias turned to her. “All right, now you.”

Danaë grabbed his hands. “Let me come with you,” she said. “If Margot’s using magic to bring the royal council under control, I can put a stop to that.”