Inheritance (7 page)

“One more test,” he told her in his gentle voice, and pointed above his head. Without any control over her own actions she looked up, and even though it was a clear day she saw a group of stars set against the blue sky. She stared at them for a long time before anything happened, but then they started to whirl about a central point, like dancers around a spring tree. Some of the entourage clapped at the performance. Jenrosa pointed at the stars and they blazed briefly in a glorious light and then disappeared.

“What is your name?” the magicker asked again, but before she could reply, her mother appeared, curious about the eruption of noise on the street. When her mother saw the magicker, she took a step back into the house.

“I hope my daughter’s done nothing to offend you, sir?” she asked in a whining voice.

The magicker shook his head. “What is her name?”

“Jenrosa.”

“Jenrosa is to come with me.”

Her mother considered the words for a moment, and then a smile creased her face. “That would come with a fee, sir?”

The magicker nodded. “Of course. You will receive an annual award as determined by the queen. What is her family name?”

“My husband is dead, sir, and so she inherits mine. Alucar.”

Jenrosa tried to let go of the memory, and returned her attention to her beer, but not before acknowledging with some bitterness that her name was the only thing her mother had ever given her, and she would do anything to avoid returning to her.

And what if there were contradictions in her studies? she asked herself. Magic itself was a contradiction, a way of viewing and manipulating the world that broached common sense and was out of reach of the vast majority of people. Some were lucky enough to be born with the ability to take advantage of that contradiction, to influence the way clouds formed and rain fell, or the way metal changed in a furnace, or the way water ran down a hill, or the way crops grew.

Or the way the stars influenced the lives of all the mere mortals trudging the common earth beneath their gaze. Maybe.

Jenrosa shook her head. She knew all the other theurgia—those of Air, Fire, Water and Earth—performed real magic, but she was yet to discover anything magical at all about the stars. Or rather, she had not learned a single magical thing. What she did know was what she had picked up from observation, and from questioning sailors in taverns just like the one she was now outside. She knew that if you kept the prow of a ship in line with the star Leurtas, the last point of the constellation known as the Bow Wave, you would eventually reach the pack ice that lay far south of Theare; or, conversely, if you kept the constellation dead on the stem, you would head north into the Sea Between, eventually hitting the reefs and shoals that guarded the waters around Haxus. She knew that all the constellations spun around the very point of Leurtas, moving in a slow graceful dance, and that, as you sailed north, new constellations came into view even as the familiar ones disappeared behind you. And yet, as far as anyone in the Theurgia of Stars knew, there was no formula, no sign, that could make the stars bend to human will or human desire. Jenrosa knew there had been great sages in the past who could use the stars to predict momentous events, but the last of those had died decades ago, and no one alive today could replicate their achievements, although many within the theurgia tried. As far as Jenrosa could tell, the real stars obeyed only their own rules. She sighed heavily and finished off her beer. Despite her misgivings, if she wished eventually to earn her own keep, to gain even a modest independence, she would have to keep her doubts to herself and accept—contradictions and summaries and conundrums included—what the theurgia instructed her to accept, and in that way survive.

The problem, as Lynan told himself afterward, was the sun. Or rather, his position in relation to it. When he was sent sprawling by the guard’s side-stepping maneuver and sweeping foot, he found himself staring straight up into the glaring orb.

So he never saw the point coming.

Lynan felt a sudden jarring impact just below his throat’s hollow that sent his head crashing again into the dirt. Kumul called out “Kill!” so loudly that everyone in Kendra, let alone the palace, must have heard.

Cursing under his breath, Lynan stood up a little groggily, massaging the point where the head of the guard’s wooden spear had marked him. He knew there would be a bruise there as wide as a bread plate before nightfall, and that it would trouble him for days.

The guard helped steady Lynan, and he mumbled some thanks.

Kumul appeared in front of him. “You’re lucky Jemma didn’t aim higher, Your Highness, or the palace surgeon would now be on his way to straighten out your larynx.”

“I was lucky to catch him like that, Constable,” Jemma said generously.

“Nonsense. You were too quick for him.” Kumul glared at Lynan. “Or
he
was too slow for you. Either way, the prince loses the bout.” Kumul’s tone became theatrically deferential. “Does his Highness have anything to say in his defense?”

“Well, the sun—” Lynan began.

“Other than the fact he fell for one of the oldest feints in the book.”

Lynan blushed. “No, nothing.”

Kumul nodded. “Well, at least you’ve learned
something
from this fiasco. Let’s see another round…” Kumul bent closer to Lynan’s ear “… and for God’s sake, boy, this time watch your feet.”

Lynan nodded, raising his wooden sword as Kumul withdrew. The guard raised his spear and they resumed their training.

In the shadow of the arena’s entrance stood two figures, paid due deference by those nearby but unseen by the dueling pair not forty steps from them.

The Lord Galen Amptra, son of Duke Holo Amptra, had watched Lynan’s humbling with keen interest. “Your half-brother quite happily prepares to make a fool of himself a second time,” he observed to his cousin, Prince Berayma.

“Even you would have to admit that takes courage,” Berayma said.

“Arrogance, rather. The arrogance of his commoner father.” Galen sighed deeply. “He shames us all. Your mother’s blood runs diluted in his veins.”

Berayma eyed Galen warily, but said nothing.

Galen licked his lips, continuing cautiously. “Everyone accepts that new monarchs must make their mark on the world, it’s a sign of their authority. No one will be sorry to see you rid Kendra of Lynan. I hear the merchants of Lurisia have been pleading for the queen to appoint a representative from the royal family to attend permanently their Great Council Hall in Arkort.”

Berayma’s voice betrayed his rising anger. “Don’t speak so lightly of my ascension to the throne. That cannot be achieved before my mother’s death—”

“For God’s sake, Berayma, she’s at death’s door now! You have to consider the future.”

“This is not the time or place. You should know better.”

Galen bit back a reply. He understood his cousin’s ire, yet felt frustrated that Berayma would not acknowledge reality as he and other members of the Twenty Houses had learned to do. His devotion to the queen, if not as strong as Berayma’s, was genuine, but he recognized that the time for planning for the succession was overdue. Berayma, however, would countenance no talk about his ascension, and there were some who found this attitude not only unwise but also an unsettling portent for his reign.

Nevertheless, Berayma was his cousin, and he cared for him a great deal. He sighed in resignation and gently placed a hand on Berayma’s shoulder. “As you say. Not here, and not now.”

*

Stung by Kumul’s sarcasm and his own loss of face, Lynan fought much harder the second time. He attacked at every opportunity instead of waiting for the guard to come to him, slowly forcing his opponent back until he was ready for a killing stroke. He rested on the heel of his back foot for a split second as if he was about to lunge. His opponent spread his feet and brought round his spear to parry the expected thrust, but Lynan moved one step sideways and then quickly brought forward his back foot. As the guard shifted the position of his spear to counter the new angle of attack, Lynan struck, the tip of his sword pushing deep into the flesh just beneath the guard’s rib cage. If the tip had been steel instead of wood, it would have ruptured blood vessels and a lung.

Lynan started to smile, but just then he heard the sound of someone running toward him from behind. He spun around and saw a second guard bearing a wooden trident bearing down on him. Lynan charged his new attacker, diving low and tackling him below the knees. The pair rolled once in the dust of the arena. The moment Lynan was on top, he used one knee to stop himself from turning while he rammed the other into the side of his opponent. The man gasped as the air was driven from his lungs, then wheezed in pain when Lynan brought down his sword on the back of the hand carrying the trident. The guard let go his weapon and rolled away, holding up his good hand to concede defeat.

Lynan remembered the first guard. He turned just in time to deflect a thrusting spear. His attacker had been too confident of success and his momentum carried him forward. Lynan’s foot stuck out and his opponent went flying. The prince stood over him, sword pointed at his throat.

“Enough, your Highness,” Kumul said.

Lynan stood back and lowered his weapon. “Was this one of your tricks, Constable?”

“You have made up in part for your earlier mistakes.”

Kumul was being sarcastic. Lynan’s last maneuver had been similar to the one that had brought him low in the first bout. Kumul waved his hand, and the two guards picked themselves up and hobbled away. As Lynan watched them leave, he saw two shadows lurking in the entrance and recognized them immediately.

“I had an audience,” he said to Kumul matter-of-factly.

“You are a prince of the royal blood, Lynan. Do you think there is ever a time when you are not watched?”

“That attack was unusually ruthless, even for Kumul,” Berayma observed.

“We’ve had as tough,” Galen said, somewhat subdued.

“You think so?” Berayma turned to leave. He wanted to see his mother. Since her use of one of the Keys of Power earlier in the summer, her illness had grown worse. Every day was filled with anxiety for his mother and the fear that he would soon inherit the job he had been groomed for since childhood.

She’d made sure he was well trained. He could outride and outfight virtually anyone in the empire—or outside it. He had been given the best teachers and instructors, all in preparation for a job he didn’t even want.

But his sister and brothers? What purpose lay behind their training? What had his mother planned for them?

His thoughts turned to Lynan as he left the arena. He had no particular affection for his half-brother, but he certainly felt no malice toward him. His disinterest stemmed largely from his mother’s own. She had barely spent any time with Lynan since his birth, and afforded him no great courtesy or allowance beyond the bare minimum demanded by his rank as a royal prince.

Galen ran his fingers through his thinning hair and watched him leave, wishing he could find the words that would make him come to terms with the future they both knew was imminent and yet which Berayma refused to accept. The queen was in death’s grip, and nothing could free her from it. The ship of state that was Kendra needed a firm hand to keep it on an even keel, to balance the competing demands of its member states. The last thing Berayma should do was defer a decision about what was to be done with his half-brother Lynan. A new king could not afford to offend the most powerful families in his kingdom for the sake of a wastrel.

Galen shook his head. This was a problem with many solutions but no prince ready to implement them.

From a balcony above the arena, Areava also had been watching Lynan at practice. She did not know it, but her thoughts, mixed with the feeling of shame she felt about her half-brother, mirrored those of Galen. The fact that the queen had imperiled her life for Lynan’s injured acquaintance had only confirmed for her Lynan’s ignorant selfishness, proof of the tainted blood that ran in his veins. She, Berayma, and Olio, true and pure scions of the Twenty Houses, understood it was selflessness, not selfishness, that marked the nobility. They were born to rule for their people, not to take advantage of their position. Anger boiled within her. What could be done about him?

She left the balcony for her own quarters. She was so absorbed in her thoughts she did not hear or see the greetings and salutations offered her by passersby. Most of them shrugged and continued on, used to her fierce concentration. One, however, turned on his heel and pursued her, tugging playfully on her elbow as he caught up.

“Who in God’s name… !” she started, but swallowed her anger as soon as she saw Olio striding beside her, a grin on his face that stretched from one ear to the other.

“Hello, sister! You’re looking p-p-particularly formidable this m-m-morning.”

Areava frowned. “I am?”

“Oh, yes. You’re m-m-moving north through the p-p-palace like a storm front. Black clouds p-p-precede you, lightning illuminates the roof.
Very
formidable.”

Areava snorted, then smiled. “I don’t mean to come across so threatening.”

“Everyone knows that, which is why they p-p-put up with it. What p-p-particular ache is souring you this m-m-morning?”

“The usual.”

Olio sighed. “Let m-m-me guess. Lynan.”

“As always. There was no guessing involved on your part.”

Olio stopped Areava with a hand on her sleeve. “Slow down, sister. It is impossible to talk with you at this speed.” Areava faced her brother, her hands on her hips. “And don’t come high and m-m-mighty with me. You m-m-may be m-m-my senior, but not b-b-by enough to warrant your anger.”

Areava drew in a deep breath. “Say your piece, then.”

“What happens after our m-m-mother dies is B-B-Berayma’s affair, not yours. He will be king, we will remain p—p-princess and p—p—prince. If he needs us to do any worrying for him, he’ll let us know. Do not take on responsibilities that are not yours.”

“We are members of the royal family, Olio, the first of the Twenty Houses. We are responsible for the good administration and safety of this kingdom, whether we like it or not. It is our duty to worry.”