Jex awoke to brilliant sunlight, uncomfortably bright even through his tightly closed eyelids. Groaning, he rolled over and turned his head away, raising an arm to shield his face from the glare. Something hard was digging into his side and when he groped beneath himself for the culprit, he found the belt he’d worn the night before. The buckle was prodding him and he threw it away in irritated disgust. It struck the wall and clattered to the floor, the noise making him cringe.
“I see you enjoyed yourself last night,” an amused voice rumbled from somewhere above. A shadow fell over him, mercifully blocking out some of the painful light, and he forced his gritty eyes open a fraction.
Eryk was looking down on him, fully dressed and clearly amused. It took Jex a moment to realize he was lying on the floor, completely naked, and freezing. Looking around, he groaned again as hazy splinters of memory returned. His sitting room was a mess; clothes had been discarded haphazardly in all directions, the contents of a small table littered the floor, and somehow the chair by the window had been overturned. When had that happened? Probably during his scuffle with Ophelius, whatever-time that had been.
The bed, however, or what he could see of it through the partly open bedroom door, was still perfectly smooth and unrumpled. That was extremely unfair.
“Time to rise and shine. We’re to attend a session of the Grand Council in half an hour. You look like hell, by the way.” The delight in the High Mage’s voice was unmistakable.
“I’m not your apprentice anymore, old man, which makes you not my master.” Jex rolled onto his stomach, paused for breath, and attempted to rise to his hands and knees. “What would the opposite of that be, anyway?”
“Your nursemaid, apparently,” Eryk retorted, reaching down and hauling the wobbly man to his feet. “Clean yourself up and get dressed.” Wrinkling his nose, he added, “Bathe first. You smell like an ale barrel, and wear something with a high collar.”
“Why?” Jex groused, peeling one of the floor rushes off his backside. He briefly examined the pathetically crushed and wilted thing before throwing it aside and bending to pick up his trousers.
It was one of his poorer ideas.
The room spun and tilted and he thought for a moment he would vomit. Closing his eyes and breathing deeply helped and he straightened, gingerly fingering the tender lump on the back of his skull.
“Because I spy at least half a dozen bites on your neck that will probably bruise by midday, and that was without looking too closely. I’ll have breakfast sent in for you. Coffee?”
“Black, if you please,” Jex sighed. Eryk was enjoying this far too much, in his opinion. With a mental curse that his mother would have slapped his mouth for if she’d heard it spoken aloud, he resigned himself to being up for the day.
As he turned away from the smirking High Mage, he caught sight of his reflection and grimaced.
Eryk was right, he did look like hell. But oh, if the night had gone even half as well as he remembered, it was more than worth the hangover.
All the parts before his uninvited guest had shown up had gone well, at any rate. Which reminded him…where was the bag Ophelius had left? It didn’t appear to be anywhere amidst the debris around him, but he didn’t really have the time to search. He briefly considered telling Eryk about the visit, but quickly decided against it. This was his problem, and involving anyone else would only make it unduly complicated.
The door closed softly behind him, snapping him back to the present. At least Eryk had had the decency not to slam it.
Thank the Goddess for small favors.
* * *
“Explain to me again why this has to be done now?” Jex grumbled, not for the first time, as he hurried to keep up with the High Mage’s brisk steps. “Honestly, why us?”
“Those involved in the governing of the realm rise early as a rule,” Eryk replied mildly, not bothering to look behind him as he spoke. He could picture his companion’s unhappy expression without having to see it, having been on the receiving end of Jex’s distaste for early mornings on many previous occasions.
“And again I ask, why us? We’re mages, not politicians. Superb and extraordinarily handsome mages, mind you, but unless Tor Brinon has a troublesome lady he’d like distracted, wants us to whip up a tornado, or needs someone to set the trousers of the collective Grand Council afire, I don’t see why we’re needed.”
Eryk’s smile was thin and a little brittle, “You would be amazed how often mage and politician have become the same thing in this city over the years.”
“So, do I have your permission to light a few trouser-fires in case we need to make a quick escape? I’ll be discreet, I swear.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Not even if—”
“No!”
Jex remained silent this time and there was a sulky quality to it. Eryk let him pout, knowing it would blow over quickly enough. The young man’s moods were like the weather; wait long enough and the sun would reappear. At any rate, the lull in conversation gave him an opportunity to enjoy the fleeting tranquility this time of day afforded.
So close to dawn, the halls of the Imperial palace were deserted and peaceful. Briefly glimpsed servants trod like ghosts through the still morning, flitting from one chamber to another in near perfect silence. One of the things Eryk had always appreciated about the staff here was their ability for inconspicuous service. He knew, however, that forgetting their presence could be fatal. His granduncle, Dorian, had learned that lesson the hard way and they never had caught the attendant who poisoned him. That said poisoning was rumored to have been at his tora’s behest only added to the scandal.
The building that housed the Grand Council was connected to the palace by a wide gallery and they traversed it without speaking. By the time they reached the atrium outside the council chamber itself, Jex had finished his sulk and his steps quickened enough to bring him abreast of the High Mage. The guards posted before the ornately-carved double doors bowed respectfully and one stood aside, granting them entrance.
When they slipped into the room, they found that they were the last to arrive and the councilors were already embroiled in a heated debate.
Thus came the end of the morning’s tranquility.
Eryk and Jex joined the three mages in the shadows of the very back row of the tiered chamber. The two men and one woman were dressed in blue-and-gold robes and they watched the proceedings without comment. Inclining his head in greeting, Eryk turned his attention to the rest of the room and the inevitable uproar of so many powerful individuals at odds with one another. Jex leaned back against the wall and put his hands in his pockets, an expression of boredom and resignation on his face.
“But sire,” someone protested loudly, “we cannot continue to ignore this threat! The rebels must be subdued at once.”
Murmurs of agreement rumbled through the gathered crowd. Representatives of the five provinces of Egalion; Hamel, Tesriel, Zyr, Darmiad, and Mezzo, and those who spoke for the districts of the capitol city, their aides, and entourages filled the room. Most sat at the rows of polished marble tables, but a very few chose to remain on their feet. Pike-wielding guardsmen in full armor, the Imperial crest engraved upon their breastplates, stood at attention beside each of the three doors that allowed access to the council. Even though the room had been occupied for only a short time, the space was hot and stuffy from the heat of so many bodies and papers waved back and forth in front of perspiring faces.
Tor Brinon, who looked as if he hadn’t slept much the previous night, sat in one of two elegant thrones upon a stage at the front of the room. Seeing the other empty, Eryk frowned slightly. He’d expected his sister to be in attendance, as she normally was. Collin Fin, the tor’s secretary and personal scribe, sat at a small desk just beside and a little lower than the platform, scribbling furiously on a stack of parchment. Four women in the uniforms of royal couriers waited at his side. They looked nearly as bored as Jex did.
“And what exactly do you propose, Councilor Undabe?” Tor Brinon demanded coolly, “We have discussed this a thousand times and, while you are quick to complain, you have so far failed to present a solution. If you have one, we would be pleased to entertain it.”
“They are your people, my tor.” Councilor Undabe sneered, his dark face twisted in distaste. “You tell us.”
“Now, now,” chided a new voice, a rich baritone well suited to oration, “there’s no need for such veiled accusations. Someone might mistake your meaning, and none of us want that.”
Bodies shifted and eyes turned to the main door. A man stood backlit by a shaft of morning light pouring in from the atrium, but only momentarily. The door whispered shut behind him as he crossed the threshold, cutting off both the light and the cool breeze that had accompanied it. A few people sighed in regret and began fanning themselves again.
Tall, gray-eyed, and dark-haired, the newcomer was an almost perfect mirror image of the High Mage. His hair was a little longer, as was currently fashionable, and he was not quite as muscular, but their facial features were identical. He was dressed in fine riding trousers and tunic, both white, with slashes of scarlet satin in his sleeves appearing and disappearing as he moved. A longsword was belted at his right hip and the dark hilt of a dagger protruded from the top of one polished boot, both of which he turned over to the nearest guard without protest. Overall, he cut a rather dashing figure and was quite clearly aware of it.
“Jordin,” the tor said, rising to offer his greeting. “This is a pleasant surprise! We didn’t expect you so soon.”
“We had a fair wind coming upriver and made excellent time,” the other answered, striding down the steps until he reached the dais. He knelt gracefully and bowed his head. “And as I knew you would be in session, I thought to lend my aid, humble as it is.”
“You are most welcome, brother. Do you wish to represent your province in a formal capacity as part of this congress?”
“I would be honored, Your Majesty,” Jordin replied smoothly, inclining his head as he rose.
“Very well. The Throne officially recognizes Jordin Alycon, Duque of Darmiad.” Collin Fin began writing in earnest, his quill flying across the page in front of him.
Jex whistled softly and Eryk glanced at him.
“You never mentioned the Duque of Darmiad was your twin,” he murmured, eyeing the two men speculatively.
The High Mage shrugged. “It was never a secret. At least not any more so than your connection with the Shadow Court has ever been.”
Jex barked out a short laugh. “As you say. Though I’d wager more people know about your brother than know I was once a runner for the lady.”
“I think you owe me enough coin already from past wagers. And you’re still active.” It was a statement, not a question and Jex ignored it, deliberately turning his attention back to the room below. One of the mages beside them stifled a chuckle and Jex ignored him as well.
“The Ibirani rebels are of little consequence when compared to the threat posed by Atromore,” another councilor called out. The agreement was louder and more unified this time.
“The rebels are stirring again, are they?” inquired the duque. He’d taken a seat next to the trio of Darmiad’s elected councilors. Being the smallest province, they had the fewest representatives, but with their duque in their midst, their opinions would carry more weight for a time.. Jordin leaned back on the bench, legs crossed and looking quite relaxed.
“They are, Your Grace, and there seems to be someone new leading them,” spoke up yet another member of the council; a woman this time. “This person is well-educated, well-organized, and has drawn the various quibbling factions into a uniformed force. An army, if you will. Most distressing of all, they have refused all offers of a civil meeting.”
Jordin pursed his lips and considered for a moment, then snapped his fingers and sat up straighter. “Councilor Findasin, correct?”
The blonde woman nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“Who is this new leader?”
She lifted her hands palm up in a shrug. “No one knows. Our spies have been unable to even ascertain whether this person is male or female. For all we know, they may not even be Ibirani. Or Egali, for that matter.”
“Curious.” The duque stroked one long-fingered hand over his chin in thought. “Though I highly doubt outside influence is to blame here. This is a problem the realm has been facing for centuries without interference from Davaria or Atromore. I don’t see why they’d bother to start.”
“We can do nothing about the Ibirani right now!” exclaimed an impatient man from the far side of the room. The speaker was immensely fat and red-faced. Sweat stood out in beads on his forehead and the gaudy red of his doublet made him look like nothing so much as an overripe tomato. “But we must do something about the Atromorese! Tahir is ailing and when he is gone, Nareina and Min Ha will be in charge, free to overrun us at their leisure while we squabble with ghosts and peasants.”
“Tors and toras come and go. Atromore is no different in that regard than we are,” another councilor replied calmly.
“Min Ha is as sly and deceitful as Iradi his mother was,” the fat man retorted, piggy eyes squinting around the room. “He and Nareina will move against us before Tahir’s ashes are even cold!”
“That’s if one doesn’t assassinate the other first,” Jex muttered.
“My tor, we must secure Davaria as our sworn ally. Torina Sarene should be married to Torin Reord at once!” It was the Hendai council from Hamel who spoke this time. His two female companions nodded firmly in agreement, though his male counterpart remained unreadable.
“Her betrothal is already official,” Tor Brinon declared. He sounded as if he’d repeated himself a hundred times on the subject. “She will go to him in the spring, and that is soon enough. It would be impossible to arrange for their union to occur any sooner without risking offense.”
“With all due respect, we need something more immediate.” The reply came, not surprisingly, from the corpulent tomato impersonator.
Jex put a hand over his mouth and his shoulders shook. He darted a glance at Eryk and his emerald eyes were sparkling with mischief.
“What?” the High Mage hissed.
“Is it just me or does that one look like a garden vegetable left too long in the sun?” Jex nodded toward the councilor in question. The man was busy mopping his face with an enormous yellow handkerchief edged in frilly and intricate lace.
Eryk forced a straight face, battling his own laughter at the image the description conjured. “Show some respect. Councilor Adipem Porcus is a well connected and powerful member of the Merchant Guild. He oversees most of the operations in River Row.”
Jex couldn’t suppress the snicker this time. “Is that really his name? How…unfortunate. His parents must have been Seers, to choose such an apt moniker for their darling son.”
The female mage next to them began to giggle, but swallowed it with an effort as soon as one of her seniors frowned in her direction. Jex grinned at her and she blushed, then quickly averted her eyes, schooling her features into serene attention once more.
“You sound as if you have a plan already lined up, councilor,” the tor was saying. He looked wary.
“Several of us have…discussed the matter,” the sly looking man beside Councilor Porcus provided. He was a sour-faced old curmudgeon, and next to his companion’s largesse, he appeared skeletal. “Instead of arming ourselves against Atromore, why not secure them as allies and eliminate any potential threat before it is hatched?”
“And how do you recommend we do that? As I recall, the last attempt to join the two kingdoms ended rather badly.”
“Torina Kylan is a beautiful girl, and not yet promised. Give her to Min Ha, or even the young Gaherith. It would secure an alliance and—”
The room erupted into anarchy.
Men and women leapt to their feet and began shouting, arguing with their neighbors and gesticulating wildly. A few councilors nearly came to blows, separated just in time by their attendants. It quickly became clear why councilors had long ago been barred from carrying weapons into their sessions. Some of them looked outright murderous as the chaos escalated to a fever pitch. The guards at the doors looked at each other and hands dropped to sword hilts as they regarded the pandemonium. One of them slipped away, likely to summon potentially-needed reinforcements.
Jex made a noise of revulsion. “How could they even propose something like that?” he demanded, voice raised to be heard over the noise. “Kylan is a child, for Goddess’ sake!”
“To them, she is simply another playing piece, a pawn in the game of power,” Eryk answered. While his tone was calm, his eyes had gone steely. “The age of a pawn is irrelevant. It is to be moved so as to secure the greatest advantage and nothing more.”
“It’s disgusting.”
“It’s politics.”
“She’s your niece, Eryk!”
“I know,” he said, standing to his full height. Making his way to the stairs, he strode down the center aisle towards the dais, an imposing thundercloud in black accompanied by a whirlwind of frigid air. Parchments ruffled and flew from tables, the shouting voices fell abruptly still, leaving the sharp strike of measured steps the only remaining sound.
The greater majority of the assemblage had been previously unaware of High Mage Eryk Alycon’s presence, but as he stepped onto the platform, nodding respectfully to Brinon before turning to the room at large, all eyes were riveted on him. Nervous glances were exchanged and people cautiously returned to their seats.
One could have heard a pin drop and he deliberately let the silence stretch.
“Well, he got his tornado,” Jex noted under his breath as he watched the whirling papers settle haphazardly, “which means I get a turn at one of these pretentious gits. I think the tomato could use a roasting.” A tiny flame flickered to life in the palm of his left hand and he bounced it experimentally. The eldest mage present, a white-haired elder with a beard that fell to his belt, caught his wrist in a surprisingly firm grip and shook his head in warning. Frost rimed the skin beneath his spindly fingers.
“Kidding!” Jex insisted, and let the flame die out. After a pointed second or two, the other mage released him. He shook his hand, snapping the ring of ice and letting it clink to the floor between his boots.
“Councilors,” Eryk began at last, once he was certain he had their full attention. His voice carried to every corner of the room with ease. “What you propose is impracticality just shy of madness. How would Egalion benefit from sending a mere child into Nareina’s court? Min Ha may sit on the throne once his father is dead, but it will be his stepmother who holds the true power. It is common knowledge that he makes no move without her blessing.”
“But Atromore would be a powerful ally!” the council from Inntown countered. She was a middle-aged woman with limp hair and flat, grim eyes. Her colleague from the Smith’s Quarter put a hand on her arm, but she shook him off and rose to her feet.
“Councilor Wastrel, Atromore is a pit of vipers,” Eryk replied calmly, “Did we not learn our lesson about alliances with them when Iradi was so briefly married to Dorian?”
“Tora Iradi is long dead, and I fail to see the relevance—”
“Obviously.” The High Mage’s voice was colder than the wind he had summoned. “For the short-sighted and selective-amnesiacs among you, let me offer up Nareina herself as an example instead. The tora has already eliminated multiple rivals, four or five in the last decade alone, who she only suspected of being a threat to her power,”
“Torina Kylan is, as has been pointed out, only a child and that is her advantage!” cried Councilor Porcus, sounding exasperated. “Nareina could not possibly view her as a threat.”
“Wrong, councilor. She would view her as the biggest threat, as a usurper of her own power, and one with years to gather supporters. The Duquessa Layalie was little more than a child and the tora took extreme exception to her. That girl was no match for the viperess, despite promises of protection from Tor Tahir himself. How would Kylan fare any better?”
“That strumpet was twice our torina’s age,” Councilor Wastrel scoffed.
“I concur with the High Mage,” Brinon announced. He had maintained his composure and his seat during the uproar, “and not only because she’s my daughter. Kylan is too young and untrained in the ways of court intrigue, of the political maneuvers that would be required for her mere survival. She would be unable to secure Min Ha’s loyalty or any kind of alliance and we would simply be throwing her life away.”
“Perhaps the younger Torin Gaherith, then?” someone suggested uncertainly.
The tor shook his head. “While it is true he is closer to her age, he will have little power in his brother’s court. In fact, that arrangement would put the torina in greater danger, without gain, than if she were wed to Min Ha.”
“We would gain nothing from this so called ‘alliance’, while handing Nareina and Min Ha a bargaining chip at the very least!” Eryk added, “Kylan would be constantly watched, under the guise of Nareina’s guardianship. Any correspondence she sent would be read, her visitors watched.”
“Torina Sarene—”
“Sarene may be old enough and clever enough to manage it,” Eryk conceded, smoothly speaking over the objection, “but she is already promised to Davaria. To renege on that arrangement in order to curry favor with Atromore would be unwise. No, councilors, we must arm ourselves against them.”
A look of calculation crossed the High Mage’s face and he folded his arms, staring directly at the woman from Inntown before shifting his attention to the perspiring Porcus. “Tell me, why propose this now? You know that both the tor and tora must approve such a decision, and as you can see, the tora isn’t here. Would you have dared propose such a thing if she were, or had you hoped Tor Brinon could be persuaded and thus convince his wife?”
The room was quiet and Councilor Wastrel looked away, refusing to hold his eyes. With a huff, she sat down and folded her hands primly on the table. Porcus and the furtive man who had originally offered up the idea looked just as uncomfortable.
“I thought as much.” The High Mage’s eyes swept over the rest of the council. “Does anyone else care to support this preposterous motion?”
No one did.
With the issue thus tabled, and the troublemakers cowed for the time being, Eryk returned to his seat and talk moved on to more mundane things. The newest representative from Zyr was officially recognized and welcomed. A raise in port taxes was proposed and the opposing factions bickered back and forth for a time before the matter was given to a vote and eventually resolved in favor of a small increase. Someone raised the necessity of repairs to the outer walls and some of the more heavily trafficked streets in Trigon Market and the tor approved the necessary funds. This opened up a floodgate of other petitions for treasury support, some of which were approved, but just as many were not. Couriers and pages were sent hither and yon on various errands and with messages for the appropriate parties. A good-looking redhead caught Jex’s eye and he watched her with interest as she came and went.
Collin Fin eventually called a halt to all requests for monetary backing and advised that after a brief recess, the crown would begin hearing petitions and grievances of a more personal nature. The chamber began to empty and the din rose as people began talking amongst themselves. Tor Brinon disappeared through a door behind the thrones with the harried Secretary Fin in hot pursuit.
Looking around until he spotted his brother, the Duque of Darmiad began making his way up the stairs to the back of the room. His progress was slow at first and he was stopped often, but as the crowd thinned, he moved more quickly.
“Our brother-in-law may refer to them as magpies, but they seem more like jackals to me,” Jordin reflected as he reached the little gathering. He and the three representatives from Turris Arcana exchanged polite greetings before the mages moved away, conferring together quietly.
Jordin scanned the milling throng and shook his head. “I’m glad Aelani was not here today.”
Eryk, too, was watching the crowd. “As am I. Although I doubt they would’ve had the courage had she been present. This has more to do with their own political advancement than any true wish to better the kingdom, and what better time to propose such a bold thing than when there is only one ruler present? You’d think they’d know by now, though, that Brinon is not one to trifle with.”
“Perhaps you’re right, but in any case, it’s good to see you, Eryk.” The two men embraced hard enough that Jex was surprised bones weren’t being crushed under the pressure.
“And you, Jordin. You should visit more often,” Eryk admonished, stepping back.
“Turris Arcana is far too cold for me these days. But I forget my manners. Who is your companion?” The duque’s eyes crinkled in a smile as he examined Jex. “Handsome young devil.”
Before Eryk could make introductions, Jex stepped forward, ducking his head politely. “I am Jex Xander, the newest battlemage to join the ranks at the Tower, Your Grace.”
Jordin offered his hand and Jex shook it firmly. “You’ve grown up, lad. I didn’t recognize you, as you’re not currently fleeing in terror from my niece.”
“That seems to be everyone’s clearest memory of my one and only prior visit,” Jex replied, “but it means I don’t have terribly high expectations to live up to, which may be to my advantage.”
“It’s only an advantage as long as your mouth doesn’t continue working to the exclusion of your Goddess-given brains,” Eryk needled.
Jex shot his former Sura a dirty look and grumbled something unintelligible under his breath.
The duque laughed and the three men exited the council chamber together. Several pairs of hostile eyes watched them go.