Sworn To Raise: Courtlight #1 (14 page)

“Around,” Ciardis said vaguely.
That answers my question then. Serena had no idea the bracelet was made with residual magic - an object imbued with mage power that would be dormant until activated by the person it was intended for.

“The Aether Realm is a dangerous, dangerous place,” Serena said quietly. “It is a Middle Realm between ours and that of the Gods, and mimics our world exactly. Mages have gone there and never returned. They got so caught up in the magic of the Realm that it has been said that they could no longer feel the drain on their mage cores, which grew worse the longer they stayed.”

“How do you get there?” Ciardis asked.

“You don’t.
We
don’t,” said Serena flatly. “Only mages of great power can access that Realm. And you can only leave if they want you to. You will never go there, if I can help it,” she said, twisting the rings on her fingers as she spoke. By the end of the statement, she was actually wringing her hands.

Ciardis found it weird, Serena was fidgeting. By the Gods, the woman was nervous.

“Enough of this conversation,” her sponsor ordered. “Put the Aether Realm out of your mind. You need to get ready now, because one of your patron candidates has come for a pre-interview.”

“A pre-interview?” Ciardis asked. “You didn’t tell me about any—”

“Don’t you sass me, young woman,” Serena said. “I would have had more
than enough time to prepare you if you hadn’t slept the day away. I have no idea what you have done, but your magical core is practically drained. It’s a good thing that this pre-interview is only a formality, as opposed to a true demonstration of your weathervane abilities. You wouldn’t be able to enhance a small fire with what’s left of your core. He wishes to meet with you in the tea parlor for a light meal.”

“He shows quite a keen interest in you,” Serena continued, “Let’s get you changed before hand.” Ciardis nodded in acceptance and followed her out of the room and down the hall to another wing of the castle.

She was surprised when they ended up in the hammam below the castle’s main hall instead of back in her room for a quick change of dress and light make-up The hammam was a large bathing room in the basement of the castle. Ciardis liked to think of it as her own personal heaven—similar to the heated mineral pools of Vaneis, except that it was ten times more efficient and the water wasn’t cloudy. The companions used it as a communal bath; it had steam rooms, massage parlors, showers, and bathing pools. Even with a personal shower in her room, Ciardis still came down to the hammam quite often with Teachene for girl chat after their practicals. It was quite relaxing to soak in the steam and water after a long day of practice, practice, practice.

The baths served not only as a place for the women to clean themselves, but the steam heating system from the fires was also used to create steam which was piped up to heat the floors above when needed. As she and Serena entered through the main doors, Ciardis saw that three attendants awaited her: one for her hair, another to help her in the bath and to trim her body hair, and a third to powder her face and work on her nails. They were dressed in modest dresses with latched belts, and carried their tools wrapped in towels.

Bemused, she asked Serena, “Isn’t my patron waiting?”

With a wink, Serena said, “It’s never too early to learn the art of keeping a man on tether. He’ll wait, he’ll wonder, and as long as he isn’t waiting too long, he’ll be salivating by the time you arrive.”

Once they’d finished a nice, long half-hour later, Ciardis was escorted to the dressing room, where she slipped into a form-fitting gold dress with a sweeping skirt that matched the small golden butterfly ornaments pinned in her hair.

Before entering the parlor where her suitor waited, she turned to Serena, “Who is he?”

As the parlor doors opened, Serena whispered, “Viscount Iskas of Marce.” Nodding, Ciardis stepped into the room with Lady Serena by her side.

The Viscount was rather short
,
she decided, shorter than she’d expected, though slim and nicely built. He was tracing his finger on a large map on display behind Venetian glass – his back to them, though surely he’d heard the door open. As he turned around, she realized with an intense shock that the Viscount was none other than Prince Sebastian from the Aether Realm.

Cutting his eyes from Ciardis’s gaze, Sebastian bowed smoothly to Lady Serena as he replied, “The pleasure is mine, Lady Serena. I hope to learn more about the woman I have become so taken with even before the Patron Hunt.”

Ciardis snorted, unable to completely stop herself from laughing. The amusement she felt at the flowery language from a boy who couldn’t be more than fifteen was threatening to undo her.

“Is there something wrong, Ciardis?” inquired Serena with ice in her voice as she swept forward to prepare the tea. Her icy tone promised that Ciardis had even more etiquette lesson in store for her, especially since Ciardis should have been the first to step forward and take care of pouring the tea.

“No, milady,” said Ciardis quietly, horrified that Serena was serving the Prince Imperial. There was no shame in that, no matter how high one’s rank, but it was Ciardis’s
job. She felt ready to melt into the floor, but instead, she went to sit beside Sebastian on the couch, noting the weird expression on his face as she sat.

Calmly she took over Serena’s task, asked Sebastian if he’d like one cube or two, and dediced she ready to throw the tea in his face after all of this secrecy. With side glances she took in his nice clothing and polite manners as best she could. As soon as Ciardis had finished serving, Lady Serena said, “I’ll leave you two here until the bell tolls the half-hour.”

“Will that do?” Serena asked Sebastian. At his nod, she swept regally out of the parlor.

“I believe you,” Sebastian said as soon as the door closed. He turned toward her, his face expressionless. “I believe that you are, in fact, who you say you are: the last WeatherVane in all of Algardis. And I need your help.”

Ciardis lifted a well-plucked eyebrow and raised her leg to show off the bauble encircling her left ankle above a ridiculous satin slipper. “Well, Viscount, I still don’t believe you. I know next to nothing about you, but I do know this: you say you are a prince, and yet you appear on my doorstep calling yourself a viscount. Given the inaccuracies in my dossier on Viscount Marce, including who he truly is, I’m inclined to doubt the veracity of either claim.”

“I’m not Iskas,” admitted Sebastian. “That much is true. I had my guardsman forge his personal papers in order to be considered for your patronage. But I lied about that for a very good reason.” He took a deep breath and stood, adjusting his tunic. Another green one to match his eyes, she noticed. “I couldn’t very well apply as myself. Anyone tied to me is in peril, as you saw yesterday in the Aether Realm. My real name is Sebastian Athanos Algardis.” He said the words in a rush, as if he knew that if he didn’t get it out now, he wouldn’t have the courage to keep going.

Ciardis looked him over doubtfully before she burst out laughing, hands clutching her stomach. “I’ve heard some hogwash,” she said, “but your tale, milord, takes the cake.” She stood up and rested her hands on her hips. “Do you really expect me to believe that I stand before the heir to the throne, who is posing as a Viscount,
and
that he wants my help?”

Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a coming headache. “Yes, I do.”

“Ha!” she said, throwing up her hands. She paced the room. “It figures. The nobles all want to mock the poor, powerless, and country Companion.” Angrily, she turned around in a swirl of golden fabric. “Do you really think I’m not worthy of a patron’s choice?”

“I assure you, I’m not here to mock you,” Sebastian said, lifting his hands in a placating gesture. “You’re quite worthy, believe me.” He looked a bit flustered. “And…and you’re quite…well, beaut…
valuable
. In fact, the power you loaned me in the Aether is probably only a fraction of your abilities. You saved my life today.”

Ciardis wasn’t yet ready to give in and believe him, but she had been there in the Aether with him, had stood against his foes, and knew that they, at least, believed he was the Prince Imperial. She came back to the couch he stood next to, plopped down, and grabbed a biscuit from the tea service. “Let’s say I decide to believe you, Sebastian Athanos Algardis,” she said, pronouncing each syllable carefully. “How could I possibly help the Prince Imperial? What can I do that your fabled Gardis cannot?”

He sat down beside her as he answered her question with one of his own. “Do you know the history of the kingdom’s formation? Did they teach you of the tie between the first emperor and the land?”

Stiffly, she replied, “I’ve heard of the breaking, yes. The first emperor came from Sahelia, across the seas. He was a powerful protector of his people and loved his land. As emperor he made a pact. Out of this pact rose the Guardians, known as Al-Gardis, and a binding contract to keep the land of Algardis whole and thriving through blood and sweat for as long as his family ruled.”

Sebastian nodded, impressed at her knowledge. “Yes,” he said. “Most are familiar with the Gardis because they are the pact personified—direct descendants of the unions between the first five Emperors and their ladies in the Imperial Halls. They train their entire lives, from birth to death, to protect the land from evil and the people from tyranny.

“But there’s another side to the pact, one drawn in blood,” he continued. “In the first decade of the kingdom’s founding, the emperor faced challenges from all sides. The enemy in the North wanted to wipe out Algardis. The emperor’s dragonkin of Sahelia saw him and his subjects as human chattel to be broken and enslaved, and the kith—natives of the lands that became the kingdom—fought back at every turn, as they were displaced by homesteaders. With his army of just a few thousand soldiers, the first emperor knew that he could not hold back the invaders on all fronts.

“So he made a pact with the spirit of the land, the Land Wight, an elemental of immense power. The Land Wight agreed to create a powerful physical barrier around Algardis for the first one hundred years of its existence, and to protect it from invasions from land, sea, and air. In return, the first emperor agreed to tie his line to the land for its future protection.”

Ciardis wasn’t quite convinced. “So you’re saying that every single emperor since the first emperor Athanos has been tied to the land?”

“Every emperor and Imperial child,” Sebastian clarified.

“And what does that tie mean for the Imperial children?” she questioned.

“Each child,” he said, “is tied to a portion of Algardis that they are connected to from birth. As long as that child is alive and the bond is strong, the land will thrive, crops will flourish, and disease will be abated.”

Ciardis knew plague still pulsed through the land in waves, and people still died, so how could these Imperial children be so powerful if the land lay fallow? Dozens of young ones back home had died last winter, the coldest Vaneis had seen in decades, and she had heard of worse in the far northern reaches of the Kingdom.

“As Imperial heir and the firstborn child of my father,” Sebastian said, tiredly wiping his eyes, “I should be able to protect the whole of Algardis. By birth and by blood, the entire kingdom is and forever will be under my protection. Historically, the more powerful the heir, the better off the land will be, and, by extension, the more powerful the Imperial court will be.”

“What does the nobility have to do with this?” she asked.

He sighed and explained, “Over time, the Imperial line has married into multiple noble families, so they, too, enjoy some of the heritage of the blood ties. In essence, every person with Imperial blood has become a mortal Land Wight, to one extent or another,” he said. “But that heritage and their access to it is tied into the power of the Emperor.”

“I see. But by your logic, they wouldn’t hate the Imperial heir. They need you. You’re their link to power and privilege.” Tilting her head Ciardis said, “Unless you messed that up somehow. What’d you do?”

He gave her a wry grin. “You catch on quickly. My father is getting older, and it’s assumed that I will ascend to the throne within ten years. But I haven’t been able to manifest a connection to the land since I was about five. I have no idea why. Essentially, they believe that I’m blocking their power.”

Ciardis wracked her brain for the history of the last five Emperors as she took a demure sip of tea. “The nobility are right to be worried, I think,” she said. “May the Heavens protect the Emperor. Sadly the past five rulers have rarely lived past fifty years. There’s only one that I can remember, and he died at sixty-two.”

Sebastian nodded. “My grandfather, Cymus. The connection to the land takes a toll on all those who bear it. The nobles are afraid—not without cause, as you say—that I’ll ascend to the throne and, as a consequence, they will lose their power, their connection to their own domains, and will be unable to use those ties to the land to stop the Northern hordes from pouring across the border.”