Sworn To Raise: Courtlight #1 (24 page)

He was, but his breaths were shallow.

Sebastian? Sebastian!
she called out desperately, mind-to-mind.

From far away, she heard his thoughts whisper,
I’m here. But it’s too much.
There was pain laced through his voice.
Too much power from the Land Wight all at once, and not enough from me,
he said.
I’ll loose all ties to my magic if I can’t break that locket’s connection
.

“Then let’s break it!” Ciardis said aloud.

As one, they dove down towards his mage core, searching with their second sight for the golden thread that linked his magic to the locket. It wasn’t hard to find. It lay like a fine, pale line lancing out from his core and going straight into the aether, off into the darkness straight towards the locket nestled at the Algardis Emperor’s throat.

They stared at the pulsing thread, which beat in time with the Prince’s heart. Neither could see a weakness, a strand out of place, or a thin spot where it might be broken. Brushing her mind with his, Sebastian said,
I think I can do it. I can see where it connects to my core. I can cut it off from there—but I need your help.

She nodded from where she sat beside the Land Wight before she realized he couldn’t see that in his unconscious state, and then said simply, “You have it.”

He went to work, first locking down and turning off his mage core, then gripping the thread that lanced it as best he could. It felt like holding his breath for far too long, but as long as his mage core was locked down, the thread couldn’t draw upon the core to strengthen itself. It began to weaken, and he kept insistently tugging on it. Inch by inch, it withdrew from the core of his magic like a parasitic water worm being withdrawn from a swollen sore. Like a spool of thread winding down, the parasitic thread came out of his mage core piece by piece until he had the very tip in his grip, and with a sharp tug, he snapped it. Ciardis could feel
the
snap
resound through her body as Sebastian drew upon her power for the final act, and her soul sang out with joy.

As soon as it snapped, his power came rushing in. The power had dwindled to a pitiful ghost now blazed with the power of a contained sun. Ciardis hurried to pull her mind back from his. Even looking at Sebastian’s mage core for too long was blinding.

Just before she reached her own mind, she felt the Land Wight and Sebastian meet as equals at last. The Land Wight began raining leaves down upon Sebastian’s still form and Ciardis’s smiling face.

It had been waiting fifteen years to feel that bond again—the bond of an Algardis Emperor to the land.

Nodding, he turned and said his own private goodbye to the Land Wight.

As she started walking back toward the platform, Sebastian called out, “Wait. There’s an exit from the mountain in this room.” Sebastian indicated the far wall with a tilt of his head. “There’s a portal down the passageway that will take us out, back to the mortal realm. We’ve been here far too long anyway.”

“Right,” Ciardis said, stifling a yawn. “I have no idea what I’ll tell my sponsor when I get back.”

Sebastian shrugged. “The truth might not hurt. Just say you were with one of your patron candidates.”

Ciardis let out an undignified snort. “Right! I guess I can do that.”

Grinning, he threw an arm around her shoulders and they proceeded to exit the chamber side-by-side, the tree blossoming behind them; alone again, but not forgotten.

They walked up a tunnel with a steep incline, and soon they saw the portalway up ahead. It was literally built to span the tunnel, like a pool of shimmering light, and was the only way out. Ciardis asked, “You
do
know where this will take us, right?”

“It should take us right back to where we started in the maze,” he said. “Your anklet will direct it.”

They walked forward, and this time she didn’t feel the stomach-twisting tug of magic, but rather a swirl of power—almost as if they were in a magical whirlpool.

When they arrived, the first thing Ciardis noticed was that they were
not
in the maze.

They stood in a room before a group of people that Ciardis was quite unfamiliar with—that is, if she didn’t count her ticked-off sponsor and tutorials instructor standing in the huddle of nobility. After glancing at Serena and Damias, Ciardis couldn’t help but gawk at the other fifteen or so people who crowded the room, all of who wore the finest court dress.

A man cleared his throat; he wore the badge of the Gardis and had an imposing stature, and he stood at attention before Sebastian. His dark brown eyes didn’t twitch, and not a muscle moved on his dark skin as he calmly announced, “The Prince has returned. All Hail Prince Sebastian Athanos Algardis.”

“All Hail,” came the quiet murmur from the surrounding courtiers. Stepping forward, he clasped Sebastian’s hand in his own as leaned toward him and whispered, “It’s good to see you alive, my Prince. When even your mind link disappeared, we feared the worst.”

Sebastian nodded sharply. “Yes, I should have thought of that. I hope Allornadara wasn’t too concerned, Commander.”

The commander said nothing, merely stepped back with a bow and turned to face north once more.

With a groan, Ciardis met the eyes of Prima, whose gloating could not be ignored.
You’re in trouble now,
came the telepathic taunt, laced with vindictive amusement.

Ciardis, covered in dirt and tired as all hell, pulled back her lips in what could charitably be called a smile, but most would read as the bared teeth of animal ready to bite.

Ciardis noticed Prima’s perfectly coiffed hair and beautiful rose-colored gown, wondering,
Why is she wearing her second day outfit? It shouldn’t be worn until tomorrow’s Hunt.

And then she looked around at the lords and ladies gathered, embarrassed at her abrupt entrance, not to mention her disheveled appearance.

What must they think of me? Out all night…with a patron.

But they weren’t staring at her; no, they were
all staring
through
Ciardis and Sebastian with the looks of disdain that the nobility usually reserved for those special moments whenever they stepped in horse droppings.

Self-consciously, Ciardis looked down at herself. She knew she was covered in dust and dirt, and her hair must be a tangled mess. But that didn’t quite
explain their stone-cold reception.

Finally, Serena looked her dead in the eye, gave her an icy glare and the hand signal to bow deeply.

Ciardis hesitantly did what she asked, and a harsh whisper echoed from one of the gathered nobles. “Turn around, you fools.”

Ciardis looked to Sebastian, who had turned pale.
Interesting
—
he looks like he swallowed a grape and it went down the wrong way.
He was that gray. Together, they mentally decided to do as commanded and turned their backs to the crowd, hoping not to get shot in the back with an irritated bolt of lightning from a highly-strung duke standing in the back corner.

As soon as she did, she saw the reason her sponsor was furious, and the reason she was never going to live this down.

A haughty man stood in front of them wearing resplendent court robes, an aloof expression, and the crown of an emperor.

Ciardis fell to her knees and huddled on the floor, wishing it would swallow her up—or, at the very least, that her dirty hair would untwist from the tangle of braids and hide her flaming face. Sebastian wasn’t so servile, but he did swiftly drop to one knee.

“My son, welcome back to Court,” the Emperor said upon turning his gaze to the Prince Imperial.

“Thank you, Father,” Sebastian said as he stood pulling Ciardis up with him by her elbow. Ciardis was fairly sure she heard an audible gasp from Serena’s direction. She didn’t dare look; she would
never
live this down.

She also resented Sebastian’s insistence that she stand up. She’d rather have stayed right where she was, huddled on the floor and close to being out of sight.

“Father,” said Sebastian, apparently reluctant to speak in front of the Court, “May we speak privately?”

“I’m certain, Lord Sebastian, that your disdain for protocol, blatant dereliction of duty, and complete failure to inform the Gardis of your whereabouts—requiring the use of quite a bit of mage power to redirect your Aether bracelet—can be discussed publicly,” interrupted his father’s Grand Vizier.

Sebastian looked to his father to slap the vizier down for his impertinence, but the Emperor merely steepled his fingers and waited. Sebastian frowned and prepared to make his case before his father and the court.

As Ciardis looked over at the vizier she realized something shocking.
She needed to talk to Sebastian mind-to-mind
now.
But she couldn’t project her thoughts without touching, only receive them. As he opened his mouth to speak, Ciardis grabbed his hand and gripped it hard.
She stood close enough to him that their cloaks hid the movement from the courtiers gathered behind them but not, of course, his father in front of them.

What?
he snapped through their onnection.

She ignored his rudeness and the snide look from the Grand Vizier, who was waiting for Sebastian to make his case, and sent to Sebastian,
That’s the man from the vision—the one who created that stupid locket in the first place!

Sebastian’s face didn’t betray his thoughts as he carefully recalled the vision, looking over the scene of the strange man standing over his bed just before he turned five and thought over Ciardis’s claim.
Damn it, you’re right.
He couldn’t deny it.

Turning to the Grand Vizier, he said, “There’s certainly much we could discuss, Lord Martieaus, but my primary concern is why
you have been siphoning off my mage powers for so long.”

The gathered courtiers gasped, though his lord father remained conspicuously silent. Ciardis snuck a peek at the Emperor through lowered eyes and saw that he looked perplexed. “Explain yourself, Sebastian,” his father commanded after a long moment.

Sebastian called golden fire to his palms. “This, Father, is what I mean,” said Sebastian slowly, “I haven’t been able to call the healing fire from the land since I was a toddler. I can now do this and more. I visited our Land Wight tonight. I saw what the Grand Vizier had done – he’s stealing my mage powers for a decade.”

“Lies, Sire,” shouted the Grand Vizier as he hurried forth to prostrate himself before the Emperor, much to Sebastian’s disgust. “I would never do anything to harm the Imperial Throne!” he babbled, rising to his knees with a panicked look in his eyes.

The Emperor stepped forward and caught the Vizier’s chin in his grip.

“If what my son says is true, Vizier, there is
nothing
that would excuse it.”

“I can
explain,
Sire
—
” But before the Vizier could finish the thought, his voice was cut off, as if a vise had clasped itself around his throat. The man tumbled back to the floor, gasping for air and clawing at his throat desperately.

As people surged forward to help, he clawed at his own throat in a desperate attempt to gain air. He was clearly fighting for breath that would not come. His eyes began to bulge, and he silently pleaded for help as blood vessels burst on the edges on his corneas. He fell back suddenly, and then lay very still.

The Grand Vizier was dead.

The Emperor ordered in the Gardis and had the room sealed.

Summoning the Commander of the Royal Guard, the Emperor quickly ordered a mental inspection of all the room’s inhabitants. Four of the Gardis went from person to person, looking for the murderer who had to be a mage of strong Air Magic, who had sufficient skills to take the breath from a person’s lungs. It was a rare level of magic not easily attained, with only a few known practitioners able to do it, two of which resided as Instructors at the Red Madrassa.

After questioning everyone from the lowest non-mage courtier to Sebastian himself, it was determined that none had the ability to do what had been done to the Vizier.   The killer wasn’t in the room.

Tersely, the Emperor ordered the Commander of the Royal Guard and Sebastian to join him in an antechamber. With tenseness in his stride that telegraphed his anger, the Emperor asked, “How?
How,
Sebastian, was your magic stolen?”

Sebastian paled; he wasn’t ready to accuse his father of betrayal, wasn’t yet ready to hear him admit to the crime.

“Sebastian,” said the Emperor sharply.

The Prince Imperial sighed and took a deep breath. “Through a locket, Father. The gold one you wear about your neck.”

Reaching inside his robes, the Emperor pulled out the simple gold chain and oval locket. He pulled it off and handed it to the commander with a simple, “Test it.”