Call of Kythshire (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 1) (13 page)

“Ah, it begins,” says Viala as Rian rises to his feet. “He will demonstrate his spell range in order, from First Circle to Fifteenth.” she explains to the rest of us. Our box goes silent as we watch.

The knees of his robes are coated in dust and badly rumpled. He sweeps his hands down and away from his shoulders in a smooth movement and all at once the dust is gone and the wrinkles fall away until his appearance is impeccable. He moves his hands again, and the air around him seems to shimmer slightly and then settle.

“First Circle. Novice spells. A little something to tidy himself, and a shield spell.” I find myself annoyed by Viala’s droll tone as she describes his efforts. I can tell she’s eager to get through the review of simpler spells and into the more impressive ones. I try to block out her voice as I watch Rian use his magic to arrange a wall of glass vases behind him. One of them falls to the ground and shatters, and with a flick of his fingers it repairs itself and sets itself back into place. The ring goes pitch black and I’m momentarily alarmed until Viala explains that he’s just performed a Sixth Circle darkness spell. Then, a burst of colors and blinding light flashes through the ring and I’m forced to squint and look away.

“Seventh Circle. Dazzle.”

I blink rapidly and peer down to see Rian floating several feet above the ground. He rises higher and higher until he’s eye level with me, and he points at me and gives me an exaggerated wink. I wave hesitantly and Sarabel grasps my arm and squeals with excitement. He bows to her and then to the Prince before he disappears from view and continues to rise to the next level. Above us we can hear the muffled sound of cheering as the common crowd goes wild, stomping their feet and clapping.

“That was a Thirteenth Circle levitate. He’s skipped several. He’ll be marked off for that, he’s meant to go in order.” There’s an edge to Viala’s voice as she raises her chin to indicate the box across the ring. For the first time, I notice the group of Masters seated there. They’ll be grading Rian, and he hasn’t missed them. He lowers himself to the ground and then trots over to face them and repeats the spell again until he’s at their level. He offers a midair bow and a flourish before lowering again.

His feet touch the ground and there are suddenly two of him, then three, then four, then a dozen. All of the Rians walk away from each other in opposite directions, and I have trouble recognizing the real one until he bends to pick up a stone from a stack across the ring from his carefully arranged wall of vases. He tosses the stone up once and catches it, and then he turns to wink at his audience.  I shake my head. He isn’t supposed to make such a spectacle of it. He throws the stone with great force and I wince as it goes hurling toward a row of vases, waiting for the crash. It doesn’t come. Instead, the stone hits what seems to be an invisible wall and falls with a thud.

“Fourteenth Circle Mirror Illusion,” Viala says through clenched teeth. “Fourth Circle Ward.”

“What is he doing?” Eron murmurs. Viala remains silent, and I imagine that she’s shaking her head, but I don’t risk looking away from Rian’s exhibit to see for certain.

Rian’s mirror images begin to fade as he walks over to retrieve the stone. He raps on the barricade shielding the wall of vases and shrugs. He waves his hand across a section of the wall and it shimmers and fades, much like my bedroom wall those nights ago. He steps through it, and there is an audible gasp from Viala. In the Masters’ box, several of the Mages have risen to their feet. Two of them are arguing with each other, two others are frantically scrawling notes on their parchment.

“Sixteenth Circle, Cross Borders.”

At Viala’s narration, I understand the sudden uproar in the Masters’ box. It’s utterly brazen of him to perform a Sixteenth Circle spell when he’s only Fifteenth, especially in this setting. Mouli reaches for my hand and grips it, and my own knuckles are white as I continue to watch.  Rian steps back through the wall again and the vases solidify. Then he bends and picks up the stone and murmurs a spell over it. He takes a few steps away and tosses the stone casually over his shoulder. It hits the vases and bursts into a violent explosion, sending a spray of glass shards littering the floor. A collective scream echoes from the royal box and the gallery above, which then erupts into cheers. He is certainly failing spectacularly, just as promised.

“Fifteenth Circle, Explosive Stone,” Viala huffs as Rian performs a series of intricate gestures. His lips are moving silently and his brow is knit in deep concentration. The shards of glass collect together in a swirling mass in front of him. “Oh, what is he doing now?” Viala ducks her head and covers her eyes. “I can’t watch. He’s ruining everything.”

“Careful,” I catch Eron’s warning just as the tinkling of glass ceases. We all gasp as the glass glows deep orange as though molten, and shapes itself into the form of a man. It’s a perfect replica of Rian except in glass, like a sculpture made of ice.

“Seventeenth Circle,” Viala’s voice quivers. “Golem-Self. Excuse me.” She rises to leave, but Eron gestures for her to sit.

“Leave it. I want to see how far he’ll go.” I see him lean forward from the corner of my vision, obscuring Viala who has slunk back into her chair with her arms tightly crossed over her chest.

In the center of the ring, Rian commands the golem to follow him. He walks a lap around, and the golem obediently trails behind. Rian gestures at the floor at the golem’s feet, and a group of vines break through the boards and climb upward, entangling it.

“Fifteenth Circle, Command Plant,” Viala croaks. We watch as the vines carry the golem as high as the ceiling, and Rian thrusts his hands upward. Through the opening of the dome, a thunderous crack of lightning pulses. It crashes into the vines, instantly charring them, and the golem shatters again into thousands of shards of glass that rain down like ice.

“Nineteenth...Lightning Strike.” I watch the glinting shards as they fall, and I’m worried that Rian will be cut, but they slide away from him as though he’s protected by an invisible bubble. He sweeps his hands together and the shards of glass swirl and link together into their previous form, a wall of glass vases. The gallery above erupts into applause.

“What was that one that reformed the vases?” Eron asks. The rest of us turn to Viala. She shakes her head. She has no answer for him. I feel a nudge in my pocket and I clap my hand over it protectively.

“What did I miss?”
Flit’s voice echoes in my mind. I shake my head slightly. The crowd above us is still roaring and the sudden racket makes my ears ring as the masters in their box drop the sound barriers. One of the two who had been arguing steps forward and rests his hands on the ledge. He looks quite weary as he peers down at Rian.

“After much deliberation, it is decided that Apprentice Rian Eldinae is condemned to silence for a period of two weeks week as a punitive measure for his indiscretion in this ring.” The common crowd jeers rudely. The master raises one hand and waits patiently for them to calm down. “After which,” he pauses again, waiting. “After which, it will be recognized that he has risen to the Sixteenth Circle and therefore appointed the title of Mentor.”

“He didn’t fail it?”
Flit’s tone is disappointed.
“Why I am not surprised?”

“No,” I whisper. “But he won’t be able to perform at the ball tomorrow, either.” Suddenly, my uncle’s command makes a little more sense to me. He must have known about the plan to exhibit magic at the palace. Part of me hopes that he also knew how Rian would show off in his effort to fail. Perhaps he foresaw that it would turn out this way.

“Oh, that’s right,” says Sarabel sadly. “I was so looking forward to seeing what he would do. Perhaps they’ll make an exception, just for tomorrow.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sara,” Eron sounds as though he could spit venom. “The Academy doesn’t make exceptions for anyone. Especially not us.” Viala rests a hand on his arm but he pulls away petulantly and signals to the royal guard. “Let’s go.” He files out first, and I rise as he passes. Sarabel offers me a hug in his wake.

“Tell Rian he’s still welcome, even if he isn’t able to perform, okay? And tell him we said congratulations, it was really very impressive.” Over her shoulder, Amei gives me an awkward smile. Eron calls for them to hurry and they rush out together. Viala remains in her seat, glowering down into the ring that Rian has already vacated. Mouli tugs on my arm and we leave together after an awkwardly rushed farewell to the brooding mistress.

“Oh, if his parents could’ve seen that,” Mouli frets in my ear. “Your uncle is going to have ten fits, I know it. It oughtn’t to have happened.” She wrings my arm nervously. “What was that boy thinking, honestly? Always showing off.” She clicks her tongue.

“I thought it was amazing,” I say. “Despite the trouble he got himself into. I had no idea what he was capable of.” I mean it. Even though he never should have attempted half of those spells, and certainly not in front of an audience, I’m so proud of him.

“My turn!” Flit perches on the window seat beside me, where I sit watching the street below. The afternoon hours have crept by, and as the sun dips low to touch the castle spires, I grow increasingly worried about how long it’s taking Rian to get home. “Did you like the dancing?” Her question conjures a blur of colors and sweet music as fairies dance across my memory. I smile.

“It was wonderful,” I reply. It’s strange, I usually don’t really care for dancing, but there in the forest it felt so natural and free. I’m reminded of the ball tomorrow, where I will probably have to dance in the formal way, and my stomach twists into knots. I push the anxiety away and recall the forest again. “Was my mother really there?”

“Uh huh!” Flit nods. “What spells did the stinky Mage perform at his test?”

“I wish you wouldn’t call him that,” I scowl. Someone rounds the corner in the street below, but it’s just a passing neighbor. He waves up at me and I wave back. Flit wiggles her feet. “Shouldn’t you hide?” I ask. “He could have seen you.”

“My question first.” She tips her head to the side. I sigh and think back to the trial. There were so many spells, I’m sure I miss one or two of them, but I list them off to the best of my memory. Her wings move slowly back and forth as she listens, casting a glittering spray of rainbows across the rough wood of the window molding and the walls beyond. The effect mixed with the peachy glow of sunset is breathtaking. When I’m finished with my answer, she gives me hers. “People can’t see me unless they believe in me. So, a stranger walking by who has no reason to think about fairies has no chance at all.” She pulls a sugar cube out of her tiny belt pouch and starts to crunch on it. “Did the prince say anything interesting while he was watching Rian?” I chew my lip thoughtfully.

“Mistress Viala said something about Rian ruining everything, and Eron warned her to be careful. It seemed like he was reminding her not to say too much in front of me.” I think for a while about my next question, careful not to allow her line of questions to distract me. “Why is it that my father and I were both affected by the curse?”

“Hmm.” Flit’s eyes fade from pink to lavender and then green as they slide to the side thoughtfully. Her lips purse together and scrunch to the opposite side, making her look rather silly. “Your Da crossed into Kythshire with ill intent. Anyone who does that gets touched, and all of their descendants do, too.”

“Touched?” I ask, but she wiggles her pointer finger to chastise me. Her turn.

“Do you have something else sweet? I’m getting bored of sugar cubes.” She stuffs the half-eaten cube back into her pouch, and I imagine it must be getting rather sticky in there.

“I’m sure we do. We have fruit. What does it mean, touched?” I ask.

“Well, most see it as a curse, because they’re not so bright, are they? I mean, you pick something up and it hurts you and frightens you, so you put it down and worry about it. Some folks are really stubborn and they just keep picking it up and dropping it and trying until their minds get all befuddled and confused and even cruel. And it makes the worst of them come out, and they get even more greedy and even more hungry and they don’t know that it just pushes them farther and farther from what they wanted in the first place. But others are clever, and they figure it out. And if they make the right choices, then we can be friends. But only if friendship is all they really want, and they don’t want to get anything else out of it. But nobody ever really wants that. No one from here, anyway.”

I stare at her in disbelief. It’s a lot to take in. Before I can wrap my mind around it, she asks her question.

“When you get to the field, you never choose the riches. How come?”

“They’re not important to me. Why did you say my father entered with ill intent?”

“He wasn’t invited but he crossed anyway with your mum. When the guardian asked him to leave, he tried to fight.” She looks down into the street, where Rian has just rounded the corner. “Why aren’t riches important? Everyone wants riches.”

“My family and my duties are most important to me. I don’t need riches, I have everything I want.”  My thoughts are already on my next question. I think about my father, and the pieces of conversation we’ve had, sane and insane, since his return. I think back to my mother’s sad goodbye, and his rant in the guild hall when he thought Rian was Gaethon.
It’s in our blood
, he said. “Flit,” I think long and hard before I ask. “My mother was able to cross over, and she knew when she left here that she may not come back. My father blamed my uncle for this, he said he knew it would happen, and he didn’t try to stop it. Why are my mother and our family so important to Kythshire?”

She pushes off from the window seat to float up to my eye level, and her eyes fade all the way to white as they gaze into mine. They change from yellow to blue and lavender as she tilts her head from side to side considering me. “Oh,” she sighs with disappointment after a long time pondering, “I can’t tell you yet. You win this time! It was such a good round, too. I think I’ll go try and find some of that fruit.” Before I can protest, she’s gone, leaving me to stare in confusion and disappointment at the empty space she leaves behind. I would have been much happier with an answer rather than a win.

A blur of blue in the street below catches my attention, and I look down to see Rian waving me down. I hop from the sill, and in the time it takes me to get to my front door, a small crowd has gathered around him. He grins and nods cordially as people flood around him to shake his hand, clap him on the back, and congratulate him. Some of them are girls our age, and I lean against the door frame, watching as they bat their eyes at him and flirt. Rian’s sheepish grin clearly shows his embarrassment, but the girls, who aren’t at all familiar with him, seem encouraged by it. They fall over each other giggling and fawning at him. “Help me,” he mouths in my direction as more girls flock around him, bombarding him with questions that he has no hope of answering in his silence.

“Rian, you’re needed in the hall,” I call after I enjoy watching him squirm for a little while. Maybe next time he won’t be so flashy with his magic. He nods to me and extricates himself from the enamored crowd. When he reaches the stoop, he takes me in his arms and kisses me deeply and unabashedly right there. The collective groan of disappointment from the crowd of girls sends me chuckling as he pulls me inside of house and shuts the door behind us. “I think they got the message.” I say, watching through the window as the group of rejected girls disappears around the corner.

He leans heavily against the door and lets out a long sigh of relief, closing his eyes. When he opens them, they hold that familiar glint of mischief. He offers me a low bow with the same flourish he gave the masters in their booth at the end of his trial. I roll my eyes and shake my head.

“Only you could fail at failing so impressively,” I say. “What took you so long getting home?” He gestures at the door with one thumb, indicating the crowd that has now dispersed. “Really? You were so mobbed that it took you all afternoon to walk across the city?” He shrugs and huffs impatiently. We both know that I’ll scold him if he tries to talk after he’s been ordered to silence, but it’s still frustrating trying to have a conversation. “I was worried that you were being punished, or at least getting an earful.” He nods. That’s when I notice that the Mark has crawled up past his jaw and around his ear, and disappeared into his hairline. I reach up and trace it with my fingertips. “Oh Rian, you went too far.” He bobs his head from side to side and rolls his eyes as he nods. I imagine what he’d be saying if he could, his tone thick with annoyance.
I know, I know
.

Mouli is just finishing setting out the flatware as we reach the hall together, and she looks up with a grin from the feast she’s spread out.

“Well done, well done!” She rushes to Rian, hugging him, “and congratulations!” She lets go of him and then smacks him hard on the arm. “And that’s for overreaching! Oh, if Gaethon had seen you! He’d have had you stripped and you know it!” Rian winces away from her, looking injured. “Well, sit down and eat. I know it’s a little extravagant, but I couldn’t help myself. Oh, and this came for you earlier.” She sets a tiny roll of paper on the table between us as we sit side by side. Rian unrolls it and I read Elliot’s note over his shoulder.

“Will reach border 2 days from now. Have reason to agree with Azi. Stay put. Behave.” I snort indelicately. “Behave. If he only knew.” I say. Rian’s head bobs once as he offers me the platter of roast before serving himself. Mouli makes sure that we have piled our plates amply and then takes off her apron.

“Well now, that’s done. I’ll be off,” she says.

“Aren’t you having supper?” I ask her.

“Oh, I ate already, Dear. Too much to do. I’ll be back to clean up after.” I nod and take a bite of meat, which is so tender I barely have to chew it. As soon as Mouli leaves, Rian turns to me and takes my face gently in his hands. He gazes into my eyes and I fall into his, watching the soft glow of the fire reflect in flecks of green and gold. This time when he kisses me, it’s just for the two of us. It’s warm and deep and perfect, and time seems to slow while we melt into each other. When we part, he smiles softly at me and strokes my cheek. He doesn’t need to say anything at all.

We dine hand in hand, and I tell him about everything from the comments in the booth to the questions and answers in Flit’s game. It’s an odd one-sided conversation, but he manages to take his own part without a word. He’s mostly interested in Eron’s interactions with Viala, and pushes me to remember more and more details as our plates are slowly emptied.

After we’re both completely stuffed, we clear everything to the kitchen where we find Flit splayed in a half-empty bowl of berries. Her hands rest on her bulging belly which pokes out between her corset and the belt of her skirt, and her lips are stained purple with juice. She smiles lazily up at us as we come in bearing our trays.

“Found the berries!” she says, patting her stomach.

“Looks like you ate twice your weight in them, too,” I say. She giggles and then looks over at Rian, who is stacking the dirty plates at the basin. He pauses and frowns and turns to Flit. She grins widely and tilts her head to the side. He takes a step toward her, looking alarmed, and then his eyes flick to me. “What’s going on?” I say. He points at Flit, and then taps his own lips, and then his temple. She’s talking to him in his mind, like she does with me sometimes. I can’t help but feel a little jealous. “What did you say?” I ask Flit.

“I said his coils are reaching.” She strokes a finger from her own chin up around her ear, leaving a trail of purple juice in the green section of her hair. “He’s got to do something about it.” Rian gestures one palm up and shrugs. “You know, something pure. Something kindhearted. Make them go away.” I think about my own Mark on my chest, and realize that it has indeed faded some since it appeared. I can’t really think of anything I’ve done that has been outstandingly kindhearted, though, since then. Flit scoots out of the bowl of berries and lands lightly on the counter. She walks across and puts her hands on her hips to survey the platter holding the remains of our roast. Her nose wrinkles up and she screws her eyes shut and shakes her head. “Disgusting.” Before I can object, she’s gone.

We go back into the hall, where Rian settles at a desk and starts writing. His quill moves frantically across the paper while I drowse in a chair near the fire. Eventually, Mouli comes and drags me away. I let her fuss over me for another dress fitting, listening to her go on and on about how much there is left to do before the ball tomorrow afternoon. When I finally fall into bed that night, I drift easily into a deep, dreamless sleep.

I’m woken midmorning by Mouli, who ushers me off to the bath. I relinquish myself to her scrubbing and trimming and buffing and fussing through the morning hours and into the early afternoon, when I’m finally allowed a bite to eat in between primping and dressing. I convince her to let me take it in the guild hall, hoping to catch Rian, but unfortunately I find it empty. He’s left me with a long letter in his place, the cover of which explicitly declares it’s for my eyes only. I unfold it and read while I chew a bite of apple.

“Azi, we have to be careful tonight. I think I know where to look, but it should probably be only one of us, and you’re the least likely to look suspicious wandering around outside of the ballroom. Margary might be able to show you where he keeps his books. I think that would be the most likely place to find the missing pages and more information to help break the curse. I’ve found more that confirms our suspicions, but I won’t say it here. It’d be a good idea for you to pack for a trip, just in case. I’m going to the Academy, I’ll be back in time to get ready for the ball. XO, R”

I read it twice more, and then drop it into the fire just as Mouli comes to get me, and the whirlwind starts up again. She spends what feels like hours wrapping locks of my hair around a hot iron and I spend just as long blowing the bouncing golden curls off my tickled face while she works. It takes her and two tailor’s apprentices another hour to get me into my dress and looking perfect. By the time I’m ready to leave, the sun has sunk low in the sky, and I’m completely exhausted.

“How do women do this every day?” I groan, trying hard not to scratch at the pins in my hair as I slip my feet into the satin shoes offered to me by one of the girls. The heels make my ankles wobble, and they click noisily on the worn wood floor as I take a few hesitant steps to the mirror. I don’t recognize the young woman looking back at me through the glass with Mouli beaming over her shoulder. The neckline of blue satin trimmed with gold lace is just low enough to show my pale shoulders and collarbone, but high enough that it covers the remnants of the faded Mage Mark over my heart.