Daughter of the Disgraced King (18 page)

How was she supposed to make sense of this? She couldn’t be
in love with both of them, could she? So, was she in love with either? And how
would she know?

Sav. He’d been her best friend for as long as she could remember.
He understood her, knew her history, better than anyone. Probably better even
than her parents. Until he’d complicated their relationship by asking her to
marry him, she’d always felt she could talk to him about anything. Now, there
were some things she wouldn’t mention to him. Jathan, for instance.

She went back in her mind over Sav’s astonishing, stammering
proposal. A little of her exasperation at his timing resurfaced with the
memory. He’d had months since her seventeenth birthday to say or do something
to let her know how he felt. He hadn’t even given her the traditional kiss on
her birthday, when he should have been the first to offer one. So . . . what
had really prompted his sudden profession of love?

Sav’s circle of friends wasn’t much broader than hers, for
different reasons. His natural reserve and equally natural distrust of those
who wanted to befriend him only for what he could do for them kept him from
making new friends easily. True, he danced with her at all of his father’s
balls, but she’d always understood that as his way to keep the eyelash-batting
crowd of potential brides at bay. She’d never seen it as an indication of any
real interest in her—not
that
way.

What
had
held Sav back? Or impelled him to make his
declaration when he did? Was it really love? After all, he didn’t have any more
experience at this than she did. It’d be so like Sav to try to cling to what
was easy and comfortable. Now
that
was a sobering thought.

Not that it would have been a bad life, under other
circumstances. It was just that her horizons had broadened in the last couple
of months. No, she and Sav
definitely
needed to talk some things out—and
not just about her magic—before they went any further in that direction. Maybe
it was just as well that the emperor was going to send for Sav. It’d give them
a chance to have that talk and air out their true feelings.

Not that Jathan couldn’t be annoying, too. In fact, while
she was only irritated with Sav for one thing he’d done once, Jathan tended to
be continually aggravating. He did like to be the center of attention. Though,
to be fair, he’d mostly stopped trying to force her to join him in that. He’d
even gotten over his unflattering doubts about her riding ability. When he wasn’t
doing something like that, he was a lot of fun to be with. He made her laugh.
And just thinking of the closeness of working magic with him made her feel
warmer than the now-tepid bath water could account for. Nothing with Sav so far
had come close to that intimacy or euphoria.

And yet . . . was Jathan interested in her, really? As more
than a friend and fellow green mage? That was harder to sort out. There’d been
moments, like that kiss after the Solstice Ball, when she thought he was. And
then he’d pretended it had never happened. So what about his kisses this
afternoon? Was he going to do the same thing again? That could be the most
exasperating thing of all. Though . . . he had seemed to be as deeply affected
by that kiss as she was.

So . . . what about Jathan? Should she try to avoid him, for
now? At least until after she’d talked to Sav? The bottom line to that question
was she didn’t want to. He was her best friend here—and, frankly, he was a lot
more fun than Sav. She wasn’t going to give up her rides with Jathan and Mayra.
Anyway, she and Jathan studied together almost every day, so she could hardly
avoid him if she did want to. Was that being disloyal to Sav?

There was no need to rush things either way. Slow. Slow was
good. Give herself time.

Ailsa pulled her braid around to chew on the end. Then she
yanked it out of her mouth and quickly undid the braid. Enough of that childish
habit. She held her breath and submerged her head under the water to wet her
hair.

Savyon dipped a cloth into the tiny waterhole to wipe the
sweat from his face and sat down in the sparse shade of a mesquite tree, knees
drawn up and arms resting on them. Riding in the brutal midsummer heat required
stops like this to rest and water the horses. This waterhole was little more
than a mud puddle with barely enough clear water on the top for the horses to
drink.

Savyon was under no illusions about this assignment from his
father to visit specific barons—during the height of summer, when sane people
spent most of the day indoors. It had little or nothing to do with the actual
running of Far Terra. No. It was part punishment and part a new tactic in
Father’s ongoing campaign to force Savyon to socialize with the eligible
daughters of certain loyal barons. Savyon smiled to himself. What Father
probably would never understand about him was that Savyon would far rather be
riding alone across the desert, even in this weather, than forced to mingle
with crowds at another one of Father’s interminable balls.

Hopefully, it wasn’t also an attempt by Father to disrupt
Sav’s secret lessons in high-level politics with ex-King Sandor. No. If Father
had found out about those he would have been a lot noisier about it. His
reaction to that wouldn’t be a secret to anyone within a mile or two. Explosive
would probably be the best description. Sav missed those lessons. They’d become
the highlight of his day, now that Ailsa was gone. He sighed. The other downside
of being sent out here alone was that it gave him too much time to think.

And lately his thoughts had been unpleasant. Like now,
looking around this oasis. Savyon hadn’t been here before, but the signs were
clear to anyone paying attention. That waterhole should be more than twice the
size it was, even at this time of year. The few plants that survived—and there
should be many more at an oasis—had an unhealthy brownish tinge. Even the drought-tolerant
mesquite tree he rested under had more dead and dying fronds than it should.

He’d seen the same symptoms at all of the more distant oases
around Far Terra. It wasn’t too hard to figure out why. No mage had been out to
these distant outposts in at least ten years. Maybe not since his father had
taken the throne. There was only so much that could be done by sweat alone.

The signs were harder to see nearer the center of Far Terra,
but, now that his eyes had been opened, he’d noticed indications of trouble
there, too. Far Terra was in trouble. Of course, Father didn’t want to hear it
and wouldn’t listen. Savyon bit his lip and fingered the half-written letter in
his tunic. Living at court, or even in the barons’ villas, it was too easy to
ignore the problem. Not out here, and not in the far-flung farming towns Savyon
had to pass through on these journeys. The desperation of those common farmers,
the real backbone of Far Terra, was too obvious to miss.

The one good thing about this particular assignment was that
it had taken him to the south. The courier pouch from his next stop would go directly
on to Terranion, not back to the capital. He could write to the emperor without
fear that his father would read what he had to say. It felt a little like a
betrayal to go behind his father’s back like this, but the more Savyon saw the
more certain he was that he had to finish and send this letter. Someone with the
power to act had to know what was going on here. Someone had to find a way to
bring the mages back to Far Terra or his generation would be the last to live
here.

That brought him around to the other unpleasant thought, the
one he tried not to allow himself to dwell on. The only mages who remained in Far
Terra were the home-grown ones, like Lady Izbel. Like Ailsa would be when she
came back. What Ailsa, as a powerful green mage, could do to set things right
far outweighed what she could do as the future queen, no matter how much he
valued and loved her. Did he even have the right to consider co-opting that
potential for himself?

Savyon dropped his head to rest on his crossed arms. It wasn’t
the sun reflecting off the desert sands that brought tears to his eyes. He
released his breath slowly. No. He’d think about that later. Ailsa still had
most of her year of study at the Institute. Right now, it was time to move on
if he hoped to reach Baron Mikel’s estates before nightfall. He’d heard the
howls of desert wolves earlier. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to be out
here in the wilds after dark.

~

Baron Mikel’s villa was in sight when Savyon saw a woman
walking slowly up the road ahead of him. There was something oddly familiar
about her, but he couldn’t quite place what. He studied her as his horse closed
the distance, but still couldn’t recognize her. No one he knew walked with that
slumped, exhausted posture. And yet, her clothes, though sweaty and dusty,
spoke of a high rank—someone he
should
know.

He gasped when he turned in the saddle to see her face. Of
course he knew her. It was Lady Izbel—Ailsa’s aunt and Perion’s mother. Savyon
pulled his horse to a halt and dismounted. “Lady Izbel! How do you come to be
out here, on foot and unaccompanied? Are you ill?”

Lady Izbel looked up, seeming to have trouble focusing on
him. She swayed a little on her feet. “Not ill. Used up. Mikel doesn’t
understand. Water mage needs some water to draw from. Can’t pull magic out of
dry air.”

Savyon unslung the canteen from his saddle and held it for
Lady Izbel to drink. The water seemed to revive her somewhat. Nevertheless, he
wasn’t about to let her try to walk the rest of the way to the villa. He’d
brought two horses so he could switch between them and reduce the stress on
either, but he didn’t think she was steady enough to ride on her own. There was
only one solution to that. “Let’s get you somewhere you can rest.”

He swung Lady Izbel up onto his tall black and mounted
behind her. He kicked the horse into motion. Fortunately, the black had an
almost magically smooth trot. “How did you come to be out here alone?”

“King Ewart asked me to come out here to advise on a problem
Baron Mikel was having with his water supply shortly after Ailsa left for the
Institute.” Even Lady Izbel’s voice was tired.

“But that was months ago. Why haven’t you returned to the
capital? You’re clearly in no condition to work any magic.”

Lady Izbel snorted. It sounded disconcertingly like the
sound Savyon had heard Ailsa make more than once. “I tried. Baron Mikel sent my
carriage and driver back. He insisted that I use my magic to fix a problem that
would be a challenge for a circle of six mages. I’ve been on foot ever since.”

Savyon clenched the reins so tight that the horse dropped
back to a walk. He turned his heels in to push him up to a canter. There was
more wrong in Far Terra than even he’d imagined.

Baron Mikel met them in the courtyard, his three giggling
daughters in a cluster behind him. “Prince Savyon. We’re honored by your visit.
I’ve given orders to have a bath drawn so you can refresh yourself before
supper. I’ve planned a celebration for tomorrow night—”

Savyon handed Lady Izbel down and kept hold of her arm until
he was sure she was steady enough on her feet. “Cancel it. Lady Izbel and I
will be riding back to the capital first thing in the morning. Meanwhile, Lady
Izbel is in more need of a bath than I am.”

Baron Mikel closed his mouth with a snap before answering. “You
don’t understand, your highness. We are suffering a water shortage out here.”
He shot a venomous look at Lady Izbel. “We haven’t enough to allow servants to
bathe.”

Savyon swung down from the saddle and placed himself between
the baron and Lady Izbel. His eyes narrowed. “Servant! How dare you treat a
member of the royal family in this way?”

“She’s no member of the royal family. She’s a mage.”

Savyon stepped closer to the baron, using his height to loom
over the shorter man. “Lady Izbel is the sister of former king Sandor. She is a
member of the royal family. I’m appalled at the way she has been treated.
Believe me, I will make the situation known to my father.”

The baron smirked. “She’s a mage. Your father will agree
with me. You should not . . . interfere in these matters.”

Savyon’s stomach churned and his chest tightened, but he
kept any reaction off his face. The baron’s confidence might not be misplaced,
but that didn’t mean Savyon could just let this go. “As my father isn’t here
and I am—and I also happen to be here as his representative—I expect you to
follow my instructions on this. Now.”

~

Savyon and Lady Izbel were mounted and on their way out of
the villa before Baron Mikel had even come down for breakfast. Just as well.
Savyon didn’t really want another confrontation with the baron. The one with the
king would be bad enough.

After a short rest at the small oasis he’d stopped at the
day before, Savyon took the smaller, less-used track that led to the west.

“Where are we going?” Lady Izbel asked.

Savyon turned in his saddle to face her. “This will connect
to the main road to the empire. It’ll be a little rougher for a short distance,
but we should be there by noon. Then the travel will be easier for you. We won’t
have to move as fast. There are more oases and courier stops where we can take
shelter.” He touched his pocket, where the letter he’d finished and sealed last
night rested. “Besides, I’ll be able to put this into a courier pouch where no
one can interfere with it. Not Baron Mikel. Not even my father can intercept it
once it’s in the hands of an Imperial courier.”

“What is it?”

Savyon let out his breath. This still felt like a betrayal,
but an unavoidable one. “A letter to the emperor about the situation in Far
Terra. Something has to be done.”

“That could be dangerous for you, Prince Savyon. Your father
won’t like it.”

Savyon bit his lip. “No, he won’t. But it has to be done,
anyway. Things can’t go on this way. He’s destroying Far Terra with his
irrational policies. The way I see it, there’s only one man who can set things
right.”
If he will.
Savyon truly didn’t know whether the emperor would
do anything. He hadn’t in all these years since ex-King Sandor had been forced
to abdicate. Still, it was the only hope Savyon could see.

He pushed them forward until they reached the main road.
After that, he let Lady Izbel set the pace, knowing that he could claim shelter
for them at the courier stations. That was a good thing, because Lady Izbel was
still in very bad shape.

Late afternoon of the following day, he finally escorted her
through the capital to her own home, where he delivered her to the care of her
family. Then he turned his horse and rode resolutely to the palace. There was
no point at all in letting this go any longer.

Savyon didn’t wait to bathe or change clothes. He strode
directly to his father’s office. He knocked once and then let himself in.

His father looked up, eyebrows rising towards his hairline. “Savyon!
I didn’t expect you for several days yet.”

Savyon stepped forward until he was standing just across the
large desk from his father. “Something came up.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I happened on Lady Izbel along the way. She had been
grievously mistreated by Baron Mikel, who forced her to work magic to
exhaustion. I brought her home to her family to recover.”

“I see. That’s unfortunate.”

Savyon rapped his knuckles on the desk. “Unfortunate? What
are you going to do about it?”

King Ewart sat back. “I will hope for her full recovery, of
course. Far Terra needs her magic.”

Savyon leaned across the desk. “And what about Baron Mikel?
He actually dared to hold her as a virtual prisoner in order to exploit her
magic.”

King Ewart stood and leaned across the desk so that his face
was close to Savyon’s. “What should I do? She’s a mage. What else is she good
for?”

Savyon stood back, clenching his fists. He shook his head.

The king sat back down and picked up his pen, looking at the
papers in front of him as if to dismiss Savyon. “We don’t have enough mages in Far
Terra. Those that are here must work harder for the good of all.”

“Of course we don’t have enough mages in Far Terra! I’m
surprised we have any at all when you permit them to be treated this way.”

The king surged back to his feet. “I will not tolerate
disrespect!”

“Well, then, we have a problem. Because I can’t feel
anything else for someone who would condone this kind of treatment for anyone,
let alone a member of his own family.”

“She’s no kin of mine.”

“She may be a distant cousin, Father, but she is still
family. Blood is blood. Even you can’t change that.” Savyon spun on his heel
and walked out. If he stayed, he was going to strike his father, which wouldn’t
help anything.

Trouble was Savyon didn’t have any idea what he
could
do. He knew he had to do something. But what? He found himself walking the path
that would take him next door to ex-King Sandor. If anyone would know what to
do, it would be him. Savyon desperately wanted to talk to him.