Mage's Blood (6 page)

How will I get Bastido out of here? I only brought him because I thought we would actually get to exit this job with dignity
…

Wear your gems …
Why? Do we just walk away? What’s going on?

She shivered.
Don’t think about it. Keep your mind on the money
. She wrapped herself in a Jhafi blanket and left the chamber, seeking the bathing room and some hot water.

*

Half an hour later, washed and clad in the Jhafi smock called a salwar, she accompanied the Nesti children to the Sollan chapel. The relief-carved sandstone walls were soot-stained from torches and the two copper masks behind the altar, Sun above Moon, were in need of a good polish. The old Sollan drui-priest poured the libations, intoning the ritual formulas to invoke the strength of the new day. It all felt very tired – the Sollan faith might be the oldest in Yuros, the religion of the Rimoni and once the dominant belief of the entire western continent, but here in the east, it was a sapling in unfertile soil.

There were just twelve people in the chapel. In the front rank was King Olfuss, his skin dark against his curly white hair and beard, his genial face serious. He was obliged to uphold both faiths of Javon, the Rimoni Sollan and the Amteh worship of the Jhafi, which meant a lot of time on his knees. She couldn’t tell if either held his heart. Beside him was his wife Fadah, wrapped in her bekira-shroud. She cared nothing for the Sollan faith, was here by duty only. Behind them were their children, wrapped against the chill: young Timori, the heir, only seven years old, was fidgeting, bored. Every so often he glanced back at Elena and waved, until Solinde noticed and chided him. Solinde was the tallest of the children, though the middle one, with auburn hair and long, graceful limbs. She was considered the family beauty, though Elena preferred Cera’s darker, more exotic features. Cera, dutiful eldest daughter, remained deep in prayer.

Elena’s colleagues, Rutt Sordell and Samir Taguine, lounged beside the door, neither bothering to look interested. They were Koreworshippers, and didn’t mind who they offended in reminding people. She found both obnoxious and was glad to be apart from them. Three guardsmen were there too, two young men standing at the door while their captain knelt beside Elena, praying softly. Lorenzo di Kestria had a mop of short curls and a roughly handsome face. He’d arrived a few months ago, a younger son of an allied family, and Olfuss had given him a place among his knights. His violet tunic was dishevelled but clean and he smelled of cloves and cinnamon. He met Elena’s glance and smiled.

She looked away. She liked Lorenzo, but she did not want – could not afford – entanglements. Especially not now.
Wear your gems
…

‘Father Sol, we pray unto you,’ intoned Drui Prato. ‘Sister Luna, we pray unto you. Bring us whole through this festival of Samhain. Ward us these winter nights, harbour the seeds of spring. Light our paths, we pray you.’ Elena fidgeted, as bad as Timori. The peaceful phrases, the drui’s concerns with the seasons and their cycles, failed to calm her. They were out of place here where the seasons were wrong – praying for protection from winter when here in Javon it was the growing season was just absurd. Even so, she would miss this. No one openly worshipped Sol and Luna back in Yuros any more. The Kore had been imposed everywhere; other faiths were heretical, dangerous.

The little ritual ended with a sip of wine and a dab of ash and water applied to their foreheads by the old drui. Outside the chapel they gathered, Lorenzo hovering solicitously, but Elena knew how to cold-shoulder men without offending them. Cera sidled up and kissed her cheek. ‘Buona Samhain, Ella.’ Cera’s deep brown eyes caught the torchlight. ‘Your hair is wet! Have you bathed and exercised already? Don’t you know this is a holiday?’

‘I exercise every day, Cera. You look lovely this morning. And so do you Solinde,’ she added to the younger sister, who simpered, her eyes on Lorenzo. She was growing up too quickly, that one.

‘There’re going to be lots of dancing tomorrow,’ Solinde said eagerly, watching the knight.

Lorenzo smiled at her, but his eyes went back to Elena. ‘Do you dance, milady?’

Elena crooked an eyebrow. ‘No.’

‘I’m going to dance with all the knights,’ Solinde announced grandly, piqued at Lorenzo’s interest being elsewhere.

‘Even the flatfooted, ugly ones?’ asked Cera slyly.

‘Just the handsome ones,’ Solinde replied. ‘Like Fernando Tolidi.’

‘Ugh,’ said Cera, ‘you can’t dance with him – he’s a Gorgio.’

‘So? I think he’s handsome. And Father said it was time to welcome the Gorgio back to the royal bosom.’

‘The royal bosom doesn’t mean
your
one,’ Cera quipped. ‘Anyway, he looks like a horse.’

Timori pushed in between the girls and clutched Elena’s leg. As she lifted him effortlessly onto her shoulders she noticed Rutt Sordell whispering some sneering remark in Samir Taguine’s ear as they strolled off down the dimly lit hall together. Sordell, the only pure-blood magus on the team, was officially head of this assignment, though Samir, a three-quarter-blood, was the most formidable thanks to his Fire-gnosis affinity.
I wonder what message Gurvon sent them?

‘Donna Elena?’ King Olfuss called to her. ‘Do you have a moment?’

‘At your service, sire,’ she said, passing Timori to Lorenzo.

‘Don’t keep my husband long, Ella,’ said Queen Fadah, fondly. ‘Breakfast awaits, and we have many guests today.’

The Nesti family twirled about each other in a complicated dance as they followed the two Rondian magi up the hallway. Elena watched them go, a smile playing about her lips, until Olfuss put a hand on her shoulder and drew her back into the chapel. The drui had gone out the back with the rest of the communal wine, so she and the king were alone in the shadowed chamber. He led her to a seat at the back and sat down beside her. His face crinkled warmly. ‘It is good to see you smiling, Donna Elena,’ he said in his rolling Rimoni tongue. ‘You were such a grim woman when you arrived. Perhaps the sun and heat agrees with you?’

‘Perhaps, your Majesty.’

‘“Milord” is sufficient, between us in private, Donna Elena,’ Olfuss said, which usually meant he wanted something. ‘Did you know that we placed bets on who could make you smile first? Solinde won, of course. With a foolish jest. Do you remember? “How do you stop a Rimoni from speaking? You tie his hands”. Suddenly, you grinned, and then you laughed aloud, and Solinde danced around the room.’

Elena remembered. It had hurt her face, using those muscles again. It had hurt her heart, like placing cold toes too near the fire. ‘I hope she won something good.’

‘A ruby necklace from Kesh. She did not tell you?’

‘No, Majesty. I had no idea my demeanour was of such interest.’
Has it really been four years? Four good years though
…
the ones that preceded it were awful, caught between Gurvon and Vedya. It had been a real relief to get out of Yuros
.

Olfuss looked up at the altar. ‘It was a big step for us, to take three Rondian magi into our midst, but when the Gorgio employed a Dorobon mage to spy for them, we had no choice but to follow suit, otherwise my every action would have been known to them. Still, magi are not loved here.’

That’s the understatement of the century. It’s a toss-up who hates us the most
–
the Rimoni whose empire we destroyed, or the Keshi we invaded and enslaved
.

‘My children love you, Ella. You are like one of our family. But I wonder, are you happy here? And do you love them in return?’ His eyes, serious now, met hers.

She felt a sudden constriction of her throat as she gave a quick nod. ‘Of course, milord.’
That’s why leaving will hurt so much
.

Olfuss smiled. ‘Buona.’ He stroked her cheek, his old face crinkling into a grin. ‘Maybe we can find you a man, Ella. Then you will settle down with us and I can stop paying your Magister Gyle his exorbitant fee.’

‘Olfuss, has the chancellor been nagging you to tighten the purse-strings again?’

He laughed, but didn’t look away. ‘Ella, we pay a lot of money every month for your services, and those of Sordell and Taguine. The money we spend on you is worthwhile. Those other two … I mislike them, and so I wish to employ you directly and dispense with those others. I will double your salary, and we will both win. What do you say?’

She froze in surprise. A part of her leapt inside: to be free, to not have to leave – wasn’t that what she wanted?
And damn Gurvon anyway!
But what about Tesla? Her brother-in-law did what he could, but the tuition fees for their son were crippling. She had an immense amount of money awaiting her in Norostein; but if she resigned, she would never see a krone of it, she knew that for certain. And to bodyguard
the Nesti on her own might be easy enough in peacetime, but the Moontide was coming …

She became aware that she hadn’t responded with even a facial expression, that she had frozen solid. She looked apologetically at King Olfuss. ‘Milord, I’m honoured. Your offer is flattering, but if Gurvon took this ill …’ She frowned, calculating. ‘He has control of my life-savings, which amount to more than you can afford.’

His eyes wrinkled as he took that in, then he reached out and patted her knee. ‘Donna Elena, there are more things in life than gold. We value you, Ella – you are one of us. You are Nesti.’ He grinned. ‘Or maybe Kestrian, if you’d let young Lorenzo have his way!’

She seized on the change of subject. ‘Poor Lorenzo! He’s sweet, but I am here to do a job, milord. I’m not tempted.’

‘All business, as always, Ella,’ Olfuss said, a little sadly. ‘What sort of men tempt you, hmmm? Kings, maybe,’ he added with a sly smile.

‘Fadah would turn you into a castrato if you even looked at me!’ Elena laughed. He was not being serious, she knew that, but she appreciated the licence he permitted her.

He grinned in response, looking for a moment like a mischievous teenager, but he sobered quickly. ‘Ella, we had news last night that Fadah’s sister Homeirah is failing fast. The growths in her belly are killing her, and Fadah must go to her at Forensa. Cera and Timori will accompany her. Solinde insists she must stay here for the ball, and who can deny her when she loves to dance so much? You must go with the children to Forensa, and Taguine will accompany you, to protect Fadah. You will stay until – well, until Homeirah is buried, I expect. I cannot go myself. Salim’s emissary has crossed the borders and I must be here to receive him.’

Elena nodded, her mind racing ahead.
What will Olfuss tell the emissary? Surely he will pledge to Salim. Perhaps that is why Gurvon is pulling out? Not doing so would put us on the wrong side of the Crusade. And that’s another reason why I can’t accept Olfuss’ offer
…

‘I’m sure we can find a way that works for us all,’ Olfuss said, as if reading her thoughts. ‘We Javonesi have learnt that compromise
is the greatest art of all. I will talk with Magister Gyle and we will find a way that benefits both.’ Olfuss stood, putting his hand on her shoulder. ‘Look after my children in Forensa, Donna Elena.’

She nodded mutely, flushed with a sudden rush of emotion, as if blood were flowing through arteries that had fallen into disuse and filling her with unaccustomed feelings. She didn’t know what to say, how to deal with feelings she had long ago cauterised inside herself.

Olfuss seemed to understand, for he limped away and closed the chapel door behind him, leaving her alone in the echoing silence.

The rest of the day was a blur of religious observance as the Rimoni marked Samhain Eve with a court feast that culminated in traditional dances and hymns, then solemn midnight chanting about a bonfire as the drui led the prayers for Father Sol to guide them through the coming winter. Olfuss looked as regal as Sol himself, and Fadah was as darksome and mysterious as Luna, the Moon Goddess. Cera was clad in grey-silver and sang gently, whilst Solinde wore gold and glowed, a trail of besotted young men trailing in her wake. She danced most with Fernando Tolidi, a scion of the Gorgio, one of the few who had unbent enough to leave their northern fastness at Hytel to join the festivities in the capital. Typical Solinde, to chose the partner who would most vex the gathering – though Fernando was an impressive young man, and more personable than most of his clan. Solinde would no doubt scandalise the court by dancing with him again at tomorrow night’s grand ball.

All of the important Rimoni families were here, but no Jhafi, who were still fasting on this last day of the Amteh Holy Month. Samhain celebrations were only observed by the Rimoni; the Jhafi’s own Eyeed festivities, much more lavish – and popular – would burst onto the streets tomorrow, and the combination of the two would turn the day into one giant party.

Elena had been fascinated by the story of Javon. When the Leviathan Bridge opened, a few Rimoni crossed to trade, and found the climate and terrain in Ja’afar (which they called ‘Javon’) similar in places to
Rimoni. They purchased land and experimented with olives and grapes and other crops from their home. Over the following years they thrived and their numbers swelled quickly as tens of thousands emigrated before the Crusades, trying to escape Rondian oppression in Yuros. Many compromises had averted war with the native Jhafi, and now the kingdom was a strong one. A guru from Lakh had brokered a peace that averted civil war, and his settlement included a compulsory mixture of blood for any potential rulers. It wasn’t popular – on either side – but the desire to avoid war was great, and the guru was deeply respected. In the end the leading families of both races agreed to mixed marriages and legislation to protect both Sollan and Amteh religions. Gradually a new, unique nation had evolved, a place Elena had learnt to love.

Though she seldom danced for pleasure, she would occasionally, just to please the children. She had no desire to be quarrelled over by the single men. Lorenzo was watching her with worshipful eyes, but she left him well alone. As she held hands with Cera and Timori and sang the bonfire hymn at midnight, bidding the full glory of the Sun to return in the spring, she felt a warm glow inside that no liquor could have wrought. It felt suspiciously like happiness.