As they traveled by carriage to the Autumn Session, Mei waited for Dwayne to ask his next question. Her report about her exploration of Bradford had had only a single sentence: “I saw every part.” This interrogation was her chance to prove it.
Lord Kalan’s apprentice raised an eyebrow. “Which quarter lies to the west of the Exchange?”
“Boscage.” Mei hadn’t seen Huan at all yesterday and had barely caught him on his way out the door today.
“Where’s Sen Wallace Cathedral?”
Mei thought back. A grand word like “Cathedral” had to mean a grand building, and there were only three buildings like that: the Palace, the Magisterium’s Latia Arena, and a very pointy building that had swarmed with priests and parishioners. “In the Clerical Quarter.”
Dwayne stared. “You learned all this in one day? How?”
Mei shrugged. “I asked questions. Next.”
“I need to learn to just ask questions. Let’s see…” Dwayne tapped his fingers on his satchel. “Who lives in the Plague District?”
“Not Sourans. Just Vanurians,” Mei glanced at Dwayne, “and Wesen.”
Dwayne barely hid a wince. “Wesen.”
“Yes.” Mei turned back to the window. “They cross the bridge on foot for work.” She hadn’t actually gone into the Plague District; it had looked far too much like the Vanurian slum in Walton, too much like a trap laid by Liraya and her corpse soldiers.
“I see.” Dwayne’s voice barely quavered. “I wondered why I hadn’t seen any others in the city.”
As the sights of the Parvenue Quarter’s multi-storied houses, colorful guards, and chatting servants went by the carriage window, Mei let the clop of hooves on cobbles and the shouts of drivers fill the silence between her and Dwayne.
Then he coughed. “Your new outfit.” He could never let silences lie. “It’s nice.”
Mei’s cheeks warmed. Early this morning, a windsong had tapped on her bedroom window. When she’d opened it, the still floating mage had shoved a paper box into her hands and then flown back up into the slowly brightening sky. Inside the box was a dress that, when Mei put it on, she loved. Everything about it, from the skirt that stopped halfway up her calves to the dagger sheath on the jacket’s right sleeve fit her perfectly, like the sleek plumage of a falcon. Happily, she’d shown it off to Huan, but he’d muttered something about work and left without warning, forcing her to ask Schofield to help her with makeup.
Mei fingered the jacket’s sleeve. “It’s from Fran.”
“I figured.” Dwayne smiled. “Magdala would have gotten you something in steel.”
Mei giggled. “Yes, she prefers armor to dresses.” She pulled her knees together. “Is…Is this okay? For a guard?”
Dwayne pointed to her dagger. “That looks martial enough.” He scratched at his forehead. “No, I’m more afraid that I don’t look Souran enough.”
Today, Dwayne wore milk-white breeches, a tight dark blue jacket with gold trim, and a new, and apparently itchy, curled blond wig that put Mei in mind of a puppy slipping into wolf’s fur. The suit looked Souran; the Dwayne fidgeting in it did not.
“We’re here, milord!” called out the carriage driver.
“Already?” squeaked Dwayne.
“Come on.” Mei opened the door and stepped out of the carriage.
Dwayne blew out a breath. “Okay, I can do this.” He shouldered his satchel and dropped down onto the Palace drive.
As he started forward, Mei took up position two steps behind and a step to the right, letting her eyes scan ahead for threats. The hired carriage had dropped them off onto a drawbridge that ran up to the Palace, a heavy stone castle made of towers and buttresses, which sat on Bradford’s only hill. As they proceeded, Mei and Dwayne walked between columns of Palace guards in lilac and gray, their pikes shining in the morning light.
Dwayne whistled. “I forgot how impressive this place is up close.”
Mei shrugged. “It’s just a big fort.” And it wasn’t half as large as Han Luo Fortress.
Dwayne snorted. “Tell Magdala that.”
Mei shook her head. “I don’t want another lecture.”
Dwayne laughed. “She spent half the day talking our ear off about this place. She should be a history lecturer.”
“Yeah, she should.” Mei didn’t let her attention drift from the other guests, most of whom were local merchants and nobles, who all stared as Dwayne strode past them. “And you could be a magic lecturer after talking our ear off about the Tower.”
“Ooo, ouch.” Dwayne’s voice faltered. “Unfortunately, I don’t think they’ll allow that. Not until I’m actually an authority on something.”
Mei’s hand strayed to her dagger. More and more of the stares were shocked and angry. “Aren’t you an authority on the Resonant Theory?” She missed both her rifle and her brother. Without them, Mei wasn’t enough of a threat to keep Dwayne safe.
“Resonance Theory,” corrected Dwayne, “and not yet. I made a lot of progress yesterday, but I probably won’t have time to complete it before...” He glanced back at her then lowered his voice to a whisper. “Act relaxed. They won’t attack me. Not here, not now.”
Mei didn’t take her hand away from her dagger. “I’m to keep you safe.”
“Yes, but we don’t want to give them any excuse to react... foolishly.” Dwayne kept his nervousness hidden under a carefully calm tone. “We have to look like we belong here.”
Like they were among allies, not potential threats. Mei let her hand drop from her dagger. “Understood.”
“Thank you.” Dwayne gave her a grateful smile and they continued on.
When they’d finally crossed the drawbridge and reached the Palace gates, a gray-wigged servant in cream makeup glanced at Dwayne. “Is your master already inside?”
Mei noted the lack of honorifics and braced herself as Dwayne’s cultivated calm evaporated.
“Did you mean who am I apprenticed to?” he asked through clenched teeth. “Because that’s Lord Kalan.”
“No, I meant-” The servant finally looked Dwayne in the face and paled. “Oh, young Lord Kalan and, and, his bodyguard. Milord, y-you’re expected in the Privy Council Chamber.”
“Oh?” Dwayne placed clenched fists behind his back. “Where is that?”
Behind Mei and Dwayne’s back, whispers and mutters began to simmer.
“That’s Lord Kalan’s apprentice?”
“Oof, that wig was a choice.”
“I knew he wasn’t fit for society.”
Mei turned around, her hand on her dagger and doused the louder whispers with a focused glare.
Behind her, the servant sniffed. “I don’t have the time to guide you to the chamber, milord.”
“I am not asking for a guide.” Dwayne’s enunciation got more precise the madder he got. “I am asking for directions.”
Annoyance at the delay was overcoming Mei’s glare, and the crowd was throwing dark looks at Dwayne’s back. Mei couldn’t present a threat, but she could shift one foot back and let her left hand hang free, ready to snatch the dagger out of its sheath.
The servant’s voice squeaked. “Milord, I-”
“I’ll take him.” A large, callused hand landed on Mei’s shoulder. Lord Gallus. “At ease, Axesnapper.”
Mei waited for the crowd’s annoyance and disapproval to shift to awe and reverence before relaxing enough to let Lord Gallus pull her and Dwayne through the Palace gates and into the cavernous entrance hall.
When they were out of sight of the gates, Lord Gallus released them. “Cups, were you two trying to make a scene? Dwayne, I thought you were trying to fit in?”
“But he…he…” Dwayne looked down, anger and shame dancing across his face. “I’m sorry.”
“You’d better be.” Lord Gallus glared at Mei. “Both of you.”
Mei didn’t respond; she was examining the massive stained glass windows that overlooked the entrance hall. Besides, she had nothing to apologize for. She’d been doing her job.
Dwayne stepped between Lord Gallus and Mei. “I am only sorry for causing a scene, not for standing up for myself.”
Lord Gallus huffed. “There’s a time and a place for that. Let’s get to that meeting. We’re already late.” He marched off.
“See you later, Mei.” Dwayne hurried to catch up to Lord Gallus. “Say hi to Magdala for me.”
Mei waved farewell and then turned to her first order of business: finding Fran. The entrance hall was half full of little knots of people, a couple of whom she recognized from the ill-fated dinner at Tarpan. There was no corresponding flash of recognition; no one recognized her as the Lady in Purple. Mei was grateful for that as she pushed through the crowd to search for her friend.
In truth, it had taken Mei only half the day to explore the city to her satisfaction. By yesterday afternoon, she’d gotten a good sense of the place and had decided to try and track down her brother, but all she’d done was chase his shadow. She’d just missed him at Sanford where he’d actually done some work for once, she’d only found a empty mug at the Slipped Finger where he chatted up some of the men, and she’d found fresh footprints next to a strange hole in an out of the way alley in the Parvenue district. That strange set of events pointed to one of two things: either Huan was courting someone, or he was planning a score as big as the one he’d pulled at Han Luo Fortress. She really hoped it was the former.
She’d deal with that later. Right now, she had to find Fran.
As autumn’s clouds darkened the stained glass windows, Mei felt the crowd behind her break, like a stream did around a new rock, so she stopped, listened, watched. To her right, a mage used magic to scoop up punch from a bowl in an attempt to show off. To her left, a noble showed off her ring to a smattering of applause. And behind her, the crowd continued to flow around the obstruction. Keeping her eyes forward, Mei took two steps towards the mage and made a show of watching the magic. Behind her, the obstruction moved with her. To be honest, whoever was shadowing her was very good. Conversations didn’t break, no apologies had been said, no sign that an interloper had joined them, just the sound of a single common voice and that subtle, constant break in the flow of the crowd. Mei couldn’t match that subtlety; if she did, they’d have time to slip away. So instead, she rushed right, broke through the noble’s ring of sycophants, and circled around, catching her quarry flat-footed.
Mei’s shadow was dressed in a pale pink dress with a high collar, her hair was dark brown and her skin was bronze, and when she turned to face Mei, her blue eyes widened in surprise.
“Very impressive.” Lian Momin snapped open a fan painted with a rabbit leaping over a clover and covered her mouth. “I thought I had the advantage of you there.”
It took all of Mei’s self-control and Dwayne’s warning to keep her from drawing her dagger. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m a merchant.” Momin gestured to the crowd. “I’m here to make last minute trade deals before the markets close.” She fluttered her fan. “As for you, I heard about what you did down in Walton, Axesnapper. Taking down a high-level corpse construct is quite the accomplishment.”
Mei searched the older woman’s face. “What are you planning?”
“To make stupendous profit.” Momin smiled, let the fan drop, and switched to Tuquese. “I might as well tell you.” Her tone was light, but her eyes were serious. “Black Tiger is on her way.”
Mei frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what. Just tell your older brother.” Momin switched back to Souran, her fan flicking up to cover her lips. “I must be off. Far too much money to be made.” She dipped into a graceful bow and then melted into the crowd.
Mei stayed rooted to the spot and fought an overwhelming desire to wail. Momin, the spy who knew about Mei and Huan and the rifle and the White Tiger mask, was in Bradford. She and Huan had to run right now. Maggie would understand, could tell Fran and Dwayne the details. Sure, Maggie would want to fight, but eventually she’d come around.
“Mei?”
Black Tiger. The color implied that they wore a different mask than Huan’s old mask. It also implied death.
“Mei, are you okay?”
Mei finally looked up at the speaker. “Charlie?”
The scrytive looked her over. “You look spooked. Did something happen?” He lowered his voice. “Was it your brother?”
Yes. No. “I am fine,” Mei said aloud. “D-did you want something? Paperwork?”
Charlie shook his head. “No, I just wanted to thank you.” He smiled. “After talking with you, we checked the roofs in the area and found the victim’s footprints. While our fair city’s autumn rain had destroyed the rest of the trail, between that and the grass you found in the messenger’s boots, we know he was headed to someplace in the Parvenue District. It’s a start, a better one than we had.” Charlie’s eyebrows drew together. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes.” Mei forced herself to meet his eyes. “And you’re welcome. Glad to help.”
“Are you here alone?”
“No, I have friends.”
“Good. The Session is the boring event of the season.” Charlie leaned in. “Save the tears and excitement for the Harvest Ball.”
Mei found herself smiling. “I’ll try.”
“Good girl.” Charlie’s eyes lit up. “Oh, have you given any thought to my offer?”
It took Mei a moment to remember what he meant. “Yes. Dwayne approved it.”
Charlie grinned. “Excellent. Come by the office later and I’ll get you signed up. And, uh, bring your brother if you can.”
Mei frowned. “Why?”
Charlie shrugged. “We just want to ask him a few questions. He was spotted in the area before the murder.”
Mei went still. Huan had left dinner early. He could have been there. “I’ll try.”
“Thanks.” Charlie looked behind Mei. “I think you’re about to be rescued. Until next time.”
“Mei, there you are!” Fran slipped her arm into the crook of Mei’s elbow. “What are you doing over here by yourself?”
Mei was about to point to Charlie, but he had already disappeared into the crowd. Instead, she sighed. “Just talking to people.”
“Well, we can do that later. Let’s get some food in you. You look like you’re about to faint.”
As Fran guided her to the buffet table, Mei considered the problems laid at her feet: Momin was in Bradford, Black Tiger was coming, and the scrytives wanted to talk to Huan. The easiest solution to the first two problems was to run, but that would only make the third problem worse as running would not only look make Huan more suspicious, it would also reflect badly on Dwayne and Maggie. She’d have to think of something else.
***
As he followed Lord Gallus through the Palace’s stone corridors, Dwayne clenched his satchel tight, which kept his hands from picking at his tight breeches. Apparently, the measurements Rodion had given Lord Gallus’s tailor had been too exact, and the man had decided that Dwayne didn’t need a full range of movement. Just sitting risked ripping the clothes.
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“Why were you late?” Lord Gallus didn’t bother to look back as he spoke. “What were you doing?”
“I apologize.” Dwayne felt a headache coming on, one that the wig aggravated. “I didn’t account for traffic.”
“Next time, do so.”
Like the entrance hall, its corridors were high arched affairs and was lined with paned glass windows and decorated with banners and guards festooned with the royal cup and flowers. Magdala had told them which flowers they were.
“Lilacs.” Dwayne’s comment made Lord Gallus glare back at him. “Why lilacs, milord?”
Lord Gallus kept walking. “My daughter must have told you.”
“She was working backwards from the last time this place was under siege.” The corners of Dwayne’s mouth quirked. “We ran out of time.”
Lord Gallus sighed. “If you must know, the heroes who rescued the First Sages, and led the queendom to victory over the Yaniti invaders, wore them as an emblem. It was their Queen’s favorite flower.” He gestured at the cup stitched into the nearest banner. “Are you going to ask me about that too?”
“No, I know.” The Cup of Cueller was a religious symbol, and it was everywhere in the queendom.
“Good. We’re here.”
They’d reached a small unassuming door set in the inner wall of the palace.
Lord Gallus nodded at the two guards who flanked the door. “Remember,” he rapped his knuckles on the door, “you’re here to represent the Royal Sorcerer’s Office in Bart’s absence. Nothing else.”
Dwayne straightened up. “I know.”
“Hmph.” Lord Gallus pushed open the door.
The room beyond had a semi circular table in its center around which five tall wooden chairs, and five stools behind them, had been placed. Due to the lit fireplace and the dozen tapestries that depicted myths and famous battles covering the walls, the room was warm enough to make Dwayne’s skin break out into sweat, which made his tight clothes and itchy wig even more uncomfortable. Whoever had decorated the room had eschewed the royal gray and purple and gone with wine-red and black for the floor tiles and tapestries, colors that put Dwayne in mind of a maw opening to swallow him. He entered anyway and took the only unoccupied stool.
After Lord Gallus took his seat, four of the five chairs became occupied. To Dwayne’s left sat a stout mustachioed man in sapphire robes, who watched Lord Gallus mutter greetings to the young woman in the fine gray dress who sat between them. Across from Dwayne, and to Lord Gallus’s left, sat an old woman in pristine white robes and a wide brimmed white hat. They were the Privy Council, and their clerks sat on the stools behind. Only Dwayne sat alone.
“Finally, we can start.” The young woman in the gray dress banged her gavel on the table. “I, Anne Eberhart, Her Majesty’s Royal Secretary, call this meeting of the Privy Council to order.” Anne Eberhart, more properly Princess Anne, was the Queen’s heir presumptive, and from what Dwayne could see, saw it as her highest duty to serve as her own mother’s personal secretary.
“Inexcusable.” The lady in the wide brimmed hat tossed a glare at Dwayne. “I do hope, young Kalan, that your tardiness this morning was a result of applied diligence and not mere laziness.”
Dwayne bowed his head in High Judge Ursula Koenig’s direction. “I apologize, Judge.” Koenig was the penultimate word on judicial matters. Only the queen herself could overrule her. “It won’t happen again.”
Koenig sniffed. “See that it doesn’t.”
As Dwayne pulled out his notebook, the stout man, Carlos Giordano, gestured for attention. “Let’s not bother with our usual interrogation of the new clerks. We’re here for the Autumn Session.” Giordano served as the Queen’s Exchequer and controlled the queendom’s purse. Dwayne had met his aunt in Walton and hoped that Giordano shared her pragmatism. “What’s the first item on our docket?”
Dwayne reached into his satchel for a pencil, his hand brushing against the License Key, which he’d brought with him out of paranoia. After all, the whole of the Tower guard was here at the Palace.
“The first item is…” The princess reached back and accepted a sheet of paper from her clerk, a short-haired woman in a teal suit. “The Harvest Ball, of course. Master Giordano, how are finances looking?”
“Overflowing like the Brad river in spring, Your Highness.” Giordano leaned back in his seat. “There was some concern that the food shipments would be late, there’s been trouble on the Ilyon recently, but your clerk Dame Sercombe found a couple of western purveyors to fill the gap.”
The princess cocked an eyebrow. “No objections from your colleagues in Adhua?”
“Some objections, but the new Palace-backed insurance managed to cover forty-five percent of their losses, so their hearts weren’t in it. They have ships. They have sailors. They’ll manage.”
Dwayne wrote down “insurance?” in his journal and circled it.
“Good.” The princess turned to her left. “Lord Gallus, what is the state of Palace security?”
After a quick glance at his aide, a bored-looking soldier in full uniform, Lord Gallus leaned forward. “Your Highness, I’ve rotated a few Southern Line units, the same ones who endured last month’s heinous attack, up here, and their officers are getting the Royal Guard and Sen Quincy’s garrison up to speed. Beyond that, the plan is the same as last year’s: the Royal Guard secures the Palace, my men secure the city, and Sen Jerome’s does whatever they feel like.”
Dwayne wrote all this down, silently thanking Mei. Yesterday, she’d gone to Sen Quincy’s, being Axesnapper had its benefits, and had found out that the fort contained Bradford’s regular army garrison. While there, she’d also learned about Sen Jerome’s, which was the home of a militant religious order who specialized in anti-mage warfare. The regular soldiers had warned her away.
Judge Koenig looked Lord Gallus in the eye. “Sen Jerome’s will do their part. Unlike some,” her eyes flicked to Dwayne again, “they’re reliable. I’m far more concerned about our current lack of a true expert in magic.”
Dwayne’s eyes dropped to his notebook, his hand tightening around his pencil. She was right. Lord Kalan should be here, sitting in that empty chair in front of him, not down in Walton doing whatever he was doing.
“We’ll come to that, Judge.” The princess checked her list. “Second on our agenda is today’s Session. Has anything come up that Her Majesty should be concerned about?”
“Aside from the murder two nights ago, Your Highness?” Judge Koenig reached back and accepted a file folder from her aide, whose face Dwayne still couldn’t see because of her ridiculous hat. “There’s been a rash of thefts over the past two weeks. My scrytives have made progress on finding the culprits, but we must consider the possibility of foreign agents.” This time Dwayne felt her glare. “All evidence points to non-Souran magic being involved.”
Dwayne scrawled the words into his notebook, the implied accusation pounding in his ears. The thefts were unusual, but nothing about them implied that Ri magic was involved.
“Young Kalan.”
Dwayne looked up at the princess. “Y-Yes, Your Highness?”
The princess’s gray eyes searched his. “Do you have anything to report regarding this?”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Dwayne stood up and bowed. “My office’s Head Guard is already assisting the scrytives in their murder investigation.”
The princess placed her clasped hands on the table. “Your… Head Guard?”
“Mei, Your Highness. She’s an accomplished hunter and possessed of incredible insight. She’ll find the culprit.”
Giordano signaled his clerk, a middle-aged woman in gold pantaloons, who slid forward to whisper something to him.
“What about the thefts?” Princess Anne sat up in her chair. “Who’s investigating those? You?”
“No, I’ve been too busy getting the office up and running.” The princess’s reaction told Dwayne that this was not a sufficient answer, that every magic-related crime was the purview of the Royal Sorcerer’s office. “When Lord Kalan arrives, I will have time to investigate the matter.”
“When?” The princess smiled. “Not if?”
Dwayne blinked. “Yes, Your Highness.”
Lord Gallus thumped the table. “If Lord Kalan does not come himself, then I will have the Southern Line garrison drag him in.”
The Exchequer and his clerk continued their conversation.
“That does beg a question though, Young Kalan.” The princess smoothed the front of her dress. “What is your master doing down in Walton? That attack, while horrendous, was weeks ago. Surely, he should be here in the Capitol doing his job?”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Dwayne’s eyes dropped down to his hands. “In his absence, I will do my best.”
“Will you now?”
“Excuse me, Your Highness,” said Giordano as his clerk returned to her stool, “I have a question for young Kalan here.” The Exchequer turned to Dwayne. “This Mei you mentioned, is she Axesnapper?”
Dwayne hid a frown. “Yes, sir?”
“Good, excellent.” Giordano grinned. “I’m glad you’re not finally wasting her talent on mere guard duty.”
Lord Gallus grunted. “There’s no such thing as ‘mere’ guard duty.”
Giordano raised his hands. “Oh, we are blessed that there exist men like you who are able to stare at the same patch of ground for days on end, but those who aren’t called to that duty should be free to do other things.”
There was an insult in that compliment, and Dwayne watched Lord Gallus figure it out in real time, his initial disinterest finally contorting into stern affront.
“Master Giordano,” Princess Anne sat back in her chair, “is this ‘Axesnapper’ business relevant?”
“Yes, it is, Your Highness,” answered Lord Gallus before Giordano could reply. “Mei earned that title down in Walton through her valor and cunning. It was she who tracked down the witch, she who led a squad and brought down a giant.”
“That,” Princess Anne glanced at her clerk, who nodded, “is impressive.”
“Your Highness, it is regrettable that Lord Kalan could not make it here today,” Giordano bowed his head, “but he has not only sent Axesnapper, he’s sent his apprentice, a boy who has already earned a royal commendation for his work rallying the citizens of Walton in their time of need.”
“Royal commendation” sounded way more impressive than “royal pat on the head”, which had been Dwayne’s impression.
Princess Anne coughed. “Her Majesty has her own mind. Let us move on. You may sit, young Kalan.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” As autumn’s clouds darkened the windows, Dwayne plopped back down onto his stool, his heart still buzzing in his chest.
Giordano’s clerk leaned in close. “You did good.” She patted him on the knee then returned her attention to the meeting as it moved on to the next item on the agenda.
It was clear to Dwayne that the Queen’s Privy Council was split on how it felt about both Dwayne and Lord Kalan. While Lord Gallus was a reliable, if begrudging, ally, the princess was waiting for him to screw up, Judge Koenig thought he already had, and Giordano was much more interested in keeping the peace than in taking a position. It did not bode well that half of the Queen’s personal advisers were against them. When this was over, Dwayne would have to find a way to get Lord Kalan here in Bradford.
Or else.
***
Magdala gazed at the leftmost stained glass window in the Palace entrance hall’s west wall. Her favorite since she was a little girl, the window depicted Soura’s first Queen Rhea charging down at her enemies, the lilacs on her surcote rippling in the wind. Backing her up were the First Sages who tossed slabs of stone, blasts of wind, and torrents of water at the enemy lines surging up from the bottom of the window. When she was little, Magdala had imagined that she’d grow up to fight behind her Queen, for the queendom, for the people, but that dream had died the day her mother had informed her that the age of heroes was over. Instead, Magdala now stood beside the venerable and formidable Water Sage as a veritable column of people made their appeals.
As autumn’s clouds darkened the stained glass windows, Magdala forced herself to pay attention to the latest applicant, a wind Qe dancer.
“That was a sublime performance, Delma,” said her mother.
Delma was sylphlike and slim, the very picture of airy grace. “Why thank you, Sage.” She curtsied, still barefoot after her performance. “Your appreciation is most treasured.”
Rolling her eyes, Magdala let her attention drift to the crowd, her eyes searching for Francesca’s signature yellow, the only thing that Magdala knew for sure about her friend’s outfit. When she caught sight of it, she waved.
Francesca waved back and made her way over. “I think it’s busier this year.” She wore a bare-shouldered dress covered in a beehive pattern with fat cheery insects darting from cell to cell. It was quite daring considering the season. “I almost didn’t need this.” She indicated the shimmering emerald shawl she’d wrapped around her shoulders. “At least we match.” Francesca indicated Magdala’s own dress, a floor length emerald outfit that cut a much slimmer profile than the dress Magdala had worn to the dinner.
Magdala leaned in. “So Mei got the dress?”
“If she didn’t, I’m having her brother dragged to the nearest yardarm and hanged. By the way,” Francesca’s eyes flickered over to Magdala’s mother. “What was the price?”
“Of having the gall to see Dwayne without a chaperone?” Magdala winced. “She’s sending Willswisp out to our summer home.”
Francesca gasped. “She isn’t.”
“She is. Now to get anywhere I’ll have to ask someone or hail a carriage or, or, walk.” All of which were out of the question practically speaking. Magdala had to split her time between the Magisterium and Tarpan, neither of which were close to the Tower. “They’re going to send round a carriage. I’ll have no freedom.”
“Darling,” Francesca patted her on the arm, “those of us that don’t have personal horses still get into all sorts of trouble.” She looked around. “Where’s Mei?”
“I haven’t seen her yet.” Magdala searched the crowd. “Oh, there she is. Who is she…” The hunter was talking to a woman in a fetching pink dress, a woman that Magdala recognized. Her eyes widened. “Why is she here?”
Francesca frowned. “Why is who here?”
“Excuse me.” Magdala pulled away from Francesca.
“Magdala!” Her mother caught her by the elbow and pulled her back. “Where are you going?”
“It’s Mei. She’s with-” Magdala bit off her next words. “She’s alone.”
Her mother glanced at the crowd. “She’s not alone she’s with Mrs. Momin.”
“Mrs. Momin?” Francesca got on tiptoe to see. “Of the Rabbit’s Foot Company?”
Magdala tried to hide her shock, though there was no way her friend missed the way she’d stiffened. She’d forgotten about Momin’s cover story.
Magdala’s mother nodded. “The same. Maybe she wants to hire Mei.”
“She runs one of only two companies allowed to sell directly to Tuqu.” Francesca nudged Magdala in support. “It makes sense.”
Magdala watched Mei and Momin talk. Should she break Momin’s cover? Would that bring too much trouble down on Mei, her brother, or even the queendom? Mei didn’t look at ease though.
Magdala tried to pull free of her mother’s grip. “Mei needs my help.”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “She seems fine. What is this about, really?”
Telling her mother about Momin the spy was too dangerous, but lying to her, trying to deceive a woman who’d become Water Sage through strength of will, was beyond Magdala’s capability.
“Lady Gallus, if I may speak.” Francesca dropped into a quick curtsy. “I think that your daughter is anxious that we’ve left Mei to fend for herself at her first Autumn Session, and we both want her to have the best possible experience. To that end, may I go and collect her?”
Francesca’s assault of manners had the desired effect. Magdala’s mother nodded. “Yes, of course you may.”
“Thank you.” After another quick curtsy, Francesca rushed off into the crowd.
Magdala glared at her mother. “I wouldn’t have been gone long.”
“You would have been gone longer than you ought to.” Her mother steered Magdala back into position. “I don’t know why, but you’ve been… obstinate of late.”
Magdala’s ears burned. “I have not.”
“You have.” Her mother sighed. “I thought you would be happy to be back here among civilized society instead of out there in the wilderness.”
Magdala’s mouth fell open. Was she not happy to be sleeping on beds instead of the hard ground, riding carriages instead of walking everywhere? Yes, there had been a certain level of freedom from the expectations of society, but that freedom had come with a lack of comforts.
Further introspection on Magdala’s part was interrupted by the arrival of a brown-skinned man festooned in green, blue, and purple scarves. “Have I the pleasure of meeting the famous Water Sage of Soura and her talented daughter?” His belly and soft hands said bureaucrat. His scarves and impossibly white blond hair said Vanurian.
“Don Ramos.” er mother led Magdala in a coordinated dual curtsy. “I heard you’d returned from your travels. How is your Countess doing?”
Magdala’s eyebrows lifted. Don Calímaco Delgado Ramos was the de facto leader of the Vanurian diplomatic mission to Soura. Somehow, he’d earned his title, instead of inheriting it like a proper noble.
“As always, she does her best to read the waves of change. I was told,” Ramos’s eyes alighted on Magdala, “that three weeks ago, the two of you made a particularly big one.”
Magdala raised her chin. “Surely, the unprovoked attack on our southern garrison was the bigger wave?” She hid a wince. Her mother had pinched her. “Our participation in the response was surely just a ripple.”
“A ripple!” Ramos laughed. “Such understatement. You Sourans do love your rhetoric.” He wiped tears from his eyes. “A ripple, hah! I do have a question about it though. Speaking as a true student of magic, what are your thoughts on Vanurian magic now that you’ve seen it up close? See anything notable?”
The dead walking. Green fire healing. A giant firing a ballista. All of which Magdala would have mentioned if her mother hadn’t pinched her again. “No, nothing, Don,” she heard herself say. “In all the chaos, it was all I could do just to focus on escaping. Observing thaumaturgical phenomena, notable or not, was the furthest from my mind.”
Ramos’s eyes glittered. “Was it now? Perhaps-”
“Don Ramos, was it?” Dean Bruce swept into view. “I expect that you have more interesting things to talk about with our Water Sage.” Her umber-colored dress and high white collar emphasized her dusky, apparently Northerner, skin. “Since that’s obviously the case, my dear Sage, may I borrow your daughter for just a moment?”
Magdala watched her mother make her social calculations and guessed at what could tip the scales. On the one hand, allowing Don Ramos to continue his interrogation of Magdala risked revealing Dwayne’s part in that final attack, a part that had to be kept secret on Her Majesty’s orders. On the other, Dean Bruce and her college represented a repudiation of mage non-involvement in military and political matters, a status quo that Magdala’s mother was deeply invested in. Worse, she had to choose one or the other because it would be far too rude to just end the conversation and walk away.
Choice made, her mother smiled. “Of course, you may, Dean.”
“Thank you, Sage.” Dean Bruce bowed. “Magdala, with me?”
“With you.” Magdala followed the dean out of the conversation and to another corner of the entrance hall.
“So,” the dean kept her tone casual, “you’ve now attracted heretical attention. They’ll want to know what you know.”
“Which is funny because I know nothing.” Magdala did a quick scan of the crowd and breathed out a sigh of relief. Francesca had collected Mei and was bringing her back to Magdala’s mother. “I know absolutely nothing about Vanurian magic. I’ve heard the stories of course: body modification, emotional manipulation, mind control, etc.” Their disturbing ability to raise the dead had somehow never made the stories. “It’s all so ridiculous.” So ridiculous that for a week after getting back from the jungle, she’d awake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.
Dean Bruce’s nose wrinkled. “Their heretical, perverted sorcery is tailored to doing terrible and sinful things to the human body. Did you know they send out their priests to find children blessed with magic and take them to their temples to cut into them?”
Magdala’s eyes bulged. “What? Why?”
Dean Bruce shook her head. “Because it’s required to produce mages like them. Because their heretical beliefs demand it.”
“That’s barbaric!”
“Yes, it is.” Dean Bruce put a hand on Magdala’s shoulder. “Which is why my college is dedicated to advancing the cause of true magic and keeping it pure from foreign elements.”
Magdala blinked. “That sounds… abstract.”
Dean Bruce flashed a smile. “Well, we do have more concrete goals as well, such as discovering practical applications of magic. Speaking of, I read all of the reports from Walton. Did you really use improvised firebombs to fight off a horde of Puppets?”
Magdala perked up. “Yes, I did. Because Mei and Sergeant Taylor were able to buy me some time, I was able to use the spare materials around me and nQesiumut to create them.”
Dean Bruce’s eyes glittered. “It was very effective.”
Magdala managed a smile, despite the way her stomach churned. “Yes, it was.” So effective the house had been blown to bits.
The dean smiled. “I could use a student with your rare field experience, and, I’ll be honest, it’ll be nice to have more nQe mages about.” She cleared her throat. “That was a formal invitation to my college by the way.”
Dean Bruce wanted Magdala in the College of Martial Magic? There was, of course, a political angle - having the daughter of the Water Sage in your college was a significant win - but Dean Bruce had praised Magdala for her skills and had not tried to pressure her mother into forcing Magdala to join. While the dean’s ideas of magical purity were strange, her college had to be better than an dusty old archive with dusty old books.
Magdala would have to be a fool to turn this down. She nodded.
Dean Bruce grinned. “Excellent.” Horns filled the air with brass and pomp, and the great doors of the Throne Room opened. “Looks like we’re out of time. I’ll see you in the lab.” She bowed.
Magdala curtsied back. “Yes, Dean.”
As the crowd began to pile into the Throne Room, Magdala went back to her mother and her friends, her mind buzzing with thoughts of the future. She had to tell Mei. She had to tell Dwayne. She had to tell-
“There you are.” Her mother pulled her close. “Let’s get you three to your seats before it gets too crowded.”
Magdala had to tell her. “Mother, I’m joining Dean Bruce’s College.”
Her mother’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “She invited you.”
“She did and I accepted.”
Her mother’s lips pursed. “I believe that the Archives are a better fit for someone with your abilities.”
“And I fail to see how a predilection for explosions will help in the stacks.” Magdala pulled away from her mother. “It was my abilities that got me out of that house, and my abilities that got us out of that jungle. Why are you so against this?”
Her mother’s fury, the fury of a noble and the Water Sage, gathered itself like a storm on her face, and Magdala braced for the lightning strike.
It never came.
“Cups, I can’t keep fighting you.” Her mother sagged. “I’m going to go join the Sages. You get to your seats.”
Magdala’s mouth fell open. “What?”
Her mother shook her head. “Do what you want, Magdala, but remember this: you are not just risking your own future here.” She turned away from Magdala and walked away.
Magdala stared at her mother’s retreating back. Apparently, she’d won?
“We have to get to our seats.” Francesca grabbed Magdala’s hand.
“O-okay.” Magdala let her friend pull her away, her shock failing to fade. Why had her mother given up so fast?