The arrival of an invitation to attend the evening’s dinner with the queen and crown prince came as little surprise—Lord Marcus had always loved to flaunt the fact he employed a master mage to any and all important guests that visited. What was surprising was the nature of the invitation. “You are required ...” the little page boy had begun the message. Never had Mage-Matron Marigold been required to do anything; certainly not at Black Crux Manor. For all of Lord Marcus’s sniffy demeanor, he was a fair man and always had allotted Marigold her freedom, both in the way she taught magic and in how much or little she chose to participate in any of the manor’s goings on. Typically, she chose to decline invitations to formal dinners with guests, for she had never thought of herself as the type to rub elbows with aristocrats, and there was only so much of the delicate foods and prescribed banter she could endure at any one sitting before she was weary of it all. She much preferred the common inns and taverns down in the town, where people were less concerned with social status and politicking, and more interested in hearty food, strong drink, and bawdy tales.
She also cared little for the constant requests for demonstrations of her magic. Nobles who had no experience in magic themselves always wanted to see some little show of it, like it was a circus act to be trouped out at their bidding. They never seemed to comprehend what even simple tricks may cost a mage in time lost Slumbering. It wasn’t that she never used magic for fun, or to make a point, but she chose those moments carefully, not based on impulsive requests, like a tavern minstrel might. Even small spells required consideration.
But this was different. The queen and crown prince were guests well above the station of any rank-and-file nobles or diplomats that passed through Hold Draffor, and they would have traveled a vast distance to get to Black Crux from the King’s Capital City. In Lord Marcus requiring Marigold to attend the first formal dinner honoring these esteemed guests, there was the implication that he expected her to put on a show for the co-sovereign of the kingdom and her young son.
Marigold grumbled to herself as a serving lad pulled her chair out for her. Once he’d seen her seated at the long dining table, he bowed and hastened away. She had been placed only a few seats away from the head of the table. There was no sign yet of the lord and lady of the manor, nor of the queen and crown prince. Important people from all around Black Crux milled about the richly-adorned room, one of the few chambers in the old manor that had been decorated to impress. In the far corner, a trio of musicians played a cheery tune to set the scene.
A serving girl set a glass of pale golden wine before Marigold, for which she thanked her. It was one of the region’s very best. Marigold savored its flavor and tried to put a smile on her face. It wouldn’t be so bad. It was an honor to get to meet the queen and crown prince, after all, and she was curious despite herself to see what kind of person the queen was in person. All she had to do was suffer one fancy dinner and likely perform a simple bit of Barrier-Casting, and that would be that. She wondered what kind of spell she could cast that would be easy for her, yet impressive to royalty.
As she considered, she picked up one of the little silver forks placed before her and turned it in her fingers so it reflected the chamber’s candlelight. It had probably begun life as ore mined out from underneath Mt. Moonfane. Suddenly, she wished she were strolling the hilly streets of Moonfane Forge this night, taking the fresh air beneath that mountain, rather than sitting here in a stuffy dining hall full of chattering nobles.
The musicians suddenly struck up a formal melody and all the guests found their seats and stood looking to the far door. Marigold followed suit by standing.
A little page boy appeared and proclaimed, “Lord Marcus and Lady Gilliana of Black Crux, seat of Hold Draffor.”
Iris entered the room first and Marigold had to smile. Beautiful and dignified, her apprentice had grown well into her noble role. She wore an opulent dress in hues of peach and apricot that complimented her olive skin. Her long raven hair was unbound so it flowed nearly to her waist, the envy of many a young woman in town. Iris so commanded all the attention in the room that most hardly noticed her husband, Lord Marcus, entering behind her dressed modestly in soft grays and velvet blacks.
He and his wife stood behind their chairs as the page announced, “The queen, Orla the third, sovereign of the kingdom of Kaldura and protector of its peoples and holds. The crown prince, Caiside the sixth, son of the king, Caiside the fifth.”
Marigold surprised herself by standing on her toes to see over taller people as the queen and her young son entered the room. Queen Orla III wore a rich gown of deepest purple, with white and sparkling gold patterns spilling down the sides of her skirts and embroidering her bodice. She looked truly a queen in her clothing and accoutrements, but were it not for those she might look as any other woman of Kaldura’s southern coasts might. This was no delicate, waifish royal. She was tall, with a sturdy bearing, wide of shoulders and hips, a queen who looked as though she could do a day of commoner’s work. Yet, the way she held herself was anything but common, with her chin raised confidently high and her dark eyes only grazing the tops of the dinner guests’s heads. Her heart-shaped face was framed by styled ringlets of straw-gold hair, over which a simple golden circlet set with a glittering clear stone rested. Around the queen’s neck was a delicate chain of Moonfane silver.
And at her side was the crown prince. The boy could not be more than eight or nine years old, caught between the age when he would have been oblivious of his station, and the quickly approaching years in which he must step up to it. Dressed in sharp black trousers and an ornate blue jacket over a shirt bearing pearl buttons and lace at the throat, the boy attempted to match his mother’s royal manner as he escorted her past all the dinner guests who bowed before them.
Trailing unobtrusively behind them was a young woman who Marigold guessed at a glance to be the queen’s lady-in-waiting, or more likely the young prince’s tutor. Behind her came an assortment of retainers. The queen made a show of greeting Lord Marcus and Lady Iris in front all of her subjects, before seating herself at the head of the table to Lord Marcus’s left, the place typically reserved for Iris. The prince was seated on the queen’s other side, while the tutor and other retainers took the remaining chairs nearest the lord of the manor and his royal guests. This put Iris beside Marigold. Iris turned a sympathy-seeking glance to her teacher, looking decidedly sour.
All the rest of the people in the hall were then seated, and immediately servants appeared from the kitchens, rushing hither and thither with starting dishes and drinks. The food was exquisite; the musicians passable. Marigold ate and drank and made small talk with the people around her. She caught little of what the queen discussed with Lord Marcus, and cared even less. Iris, though, watched them avidly. She spent the entire evening hardly talking, and sending dishes back after taking only a bite or two. To Marigold, it was plain to see what was going on: Iris had expected to be seated to her husband’s other side and included in the conversations between he and the queen. But she was not. One of the queen’s retainers sat there instead. Iris stared daggers at the man.
Underneath the table, Marigold placed her hand atop Iris’s and leaned close to whisper, “Let it go for this night, girl; try to enjoy yourself. You will have other chances to speak to the queen.”
“I should be there,” Iris said through clenched teeth.
“In the queen’s seat?” Marigold asked, seeking to make a jest. Iris only turned a hard glare upon her. The young woman did not scowl or frown, but displayed a kind of detached condemnation that only those who knew her well would mark. Marigold set her jaw. No use arguing now. She would speak with her apprentice about it later.
“That is her, right there! Do you see? Well, looks can be deceiving because, I assure you, she is quite powerful. Marigold! Mage Marigold, please come talk with us!”
The edges of Lord Marcus’s words were softened with strong drink. He could be uncharacteristically talkative when in his cups—and, sometimes, rash and impulsive. Marigold steeled herself. She had not truly expected to escape the evening without being singled out to perform some Casting or other. As Lord Marcus beckoned her, with the queen and her retainers looking on, Marigold adopted a humble smile, rose, and went to them. She curtsied and bowed her head low first to her queen and the crown prince, then dipped her head respectfully to her employer.
Stolen story; please report.
“Our queen wishes to see some Barrier-Casting, Mage-Matron.”
The hawk-faced man sitting to Lord Marcus’s right spoke. “Yes, Mage-Matron, favor us with some of your magic. We have heard much about your skill since arriving.” The queen smiled and gave a dignified nod of agreement.
Marigold looked around and felt as a fish out of water amidst such lofty company. “I’m sure it’s nothing when compared to some of the mages you must have in the capital,” she said to the table. A thought struck her. Maybe she could use this as an opportunity to soothe Iris’s ruffled feathers. “Would you perhaps like to see a Barrier cast by my apprentice, Lady Iris? She is extraordinarily skilled for an apprentice. Her ability to shape her Barriers surprises even me sometimes.”
Iris stood. “I would be happy to, my queen. I have been practicing forming a Barrier that—”
“No, no.” Lord Marcus dismissed his wife with a wag of his finger. “Sit and be quiet, my dear. The queen wishes to see a master mage at work, not an apprentice. Mage Marigold, if you please, something to astound our queen and young Prince Caiside.”
Marigold knew her mistake and cursed herself inwardly. In trying to give Iris her due amongst her house’s guests, she had succeeded only in bringing more belittlement down on the young woman. She flicked her gaze over to Iris long enough to see her sit back down with her cheeks deeply colored with embarrassment. Or fury.
She would have to wait until later to apologize, for all eyes in the room were upon Marigold now. Returning her attention to the eager faces before her, her gaze met that of Prince Caiside. He bore some of his mother’s features, most notably in his chin and jaw, but he had dark, deep-set eyes and was skinny as a rake. She wondered how long it had taken the lady who sat beside him to get his pale blonde hair to stay in place on his head before they had come down to the dining hall. Even now, a couple spikes had come free and stuck out at odd angles. Forgetting the differences in their respective stations, Marigold grinned at the boy. Prince or no, he was still a young boy, one who looked to be rapidly tiring of this long and formal dinner. She was hit with a bout of inspiration.
She clapped her hands and rubbed them together. “How about a contest?” she asked of the room. “A contest that uses Barrier-Casting to decide the winner?” Now, she had them intrigued, royal guests, diners, and servants alike. Even Iris looked on attentively. There were calls of encouragement from up and down the table, but Marigold waited until she received nods from both the queen and Lord Marcus. She dug into the pouch on her belt and drew out a spare button. This she held up for all to see as she spoke. “One of the most difficult skills in Barrier-Casting is called Intent. It involves imbuing a spell with the perceived thoughts of another human being. Even for master Barrier-Casters, this is monumentally challenging.”
While everyone in the room watched, she hurled the button up into the air so that it landed atop one of the ceiling rafters. “The spell is difficult,” she explained. “But the contest is simple ...” She settled herself into the state needed for casting a Barrier, relaxing her body and using the motions of her hand as a focus. “All you have to do to win is retrieve the button.” She spoke softly in her concentration, forcing everyone to become quiet in order to hear her. As she spoke, she made precise slicing motions with the flat of her hand—vertical, horizontal, vertical, horizontal, and so on. There were gasps from those who had not seen a Barrier cast before as, before their eyes, a set of shimmering, golden stair steps appeared in the air, leading right up to the ceiling. When the spell Casting was complete, Marigold opened her eyes and took a measured breath.
“It costs one gold coin to attempt to walk up the stairs and retrieve the button. Whosoever succeeds is the winner and keeps all the coins.” Already, men and women were rising to attempt the challenge, but Marigold raised a finger. “Ah! But there is a trick to it, as I’m certain some of you have already guessed. Because of the Intention in the spell, only someone who knows and thinks of the name of the town where I was born will be able to tread these stairs. Everyone else’s feet will pass straight through them.”
Now, there were murmurs about the hall. Nobody seemed to desire to go first, until a large man, red-nosed with drink, stepped forward and clacked his gold coin down on the table.
“You are well-known in this hold, Mage-Matron,” he slurred. “All know you came from Moonfane Forge originally. This shall be easy. Even though I win back only my own coin!” he added, to the cheers of his companions. He gathered himself and went to set his foot on the first step. It passed through and the drunk man tumbled inelegantly to the floor. As many at the table guffawed, Marigold offered her hand to help him rise.
“I did come from Moonfane Forge, but I was not born there. Come now, someone must be able to make a guess. Put your coin down and have your try.”
One by one, people added their coins to the growing pile on the table, and one by one their boots and shoes and slippers went right through the first stair step. In no time at all, the entire dining hall was captivated by the game. As each participant put their coin down, they called out the name of the town or city or village they were thinking of, eliminating possibilities for those who waited to try after them. Eventually, there was a small fortune lying on the table for the taking, and still no one succeeded. Even the serving folk were invited to try, having coins put down for them by the nobles cheering them on.
Finally, few remained who had not made an attempt. No one had yet guessed where Marigold had been born. By now, the golden hue of the stair-shaped Barrier had dissipated, leaving the steps invisible and perilous yet still present.
“Anyone else?” Marigold asked. She controlled her breathing. Slumber beckoned her, but she could hold it off for a little longer. “My queen?” She offered the challenge.
To this, Queen Orla shook her head. “A worthy demonstration of magic, Mage Marigold,” she declared in a soft voice. “And entertaining for all. I dare say if no one else steps forward, then you have more than earned the coins for yourself.”
“I would not, my queen,” she answered, “Lord Marcus pays me well enough. And there must be someone left who can make a guess and claim the prize.” She fixed her eyes on the crown prince. “What about you, Prince Caiside?”
The boy looked to his mother and then spoke in a similarly soft voice. “But I do not know where you were born.”
“Make a guess,” Marigold suggested. “Pick a town no one else has picked. Something less obvious than anyone else has yet tried. Hold the name of that place in your thoughts, and see if you can walk up the stairs to get the button.”
Again, the boy looked to his mother. She smiled at him, then took a gold coin from her belt purse and pressed it into her son’s hand. “Go on. Give it a try.”
To general cheers and encouragement, the young prince, his cheeks flushed red from all the attention focused on him, walked around the table to where Marigold waited, and placed his coin atop the tall stack.
“Where are the stairs, please?” he asked.
Marigold placed her shoe on where she sensed the lowest invisible step to be and gave it a couple good stamps. There were exclamations of surprise around the room. She raised her brows at the assemblage. “What? Of course, I know where I was born,” she said, eliciting laughter. “Now, your turn, Your Highness. The first step is right here where my foot rests.”
The boy took a breath and set his skinny shoulders, then he raised his shining black boot and brought it down. It met resistance. He gasped and looked up at Marigold in surprise. “He’s guessed it, he’s guessed it!” someone exclaimed. Another said, “Keep going, Your Highness. Get the button and win the game!”
The prince shifted his weight and took another step up, wavering at first at not being able to see the stairs he trod upon, but soon getting the feel of it. Step by step, he climbed the invisible Barrier stairs. His confidence grew and he grinned boyishly.
“Look, Mother, I walk on air!”
Up to the ceiling he went, neatly grabbed the button from atop the rafter, and then carefully made his way back down. When his boots hit the floor, the room cheered him, nobles and advisors alike pounding the table like rowdy tavern patrons. The boy made a neat little bow as he presented the button back to Marigold.
As she accepted it from him, she said quietly, “That was a clever guess, Your Highness.”
“It seemed the least likely place,” he replied. “You don’t look at all like the people from the southern island chains usually look.”
Marigold shared a conspiratorial smile. “As Lord Black Crux mentioned earlier, looks can be deceiving.” She raised her voice. “There is your prize stacked on the table, Your Highness. I’m certain you can buy your mother something very nice with all that coin!” Marigold dispelled the Barrier with a wave of her hand. To Queen Orla, she said, “I hope this demonstration of Barrier-Casting has pleased Your Majesty. I regret that I must hasten to my bed now, as a spell of this complexity will soon put me in a state of Slumber that will last for a few days.”
She waited for the nod of permission from the queen and from Lord Marcus and then took herself from the dining hall to her own chamber. As she climbed the stairs there, she did not hear Iris following, but it mattered not. Her apprentice would still visit and attend her in her Slumber when she could also get away from the dinner. Marigold swayed down the hallway and made it to her bed, but only by steadying herself with her hand on the wall. It was not as complicated a spell as she had made it out to be, but denying Slumber as long as she had still taxed her. Doing that was truly a more advanced skill than any Barrier spell.
She sat down hard on her bed, unlaced her shoes, and kicked them off. She regretted that she had not had the opportunity to speak to Iris about the evening’s events before she Slumbered, but that would have to wait until she woke. She hoped her apprentice would get her chance to reclaim some of her pride before the queen in the ensuing days, and if not, that she would not let her emotions carry her off into doing anything rash. Concern nibbled at the edges of Marigold’s thoughts as she felt she floated up off her bed.