Here’s the next installment of Weave a Wizardry Web, chapters 8 & 9.
Dysfunctional family dynamics are influencing the information that reaches the Arch-Clans Letheina of the Wizard Enclave, grandmother of Alstera and mother to Camissa. The two women are directly affected … yet they have not yet envisioned the long-term consequences.
Camissa plans a minor defiance to show that she is not under her brother’s command.
Alstera, however, senses a greater evil within the Enclave.
Pearroc Seale, the disguised Fae, realizes his alliance with Camisse may grant him access to the Arch-Clans and win his mission a hearing in the Enclave.
VIII
Camisse stripped and climbed into the hot water. She sank deep into the bath and sighed in satisfaction. Then she set to work scrubbing the dirt and sweat from the practice ring.
“I have set aside this gown for the reception, my lady.” Hravda held up a grey gown streaked with silver. Camisse had worn it on her previous visit. She might not be aware of the latest styles, but even three years ago the gown deserved a wallflower. She did not intend to be a wallflower tonight. And never again, she vowed as she scrubbed her toes.
“I think not, Hravda. Faone is bringing a few selections. Let us see what she brings first, shall we? And let’s donate that gown. I hated it three years ago; I still hate it.”
“As my lady wishes.”
With no additional conversation to engage her mind, Camisse finally had a chance to mull over her meeting with the Drakon this morning. Pushing its way forward was her memory of the tall outlander who was the Drakon’s protégé. A broken nose and scarred lip did not mar his good looks. His mossy eyes reminded her of a Fae at the Pass. Bregan Ciele. His eyes had gold striations that gleamed. Bregan had died two years ago, but his eyes were a strong memory. This man, this Pearroc Seale, his eyes had seemed to gleam from the shadows, just as Bregan’s had. Fae blood might run in Pearroc’s family. He had the look of a wiry Fae, all lean strength tightly gathered and held. He’d watched her through that meeting, as if he expected trouble from her. She hadn’t read his power; she had never been able to do that.
He looked her age or a little older. Mid-thirties was old for a first attempt at the Wizard Trials. Had he had commitments that kept him from coming earlier? A wife and children? Her mouth turned down at that thought. Tall, handsome, intense. With a sharp edge. At Chanerro she discovered that she liked the thrill of danger. But Pearroc Seale likely had commitments, bonds she wouldn’t cross. And then there was his mentor, the Drakon himself. Letheina would not be pleased if Camisse involved herself with anyone in Clan Drakon. Raigeis would ring a peal over her if she flirted with Pearroc Seale.
The commander of Chanerro Pass didn’t have to listen to their complaints.
Smiling, Camisse ducked underwater to rinse suds from her dark hair.
“—finished, Tante Camisse. What did Grandmère want to speak with you about?”
“Nothing important,” she lied.
“Uncle Raigeis was not happy that he was left out of your talk.”
“Did he confide in you?”
“It was obvious.”
“When did you see him?”
“I came on him outside Grandmère’s study. He looked thunderous.”
“He thinks I am a toddler needing my hand held. I cannot convince him otherwise.”
Alstera chuckled. “He calls me ‘girl’.”
She wiped water from her eyes and stood for a last rinse. “Who was your letter to?”
“It was a list. Things I must do no matter how hectic it is. Camisse—.”
When Alstera’s pause lengthened, she advised, “Say it quick, before better sense snatches it away.”
“Oh, I missed your saying that. Everyone else wants me to stop and think first.”
“A wise precaution, but sometimes we just have to spill it out.” I wish I could take my own advice. But a commander had to be well-reasoned, and the ArchClan’s daughter should have diplomatic tact. “What is worrying you?”
“I am still being tutored by Rombrey. The past weeks are a repeat of things I learned years ago. I don’t know if he’s forgotten I had those lessons, or—I want to be doing things, Camisse. I have had offers from Lucerna lords and tradesmen. I even had an offer from the palace. Raigeis told them I was not available, and he let mere adepts take the contracts. Adepts!”
“What reason did he give you?” As she used the sheet to dab at wet trickles, Camisse remembered her own lack of contracts to work wizardry. Raigeis gave as reason her inadequate power. Alstera didn’t have that problem.
“Not a one. Nor did Grandmère when I finally had a spare ten minutes with her.”
“You are a powerful wizard, Alstera. The most powerful in the Enclave. Letheina said that just this afternoon.”
“Did she also say that I dabble in spells that I should not touch?”
She wouldn’t lie. “Yes. I suppose Rombrey is reviewing lessons that cover taboo subjects?”
“Yes.” Her pause even through the half-open door seemed weighty. “I do know what I’m doing. I never cross the line. I would not, not like—some I could name, who lost their good sense.”
“Are you walking too close to that line?” She slipped on the robe Hravda gave her then opened the door fully. Still dabbing at her wet hair, she headed for the fireplace. A touch of power would slick the wetness away, then she could comb it rather than struggle with tangles. “What are you trying to do that makes them suspicious?”
“We need more wizards if we are to defeat Frost Clime and stop Dragon Rising. We need adepts who can fight like wizards.”
That little bit revealed everything. “The Nexus. No, Alstera. Saldoran taught us its dangers over a century ago.”
“It was not taboo in the Enclave until Saldoran corrupted the practice. We could institute safeguards and protections—.”
“Safeguards are not foolproof. Your path is dangerous, Alstera. If Raigeis finds out—.”
“I haven’t actually started any spells. And Raigeis wants me just twiddling my thumbs.”
“Do not despair. He can’t turn all the important positions over to his own family.” She tapped the comb on her fingers. She couldn’t agree with Alstera’s frustration, even if she hit the mark with it. The greatest wizard in the Enclave should not practice old lessons. “A wizard’s greatest danger is taking advantage of others. The second greatest is not considering the consequences of our spells.”
“I know. Ruidri Talenn lectured me about those consequences. He mentioned so many threads that I didn’t think of—and I am the smartest as well as the greatest of wizards.”
“Talenn de Ysagrael is a great wielder of the elements. Take his words to heart. As for Raigeis, he is overly cautious, but he does have to guard our clan and the Enclave, two great burdens.” Surprised at her defense of him, Camisse flicked away the last of the water then handed the damp towel and comb back to Hravda.
Alstera perched on the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed. She tossed little sparks of silvery power from fingertip to fingertip. “I want to do something, Camise. I have power going to waste. I want to use it instead of endlessly practicing with it. Grandmère says only that I am needed here while Uncle Raigeis grills me on the hidden weight of silver cord woven with gold in a black suit. I learned that lesson in my teens.”
“Letheina schemes for years. You know this.”
“She prepares for what never comes, you mean. Or she steps between us and our goal, as she did with you and Reteif of duCian.”
Her heart throbbed at that lost dream. “Reteif would have been a mistake.”
“You did not think that when she broke you apart by pushing you to the Border.”
“Where I found the best use for the little bit of power I have. I have more skills as well, skills I never would have explored without that posting. I have no regrets, Alstera.”
“Skills like swordplay?”
“Just like swordplay.”
Alstera let the motes of power drift away, winking out as they wafted from her energy. “You argue sense, but neither Grandmère nor Uncle Raigeis anticipated the best use of your power. Sending you to the border was merely expedient. Admit that, dearest aunt. They created the rift between you and Reteif. I love my grandmother, but she is politically ruthless. Valmont had just become Clan Pater. Reteif’s family seemed blocked from any advancement for decades. Then Valmont dies after only seven years as pater, and duCian is selected. Reteif is now his brother’s magister, second in his clan.”
Good sense dictated her answer. “His proper place. Would that position have come to him if he’d married the ArchClan’s daughter? No, he would have allied to Clan Letheina. His brother would never have selected him as his magister.”
Alstera waved that aside. “When you came back three years ago, you could have resumed your relationship with him. He was already magister. He wasn’t married then. He hadn’t even looked at Euphemia.”
Camisse shook her head then fluffed her hair. “He would have wanted my alliance to duCian. I would not have given up commander.”
“Do you think Grandmère saw you choosing commander over him?”
“Letheina is not that prescient.” Or is she? “She sees thresholds and possibilities.” Camisse gave a huff of laughter. “You think I was sent to Chanerro Pass to prevent my marriage to Reteif. I think I was sent to stop my coddling of you and Romert.”
A knock came on the outer door. Hravda went, and light footsteps clicked into the room followed by heavier ones.
Faone appeared. “I escaped! And I have dresses for you.” Two servants, their arms overflowing with vivid silks trailed her. “Put the gowns on the bed, then off with you.” She clapped her hands to hurry them out. “Alstera, lock it, please. We don’t want to be interrupted.”
Hravda stared at the colored gowns then sniffed and retreated to the bathing room.
“You survived your hours with Fleur, I see,” Camisse teased her.
“I thought it would never end. Maman kept interrupting. She liked none of the ideas for Fleur’s dress until the last one. Pale pink with white ruffles all down the bodice and four layers of them around the hem. And on the sleeves! Not the best choice, I thought, but Maman is as enamored of ruffles and furbelows as Fleur is. I did manage to influence the choice of chemise. White with a vivid pink ruffle. It will just peek along the bodice. Fleur was scandalized, but I told her ‘faint heart never won fair game’. And I reminded her of the girls who were chasing her beloved.” She sorted out the mound of dresses on the bed.
“My goodness. However many gowns did you bring?”
“Five. No six. I forgot this one.” She fingered a cerise silk. “We’ll save this for last.”
“I am not trying on six gowns.”
“Of course you are. We may have to stitch you into the cherry one. Have you a lacy chemise?” She dived toward the wardrobe. “Do you have panniers?”
“Faone—.”
The girl pulled her fair head out of the wardrobe, her hands filled with the cloth and wire contraption.
“I am never going to fit into that.”
“Don’t be a spoilsport. You won’t even feel it.”
“Yes, she will,” Alstera said, “but it’s not as horrible as it looks, Camisse.”
“Do let me dress you, cousin. I have excellent taste. The queen has even complimented my gowns.”
Camisse looked helplessly at her niece then retreated to put on the requested chemise and hateful panniers.
“You should let her select all of your clothes. Not your commander’s gear, but your gowns and day dresses and perhaps the shirts you wear with those breeches.” Alstera took a chair far from the bed. “I consult Faone when I am buying new gowns. If you want to hide, wear that horrid grey I saw your maid holding. If you want Raigeis to stuff himself into a wardrobe, wear a vivid color he can’t miss.”
Faone sorted out the first dress. “Clothes are the one thing I do well. Oh, and needlework. Maman complimented my work on the tapestry that Pater Perrault commissioned. He will die before we finish. I hate needlework.”
“But you are good at it,” Alstera countered.
“Only because of endless lessons.” She finished unhooking the gown. “Fleur gets the best tutors for wizardry, and I am shuffled off to the dancing master and needlework lessons. No one has ever asked what I want to do.” She giggled, a quicksilver change. “But I have found something else that I am good at and enjoy. I enjoy it very much. And I’m learning what I’ll need at court to get ahead.” She held up the gown that was a richer color than her aquamarine eyes.
Alstera helped drop the dress over Camisse’s head. “Court?”
“Yes. I’ll never be more than a Naught in the Enclave, which means I’ll never be more than a servant. At the palace I am surrounded by people without power.” She half-hooked the laces, stepped around to eye Camisse in the gown, then turned her about and undid the laces. “We can do better, I think.”
“You have a sponsor at court?”
Faone dropped the gown on the bench and picked up a yellow confection with white lace.
Camisse winced at the color. “Not yellow.”
Faone didn’t protest, just shifted the gown over and picked up the leafy green. Touches of black lace decorated the bodice and hemline. The lacing in the back was even black ribbons. “This may be too short. You have a few inches on me, and I have to wear slippers.”
“Who is your sponsor at court?” Alstera persisted as they dropped the green gown over her head.
Faone half-hooked her up then stepped back. “Oh, I like this one on you. But I think it’s too short even if we let out the hem. Do you think it’s too short, Alstera?”
“Everyone will see her slippers and ankles.”
“How scandalous. We only want to show our ankles when we’re flirting. I will leave this one with you, though. It is the perfect gown to flirt in. Remember that, Camisse: the green for flirting. And look! The hem is deep enough to give you the extra inches you will need. You can even wear heels. Your maid will know what to do.””
The next gown was the silvery with a sparkling net over the skirt. Enchanted, Camisse helped lift it over her head.
“Your sponsor?” Alstera asked again.
“No, I won’t tell you. You’ll run to them and tell them I’m too young to know my mind. And then I will be forced to take scribing lessons and wind up as Fleur’s secretary. No, thank you. I have lived in her shadow all my life. This is for me. Just for me. There.” She had tightened all the laces and turned Camisse to the mirror. “What do you think?”
She looked a princess. A silver gown with silvery tulle, the bodice sewn with brilliants in the cobwebby lace. It fitted perfected. And it wasn’t her.
“It’s suitable for the ArchClan’s daughter,” she said. ‘I look like a fragile dream.”
Faone’s head tilted. “You are the ArchClan’s daughter.”
“She’s also commander of a border citadel. She fights sorcerers and wyre.”
“Ah.” She stripped loose the lacing.
Camisse regretted the gown. “It is so pretty.”
“It’s for next week, when you’ve already given them the image of who you are now. This silvery dress is the one the queen liked. I designed one in gold for her. She has the coloring to carry off that shining yellow. Your dark hair and eyes need the silver.” She picked up the crimson gown. “I nearly didn’t bring this one. Let’s see it on.”
“I never wear crimson.”
“You may surprise yourself. I’ve never worn this one. The color’s too strong for me, but I think—.” She tossed the gown over Camisse’s head.
When the gown cleared her eyes, she saw that Faone had turned her away from the mirror. Looking down at the bodice as Faone laced the back, she thought the neckline revealed too much skin. She tugged at it.
“Leave it alone, cousin. You’re covered.”
“I’m exploding out. I didn’t think I had anything to explode out.”
Alstera laughed then bent to fluff the skirts into place. Faone gave one last yank then tied the lacing. Then she came around to stand beside Alstera.
“Raigeis’ virtuous jaw will be on the floor.”
“I would like to see that,” the girl said, “but I’m not going. And more than Raigeis will be catching flies when she walks into the room.”
“Is it that bad?”
“It’s your gown.” Alstera turned her to the mirror.
Crimson should have overwhelmed her. Instead, it framed her, warming her skin, giving flame-colored tints to her dark hair as if she tempted fire into being.
“Are her ankles showing?”
“I don’t think anyone will notice her ankles.”
Camisse splayed her hands over her upper breasts. “No. It’s—no.”
“Everything’s covered.”
“Not enough.”
“Don’t be a coward. It’s the perfect dress for the commander at Chanerro Pass. It’s the dress that a victor over sorcerers and wyre should wear. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
She stared into the mirror. The dress fit like a glove. The crimson warmed her stark coloring. The bodice allured even as it covered. It wasn’t a modest gown, but a commander took risks in order to win. She had learned that her first year at Chanerro. She needed to remember that the lesson applied to more than battles.
“I will shock them all.”
“About time,” Alstera retorted. “I think a corset is needed, Faone.”
“No! It will push me higher. I won’t be able to breathe.”
“The ladies won’t pop out, if that’s what you’re afraid of. A little spell will hold everything in place.”
“And everyone will know I had to use a spell.”
“Uncle Raigeis scolded me,” Alstera added with a solemn nod at odds with her grin, “just this afternoon for a profligate waste of power on my gown. But I liked adding the sparkles.”
The door opened. Hravda appeared. “My lady, I should fetch your dinner tray—. My lady! Oh, my lady. You are—you are—.”
“There, your maid is speechless. That’s a good sign.” Faone unlaced the gown. “It’s this dress and no other. Hravda, does Camisse have a coronet? A gold one?”
“An old one. I must find it,” and the old maid hastened back into the dressing room.
“We won’t even try the cherry pink.” She began lifting the gown.
Camisse clutched the skirts, as reluctant to part with the crimson as she was the silvery cobweb. “Why are you taking it off?”
“You will not want to dine in this dress. And I want to see the cherry on you, after all.”
The vivid cerise also cast warmth into her skin. Not as stark as the crimson, the color complimented her more than any sapphire blue gown ever had. The severe cut would serve for a serious occasion, like a formal audience at the Moot Court or presentation at the king’s palace.
Once it was removed and draped across the bed, Camisse worked herself out of the pannier then sank onto a chair, as much shocked as tired. Hravda brought her a tray and returned to her hunt for a coronet. Camisse stared at the soup and the bread and the apple and thought about lifting up the spoon. She sighed.
Alstera laughed. “You would think that trying on gowns was a battle you just won. You cannot be weary. Faone and I did most of the lifting.”
“I will say that it has never gone so easily before. Will you be there tonight?”
“She has to be,” Faone said. “Who else will report your triumph to me?”
They laughed. “I’ll need to dress soon,” Alstera said, “but I will stay a few more minutes. We can make an entrance together and outshine the room. You should come, Faone. Please. After all this work, you should see their reactions for yourself.”
“No, thank you. I have another commitment. And I have someone I want you to meet soon. Both of you. He’s a wizard, newly come to Tres Lucerna. He wants to pass the Wizard Trials.”
Camisse’s heart stopped.
“His name is Sanglier.”
Not Pearroc Seale. Her heart resumed with a strong thump.
“I do not know that name,” Alstera said. “If he’s not passed the Trials, he cannot call himself a wizard.”
“Oh, he’s a wizard, just not an ‘official’ Enclave one. They are out there, just not here in Mont Nouris where the Enclave rules.” The girl propped her elbows on the table. Her earnest expression emphasized her youth compared to the women a decade older and more. “Sanglier has great powers.”
“How do you know?” Alstera quizzed. “What spell has he impressed you with?”
“Not just me. Other people, too. And here is an extraordinary thing. He said I am not a complete Naught. He unlocked my power. I worked a spell.”
Camisse, who knew what it was to struggle to work any deep spell and also knew what it was to be mocked by those who called power without difficulty, understood Faone’s joy. Most Naughts had a little power, enough to work simple spells. Faone had never lit a candle from across the room, the simplest of spells. How could this wizard help her unlock power when the best wizards in the Enclave said she had none? “Faone—.”
“I did work a spell, four nights ago.”
“You are a Naught,” Alstera said, a hardness to her voice that hurt Camisse as well. “all the tutors tested you. Letheina tested you.”
“Sanglier said that they must not have tested me with all the elements. He showed me how to blast a candle to bits at the last meeting. We have another meeting tonight. I want you to meet him. I want you especially, Camisse, to meet him. Just think if he unlocked your power. How you would shock Raigeis if your power exceeded his. Then he wouldn’t be so sure of becoming the next clan pater.”
“We have the reception tonight,” Camisse demurred. Her tone managed not to shut down Faone’s request completely. Her own jaw felt like it was still on the floor, the reaction she had wanted others to have at the reception. Faone’s power unlocked? Her power not tested with all the elements? She picked up the soup and tried to concentrate on that, not on Faone’s comment that seemed to be up-ending her own world. What if her own power had not been fully tested? What if she didn’t wield Water or Air? What if she were Fire or Earth?
But to be Fire or Earth meant that her father was not Letheina’s husband. That wasn’t possible.
“I confess,” Alstera said, “I am intrigued, but neither of us can miss this reception.”
“We can meet after, silly. We always meet at the 22nd Bell.”
“Late indeed. Past my bedtime.”
“Letheina expects the reception to go into the wee hours,” Camisse said. “I must stay for the entirety. She implied that my return added me to the honorees.”
“Faone, how long have you attended meetings with this man Sanglier?”
“Only a few. Worm-Moon was the first time that Sanglier worked with me alone. He said he saw a seed of potential, and there it was.”
“That sounds like an Earth wielder.”
“Oh, he wields all the elements. I’ve seen him call all four. He may be at tonight’s reception. Arct—um, it was hinted that he had an invitation, but he won’t miss tonight’s meeting. He never misses. Sometimes he is late. His apprentice has missed the last few meetings. Please come, Camisse.”
Suspecting Letheina’s plans were more than mentioning that the commander of Chanerro Pass was present, Camisse refused to commit. She worked on finishing her soup before it congealed completely.
Alstera leaned back and picked up the baguette. “How did you hear about this man? This Sanger?”
“Sanglier,” Faone corrected. “I heard about him from another Naught.”
The wizard frowned at the bread as Faone chattered about the meetings—although Camisse noticed that the girl was careful not to name anyone else. When she wound down, Alstera ventured, “I cannot help but warn you that this Sanglier could be a tinker selling silver when it’s only plated pewter. No one can change a Naught into a wizard. What method is he using? How is he drawing up your power? Could he be transferring his power to you? That spell would make you think that the power was yours.”
“To know that you must come to a meeting.”
“This could be a trick,” Camisse warned around her apple.
“Why trick a Naught? I have thought this through, Camisse. I have. He cannot steal my power. If I’m truly a Naught, I have no power. He cannot bespell me to attack someone, not if I’m truly a Naught. Perhaps he could so trick and bespell the adepts who come, hoping to increase their power, but he focuses primarily on us Naughts. I am not the first he has sparked power in. I am no naïf unused to power. I have seen it wielded all my life. When we were little, Fleur tried to share her power with me. It never worked, and when Maman found out—well, we never did it after that.”
“It would take training that Fleur didn’t have.”
“She used the same spells that the tutors use, when a student can’t grasp a concept, and they fold the wielding into the student. But Fleur worked with our clan elements.”
“What did he call from you?”
“Earth.” She rolled her eyes at their carefully blank expressions. “I know, I know, not our elements. But we do have a few who work the other elements, sometimes Water with Earth, or Air and Fire, or all four, like Alstera. Sanglier calls it atavism, elements from previous generations lurking in our bloodlines. Please come, both of you. See what I have seen. See my success. You will see failures, that’s expected, but if you see one success—if he can unlock one small seed of power—.”
Alstera set down the torn remains of the baguette. “I cannot go this evening. After the reception, Gage has leave from his post at the palace. I haven’t seen him for days and days. I will go to a meeting with you, Faone. This I promise. Just not tonight.”
“Camisse?”
“I will go.”
“Tonight? After the reception? Surely after the formal ceremonies and two or three hours, you will not be missed. If you promise to come, I will go to the reception, and we can go on to the meeting tonight.”
“You said Sanglier will be at the reception.”
“Yes. I won’t introduce you, though. It’s best that you meet him in his environment. That’s what Adala said to me.”
“Adala? That’s Sebastian and Orania’s daughter? Clan Drakon,” Alstera said as an aside to Camisse. “Did she introduce you to this Sanglier?”
Before Faone could answer, Hravda appeared, triumphant with the coronet. She held it aloft. “Found, my lady Camisse. Far back in the cupboard.” The gold flashed in the candlelight. “I have just the way to design your hair, but we must begin soon.”
Faone went flying. Alstera rolled her eyes at Camisse. “You are truly going to this Sanglier’s?” When she nodded, the wizard frowned a little. “You will take care?”
“Should I take care not to stomp Raigeis’s toes when he patronizes me? Or should I take care not to fall into Sanglier’s trap?”
“Both.”
“If I were a Naught, I’d have no trouble with my brother, but I’d be a prime pawn for Sanglier. As little more than an adept, I’ll have no trouble with the man, but plenty at the reception, for I won’t grovel to my brother.”
“Definitely don’t grovel. At tonight’s reception he is not your brother. He is the ArchClan’s magister, and you are a commander of Chanerro Pass, with a clan leader’s status.”
She stilled, remembering Letheina’s requests for her proxy. “Do you know something, Alstera?”
“No, silly, but you might forget that you lead wizards and Fae and Naught soldiers against sorcerers and wyre.”
“I have commanded for more than a decade. I’m not likely to forget.”
“When pushed, we fall into old patterns. Don’t let him push you.”
“I won’t. You sound as if you’re not coming to the reception. I thought you were.”
“A token appearance only. I did say Gage is coming.”
“You did. You’ve missed him.”
“I should miss him. He’s good-looking, tall and braw with just enough scars to give me shivers when I think how dangerous with a sword he must be. He is clearly fascinated by me.”
“But you don’t love him.”
She pretended to be contrite, then her infectious grin peeked out. “I confess to enjoying him greatly when he has leave and to being relieved when he returns to his posting. Now, get dressed. Wear the crimson with pride. Faone is right. It suits you very well, indeed.”
IX
Alstera yawned then glanced sideways to see if Uncle Raigeis had spotted that obvious signal of her boredom.
He had. He narrowed his eyes, a reprimand that still deflated her even though she was no recently fledged wizard. She waited till he looked away then rolled her eyes. Waiting for the reception’s start was the worst part. A late dignitary, a clan patriarch’s demand for a private word, a spell on the room’s tapers or the breeze keeping the temperature bearable or the food waiting to be served—something always went wrong and delayed the beginning.
Grandmère mounted the dais. Raigeis stopped three steps below her. The Fae comeis stood at her left shoulder. Then Camisse in that crimson gown separated from the crowd. Along with a young woman in green, she climbed four of the steps then curtsied. The murmurs increased. Faone had chosen wisely with that gown. Camisse overshadowed everyone on the dais, especially her brother in his subdued grey and charcoal.
Letheina began, her speech projected with a spell. Alstera admired her grandmother’s talent to create an intimate circle even in the large room. She captured the crowd. By the time she finished, she could have called for a revolt, and they would have stampeded from the room. Instead, she told of a new wizard come to the Enclave and the temporary return of the commander of Chanerro Pass. The applause and hails deafened Alstera.
Raigeis stepped forward and lifted a hand. The room quieted. “Isabeau of d’Aulnois, come forward.”
The young woman standing beside Camisse climbed the remaining dais steps then knelt before the ArchClan. Her upswept hair and green court gown glittered with silver brilliants. Alstera recognized her, a sassy imp who had flirted with Gage on his last leave. Her Wizard Trials recently achieved, Isabeau would have reached for what she wanted, but who she wanted belonged to Alstera. Gage had merely laughed and looked admiringly then shook his head and came across the room to her. And Isabeau had shot a dagger-look—until she recognized Alstera.
Alstera had led Gage away. He was hers until she released him, not a toy for a new wizard to play with. She wouldn’t release him for a while yet and certainly not to a chit a decade younger.
Letheina again used the projection spell. “Does Clan d’Aulnois accept this Isabeau, daughter of Cecil of d’Aulnois and Yvgenie, now of d’Aulnois, formerly of Galfrons?”
Clan Pater and the fourth Aged Sage, d’Aulnois spoke. “We do. We gladly do so.”
The ArchClan stretched out her hand. He climbed the seven steps. She placed his hand on Isabeau’s bent head. Power thrummed then created a swirl of mixed energies, Letheina’s elements mingled with d’Aulnois’ Earth and Air.
Isabeau looked up as the ArchClan spoke, her voice no longer projected. The audience strained to hear. Wizards stood on tiptoe, remembering their own alliance to the clan leader, adepts wondering how wizard vows were different, and Naughts desperate to know anything to do with wizardry.
In the rise and fall of Letheina’s voice, Alstera recalled the pace of her own vows. How would Isabeau—yes, her hands lifted. Energy sparked from her fingertips. The elder wizards grasped her hands, forming a link.
Alstera’s eyes narrowed. A link. She still recalled that surge of power during her own oath-taking. Letheina was both her ArchClan and her clan mater. For Alstera’s binding ceremony, no one had stood third. How many ceremonies had she watched and never realized that linkage of power? From this point forward, both Letheina and d’Aulnois would know where Isabeau was, no matter how distant, until Isabeau herself broke the linkage, either by a new alliance or a spell to break the chains.
Great-Uncle Rombrey’s droning voice sounded in her memory: Should occasion call for it, each leader can call upon the powers of his clan. Alstera had thought he meant drawing the clan members together. Yet this was a binding ceremony. Had Rombrey meant that the clan leader could draw upon their powers? Linkage was forbidden since Saldoran. Was this a legal form of the Nexus?
Only a spell powered by the wielder’s own blood could break the clan alliance. Except for that one instance, blood spells were also forbidden.
A memory swelled up: Corwin, breaking his alliance to Metallin to ally with d’Aulnois when the man became pater. Even after four years, Alstera could smell the coppery tang of blood. She could ride the energy released like a maelstrom. She sensed power running loose and free, uncontrolled, ready for the taking. The upswell almost drowned her and the others in that small room.
The knife had clattered to the floor. Corwin pressed a cloth to his arm. Laurenz worked a healing to seal the wound while her husband Guimalle steadied his friend.
“A little deep,” Corwin had laughed. “I wanted it done and over.”
“You were too eager,” Guimalle cautioned, “but it’s done. Tomorrow you’re free to talk with my father. He’ll get you an interview with Grandpère, and you’re in.”
Corwin had grunted. “Not so simple as that.”
“Of course it is,” Laurenz countered. She gave a pat to the healed wound. “I did it myself not a year ago when I married Guimalle.” She smiled at her husband. “Thank the gods I did not need to repeat the blood spell when d’Aulnois inherited the clan bindings from Bourdonnée.”
Alstera surfaced from the memory with a little gasp. Nexus and blood spells. Taboo outside the bindings to clan leaders.
Isabeau was standing. She looked ashen. Two sets of powers, both greater than her own, had swirled through her system. d’Aulnois lifted their linked hands as the sign that the bonding had taken. Applause and hails rippled over the room.
But Alstera eyed her grandmother. Letheina looked pale.
Raigeis ushered Pater d’Aulnois and Isabeau down the steps. They descended into a swarm of clan members.
Camisse took the side stairs off the dais. Alstera moved to intercept her, but she kept an eye on her grandmother and her uncle. Raigeis had returned to urge Letheina to the deep chair on one side of the dais. She gave him a little push. For a second he stood irresolute while the comeis silently came to Letheina’s side. Then Raigeis turned to the room and stationed himself to block anyone he didn’t want to gain access to the ArchClan.
What would her own clan become when Raigeis became pater? If he were selected. Who would oppose him? He’d served as magister for three decades. Who could oppose him?
She trailed behind Camisse. The crimson gown was easy to spot as her aunt worked through the crowd pressed close to the dais. And then a tall man intercepted Camisse.
Reteif, the duCian’s brother, now a magister. He captured her hand and gave it a courtier’s salute. Her face lit up. He pulled her close and bussed her lips. She drew back, shaking her head, but her smile was wide and her eyes sparkled.
Alstera paused, letting people eddy around her, and watched as her aunt talked to the man she had once dreamed of marrying.
Camisse shook her head again. Reteif spoke. She said a clear ‘no’. Another question, another rejection, then a decided nod, as if she agreed to something—but it had brought a frown to her smooth brow. He stepped closer, spoke against her ear. She smiled when she said ‘yes’ this time and glanced around. Reteif’s wife came forward. Her prominent belly clearly carried their next child. As they talked briefly, Alstera started forward again. She was fiercely glad Camisse had worn the crimson gown.
Reteif and his wife eased away as Alstera arrived. She stepped into Reteif’s place. “You handled that very well.”
Camisse blinked. “They are happy together, aren’t they?”
“He waited six years for you.”
“If he had wanted me that desperately, he could have come to Chanerro.”
“Perhaps he wanted you to choose him over your obedience to Grandmère. No one knew, before your posting, that she would manipulate circumstances so much.”
Camisse looked down at her hand, the one that Reteif had kissed. “No. No one knew that. She wasn’t ArchClan then. Her machinations only controlled our clan.”
“Did he ask you to dine? I saw you refuse him a couple of times.”
“Oh. Yes. I thought it would be awkward. Perhaps not, though. His wife looks happy.”
“Will it be difficult, looking at his son, looking at his next child on the way, and thinking that could be your family?”
Her aunt inhaled deeply. “You ask hard questions, Alstera, but I will answer them. That dream is the past. What did you think of the ceremony with Isabeau?”
“That it’s very similar to a Nexus.”
“Is it? I didn’t study any linkages.”
“I am on my third round of it with Rombrey.”
“A little revolution might help.”
“I’ve never seen it help. Besides, what else am I to do with my time?”
“I hear thumb twiddling is an occupation.”
“Oh, you! Seriously, Tante Camisse, I wish that I could choose my studies, instead of squeezing my interests around Rombrey’s ideas of what I should learn.”
A grey vestment planted itself in front of them. “You left the dais before we talked.”
Uncle Raigeis blocked his sister’s progress through the room. His habitual frown deepened into a scowl.
“I thought you had duties to our mother.”
Alstera glanced toward Letheina. Her cousins Gerhardent and Arendt stood ready to intercept any casual aspirants. “My duty appearance is over. I’m off.”
“You’re leaving?” Camisse reached for her then drew back her hand.
“Not yet. I want to talk to Rhodia.” She eyed Raigeis and added, “Nevil’s sister.”
The connection floated past him. “Off with you then.”
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
Alstera grimaced at Raigeis’ dismissal.
Camisse wished for her own easy escape, especially when he commandeered her arm and steered her to the wall. He drew a Shield around them. She raised her eyebrows and saw nearby people glance to see the reason a spell yanked power into the room.
“You can talk to me privately tomorrow.”
“I’ll do it now. My time is highly scheduled, and chasing you all over the Enclave is inefficient. What did you talk about with my mother?”
She kept back the retort of ‘my mother, too.’ Raigeis simmered with anger. Pushed, he could get ugly. “She asked for the Shield. I spelled it into place. She obviously wanted privacy. If she wishes to inform you of our conversation, then she must be the one to do so.”
“You don’t command here.”
“Did I give an order? Our mother requested a Shield for privacy. I respect her wishes.”
His lower lip jutted. He folded his arms over his chest. He reminded her of a little boy not getting his way and preparing a tantrum. “She won’t tell me.”
“Nor shall I.”
“I am your magister.”
Camisse thought about pulling rank, but he looked close to yelling. “You are my brother first. That would be the stronger appeal. Not magister. Consider relationships, Raigeis. I am back two full days, and already you have offended more than a handful of people in my presence. That’s not wise. They will remember your behavior when the new clan leader must be chosen.”
“Letheina’s hale. She will not die for years. The Fae bond extends her viable years.”
“Have you forgotten our mother is eight and seventy? She is bonded to a Fae, but her body looks frail. Are you so preoccupied with your machinations that you forget to watch her health?”
“She is hale. Her mind is sharper than mine.”
“Few people have a mind sharper than hers, brother. The body, however, does not always keep up with the mind. If all you wish to do is pester me—.”
He stepped closer. Camisse pressed against the wall to maintain distance. “I bring up your Shield conversation. You bring up clan transition.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“I tell you that she is still sharp; you tell me the body does not keep up with the mind.”
Am I that obvious?
“I think I know what you talked about. Tired of your command, little sister? Do you think as Letheina ages that she will need additional magisters, as Perrault has his three?”
He feared losing his position. “We didn’t talk of that.”
Raigeis ignored her denial. A vein pulsed in his temple. “Do you know the reason I fought against your having any authority in our clan? You are the ArchClan’s daughter. Even as weak as your power is, you should have had some position.”
He had the bit and was running with it. She tried her own steel to shake sense into him about where they were. “Oh, I answered that years ago. Your ambition for yourself and your children preclude’s anyone else’s advancement. Your posting of your twin sons to my command proves it.”
“Not hardly. I fought your position as commander because you aren’t even—.” Something stopped him. Some noise, some surge in the crowd, something. He glanced around.
“Finish it, Raigeis.”
He frowned. “That’s for another place, another time.”
“You chose this place and this time. Tell me. I’m not some weak miss who will cry out in pain. I’m not even—what?”
But he took a half-step back and eyed her up and down as if she were a foreign entity he couldn’t quite understand. “You have never questioned it, have you? I cannot believe you blithely went on—. It’s an open secret with everyone my age and older. And you never heard the whispers? You never saw the pointing fingers or heard the laughter? You seem to think so much like Maman, but in this most basic way, you prove you aren’t her caliber. Did you never realize you weren’t Guilliame’s daughter? She shunted you aside as her guilty secret.”
The floor shifted under her. Camisse leaned harder against the wall as the world spun. “I do not believe you,” but the cog wheels were flying. She had inherited too much of Letheina’s cold intellect. Things that never fell into place—her father’s distance, his preference for his other children, his covert and overt antagonism—all locked into the cog wheels and started making sense. “How do you know this?”
“You professed to love history, but you never connected history to your own life. It’s in the lineage. Guilliame was on the border during the half-year when you were conceived.”
“Letheina had an affaire?” Her rigid mother, so bound by social strictures that no one dared openly break any rule.
“It wasn’t described to me as an affaire.” He half-smiled, and she knew she should wipe the shock from her face. He was enjoying her reaction too much. The cog wheels, though, weren’t ready to let her process his glee. “She wanted to be ArchClan, even then, before she became clan mater. She wanted to rule the Enclave. She needed to gain the allegiance of other clan leaders, and she chose the oldest and least magical method. Wise in some respects. No one could claim magical interference when she was selected.”
The people behind him were a blur—except for one face, with mossy eyes, a broken nose, a scarred lip. The very stillness of that face helped still her churning thoughts. “Who?”
“What do you mean?”
But he knew. She saw it in the gleam of his eyes. She didn’t have to look far to understand his anger. He must have discovered either that she had a vote in Enclave matters or that she would not give him her proxy. Whichever, it drove his craving to lashout. “Who is my father, Raigeis?”
He smirked—proving this confrontation was deliberate, time and place chosen, public and immediate. He wanted to discredit her—and that steadied her rocking mind as nothing else could. “The way it was described to me, not even Letheina knew which one was your father.”
That sounded like her father’s Guilliame’s venom. Not, not her father. Never had she been more glad that Guilliame wasn’t her father. “Careful, Raigeis. That’s my mother you’re maligning.”
She startled him. In battle, sometimes that was all it took. Magister for thirty years, Raigeis recovered quickly. In battle, though, she would have already taken his head.
“Ask Letheina if you think she’ll give you a straight answer,” he ground the words out. “After all these years, she will not want it brought up. She won’t enjoy her machinations being disinterred. Ask our brother Malboys or our dear sister Cestinna. Ask dear Uncle Rombrey.”
“Does everyone know? How many?”
“Not many. It’s old gossip.”
“I should have known.” Guilliame’s poison now had a reason stained more sinister by Letheina’s machinations. Camisse’s lonely post at Chanerro Pass took on more than at simple banishment, for it had never been the proving ground she had turned it into. The command of Channero transformed into a convenient disposal for an inconvenient reminder of prostitution for votes. “I should have been told.”
“By the time you were old enough to understand, everything was long since over.”
“Raigeis, I want to know who my father is.” The man had to be a clan leader or one who would soon become a clan leader. No, only a Clan Pater, whose vote would be assured. Letheina never gambled. Whoever the man was, did he suspect Camisse was his child? Did he care? Or would he be equally ashamed of an illegitimate child who barely passed her Trials? “I want to know.”
“Ask our mother.”
Ice covered her. “No.”
He laughed. “Scared to exhume the past? I would be. I doubt she would even acknowledge you had asked, let alone answer. If she could.” With that taunt, he dropped the Shield and walked away.
Camisse tore her gaze from his back and turned to the dais.
Letheina talked with Pater Metallin. Her steely gaze scanned the audience as she laid out some plan six or more moves ahead on the chessboard of the Enclave.
Camisse’s world still flew, all the cog wheels whirling to create a new system. She couldn’t concentrate in this place.
She saw Faone chattering to a tall man, his back to Camisse.
I must get out of here.
Meeting Faone’s outlander who broke rules and had Naughts thinking they wielded power seemed the perfect way to snub her nose at Raigeis.
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
Pearroc saw the instant Camisse decided. What she decided, he didn’t know, only that the hard glitter in her black eyes promised rashness. He wanted to cross her path and distract her, but Drakon muttered in his ear.
He hauled his attention back. “Will I have a long wait?”
“It should not be long. Three weeks. Do you worry?”
“I am as prepared as a Fae can be.”
“Hsst. Look how close people stand to us.”
“I dropped a Shield over us. I am not the only person to want a private conversation.”
“Do not even hint you have a stronger association to the Fae. You are a neighbor, only a neighbor. If your masquerade is discovered, our alliance with the Faeron could be set back decades. The ArchClan already thirsts to set back our progress. Fae bonding to the clan leaders. An increased Fae presence in the Enclave. Fae tutors for wizards’ children. These were hard battles. She refused her first comeis until we demanded it. When Ruidri Talenn replaced her first bond, she wanted to refuse again.”
“What grudge does she bear against us?”
“Her oldest son disappeared into the Faeron. He entered north of Petrosse.”
“That’s deep forest. No wonder the commander flinched when I mentioned Petrosse.”
“You understand Enclave history now, don’t you? You understand what Saldoran did to us, one hundred and forty years ago? We restrain our powers, voluntarily through the five tenets and legally by forbidding the Nexus and the old magics, blood magic, primitive magic.”
“What does that have to do with Camisse? Do I need a history lesson to understand this woman? Unless she’s been breaking tenets and laws.”
“No, she would not, and you do not need it. You’ve got wit, Pearroc.”
“You just made my teaching her Fire appreciably harder. Ah, forgive me, sir, but our quarry is on the run.”
“Watch your step,” the aged man said. “Her brother Raigeis just upbraided her. She will be angry enough to turn on you. Use her anger at him to your advantage.”
Pearroc intercepted her only because she stopped to speak to a young lady. They turned together for the door, and his last step blocked their path.
He gave an exaggerated bow. “Lady Camisse. Are you in flight already? I had hoped for a few minutes of your time. I understand we will have dances later. I planned to accost you then—and not so openly now.”
The narrowed eyes opened a fraction. A smile played on her mouth. His pretense of subterfuge had won him a few moments.
“Pearroc Seale, good evening. This is my cousin Faone, also of Clan Letheina. Faone, Pearroc of the broad shoulders.”
“Lady Faone.” He bowed again. The young lady giggled.
“Pearroc Seale is awaiting his Wizard Trials. The Drakon sponsors him.”
“Drakon?” The young lady’s lake-blue eyes widened. “He is a master wizard and an Aged Sage. I am impressed. Cousin, I will wait for you by the door.” She curtsied to Pearroc then slipped away.
Camisse’s smile dropped. Her eyes once more narrowed. “How may I assist you?”
“I believe Drakon foisted me off on you this morning.”
“He is a council elder. If he thinks you need lessons from me—or I from you—then he sets his plan in motion, and we must hope to be more than simple pawns. I don’t have his power or his status or his experience. Who am I to deny his request?”
How did he break her formality? He had glimpsed a quirkiness earlier; he wanted to see it again. “I confess my wish for time with you had little to do with lessons.”
Her mouth compressed. Misstep. She found flattery suspicious. A shame, for she deserved compliments. In a simple shirt and breeches, she looked long and lean; add in her skill with the sword, and she was lethal. Tonight, gowned in crimson, she needed no jewels for adornment. Having watched her since the reception began, Pearroc reckoned that only one person had told her how glorious she looked in crimson. And that sole person had been married with a pregnant wife.
She did look glorious. The rich color enhanced her eyes and creamy skin. Fire colors. Ice blue and cold silver would do nothing for her.
“I must leave soon.”
Her words spurred him to try for a few minutes more. “Have you remembered a duty? Or do you regret agreeing to Drakon’s proposal? In my little time here, I have encountered the rivalries among the clans. Clan jealousies, however, do not interest me.”
That quirk of a smile played at the corner of her lips. “Not many can say that to me.”
“May I have a dance with you this evening, Lady Camisse?”
“Lord Seale, I do regret saying ‘no’,” and her drooping mouth added truth to that regret. She glanced to the large double-doors of the audience chamber. “My cousin has first claim on my attention.”
“A pity.”
Her smile returned.
“The magister will not harangue you for conversing with Drakon’s protégé?”
“He will. I will not listen.”
Pearroc smiled with her this time. The aged man’s advice had hit the target. “You intrigue me, Lady Camisse.”
“You intrigue me, Pearroc Seale. Most wielders come to the Enclave at a much younger age, for training before their Trials.”
“So, you call me an old man?”
She brightened even more. “I very carefully did not say that. I think we are very close in age. Who did train you?”
“I will speak heresy here. A Fae who came to my mother’s house. He also had my first training with the sword.”
Her black eyes gleamed with interest. “Did he shift during the duel?”
“You have seen Fae do this?”
“A few. Only the best, they tell me.”
“Then I must admit that Tiele d’Oran did shift. He said he needed to keep me off-balance. Tell me the reason that a wizard goes to Chappelle’s practice arena to keep her sword skills sharp?”
Her merriment dimmed. “I may edge my sword with magic, but I cannot easily draw up spells. I fight amongst the Fae. Since I may soon return—.”
“Not too soon, I hope,” he interjected and earned a flashing gleam. She glanced at the doors again, and again he tried to keep her longer. “I hear great battles are fought and won against sorcerers and wyre at Chanerro. Have you fought the wyre?”
“We keep them off the wizards. A wizard’s power is no use against the wyre, and the soldiers are afraid of them. Only the Fae will confront them.”
“The Fae and the commander at Chanerro Pass will confront them.” A little lift of her shoulder; another clue that compliments disquieted her. “Since wizardry cannot damage wyre, that explains how the wyre killed the adept and the wizard while the Fae survived.”
Her brow constricted. “You are the second person to say this. When did the wyre attack? And where?”
“The Fae was attacked on Knave Moon. The wizard died on Worm Moon. The first attack, when the adept died, happened on Dragon Moon. And the where is here in
side Enclave walls.”
That slight constriction of her brow turned into a frown. “Three attacks in less than ten days? And on nights when the moon shifts. Are they tracking the cycles? Were the wyre shifted?”
“I do not know. If they wanted to shift outside of Dragon Moon, they would need a sorcerer. Sorcerers control the wyre—.”
“Yes, yes, I know. The sorcerers wyrded men to counter a wizard’s power, just as the Rhoghieri are the wizards’ response to the wyre.”
“Your training is better than most wizards.”
“I’ve fought side-by-side with Fae for over a decade.”
“You should use the Rho on the border. They are shapers and shifters of the elements. Their alliance would allow Fae to assist the wizards against the sorcerers.”
She tilted her head. Her unwinking stare was a commander’s contemplation of forces. “The Rho cannot completely control their element. It bursts out of them. Much like some of my attempts at spells.”
That slip of information gave him something to consider, but he ignored the trap it could be. “Only the Rho who are trained in the Havens fully control their elements. The Havens are not just sanctuaries. And the Rho have a natural shield against sorcery.” He smiled ruefully. “I am teaching an old lesson to you. I apologize.”
“An old lesson for you, yet I assure you that most of the Enclave need to learn it. That includes me. Perhaps our teaching will be mutual. Thank you, Lord Seale.”
He smirked. “Our lessons will be very formal. ‘Lady Camisse and Lord Seale.’”
“I did not want to offend—very well, Pearroc. Now, my cousin has waited patiently. I must away.” She gave him her hand for the perfunctory bow and curtsey. When he pressed his mouth to her fingers, she gave a jerk of surprise. Then she slipped her hand free and hurried off.
Pearroc watched and planned and decided an early visit to Chappelle’s practice rings were on his agenda for the morrow.