Chapter Fifty-eight
For most of my soldiering career I had managed to avoid serious injury—my hurts being mainly bruises and skinned knuckles. But once, while righting mountain bandits, I was badly cut by one of the outlaws who believed in keeping his sword very sharp, opening my leg up to the bone. I felt like that now: an icy numbness, but no pain. That would come later, when I would finally grasp that the blood splashing all about was mine. I held myself very still as I stared up at the Fyrst, vaguely aware that Suiden and the others had surrounded me.
His Grace the Fyrst looked back down at me, his face calm and remote. “I suggest you take him away, Magus, before he or his fellows are tempted to do something foolish.” There was a flash and the metallic taste told me that the talent had been worked. I tried to move my head and found it restrained. Without conscious thought I brushed the binding aside and turned to face the Magus.
The years had not been kind to Magus Kareste. They hadn’t been unkind either. He looked the same as he did when I left, his close-cropped silver hair and beard bracketing a thin, pale face that looked as though it had never seen the sun. Light gray eyes stared out at me from under silver brows in a way that reminded me of Obruesk—except instead of burning, they were ice shards. They glittered now at my shrugging off the binding he and his fellow mages had just tried to put on me. Then the Magus’ gaze moved to the feather. His brows drew together and he snapped his head to look at the Fyrst, his lips thinner than usual as he held in his protests.
“What have you done, Laurel Faena?” the Fyrst asked, his voice remaining calm. “When you set out, you were expressly forbidden to interfere with the apprentice’s indentures.”
“I haven’t done anything, Your Grace, that would keep the Magus from claiming his own,” Laurel said. He lifted his paw, the truth rune glowing.
Magus Kareste’s lips were now gone in his effort to hold in all the words that must have been clamoring to get out. His Grace ignored him. “Yet he wears your feather and is surrounded by ghosts.”
“The feather is just a meal covenant, honored Fyrst,” Laurel said, “and I had nothing to do with the moon folk.”
“And the rune on the apprentice’s hand, Faena?”
The Fyrst made a gesture and Eorl Pellan came over. Reaching between Suiden and Javes, he caught my hand and held it up, palm turned towards the Fyrst.
“I feel its power even from where I sit,” His Grace stated. “What do you say about that?”
Kareste’s lips gave out. “Your Grace, this is intolerable!” The Magus’ voice reminded me of cold places in the Upper Reaches as it blew through the hall. “The Faena has broken his word—”
Mutters and hisses broke out, though it wasn’t clear whether they were aimed at the Magus or at Laurel. The eorl allowed my hand to drop as the Fyrst tapped a finger on the arm of his throne and the room immediately became quiet. His Grace looked back at Laurel. “Well, Faena? How do you answer these charges?”
“Rabbit came into his full power after I found him, honored Fyrst,” Laurel replied, “and the rune was necessary to keep him from harming himself and others. But neither feather nor rune should keep Magus Kareste from claiming him.”
“Do you know what is preventing it?” the Fyrst asked, his brow raised.
“Three times Rabbit has sworn to another,” Laurel said.
“Once when he joined the Royal Army, once in reaffirmation of his offices, and once in the elfin rune circle in the palace of Morendyll, now called Iversly. All three times to the king of Iversterre—an elfin king, Your Grace, as dark as you with gold in his eyes. So Rabbit swore and the rune circle lit up, as bright as the noon sun.” Laurel showed his eyeteeth at the Magus. “Without my prodding, without my explaining, without my saying anything, Your Grace. By his own free will he so swore. Fiat!”
“Faena,” the Fyrst said, and Laurel turned away from the Magus with a rumble. “So we have an apprentice who has broken his indentures but refuses to be claimed by his lawful master. What shall I do? Allow him to go free? What then about all other disaffected apprentices who manage to slip their bonds? Shall I allow them to roam free also?”
“That would be chaos, Your Grace,” Eorl Pellan put in.
“Yes, it would,” the Fyrst said.
“Rabbit has not cast off his master—” Laurel began.
“No?” the Fyrst asked. “It looks remarkably like he has, Faena.”
“He has just changed one for another, Your Grace.”
“Setting aside whether this new master could accomplish the apprentice’s necessary training, Faena, should I then declare the very legal contract his parents signed null and void? Again, just because he is disaffected?”
“By your leave, Your Grace,” Laurel said and, at the Fyrst’s nod, reached into his side pouch, pulling out a small sack. He walked over and handed it to Eorl Pellan, who peered inside. And blinked.
“From Dragoness Moraina’s hoard, Your Grace,” Laurel said as the eorl climbed the dais steps and handed the sack to the Fyrst. His Grace upended the sack, a spill of gems flowing into his hand.
“Each one chosen by her,” Laurel said. “There should be more than enough to purchase Rabbit’s indentures.”
“So there should,” the Fyrst said, putting the jewels back in their sack and setting it down on the chair arm. “Assuming the Magus desires to sell them.” He held up his hand as Laurel opened his mouth. “I cannot force him to do so, any more than I can force someone to sell me a horse whose action I like.” A cool smile came and went. “It is against the law, Faena.”
“Even if the horse is abused, Your Grace?” Laurel asked.
“Abused?” The Fyrst turned his head to Kareste. “Was there abuse, Magus?”
“No, Your Grace.” Magus Kareste’s wintry voice once more blew through the hall. “My apprentice was not harmed by me in any way, form, or fashion.”
“Is this true, apprentice?” The Fyrst looked at me.
“There was a bird, Your Grace,” I said, distantly marveling at my voice’s steadiness.
“A bird,” the Fyrst repeated, his brows slightly crooking at my nonanswer.
“Yes, Your Grace. The Magus sent it to King Jusson of Iversterre with a message asking for my return. The bird died in the king’s hand.”
The hall went still and the Fyrst leaned forward in his throne. “Why did it die?”
“Because the bird was bespelled to neither eat nor sleep until it reached the king, Your Grace.”
The Fyrst’s dark eyes narrowed. “Is this true, Magus?”
“Your Grace, I but laid an enhancement on the bird that shouldn’t have harmed it.” The Magus raised his brows. “Did my apprentice actually see the bird die?”
“Well, apprentice, did you see the bird die?” the Fyrst asked when I said nothing.
I slowly shook my head, wondering if I looked down, would I see blood on the marble floor.
“As you see, Your Grace, mere hearsay,” the Magus said. “As the honored Faena assures us that he did nothing to interfere with my apprentice’s bindings, I also assure Your Grace that I did nothing to cause the bird’s death.”
“Please tell His Grace, Ambassador Laurel, that I saw what happened,” Lord Esclaur said across the cat’s low growl.
“Oh?” the Fyrst asked, not waiting for Laurel’s intervention. “And what did you see, human?”
Esclaur bowed his head. “I was present when the bird arrived, Your Grace. It was nothing but feathers and bones, its heart giving out just as His Majesty pulled the message off its leg. King Jusson has a feel for—for magic, and sensed it on the bird.” Head still bowed, he gave me a sideways glance. “Just as he felt it when Lord Rabbit came into his power. There were thunderclaps on a clear day, Your Grace, all over me city.”