Chapter 12

Reign of Tiryam Edgarro

The City of Fairrod, Astoria Grove

Orion Manor

Year 736, Winter

"It's beautiful here," Frey murmured, her fingers roaming the framed pieces of art on the walls. "These are all pieces he made?"

Leo returned from the kitchen with a pot of brewed tea and small pastries on a tray. He was stockier than she had imagined, with hazel eyes framed by long lashes. His hair was a pale, nearly white blond color that had grown a bit past his shoulders. "That one—Ainswar—is one of mine. Most of the paintings here I've acquired over the years."

They were in Leo's house—if it could be called that. It was a room over his studio in the outer limits of Grannad, the capital city of Ainswill. Further in was the king's castle. They'd seen it as they came into the city. She had looked like a gaping country bumpkin, she was sure. Though she had been in Fairrod, it seemed so small compared to the capital.

"You should show her some of your figurines," prompted Orithin, pouring himself a cup of white tea. "She'll enjoy that."

"Figurine?" she repeated. Leo smiled and gestured to a rack on the wall. Frey examined the small objects on it and realized they were miniature figures of people. Simplified—head, chest, arms, legs, with tiny hands and feet—but nonetheless human. "Do they do anything?"

"With a couple well-chosen words—for example—havina."

The figurines came to life as pale blue flames from the tips of the artist's fingers touched them. They started to wriggle and dance in place, arms swaying to the beat of an unheard melody. Frey laughed. The figures seemed to be having a lot of fun.

"How does that work?" she asked, moving closer but not touching.

"I made the figurines when I was studying the human form. Basics are extremely important in art. Proportions—making sure the head is not bigger than its torso—that sort of thing. When I'd finished, I have a dozen of these with nowhere to put them. So naturally—I enchanted them."

"But you used a spell," she pointed out. "They can come to life if anyone uses the right spell, can't they?"

"Not exactly." It was Orithin who had spoken. He'd come up behind them, a sugared pastry in one hand. "These figurines were fashioned by Leo's magic. By his magic, and stamped with his unique mark. I could try to make them move but they would be puppets—not like what you'd just seen." He saw the confusion on her face and chuckled. "Another thing I see I must teach you. Leo—let's get this over with. Frey?"

They moved away from the figurines as Orithin produced a second scroll. Frey took it and stood in front of Leo, who looked somber and serious. Now that she had done it already, Frey felt more confident. After Leo had finished signing the agreement with the same pale blue magic used to animate the figurines, they talked briefly about his work and newest creations (using metal pieces called gears to mobilize them), Frey and Orithin set off for home. It was dusk when they returned and Harrod called them in for supper.

Orithin stood, wiping his mouth with a tablecloth. Frey did so as well, her chair scraping the wooden floorboards.

"No—don't get up on account of me," he protested, pushing his chair back in. "I've an errand to run."

"I know," Frey said as she followed him up the steps to his floor. "You said, but as I recall, you were going to give me some papers for Hyacin to sign?"

He paused, hand hovering on the railing of the stairs. "Well, yes. Actually, Frey, why don't we head over there together tomorrow? I'm sure you're tired and all."

"Where is it that you're going?"

"Today is an important day for me," was the vague reply.

"This is the first time I'm hearing of it."

Orithin's reply was sharp—unexpected. "Am I not entitled to secrets anymore?"

She cringed, frozen to where she stood. Frey had forgotten Orithin's temper and how pointed it could feel on the other end. The wizard continued walking up the steps, stopping when he realized she had stopped. Seeing her staring at the floor silently, he sighed and retracted the couple of steps he had taken.

"Frey," he said, voice feather-soft. When she didn't look up, he grasped her chin with gentle fingers, tilting it upwards. "I'm sorry—it's just today—"

"I don't want you leaving," she interrupted. "Last time—"

"Last time won't happen again," he said firmly.

"You don't know that," she argued, trying not to blush at his touch. "I can't imagine you tried to get kidnapped."

He gave her a wry smile. "No, I didn't. I'm not doing anything dangerous today. I promise."

"If"—she swallowed hard—"if it isn't dangerous..."

He arched a gracefully formed brow.

"I want to go with you," she blurted. "I know I can't do anything with magic yet—and can't until I'm officially your mage-in-training—but I don't want to be here on the sidelines anymore."

Orithin released her and brushed off her shoulders gently. "I'm not doing anything magical today," he breathed.

It sounded a lot like a dismissal. Frey nibbled on the inside of her lip, biting back—she wasn't sure. Tears? Yells?

"Fine," she said childishly, turning on her heel. "Fine. Go."

"Do you still want to go?" came Orithin's voice at her ear, making her jump. He caught her before she tumbled down the stairs. "It won't be much fun."

Her back to him, she nodded, heart hammering.

"Go to my room. Wait inside if you'd like. I just have to grab a few things." Orithin continued up the steps, the sound of his footsteps growing quieter as he moved away from her.

Frey felt like her insides were squirming in her abdomen. On one hand, she was happy he was letting her go with him. But somehow she felt like she had weaseled her way into something she had no business partaking in. Frey shook off the feeling and headed to her room.

When Frey walked into Orithin's room, she saw that he was nowhere to be seen. She sat in his chair, drumming her fingers on the oak desk. The portrait she had seen last time was where it had been before, the cloth still concealing its contents from view. Frey, assuming it was a sore subject, hadn't asked him any questions about it. Orithin, to his part, had pretended it didn't exist when they were in the room. Having met an artist just that day, she wondered if it was magicked somehow, too. She glanced at the door, hoping Orithin was still doing whatever he said he would be doing. Frey had just reached a hand towards the portrait when the door swung open behind her. Startled, she spun around, knowing she looked guilty.

Orithin was carrying flowers. She frowned, not sure what they had to do with anything.

"I'm sorry," she stammered, staring down at her feet. "I was just—"

"Curious?" he finished, examining the petals with gentle fingers. "Of course you would be. I'm surprised you haven't looked at it before."

She didn't answer, ashamed that she had already done so. "Where are we going?" Frey asked to change the subject.

"Today, three years ago, I laid someone to rest," was the detached response. "My betrothed."

"Your—" she broke off, realizing where they were going and why he had brought flowers. "It's her—we're going to see her—where she's buried?"

Orithin nodded soberly.

Frey clapped her hands over her mouth. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't know—I wasn't thinking—"

"Of course you didn't know, dolt. I've only just told you."

"I—I'll go see Hyacin," Frey blabbered, avoiding his gaze. "The papers? Yes—I see them, I'll just take them and—"

"I understand if you are uncomfortable with coming," Orithin cut in, placing the flowers on his desk and handing the sheaf of papers to her. "I thought as much. Tell Hyacin thanks for me—and sorry that I can't make it."

Wordlessly, she took them and fled the room, stomach churning. She took slow steps once out in the hallway. It was a strange idea. Going with Orithin to see the grave of his deceased betrothed, who she had never even met before. He had known she would back out once she realized where they would be going. He had just let her off about it easy. And she had been so immature about the whole thing. Disappointed in herself, she thought she would cool off by meditating before setting off to see Hyacin.

The silence had helped a little. Mostly, though, she had brooded on her lack of tact and wondered how she could have handled it better. At last, Frey decided she would see Hyacin and get that task out of the way.

The healer mage was happy to see her, and not at all surprised. Evidently she had been expecting Frey; she suspected her master had told her his student would be dropping by. They settled in chairs before a bustling fire, Frey feeling more comfortable that she had all that day. Hyacin had a way about her, as if by being near her nothing would go awry.

"Orithin's gone to see—"

"I know," Hyacin said. "The moon is full today."

Frey had her hands in her lap, wondering if she should ask but decided against it. It wasn't any of her business. She wasn't sure if she really wanted to know the details in the first place. They seemed to cause Orithin a lot of grief, for all that he pretended they didn't. That concealed portrait in his room said as much.

"I meant to visit," Hyacin told her. "I had some—" she teetered on the right word "—questions for you."

"Questions?"

The woman flapped her hand at her. "First things first," she said briskly. "The agreement."

Frey produced the papers she'd brought and handed them over. After the right words were said, Hyacin placed a sparkling finger to the paper, stamping bright purple on the white. Frey replaced the papers and sat back, arching a brow and waiting. The healer, however, stood up, strode over to a cabinet and pulled open a drawer, withdrawing a small silk pouch. She sat back down and turned over a small crystal in her hands. It glimmered with the same purple magic she'd used to sign the agreement.

"I want the truth," was the only explanation she gave Frey. "Nothing else. I'll know otherwise."

Frey licked her lips, suddenly nervous about the whole thing. What would she lie about? And why? "You had a question?"

The corner of Hyacin's mouth twitched. "Oh—I have many questions. We'll get to them."

Frey sat up a little straighter, still nervous. "Alright."

Hyacin's usually sharp eyes had taken on the edge a steel blade might. "You went to the Red Tower that night?"

Something twisted her stomach into a knot. "I did."

"How did you get there?"

"A spell—the transportation spell Orithin uses."

The eyes narrowed. "Arrivedex? That's one unique to him. And you're just a fledgling yet. You were able to use that spell?"

This was news to Frey. She had used that spell twice in fact. It had worked just the same as it had for Orithin. An idea came to her. "He gave me some of his magic."

"Who gave you some of his magic?"

She shrugged, as if to say, who else? "Orithin. In a—" Frey broke off, wondering if Hyacin would think her mad if she mentioned the dream she'd had. "Dream," she finished, unable to lie while holding the gaze of those eagle eyes.

"A dream," Hyacin repeated, a finger twisting her ring around her thumb. She was clearly trying to seem nonchalant though Frey could tell she didn't believe her. "He gave you magic in a dream?"

"He used a spell," Frey tried. "Um—" She screwed up her eyes and racked her brain for the right one. "S-Sal—" She couldn't remember for the life of her. That night was still pretty foggy, and she was only able to remember bits and pieces to begin with. Hyacin's stare didn't help matters.

"Salkyra," the mage breathed, as the stone in her fingers continued to glow that same purple.

"You know the spell?" Frey asked interestedly. She hadn't remembered it until that moment and had never mentioned it to Orithin. "What does it do?"

"Temporary transfer of will," Hyacin said wearily. Her hands fidgeted with the stone, which sparked as if sensing the nervous owner. "In your case temporary, anyway."

"A transfer of will?" Frey repeated, only half understanding. "That's why I could do that spell, then?"

Hyacin sighed and placed the crystal on the armrest, head in her hands. "Perhaps. But that would also require quite a strong intermediary to begin with. And that doesn't account for your use of magic in the Red Tower—an ancient place that forbids the use of conventional magic. Even strong magic like Orithin's would be considered commonplace relative to—"

"Please use simple words," Frey interrupted in her politest voice.

"The Red Tower is made from hamora," Hyacin answered, only a little irritably. She rubbed her temple with two fingers, elbow leaning on the armrest of the chair. "You remember what that is?" She nodded. "The exact runes and characters spelled into the ragging thing isn't known for sure but the experiences of those who had been there before—well, really the fact that they aren't alive to speak about it—tells us a lot. Most mages are capable of using some kind of movement spell. In any ordinary tower—a physical one built from stones and bricks? A competent sorcerer can will the stones to crumble. There can only be one reason for escape being impossible."

"You can't use magic," Frey whispered, staring at her hands and remembering the violet color her magic and Orithin's had made. "But I did."

"That," said Hyacin, in a strange voice, "is putting it mildly." She shook her head with a sigh. "Frey, Orithin is a wizard. His magic's the strongest I know of. And I know a lot of mages. If he couldn't escape—" She pursed her lips. "I don't know—maybe he wasn't trying to escape?"

The image of Orithin in rags chained to that wall flashed to her mind. "I don't think so," Frey replied with a shiver.

"I don't either. But that leaves the obvious question. How did you—a mage so green she hasn't even her signet ring—manage to flit in and out of there, wizard in tow?"

Frey couldn't sleep that night. Orithin had yet to come home and Hyacin's words kept playing over in her head. She hadn't really considered them before, and neither, it seemed, had he. She didn't think him to be the kind to ignore such important things but she was sure he didn't like to think about his time at the Red Tower. The whistling outside her window bothered her. She got up to close her shutters when she saw a familiar furlined cloak on the first floor landing under her window.

Discreetly, Frey put on her boots and cloak, hands outstretched for the branches of the tree outside her window. It didn't seem like it would hold her weight—she had put on some after being fed proper meals for the last couple months—but it seemed she still had more to go. The branches held and she slid down the trunk to land at her master's feet.

"What are you doing on the ground?" she demanded, hands on her hips. "I should call Martha right now. She'll give you a proper talking to."

He stared somberly up at her, and Frey realized he wasn't all right. She knelt, hands on her thighs, in front of him, drawing back the hood of his cloak. He exhaled and a puff of something pale silver escaped his lips. She coughed as she breathed the stuff in.

"What is that? Why does your breath smell all weird?"

A pouch of something was clutched in one hand. She looked in and saw a black powder, smelling strongly of dirt and smoke. Frey sat back on her heels, frowning.

"Don't fret so, wizling," came his low voice. "It's just a little of heaven's touch."

"You're taking drugs," she accused without looking up.

"It's a ritual," he replied, his words a little slurred. "Once a year. Just once."

"She'll be proud of you," Frey told him crossly. "Using heavenroot on a day like today."

"You're too little," he told her soberly. "You don't understand things like this. I lost everything. Everything."

"Everyone loses things. No one loses everything." Frey bit through her lip as she held back bitter words. She didn't want to say anything she would regret, though they coursed through her mind like fire.

What about her friends she'd lost? They were only slaves. Replaceable laborers that were paid for their work in scars. Slaves died regularly. They were society's gutter rats. No one liked to see them, except maybe the occasional sick bastard but they allowed them to exist. Did her friends matter any less than his dead betrothed?

Maybe Orithin saw something in her eyes. He reached up and ruffled her hair. "You're like a little old man in a little girl's body sometimes, you are."

Frey stared at a clump of dead grass on the ground, gnawing on her lower lip. "You went to see her?"

"Did Hyacin tell you about her?"

"I didn't ask."

Orithin made a noise of amusement, or maybe it was surprise. "I expected you to. I thought you would. She would have."

Frey ignored the last part, knowing he wasn't exactly lucid. "That's personal, isn't it?" Frey was reminded of the woman in the portrait and sighed inwardly. She was two-faced. She talked to him about keeping private things private when she had intruded on his privacy already. "I saw her," she blurted, and then turned away, unable to look him in the eye.

"Who?"

"Her—your betrothed. In the picture in your room," Frey said guiltily. "I wanted to know what was under the covering. So I looked." Her eyes squeezed shut, stomach twisting, prepared for the bellows in her ears she expected.

He didn't blow up at her as she had thought. Instead, he blew a silvery sigh, that smoky scent in her nose again. "So you did."

"She's pretty," Frey said needlessly, opening her right eye and then the left.

"The most beautiful girl in the world," Orithin breathed, tears gathering in his eyes. Frey looked away, both jealous and piteous. "She never thought so. And I didn't think to tell her so often when she was still here. I wish I had." His voice cracked. "I would give anything—"

Frey patted his shoulder awkwardly, unsure how to comfort him. "I'm sure she knew."

"You remind me of her sometimes," Orithin said, his voice raw and eyes hollow. A drop streaked down his cheek and she fought the urge to wipe it away. "You looked like her. When I first saw you." He reached out a hand and gently touched her curls. "Freya."

Her ear twitched and she rubbed it, frowning. That wasn't the first time he had called her that, was it? She strained to remember but couldn't. "My name is Frey," she said firmly. "Not Freya."

Orithin leaned forward, and she froze in place, squeezing her eyes shut again. A smoky breath on her cheeks caused her to blush beet red. She waited for him to sit back up but he never did. Her wizard friend had fallen asleep, his head lolling onto her shoulder. She nearly fell onto her back with his weight.

She struggled to push him against the wall and hurried to get Harrod. With him helping the half-asleep Orithin up to his room, Frey trailed behind, clutching the small pouch of ground heavenroot in her hand. She could give it to Harrod but that seemed like telling on her master somehow. It would stay in her room until Orithin asked her for it—something she doubted would happen when he was fully conscious. Maybe she would give it to Hyacin. She was a healer and would use it for medicinal purposes, and lecture Orithin about drugs while she was at it.

Frey helped Orithin into bed, pulling the blanket up to his chin. Harrod left the room, leaving her alone with him. Orithin's cheek was devoid of tears, though there was still wetness on his lashes. She bunched up her sleeve in one hand and dabbed at them gently.

Realizing what she had just done, she took a step back, horrified. Frey hoped Orithin was fully asleep now and not at all aware of what she was doing. Backing up to the door to leave, Frey banged into the portrait, not having seen it in the dim candlelight. Had it been moved? The cloth covering fluttered off and the canvas slipped off the easel. Frey caught it before it hit the floorboards, her fingers crossed that the wizard was still asleep and not easily woken by sounds. As she lifted the thing back onto the easel, her fingers caught lettering on the back of it. Frey turned it over, one eye on Orithin.

The letters had been written by quill and in a slanted lettering. It was one she had seen that day. Leo's spidery handwriting.

My best to you and the lovely Freya.