03 - Sworn (47 page)

I nodded. “I’ll be careful. I’ll practice small things once I’ve recovered, and see how it goes.”

“Good.” The creases on her forehead faded. “Now let’s go. Whatever happens, I don’t think we’re going to want to miss this.”

I took one last look at my spring, then chased after her.

31

AREN

H
arder. Brighter. Hotter.

Though I didn’t consciously formulate the commands, the idea was there. My power responded, and magic flowed through me. My stolen moments of practice were paying off. A minute here. A fire lit, encouraged, and extinguished there. No marathon training sessions like I’d had under Severn, exhausting and overwhelming, enough to break me down so he could rebuild me. This was another kind of strength and control I was building, tackled in the moments when there was no other work for me to do.

The flames before me danced, consuming a pile of brush, contained only because I said they were. They leapt higher, licking the underside of a dead pine’s high branches, but I didn’t give them permission to ignite it. The sweat on my forehead came as much from my effort as from the incredible heat. My concentration was absolute. Nothing existed outside of my body, the fire, and its fuel, which should have been burned up long ago. I was learning to control that, too, and though I was nowhere near as skilled as Severn at production or control, I was at least beginning to feel that this was a skill I could use when the time came.

Now, the challenge.

I released my control. The heat from my fire ignited the wood and needles above until the entire tree was bathed in natural flame.

I drew my magic in and released it, blanketing the fire to douse it. It roared higher. I narrowed my focus, closing my eyes to work by feel rather than sight. I imagined my magic absorbing the heat and the air that fueled the flames, cutting them off.

The fire I’d created obeyed. The new one did not, and raged on.

“Gods damn it.”

This wasn’t unexpected, after the trouble I’d had controlling the fire back at the rebels’ village. My muscles trembled with exhaustion and effort as I drew on my magic again. I had a theory, and for the sake of the camp and the forest, I hoped it worked.

I drew on my magic again, which had already replenished from the land and the air—a blessing I did not take for granted after too many trips to Darmid. I created my own fire, hotter and brighter than that which naturally consumed the tree, and let it cover the old pine. I felt it as my fire overpowered the other, stealing its energy. If my magic couldn’t dampen the flames effectively, I would drown them out with my own fire.

I pulled back, drawing my fire away and extinguishing it.

Smoke rose from the tree’s bare and blackened branches, but the fire was gone.

“Impressive.”

I turned toward my father’s voice. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Perhaps not the best use of your time or skills, though.” He didn’t sound angry. Perhaps disappointed. “Severn doesn’t fear flames.”

“I know.” I wiped my brow with the sleeve of my shirt. “It seemed that having a better understanding of the skill might be helpful, though. And there are worse ideas than fighting an enemy with his own weapons. I’ve made great progress.”

“It’s still not enough.” Ulric’s brow furrowed. “What else are you working on?”

I gave the tree one last look, but the danger seemed to be past. No smoke. No heat. I started back toward camp. “I’ve made progress with seeing thoughts in people when I don’t have their attention, and I’ve been working on finding ways around some non-magical defenses. It won’t help against Severn, but might be useful in getting us into the city. And I’ve been keeping myself open to people in camp, making sure everyone is sincere in their desire to help us.” He didn’t say anything. “You know well enough what I’m trained to do. Right now I’m trying to come up with anything that will help, or surprise him, or defeat him. Flames are all I have at the moment.”

“It’s a good skill,” he said, and I had to glance back to make sure I’d heard correctly. It was too close to praise. He gave me a tight smile. “It may not be enough to overcome him, but you’re learning to protect yourself as you direct it, aren’t you?”

“I seem to be.”

“So that’s something.”

I looked up at the sentry sitting high in an oak tree. He nodded down at me and went back to scanning the forest for threats.

The camp was alive with the morning’s work—Food preparation, weapon organization, caring for the horses and the livestock that Xaven’s people had brought with them. Even with most of them still back in Wildwood, it all made a lot of noise, and I wondered whether we should set lookouts farther out in the forest for the inevitable attack that would come when Severn noticed us.

I was about to ask how my father’s own skills and strength were coming along when a high-pitched whistle went up beyond the far end of camp. Not a warning of attack, but an alert nonetheless. I ran toward the noise, and found a crowd gathering.

A group of weary-looking riders emerged from the woods, led by Griselda Beaumage on foot. Rowan walked beside her, practically bouncing with excitement.

Please, gods…

My heart leapt as I recognized several of the teachers from Ernis Albion’s school, as well as less-familiar faces from the nearby town. All of them Sorcerers. All of them talented. Twenty of them in all, and behind them came others. Another dozen men without magic, and at least as many women, all of them riding horses loaded with supplies, weapons, and armor.

It had been far too long since I’d seen such a welcome sight.

Griselda said something to Rowan, who darted off toward the other end of camp, presumably to see about making room for more tents.

I scanned the faces. They’d obviously been traveling hard, and had to have been making good time to have come so far so quickly. A few looked grim, but most seemed pleased to have reached their destination, whatever might lay beyond it. Griselda’s companions hurried to greet their countrymen and to assist with unloading horses.

I sighed, realizing the most important one wasn’t among them.
Of course he wouldn’t have been able to leave the island. And sending these people was more than—

“Aren!” Griselda called, and motioned for me to follow her toward the back of the group. She glanced over her shoulder and grinned as she cut through the crowd. When I caught up to her, I saw why.

Ernis Albion, my grandfather and one of the greatest Sorcerers of our age, stood next to a docile white horse. Gwyn lay on her back in his arms, wings drooping toward the ground, purring contentedly as he rubbed her belly. She turned for long enough to narrow her eyes at me, then closed them again.

I placed a hand over my mouth to hold back my surprised laugh, then decided it didn’t matter. Albion returned my grin and released the cat, and reached out to shake my hand. He pulled me into a one-armed hug, which I returned, if somewhat awkwardly.

“What are you doing here?” I asked as he released me. “I hoped you’d come, but didn’t expect it. Is everything all right at the island?”

“A few Tyrean ships on our waters. Nothing we can’t handle for now,” he said. “Still, we thought it best that I come here and see if we can’t cut the threat off at the roots before they figure out a way to breach our defenses.”

“Which will be fine without you there to maintain them?”

He waved that off. “Not to worry. It took decades to set up the shield, and it won’t disappear overnight. The island is in good hands.”

“And Emalda was happy to let you go?”

He chuckled. “Not happy, but understanding. She said she hoped I’d find you and Rowan well.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Did she?”

He shrugged. “You never can tell with that woman. Fascinating person.” His expression tightened. “She knows as well as I do that, personal differences aside, having Ulric on the throne was far better for Belleisle than Severn is or ever will be. So here I am, if I’m welcome.”

I glanced back toward the rest of the camp, but didn’t see my father. “You’ll be welcome,” I said. “We need you. All of you. And perhaps personal differences could be set aside.”

“Or worked through,” Griselda added, and chewed her lip. “I don’t know how it will go with his current state of mind, but it’s worth a try.”

My grandfather’s expression darkened. “There are some bridges that aren’t meant to be rebuilt.”

“There’s much you don’t know,” she said.

I nodded. “He has a lot to answer for, but it would be worth the two of you setting things straight. At least enough that you can work together.” I wanted to tell him that Ulric hadn’t had my mother killed as we had all thought for so long. I wanted him to know that Ulric had loved her, at least as well as he could, that their marriage hadn’t been a slight against Belleisle or Albion himself, even if it had been a bad idea and doomed from the start. But that wasn’t my story to tell. I only hoped my father would find himself ready to share it.

Gwyn settled on the horse’s saddle as we walked into camp. I was about to ask Griselda to go ahead and find Ulric to share the news when I spotted him, and he us. His eyes widened, and his lips pulled back slightly to bare his teeth. A sting of pain, perhaps, or a wave of suspicion.

Not that,
I pleaded.
Not now.
His mental state had seemed much more stable since he’d been taking his potion and become more careful about not using his magic, but there was still a chance he remained too mistrustful, that he’d make another enemy out of someone who should have been an ally.

Ulric’s expression smoothed, and if it didn’t become pleasant it at least became less hostile.

I opened myself to him, and got nothing. Instead, I tried to imagine what might be going through his mind.

If I were weak, unable to use my magic and uncertain about my worthiness to take back my throne, if I saw enemies everywhere I looked and had no certain path to victory, and a great Sorcerer who had hated me for decades or more showed up when the throne of my country was ready to go to the worthiest challenger…

A chill passed over me. I could see well why Ulric would feel vulnerable. Though he knew as well as I did that Ernis Albion had never shown any inclination toward taking any throne, let alone that of Tyrea, the threat was there. And to Ulric, wounded as he was, every threat was a disaster.

I stepped forward. “Isn’t this wonderful?” I asked before he could say anything. “Who could have imagined that Belleisle would offer this much help?”

Ulric smiled thinly. “Indeed. A great and selfless gift. Griselda must have been quite persuasive in her letter.” He answered me, but addressed my grandfather.

“Not at all selfless,” Albion said, his voice firm but not threatening. “We wish to be left alone. Severn will not let us be, so we wish to see him removed from power.” He grimaced slightly. “It seems you may be Belleisle’s best hope.”

Ulric nodded. “I certainly hope to restore the peace we’ve enjoyed for so long.”

Enjoyed
seemed like a stretch, but if quiet and bitter tolerance could be called peace, I supposed that was true. I wondered whether things would have been different if Albion had ruled Belleisle, whether there would have been a war, or at least a fight between kings.

Perhaps that was why he chose not to rule. Not lack of ambition, but an abundance of self-knowledge.

“Aren tells me we should speak privately,” Albion said, and removed his glasses. He polished them on his sleeve, gave them a long look, and sighed as he tucked them into his pocket.

Ulric paled, but nodded. “I suppose we should. But first, I suppose your granddaughter will want to meet you.” He turned to me. “Where’s Nox? I haven’t seen her all morning.”

The hard edge to his voice told me he had a very good idea of where she was, that I was lucky he hadn’t brought it up earlier. When I didn’t answer, the curved-lipped snarl returned.

“Please excuse us for a moment,” he said to Albion. “Your grandson and I need to speak, first.”

I followed him to his tent, and he held the flap open for me to enter, then let it fall closed behind us. “Well? Where is she?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t know how to. The air grew thick with his magic, pulsing and churning. “What would you have me say?” I asked.

“The truth would be quite acceptable,” he growled. “Or will I need to bring Rowan in to ask her? Would she know better? Would she be more willing to spill her secrets if I persuaded her strongly enough?”

I gasped as his magic reached out to me. The dark energy wrapped around my heart, and I felt myself weakening. Ulric flashed a grim smile as sweat beaded his face. “Think that would do it?”

“Enough,” I spat. I fought to control my legs, which trembled as he slowly pulled my physical strength. Not my magic, I noted. That would cost him more.

Nox will be in the city by now if she’s going to make it. No point keeping secrets.

I looked into his eyes. “You know where she is.”

He released me, and my strength flooded back. I drew a sharp breath as it settled back into my muscles.

“The city,” he whispered, and leaned forward to rest his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. “You made her go.”

“I let her go. I wasn’t any happier about it than you are. But how could I not? Look at you. Nox is right. You need a cure, and she’s never going to find it in these woods.”

His magic gathered again, heavy with threat.

“What are you going to do?” I asked. “Blast me to pieces? Take my power? Blind me?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he snarled, and spat on the ground.

“Is this how you treat your allies, now?” I asked, no longer caring what he did. I allowed my pent-up anger to bubble to the surface. Letting him have his way wasn’t working. “Is this the king we’re all supporting? I’m all you have. I saved your life. I got you out of Darmid. I made you look good at the rebel camp, and you know as well as I do that Ernis Albion is here as much for me as for you. I have disobeyed you, but everything I’ve done since I left Belleisle has been to bring down Severn or to get you back on the throne.”
Mostly true,
I thought. For him, or for Rowan, who was as much a part of this as I was. “And all you’ve done is belittle me, punish me, push me away. I let Nox go because it was the best thing for you and the best thing for Tyrea.”