Memories of Ash (The Sunbolt Chronicles Book 2) (36 page)

We both know that’s a lie. I don’t bother answering.

He sits back, glances toward Brightsong. She raises her eyebrows, expression still cool. With a sigh, Osman Bey rises from his stool. At the door, he looks back once, frustrated but uncertain, and then he is gone.

Brightsong helps me lie down again before departing.

He has honor, I remind myself, cheek pressed against the pillow. Only a man with honor would force those boys to show respect for a servant. If he asks again why I came to help Stormwind, perhaps I will answer. If he’s ready to hear me.

The wards on my room are complex, layered, and keyed to me. I reach out to touch the walls — a somewhat awkward feat given my wounds, the placement of the bed, and the watchful eyes of my guards. The magical lines that flare up are anchored through sigils and wards on each wall, all of them formed of pure energy except for the one nearly two arms’ lengths above my bed. It has been inked on the wall with dark, uneven brush strokes. I can’t tell much without actually touching it, but I don’t like the look of it at all, not its shape, and certainly not its brownish-black color.

I
can
tell that I don’t have the mastery required to reshape the wards enough to get past them. At least one is designed to turn back on me any magic I might release — a safeguard against my attacking the guards. The door’s lock is warded against prying, though the sigil on the door itself looks similar to what was used on Stormwind’s cell. Apparently, they haven’t yet recognized its inherent weakness. Unfortunately, there’s always at least one guard in my room with me. With wards blocking even the simplest sleep spell, I have no chance whatsoever of getting past them and through the door. And certainly no chance of walking out an open door unobserved.

If I escape at all, it will not be from this room. Which means I must plan for the worst possibility of all: that I won’t escape on my own. I have no way of knowing what Kenta is doing, or if he will attempt to reach me. Perhaps he’s been counting on my using the phoenix feather, but my boots are neither on my feet nor anywhere I can see in the room. Asking the guards about my boots would merely assure that they’d find the feather now if they missed it before.

I stare at the ceiling and work through my options again and again, looking for anything I might have missed. By the time Brightsong brings me another potion and more food, I still have as few ideas as I started with.

I greet her quietly, pushing myself up to lean against the pillows, and realize I need to get to a washroom.

Brightsong sets down her tray, regarding me carefully. “Will you need to relieve yourself before eating?”

I nod, my face heating. I’m not sure if I’m strong enough to leave the bed yet — I might be able to manage, but I don’t believe for a minute that they’ll leave me alone in the room to try.

Brightsong nods and gestures to the lycans. They’ve changed shift since I first woke, and my new guards include a female lycan. The male steps out at once. The female comes forward to help me out of bed. Brightsong pulls out a shallow pan of sorts from beneath the bed and steps back.

When I decided to break Stormwind free I gave up my right to dignity, to privacy, to a great deal of things I’ve taken for granted. I make myself do what I must, urinating into a bowl beside my bed, so shaky I need the lycan’s help, while Brightsong watches me in a detached, professional manner. Neither the lycan nor Brightsong makes any comment, sparing me from further humiliation.

Once I am done and returned to the bed, the second guard is called back in. My arm feels worlds better, which is to say that it flares with pain only when I move. When I am still, it does not burn. The bruises on my hand seem significantly improved as well.
 

“I used a few standard spells to break up the clotting and flush out the dead blood,” Brightsong tells me when I mention it. She offers me a spoon of a hearty meat and vegetable soup. I wonder if she thinks I might use the spoon as a weapon, or if she really doesn’t believe I can feed myself yet. “We’ve been trying to control the swelling in your arm. No doubt that’s benefited your hand. It should heal well on its own — you didn’t bruise the bones, just the flesh. You should have its use again within a few days.”

“My arm?”

“It’s mending very well. The muscle will be tight and weak where it was torn. I’ll teach you some strengthening exercises, stretches to maintain full movement.” She hesitates. “There are a few small spells that may also help, if done regularly.” I look up, but her gaze drops down to the bowl. She knows as well as I that I can’t expect to be cared for so well. There’s no knowing where I’ll be in a few days. The High Council won’t wait much longer before putting me to trial, and after that — I’ll either be dead, mad, or a source slave, with no one to do little healing spells for me regularly.

Still, I’m grateful for her intentions. “Thank you.”

“It is my duty to aid you,” she says, the lines of her shoulder tight. Perhaps her help isn’t voluntary. I can’t assume she doesn’t consider me a criminal and a rogue mage. She’s just a very good healer.

There’s a faint knock at the door. Brightsong turns toward it with evident relief. “Come in.”

My guards stand at attention — clearly expecting someone important to enter. I straighten in the bed, ignoring the burst of pain from my arm, and run a clumsy hand over my hair. It feels tangled and badly knotted around the shrinking lump over my right ear. Granted, I have greater worries.

Osman Bey swings open the door. He is still dressed in the light armor he wore the last time he was here, the bruise on his jawline now a livid purple. Perhaps he’s been too busy to bother with healing spells. He eyes, shadowed with fatigue, run over me without meeting mine. He scans the rest of the room, then nods to whomever he escorts.

A woman enters. She is short but well proportioned, her face wide with rounded cheeks and full lips, and her hands slim. By the color of her skin, dark as the deepest of woods, I would guess her to be from Karolene or one of the mainland Kingdoms near it. A colorful cloth wrap covers her hair, matching the hint of fabric visible beneath her sweeping emerald robes. She carries herself with authority, elegance, and a deep confidence in her own abilities.

“Do you know who I am?” Her voice rings out clear and true in the small room. She is used to being heard, and being answered.

I shake my head.

“My mage-name is Talon. Until this morning, I presided over the High Council.”

I meet her gaze, trying not to show my surprise — either that Arch Mage Talon herself has come to visit me, or that she has lost her position as first mage of the Council.

She glances over her shoulder. “Stonefall. Is this the girl?”

My chest tightens with shock.
Stonefall?
He should have left by now, escaped before I can betray the help he gave me.

He steps into the room, his earth brown desert robes rustling. He stops at the foot of my bed, studying my face. I gaze back at him, keeping my expression blank. Whatever his strategy now, he
did
help me before. I won’t endanger him by speaking.

“Yes,” he says, in a voice that brooks no argument. “This is the girl who drew the poison from my wound and saved my life.” He ignores Brightsong’s start of surprise, the slight indrawn breath from one of the lycans. “It seems I owe her a debt.”

A debt I consider already repaid, but he’s decided to use it to appeal to Talon’s sense of honor. I don’t understand why, but I’m grateful nonetheless.

Talon nods as if he merely provided confirmation of something she already knew. “Describe the spell that was cast,” she commands me.

Proving I aided a mage can only help my case. My voice comes out creaky and weak. “I lured the poison out of his wound with memories of my own life. Poison is … drawn to life. Then I channeled it into a glowstone to contain it.”

Stonefall slips the dulled glowstone from his pocket and passes it to Talon. Osman Bey tilts his head, keenly observant. She takes it, turning it over in her hand. “And then you ran,” she finishes for me.

I shrug and immediately regret the ensuing flash of pain. “I am not a student here, nor one of your mages. I did not expect to be welcomed by either the Mekteb or the High Council.”

“You saved the life of ‘one of our mages’ and expected punishment?”

“The High Council is not known for leniency,” I observe. “I could not know how you would deal with me, whether you would allow me further training, or strip me of my magic.” Also, I’d come for Stormwind, not Stonefall.

Talon looks to Stonefall. “Close the door.”

It’s already closed, but that’s not what she means. Stonefall lets himself out of the room and gestures for the guards and healer to follow. Osman Bey hesitates, waiting until the others have left, but an inquiring look from Talon answers his doubts.

As the door clicks shut, Talon takes the stool beside me. With a flick of her fingers, she smacks a charm against the side table. A faint pressure builds in my ears. I discreetly stretch my jaw one way and then the other to make my ears pop.

“There,” she says with satisfaction. “We may speak in privacy now.”

Curious.

“What is your name?” she asks.

“Zainab.”

“Who trained you?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Because we are not known for leniency?” she hazards.

I smile faintly.

“Another question, then. Why did you come here? Was it for Brigit Stormwind?”

I’ve already admitted this to Osman Bey, but Talon will want more than a single word answer. Though, if I have to tell someone the truth, then why not the person who offered Stormwind so much help in escaping, albeit passively?

“Yes,” I say. “I knew she was innocent of the charges brought against her. I could not let her be imprisoned unjustly.”

“And you cared enough to come here, knowing we weren’t likely to deal with you kindly?” Talon asks, unconvinced.

“I came because she needed help, and because I wished to know how you and Stonefall failed. I knew she considered you both among her allies. I went first to Stonefall and found him dying. I helped him, knowing the Council would seek me for it. Since then, the greatest help I’ve had in aiding Mistress Stormwind has been your own.”

“My own?” Talon echoes. It’s an invitation. Perhaps, if she knows how she’s implicated, she’ll help me somehow now.

“You left the book describing the binding spell open for any to read,” I say. “So I learned she could use charms. You gave the key to her shackle to a housekeeper, leaving it essentially unguarded. And,” I say with dawning comprehension, “you accepted the lycans’ word that she disappeared when you knew she could not leave the cell while the ward remained in place, the door closed. You gave me the time I needed to reach the cell and let her out. You wanted her to escape as much as I did.”

For a long moment, Mistress Talon simply looks at me, her gaze as dark and hard as obsidian. “Yes,” she says, “I did. But I was not expecting you.”

“Who were you expecting?”

“It hardly matters,” she replies curtly.

“Then you really did want someone to free Stormwind?” I ask, not quite believing her words.

She tilts her head in admission. “Though I had not counted on how much support Arch Mage Blackflame has garnered on the Council.”

I don’t want to know. Looking at her, I remember Stonefall’s warnings, as well as Kenta’s voice cautioning me about the ramifications of undermining the Council. I have to force myself to ask. “What happened?”

“The Council demanded my immediate resignation at this morning’s meeting,” Talon replies. “They appointed Arch Mage Blackflame to preside over the Council for the remainder of my term.”

“They— what?” I falter.
Blackflame?
In charge of the Council?

What have I
done?

“Although I would like to help you, I no longer have the power to do so. In the morning, Blackflame will call you before the Council to be tried and sentenced. By then you should be well enough to attend.”

I force myself to focus on her words. She has almost as much of a stake in my future now as I do. “If they use a truth spell, all that you’ve done will come out.”

“There is no question about that,” Talon replies. She takes a small, round — bead? — from her pocket and offers it to me. “The only question is how deep your sense of honor runs.”

The bead rests innocently in the pale center of her palm, like the seed of a strange fruit. I make no move to take it, raising my eyes to hers.

“How many people will you betray to imprisonment when the truth spell is laid on you?” Talon’s voice is quiet, inexorable. “It won’t be just me. Stonefall must have at least helped you escape from his rooms after your casting. And there will be others — there must be, for you to have succeeded in freeing Stormwind. How many people will be destroyed by your words?”

Too many. Even one would be too many. I gesture with my chin to the dark yellow bead, unwilling to stretch out a hand. “What is it?”

“Certain death.”

She rises, pushes my sheets back, and slides the pill into the pocket of my drawstring pants. My hands lie frozen on the bed. It isn’t until she turns her back to me, moving toward the door, that I find my voice.