SummerDanse (10 page)

That night I dined again with Zhantar. Wanting to keep my wits about me, I drank only a little wine and no dessert sherry.

As before, a third place was set, but no one else came.

“Who are you expecting?” I finally summoned the nerve to ask.

“Ah, that. My son is due in town one of these days, and I’ve had a place set for him in case he arrives. Do not concern yourself with the matter.”

I thought that a strange explanation, but didn’t pursue it. After all, if I was going to ask Zhantar to help get the collar off, I didn’t want to annoy him with pointless questions.

After the meal, we went to a small, cozy drawing room where two wing chairs were drawn close to the fireplace. As the weather was warm, only a small fire burned, more for atmosphere and light than for warmth. Zhantar picked up a decanter from the small table between the chairs and poured some of its contents into a crystal goblet. When he started to fill the other one, I tried to stop him, but he insisted.

“This is some of the finest port to be found in this half of the world. You must try a little.” And he filled the glass halfway. Knowing it would be impolite to refuse again, I nodded my thanks. “There is something I would speak to you about.” He gestured for me to be seated, then sat down himself. “You have been in my house a number of days. More, probably, than you remember, for you were ill and insensible at first. My curiosity will not, however, forbear forever, and now I ask that you tell me your story.”

That seemed only fair, though I didn’t exactly relish the idea. I would have to be careful not to mention my maejic. I didn’t like having to lie, but I couldn’t tell the whole truth, not unless I wanted to be turned in as a criminal.

I took a small sip of the port, moving slowly to give myself time to gather my thoughts. My mind latched onto an idea I hoped would be believable. “My family’s home was attacked, by slave traders I think it must have been. They took us all away, but didn’t say where we were going. Along the way, they turned me over to this other man, the one who put me in the cage.” The tears that rose to my eyes were real, and from this point I could tell the truth.

I didn’t tell him every humiliating detail, just enough to give him an idea of how I’d been treated. He sat silent for a long time after I’d finished, staring into the fire and sipping his port.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and intense. “So the wood bangle around your neck. You say this man put it there?”

I touched the hateful thing. “Yes. I was hoping you might find someone to help get it off.”

“Hmm. I will give it some thought. I know little of magic and will have to consult with one of the court magicians to find out—”

“Oh, no!” I exclaimed, interrupting him. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t mean to be rude, but ...” But what? What could I say that wouldn’t make me sound as if I were hiding something? “I just don’t want ... to waste their time. They’re so important. I’m sure one of your gardeners could take it off quite easily.”

Zhantar looked at me with an inscrutable expression. I feared I had said too much, been too vehement, raised his suspicions. But all he said was, “We shall see.” Then he surprised me with, “That mark on your face. Is that his handiwork, too?”

My hand flew to my cheek. It had been days, maybe weeks, since I’d thought of it. What could I possibly say about it? The truth would be the very worst possible tack to take. “No, he’s not the one who did this. It was ... before.”

Zhantar’s eyes narrowed. “Not by your father, surely?” I shook my head. “Someone in your village?”

“No, not ... I ...” Panic started to rise in me. What answer could I give? Nothing came to mind. “I can’t ... I can’t ...”

Zhantar sat forward in his seat and put a warm hand on my forearm. “I see that something is inhibiting you.” He touched the wood collar. “There is much that is going unsaid, I perceive. Forget about it for now. The mystery can wait to be unraveled.”

He dismissed me then, saying I had given him much to ponder. I noticed that my port glass was now empty; I must have drunk it as I told my tale, though I didn’t remember having done so.

A young man came to me as I slept that night. He stood between my bed and the window through which silver moonlight flowed. A trim figure with wide, powerful shoulders around which fell long, wavy hair.

My heart leapt. “Grey!”

He nodded, and a moment later I was out of bed and in his arms. When I looked up to see if it was really him, he bent his head down, his hair brushing my cheeks, and kissed me.

It began as a tender kiss, his lips sweet against mine, his tongue gently exploring my mouth. My heart beat in time with his. But soon his passion grew urgent. He slipped his hands under my nightshirt and caressed me, the palms of his hands hot and making my skin tingle.

Caught up in an explosion of sensation, I tried to get my breath. I ran my fingers through his hair, touched his face, stroked his neck lightly with my fingernails. Shivering at his touch, I wished this moment would last forever.

His hand cupped my right breast, and I gasped in delight. He let out a groan and staggered against me. I fell backwards, pinned beneath his weight as he bled all over me.

And Anazian laughed.

So, it is you, you old coward. Where is my wife? What have you done with my son? At least my daughter is safe from you.

Go ahead, laugh. Does it make you feel brave, keeping me in chains? And you wonder why I parted company with you and yours. I spit on you.

Lock me in your deepest, darkest dungeon if you will, but victory will evade you in the end. You are the greatest of fools, engorging yourself on power that you don’t understand while the events you set in motion rage beyond your control.

Take me away, for I have no wish to look on your face until I see you dispatched to Otherworld.

I had the same dream three times that night. In the morning, I awoke in floods of tears. Did this mean that Grey was really dead? Was there any hope he could be alive? Would I have to live through his murder over and over? Would I ever be able to go to sleep again?

I dragged myself out of bed and opened the curtains, hoping that sunlight would help clear my mind, but it was raining. I sat in front of the open window breathing the clean, fresh air, but that wasn’t enough to keep my thoughts from slipping into their now-familiar obsessions. As the day continued gloomy, so did my thoughts. The only bright spot was the hope that perhaps today, I’d finally have the wood collar removed.

Then partway through the morning, Nilla brought me several books. One was a history of the monarchy over the last five hundred years. Another was an encyclopedia of herbs and herbal remedies. The last was the one that piqued my curiosity: a treatise on the esoteric art of magic. The coincidence struck me that two of the three books were on topics of interest to me, although in my conversations with Zhantar, I’d not mentioned my studies of healing or magic.

The treatise on magic was ancient, its leather binding worn, its pages stiff. I placed it on the table and, using great care, opened it. The odor of old parchment wafted from the pages, and I breathed deeply. The scent brought back memories of studying similar volumes with Yallick and banished the horrible dreams of Grey to the back of my mind.

The book began with a history of magic power, and to my surprise and delight, it actually included maejic. On further reflection, I realized that was because maejic had been outlawed only recently. Still, a thrill of excitement coursed through me as I read about the first mages, how they’d discovered ways to absorb spiritual power and use it to affect human affairs and improve the lot of mankind.

Then it explained how some of the mages chose to focus their skill on the more practical uses of power, such as healing and gardening, and this lead to a split of the practitioners into the two factions that eventually became know as mages and magicians. Each thought their own use of power to be superior.

When Nilla brought my lunch tray, I moved the book to the bed while I ate.

The afternoon sped by as I read more about magic, about how its power had been used by the political leaders, about the demise of the mages, and even a chapter discussing some of the secret societies that had formed only to be discovered and either disbanded or reabsorbed into the mainstream. Fascinating reading.

I didn’t dine with Zhantar, but was summoned to the drawing room later in the evening. There was no fire tonight, just the light of a few taper candles on the mantel that left most of the room in darkness. Zhantar startled me by stepping out from the shadows.

“Ah, you’ve come.” As if I might’ve disregarded his invitation. “Please, sit down.” He poured out port as he had done the night before.

When we were both seated, he lifted his glass to me, then took a drink. “Ahh, yes. Quite. Well, I had a chance today to speak to one of the court magicians about that circlet you wear. It is his firm opinion that we ought not to cut it off.”

My heart sank. This was certainly not what I expected to hear. And if I couldn’t use my maejic, how could I ever get word to Xyla and the mages where I was? How could I contrive to leave this place? I sat numb and silent, fingering the collar and hating it and Anazian more than ever.

Zhantar went on, oblivious to my feelings. “I wish for you to meet with my ... associate, let him examine the thing for himself. Perhaps then he will change his mind.”

“Me, go to the palace?” I squeaked in unfeigned fear.

Zhantar smiled. “No, I would not ask that of you. It is an overwhelming place with far too many people. No, the one of whom I speak will come here. Will you meet him?”

I didn’t know whether I wanted to or not, but didn’t see any graceful way of refusing. “Yes, I would be honored to.”

“Very good. Now, I understand you made good use of the reading material I provided for you.”

“Yes, I did. Thank you. I spent the whole day reading the one about magic.”

“Indeed? Some would find that to be dry going. Any particular reason you chose that one?”

I paused, realizing I would have to proceed carefully here. “Well, I was always fond of our village magician when I was a child. She even taught me a bit of magic. I guess that’s why the book caught my eye.” I hoped that sounded plausible.

“Oh?” Zhantar’s eyebrows lifted. “You can do magic?”

“A little,” I lied.

“Well, that will interest my associate even more. They are always seeking likely candidates to join their ranks. Perhaps you might like to study formally? The magicians generally start students when they are younger than you, but I daresay it’s not too late.”

The blood drained from my face. “I ... I don’t know, sir.”

“Think well on it, child. Penwick’s magicians live a good life. Surely better than the one you were born to, or the one you appear to have almost been thrust into.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” He leaned his head back in the chair and let out a sigh. “I have something of a reputation for finding those who make good magicians. Perhaps one could say I have a feel for them.”

I didn’t think I would ever fall asleep that night. I was sure Zhantar knew I hadn’t been entirely truthful, but what choice did I have? And asking me to think about becoming a magician! Things were getting over my head, and I wished that I’d never come here. The food, the clothes, and my beautiful room were all well enough, but the pitfalls that now gaped before me were deep and dangerous enough to ruin everything. What if this magician I was to meet tomorrow sensed my maejic? What if, somehow, the truth were discovered? If that happened, I’d be tried and executed, just as the king had tried to do to my brother. It would be ironic to meet my death in the dragon fighting pit.

But perhaps my fears were for naught. Perhaps Zhantar took my tales at face value. Even if he did believe me—and with my guilty conscience, I thought that doubtful—there was still the matter of the meeting tomorrow. This would be no simple village magician; Erno gathered the most powerful ones in the land to his court.

When I did sleep that night, it was fitful and uneasy. I didn’t have any of the strange dreams I’d had the nights before, but when morning finally came, I didn’t feel rested. After what felt like a full night of anxious thought, I was still no nearer to having a plan.

Nilla, as always, brought my breakfast, and while I ate it, she laid out a pair of black trousers and a long-sleeved grey tunic. Once I’d changed and she’d helped me with my hair again, I paced the room. The books were gone, though I couldn’t have concentrated on reading anyway. My thoughts were as unproductive as my motion: unceasing but accomplishing nothing.

When I answered the knock that finally came, it was neither Nilla nor Zhantar who stood there. It was a man I’d never seen before, tall and broad-shouldered and muscular. Dressed in a silver and black uniform, he looked more like a guard than a servant.

“You’re to follow me, miss.” His voice was deep, and though his tone and manner were deferential, they didn’t reassure me.

I followed him down the corridor and the stairs. He stopped before a closed door that I’d not been through yet. Instead of opening it, he knocked, then motioned for me to stand before it. He left me and disappeared through another doorway.

My heart was in my throat, beating so fast I felt lightheaded. Fear pulsed through me, and I seriously considered making a dash for the entrance. Then the door swung open, and Zhantar stood there smiling down on me and extending a hand to draw me into the room. I forced my feet to follow.

This room was utterly terrifying in its grandeur. The hand-carved furniture was ornate, upholstered in black satin and red velvet. Two chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystal drops catching the sunlight and scattering rainbow colors everywhere. The beautiful marble fireplace had to be the biggest one I’d ever seen.

I noticed all this at a mere glance, because the figure standing near one of the sofas held my attention. His black tunic and trousers had been tailored to show off his physique, while his black boots looked both expensive and new. And he wore a black cloak thrown back over one shoulder but with the hood up and his face lost in its shadows.

A hand on my shoulder, Zhantar guided me to stand before this man. My knees shook so hard I could hardly walk. I clenched my fists to keep my hands from trembling. How had I ever got myself into this position? For this man was surely a dragonmaster.

“This is the young lady of whom I spoke,” Zhantar said in a casual tone, seemingly unaware of my turmoil.

“I see,” said a muffled voice from within the hood. “Come closer,” he said, and somehow I made myself do it. A hand—long fingered, well-groomed, and elegant—touched the wood collar. The fingertips strayed to the skin of my neck, sending a thrill of dread through me. I feared and almost hoped my heart would stop.

“There is power in this wood.” His other hand came up and he passed the circlet several times around, the heat of his fingers caressing my throat. “You see that it has no beginning and no end. Like power itself. And like power, its integrity must not be breached.”

He let go of the wood, and it dropped heavily into place, as if it were made of iron instead of the light wood it actually was. My hope of freedom fell with it. Then he touched my left cheek, his hand gentle but firm.

“There is an interesting tale here. I have never seen nor heard of such a thing. Will you tell me?”

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I shut it again, closed my eyes, and took several shallow, ragged breaths.

“Perhaps another time,” he said, and relieved, I nodded.

“My ... associate tells me you can do magic, that you might wish to join us. Is this true?”

I licked my lips. “I can do a little magic, yes, sir.”

“And you might wish to join us?” he repeated.

“I don’t know, sir.” It came out as a whisper.

“What? Don’t know if you would like to live in splendor and in the king’s favor? Don’t know if you want to have the power of the universe at your beck and call? Surely this is false modesty. Do you not know who it is who stands here before you?”

By now, my whole body shook, and I had no way to control it. I was afraid I would faint away.

Zhantar stepped up and gripped the magician’s shoulder. “Donavah,” he said, a smile on his face and a gleam in his eye, “let me introduce you to my son.”