True Magics (7 page)

I won’t let him take me in for questioning again
, Thomas swore to himself.
I’ll kill him first.

The thirty feet to the dais seemed unreasonably long. Their footsteps, measured and careful, seemed too small to cover the distance. Thomas wished that his clothes were cleaner, and that he didn’t have a pair of wet braies stuffed inside his jacket. He hoped his hair wasn’t a mess and that he wasn’t tracking mud across the floor.

Henry, much to Thomas’s annoyance, looked sublimely unconcerned.

Up close, the king had a fair bit of grey in his hair. He looked much more severe than he had running into the water on the beach.

Of course he does. He’s dressed. Everyone looks more serious when they’re dressed.

Can I think of anything that isn’t stupid?

I hope my hands aren’t shaking.

Thomas and Henry reached the throne and bowed again. “Your Majesty,” said Henry as he straightened. “Good to see you again. And Inquisitor Alphonse,” Henry nodded at him. “I’m surprised to see you alive.”

“The High Father smiled upon me,” said Father Alphonse. His voice was hoarse, as if he had screamed so much he’d destroyed it. Thomas wondered what, exactly, John had done to the man before letting him go. Father Alphonse shifted his weight against the walking stick he leaned on, and groaned at the effort. His gaunt face was lined and twisted with pain.

“He must have,” said Henry. “Last I heard my brother was going to flay your feet and leave you for the weasels.”

“That will be enough, Lord Henry,” said the king. “Thomas Flarety?”

Thomas swallowed hard. “Yes, your Majesty.”

King Harold Plastine had brown eyes, surrounded by wrinkles, in a round face. He was not much taller than Thomas himself, but much wider, both in the shoulders and the stomach. “Your teachers say you are one of their brightest—possibly
the
brightest. They say you managed to catch up in your classes and maintain your grades despite being gone… was it two months?”

“Around two, yes, your majesty,” said Thomas.
Why is he being nice to me?

“And studying both philosophy and law,” said the man in grey. He was distinctly average: neither tall nor short, a plain face and brown hair. His eyes were also brown, and they bored into Thomas’s eyes like a pair of drills. “Very impressive.”

“I thank you,” said Thomas, wondering who the man was. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how to address you, sir.”

“How foolish of me,” said the king. “Lord Henry Antonius, Thomas Flarety, may I present Sir Walter Deehan.”

Henry nodded politely at the man. Thomas bowed, though not as low as he had to the king. “Sir Walter.”

“And Father Leopold,” said the king. “The Archbishop’s representative to the king.”

Father Leopold had a sneer on his face as he waited for Thomas to bow. Thomas met the man’s eyes and stayed upright.
I will not bow to him; I will not show fear to him,
Thomas thought,
no matter what happens.
Thomas watched Father Leopold realize it and saw the man’s lips go into a hard, angry line.

“And I believe you know Father Alphonse,” finished the king, after the pause had gone on long enough to be awkward.

“Yes, your majesty,” said Thomas, still staring down Father Leopold
.

“Are we through with the pleasantries?” demanded Father Leopold. “This boy stands accused of witchcraft.”

“Without evidence,” said Sir Walter.

Before Thomas or Father Leopold could protest the king raised a hand for silence. “We have heard some rather strange tales of what happened in the north, Thomas.”

“From Lords Cormac, Ethan and Anthony?” asked Henry. “The ones who didn’t actually see anything?”

“They talked to those who did,” said Father Alphonse. “And they heard tales of witchcraft. Of men throwing fog and fire.” He smiled at Thomas. “And lightning.”

“Those who serve the Banished cannot be allowed freedom!” said Father Leopold.

“You have no evidence of the Banished,” said Henry. “You have no evidence of anything. Just hearsay.”

“We have evidence enough to question Thomas Flarety,” said Father Leopold. “And we demand that he be turned over to us. At once.”

“Demand?” repeated the king, a flicker of annoyance coming into his voice.

“We cannot allow the Banished control over men’s affairs,” said Father Leopold. “We
will
not allow such things to happen.”

“You have no evidence,” said Henry. “You have no authority, and you have no right to be making demands of the king!”

“The king must answer to the High Father in matters of the spirit!” Father Leopold quivered in righteous anger. “Thomas, by his actions, gave us the authority!”

“Actions for which you can’t produce a single witness!”

“Gentlemen!” Sir Walter’s voice cut through the room. “This is not a Court of Law and you will not practice your arguments here!”

“Thomas has been very silent,” said Father Alphonse in the silence that followed. “Thomas? Why are you not speaking?”

“Because I have not been asked a question yet,” lied Thomas.
Because I cannot lie to the king. I swore an oath.
“And I should very much dislike to speak out of turn.”

The king smiled again. “Law students. Always cautious with their words. Did I not say as much, Sir Walter?”

“You did, your Majesty,” said Sir Walter. “Though Lord Henry seems to lack that quality.”

“Then I’ll ask a question,” said Sir Alphonse. “When did you start practising witchcraft, Thomas?”

For a moment Thomas was back in the cell under the Church’s buildings, chained to the floor and staring at four soldiers ready to beat him senseless while Father Alphonse sat behind his little desk, droning questions over and over.

Thomas blinked and was back in the throne room. Father Alphonse was leaning on his staff and waiting for an answer. Thomas forced in a pair of breaths, forced all fear and anger out of his voice. “I never practised witchcraft,” said Thomas. “There is no such thing.”

“There is,” said Father Leopold. “I have seen it.”

“Really?” asked Sir Walter. “What have you seen?”

“I have seen the Beudlean tribes to the south using powers they raised from prayers to the Banished to fight the soldiers of the Church,” said Father Leopold. “I have seen men die under flame and the earth shake.” His eyes went to the king. “It is this that we must protect true believers from, your Majesty. It is for this that you must—”

“Did you actually see them praying to the Banished?” interrupted Henry.

“I did not need to
see
it,” said Father Leopold. “Only the Banished could grant such powers.”

“Funny,” said Henry. “Because when your Bishop Malloy prayed to the Banished for power, it didn’t work at all.”

“Father Malloy was not praying to the Banished,” said Father Alphonse. “He was praying to the High Father when Thomas
murdered
him.”

Thomas felt himself bristling.
“Bishop Malloy,” he said through clenched teeth, “was cutting the throats of children and offering their blood to the Banished to give him power.” He forced in a breath and stared into Father Alphonse’s eyes. “And it didn’t work because there’s no such thing as witchcraft.”

“That is enough, gentlemen,” said the king, his voice soft.

“It is indeed,” said Father Leopold. “This
boy
must face the question, so that we may have the truth out of him!”

“I already faced the question,” said Thomas.

“Enough,” said the king again, his voice no louder, but the command in it unmistakable. “I will not have anyone calling my students liars.”

“They are liars,” said Father Leopold. “They lie, they brawl, they engage in debauchery at every opportunity, and now they are engaging in witchcraft.”

The knight stepped uncomfortably close to the envoy. “Watch your tongue,” he said, his eyes boring into Father Leopold’s. “You are speaking to the king.”

“And
you
are speaking to the Archbishop’s personal envoy,” said the priest, not budging an inch. “The envoy of one who answers to the High Father, to whom even kings must bow. I will not be threatened by the likes of you. And I
will
have this one in my custody.”

Thomas felt himself begin to tremble again and this time he couldn’t control it.
I will not go back.

The king rose to his feet and stepped down. “We are aware of the Archbishop’s
request,
” the emphasis on the last word was deliberate and unmistakable, “and we once more remind you, the students are
ours
. They are servants of the king, and answer only to the king’s law in all matters.”

“Then arrest him, in the name of the king’s law,” said Father Leopold. “Arrest him and hang him for witchcraft.”

“The king’s law requires proof,” said Sir Walter. “And you have provided none.”

“And until you do,” said the king, “no actions will be taken against Thomas. Or
any
of those who fought in Frostmire. By anyone. Under pain of my displeasure. Have I made myself clear?”

Father Leopold’s back grew straighter, as if the rod planted there had been pushed upward. “The Archbishop will not be swayed by threats.”

“Nor will I,” said the king. “And you may go and tell Culverton that. Now.”

Father Leopold bowed, though not low enough to be respectful. Alphonse’s bow was lower, and he smiled at Thomas when he came up. “I will look forward to seeing you again. Soon.”

The two men backed away, bowed again, turned and left. Thomas’s knees nearly buckled in relief. No one in the room spoke until Father Alphonse and Leopold stepped outside of the room and the door swung shut behind them.

“You did that very well, young man,” said the king.

Thomas swallowed. “Thank you, your Majesty.”

“Unlike you, Lord Henry,” said the king. “Must you fight with everyone?”

“It’s what I was raised to,” said Henry, blithely. “Please accept my apologies.”

“I would if I thought there was the slightest bit of sincerity in your words.” The king stepped back up on his dais and sat down again. “It was quite the mess in Frostmire. Though thankfully short.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” said Thomas and Henry together.

“The death of Duke Antonius was most unfortunate,” said Sir Walter. “As were the actions of his son, Richard. Who killed Richard?”

“Baron Goshawk,” said Thomas, wincing a bit. Richard had been Henry’s favourite brother, before the war. “With a throwing axe.”

“A nasty bit of business,” said the king.

Thomas remembered the axe slamming into Richard Antonius’s chest and suppressed a shudder. “Yes, your Majesty.”

“How do you feel your brother will be as Duke?” asked Sir Walter.

“Devious,” replied Henry. “And probably fair and decent to the common people.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “The ones he doesn’t flog for his amusement, anyway. John was always worrisome in that respect.”

“So I’ve heard,” said the king. “Now, Lord Henry, perhaps you could explain exactly why you lied to me about the nature of the events in Frostmire?”

The silence that followed that was so full of tension that is was practically visible, coiling around them like a snake squeezing its prey.

Henry swallowed, and then said, “Not so much lied as omitted details that would not be believed without proof.”

“The Archbishop believed them,” said the king. “Father Alphonse certainly believed them, to the point of being ready to torture them out of the pair of you. My spies came back with several stories that I was planning to ask you about in a more subtle way had the Archbishop not announced it to the entire city. So tell me, Lord Henry, was witchcraft used in Frostmire?”

Henry smiled. “No, your Majesty.”

“Then where do these stories of fire and fog and lightning come from?”

“Oh, people used those,” said Henry. “They just didn’t use witchcraft.”

The king turned bright red. Thomas swallowed his nerves and stepped forward. “Please, your Majesty, may I speak?”

“Yes,” the king said, his eyes still on Henry and the threat of mayhem in his expression. “Quickly.”

“Witchcraft has a very specific definition under the law,” said Thomas. “It requires the user to offer his or her soul to the Banished in exchange for powers beyond those of mortal men.”

The king’s eyes narrowed with annoyance. “You throw lightning from your hands, if the stories are true,” said the king. “If it isn’t witchcraft, what is it?”

“Magic.”

“And what, exactly, is the difference?”

“For a start,” said Henry, “the Church can’t hang you for magic.”