VI. Norring-on-Recca
The Mage-Prince’s castle was beautiful. Somner, given his habit of staring at the ground rather than at anything around him, noticed the floor’s beauty especially. The tiles were interesting fragments of various shades of blue, blended together in abstract designs and patterns. He even caught sight of a few rather large spell-circles made in some of the patterns, subtle enough that most wouldn’t notice them.
It was just after the breakfast with the Mage-Prince Beaufort and the sun had now risen properly in the sky, no longer the pearly gray of dawn. Somner watched the back of Dane’s heels with a devout kind of attention, thinking so hard that he was rather unsure what it was that he was thinking about.
Dane stopped suddenly in front of him and turned, taking a step back toward Somner. His boots appeared in Somner’s line of vision, not covered with even a hint of dust: the floors here were strangely, perfectly clean, glowing with the soft brown of some kind of magic. Sure of what the next words from his mage would be if he didn’t look up, Somner lifted his gaze to meet Dane’s obediently. Dane sighed, dark eyes weary and a little tense, mouth tight with frustration.
“What precisely is wrong this time?” he asked, a snap in his tone.
Somner blinked. “I am fine,” he said slowly, but Dane began to shake his head the second the last word left Somner’s mouth.
“That was not the question.”
Somner studied Dane’s face, the long, clean lines of it, the classic countenance and the ever-fluid expressions that usually ranged from frustration to annoyance to anger. He liked looking at Dane, and though he knew it was discomforting to the subject of his stare, some perverse part of him enjoyed that.
He probably didn’t even realize what he said, a voice in his mind suggested. He’s not known for watching what he says.
“Did you mean it?” Somner asked, refusing to look away from his mage’s eyes.
Dane eyebrows veered downward, as did the corners of his lips. “What do you mean?”
“You said that the construct’s energy is mixed to give it its energy.” At Somner’s explanation, Dane only seemed more confused. Somner didn’t want to explain anymore, not if Dane didn’t understand, but his mage was still looking at him expectantly, as if still waiting for the reason why Somner was upset.
Somner closed his eyes and broke their mutual stare. “You called me ‘it.’”
Dane looked sick at that, and blurred at the edges. The blue of his aura sank through his skin like barbed wire and strung him into the castle walls, into the floor, into the ceiling, until he was fractured into a million pieces and pasted into the walls. Nausea hit Somner hard and he could barely keep his food down.
“Somner, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking in the least—I get caught up when I talk about the specifics of magic and don’t….”
“It’s all right,” Somner said quietly, unable to look at his mage for fear that the sight of Dane’s fractured aura would make him faint.
“No, it’s not,” his mage said, and wrapped a hand around Somner’s arm.
Dane’s aura pulled back around him in a rush, clinging to his fingertips and sinking into Somner’s own skin, joining the magic that already lived there and making Somner feel warm with it. The walls might still melt dizzyingly, but Somner’s mage was, once again, a steady presence.
Somner smiled. “But I am an ‘it,’ aren’t I?” He pulled away from Dane and started walking back to their rooms. “Are we going to explore the town soon?”
Dane chased after him, looking frustrated, confused; upset. “You aren’t an ‘it,’ Somner.”
“Yes, Dane.”
He heard a low growl at that and, vindictively, felt a spike of pleasure. He opened the door to pass into their room, stumbling out of his boots at the first opportunity and beginning to peel the clothing off over his head. He hated the layers upon layers of itchy clothing that Dane considered to be “proper” to wear.
His mage somewhere behind him, Somner hastened to don more comfortable clothing—Dane became somewhat edgy whenever Somner stayed disrobed around him for too long. Opening one of his trunks, Somner found one of his hair clip and used it to pin back his hair. The women at the tailor’s shop had made a fuss about the clips. They had insisted that it was a crime to pull back his hair so, but if he absolutely had to, it was a crime to do so with anything but these clips, made by their shop boy, Ian. Somner had apparently been committing crimes inadvertently, since it had never occurred to him to do anything with it besides letting it do what it would. The clips were pretty, though, possessing a delicate lacing of silver and gold that glowed vaguely with a very pale blue magic.
“You aren’t an ‘it’!” Dane exclaimed again.
Somner half-turned to look at him, a tendril of white hair escaping the clip to fall into his eyes. “Yes, Dane. You’re ready?”
Dane sighed, tugging the band out of his long hair and ruffling it before pulling it back loosely once more. “Yes, very nearly. Just give me a moment.”
Dane disappeared into his bedroom, leaving Somner free to scrounge around for a book to bring along with him. The pockets of mage-coats seemed to be made specifically for the purpose, possibly because all of the mages that Somner had known besides his mage were very longwinded, and thus required books to read in an effort to ignore one another when they were carried away by their own verbosity. Though, to be fair, his mage could be longwinded as well as any of his fellows.
Dane returned to the main room dressed in more casual clothing, pulling on a dark gray mage-coat as he walked. He stopped in front of Somner, standing curiously straight for a moment. Somner stared into his eyes benignly, waiting for his mage to lead the way out the door. Abruptly, Dane huffed a sigh and entwined his hand with Somner’s. A jolt of energy laced from his fingertips to sink inside Somner’s skin.
“Come,” he said, tugging on Somner. “The mage-market of Norring-on-Recca is renowned in four of the five Summoning Lands, second only to Linning’s. It’s said that the markets carry everything from precious gems to ancient books.”
“Books?”
They went through the doorway and, still grasping Somner’s hand, Dane pulled it shut behind them. When he turned back about, he started off down the hallway their suite was on, heading toward the Great Hall that they had entered through.
“Yes, books. Though keep in mind that we still must be careful with our funds.”
A market full of books sounded like a wonderful thing. Somner had wanted to look for a copy of Beatrice Lyn’s Wards and Sigils. His mage didn’t have very many books on wards, and Somner wanted to learn about them—if he was able to use magic at all, he might be able to learn wards so he could protect Dane and make him not regret Somner’s creation.
Narrow streaks of sunlight in the Great Hall fell over Dane’s face, shadowing him when Somner suddenly stopped. “Can I do magic?” he asked abruptly. Dane stopped just in front of the door that led to the gardens. He twisted slightly at the waist, eyes thoughtful.
Pleasant thought: go insane and be killed.
Somner tried to quiet his rolling thoughts, closing his eyes firmly on the sudden, dizzying melting of the landscape under his gaze. It made him sick whenever it did that—always when he was upset—and it had to stop.
He opened his eyes again, focusing on what he knew Dane could see as well and was not visible to Somner alone. In the lawn and front gardens were noblemen and –women strolling together, laughing and carrying on lightheartedly. A small group of women and men played croquet on an open field of grass, flirting openly with one another. Somner watched them wistfully for a moment, pulling his hand from Dane’s and trailing after his mage by a bit so that he could keep the sight for a bit longer. They seemed very happy, as if they didn’t think of anything but having fun.
A man brushed a young woman’s curl out of her face, laughing when she flushed. Somner resolutely turned his gaze back to Dane, who had stopped a few paces again and was talking with a tall, elderly gentleman. The man’s lips were pinched, his face dark and a bit angry.
Lord Julius Dumot, the Earl Delanore, a member of the Mage-Prince’s Higher Council and foreign ambassador.
Somner sped up and stopped beside Dane. He looked evenly at Delanore. He didn’t like Lord Julius one whit; the aura of magic that clung to the man was painfully, deathly white, tinged with the red of blood and the yellow of sickness.
“Ambassador Dumot,” Dane said. His manner was emotionlessly polite, the sort of manner that he took with Stoneford, but perhaps even colder.
“Lord Jefferson,” Delanore said. His voice was deep and smooth, too urbane to be genuine.
“Scholar-Mage Jefferson,” Somner heard Dane correct. “How do you fair? It’s been ten years since you were at the Larken Court.”
Delanore laughed. “Quite well, thank you, Jefferson.” He looked at Somner, face covered with an expression of malignant curiosity. “And who is your friend? He looks quite a bit like Valerian, doesn’t he? Not another sibling—his mother rather gave up after Valerian was born, didn’t she?”
Dane bridled so obviously that Somner leaned in a touch closer to him and shoved an elbow into his side. It was obvious that Delanore wanted nothing more than to upset his mage, and he wasn’t going to let that happen. He stared at Delanore for a long moment, watching as the ambassador became unnerved under his gaze.
“I thank you for your attention, Ambassador,” he said, ducking his head briefly. “I am Somner.”
It was obvious from the measuring way the man looked at him now that he could see the traces of Valerian in Somner that so many other people did.
“You are Young Valerian, aren’t you?” His grin was like that of a demon just given leave of its service, delighted and predatory. “Does the baroness Petra know that her son’s body is still walking around after death? How do you even still have leave to use it for such a purpose, given Lady Petra’s bargain with—“
“As pleasurable as it is to see you again, Ambassador Dumot, I’m afraid that we have a prior engagement.” Dane’s voice was cold enough to freeze all the hellfire in the barren first circle of Hell, his body so tense that Somner could hardly bear to stand beside him without trying to comfort him.
Somner knew the reason why as well as he knew the colors of magic, the same way that a normal man might know the taste of water or the sound of truth. It was inherent, bone-deep, etched into his brain. Dane hated all of the people that had known Valerian, with such fervency that the emotion would kill anyone else with its potency.
Wisely, Delanore bowed and left without speaking again. His eyes held too much amusement, though, and Somner glared at him as he went past. That caused the man’s expression to flicker a touch and his gaze to fall.
“Come, Somner.” Dane started walking briskly again, his stride long and hurried.
Somner stayed silent for a few moments, wanting to give Dane time to calm. Once his mage’s temper was roused, it took some time to dissipate, though fortunately Dane didn’t anger often. Once they had passed through the gates into the eastern part of the city, he asked, “Why do you hate the people that knew Valerian?”
Dane whirled, eyes flashing with anger, but Somner refused to flinch at that. Dane was more upset than angry, no matter what he thought.
“Whyever would you think that?” Dane asked. He whirled back around and began walking again, pace even faster than before.
“Stoneford knew Valerian somehow. So did Delanore. You despise Valerian’s mother, and you never talk to anyone about Valerian unless they approach the subject first. It’s not quite enough to support my theory, but….”
Dane was quiet for a long time, but Somner was willing to wait. He could vaguely hear the rush of the river Recca somewhere to their left, just above the sounds of the city. The people on the streets around them were quieter than the ones in Farthing's markets. They went staidly about their business in ones and twos, conversing quietly but mostly in what appeared to be a rush to accomplish errands. The dress here was more somber than in Farthing, uninfluenced by the jewel tones that mages often wore, but the embroidery around the hems was bright. A mage was performing on a street corner again, casting illusions in the air. Somner watched her closely; there was a mischievous flicker of a minor demon underneath the hem of her skirt.
“Let’s just say that I am attempting to distance myself from what harmed me before,” Dane said finally. He sounded saddened, heavy, and Somner wound his hand through his mage’s in quiet comfort. Dane looked over at him and, reluctantly, smiled. “Let’s go find the book vendors.”
Their hours at Norring-on-Recca’s book mart were fortunately quiet. Somner and Dane returned from the markets with more books than either had planned on purchasing. It took some careful arranging to fit the books in around their already ample luggage, but they managed anyway and were then obliged to attend the Court dinner.
The meal took place in the Dawn Hall in the castle’s eastern wing; they ate dinner in their room beforehand.
“Court dinners involve very little eating,” Dane hastily explained to Somner as they followed a servant to the Dawn Hall. He was smoothing down one part of his mage coat, a longer version of his normal one, for a reason that Somner couldn’t ascertain. “Mostly, the nobles mill about and gossip. The official Court dinner is no more than an excuse for conversation and trysting. Make certain that we’re not separated and I’ll do the same. I worry that the prince will attempt to… acquire you.”
Somner barely had time to nod before they were through the Dawn Hall’s entrance and being announced by a nearby footman as “The Scholar-Mage Dane Jefferson, Lord and Heir-Apparent of the Farthing Duchy, and his guest, Somner Jefferson, mage construct.”
Dane winced at this. Somner said nothing at all. He was tired of everyone making such a fuss about him.The nobles were not milling about at all. They clung to the corners and cast fearful looks at one another, their auras, made up of the very slight amount of magic that clung even to those not magical, were dark with worry.
“Scholar-Mage Jefferson, how very nice to see you again,” Delanore said, approaching them once they were barely a foot beyond the doorway. His smile was cruel. “How was your day? I notice that you didn’t return to the castle until quite late… I fear what someone might say about a foreign mage being loose in our town for so long.”
Dane’s back stiffened and he opened his mouth to reply. Somner was worried that he would need to elbow him again, but found that there was no need—Beaufort had approached smoothly from one side and was giving Delanore a look no less than hostile.
“I note that you, too, were gone for most of the day, Lord Delanore,” he said. Beaufort had his arms crossed over his chest almost defensively. “Regardless of the council meeting scheduled for this morning? How did your business go?” His voice was entirely bland and seemed the more dangerous for it.
“Quite well, Your Highness. I do apologize for my absence—hopefully my input was not needed today…?”
Beaufort’s magic roiled and reached out, almost seductively, before pulling back close to him and seething outward again. Somner had never seen magic be so active besides when the world began to melt, if that was even magic and not just a mage construct’s insanity.
“Oh, no, Lord Delanore. We were able to manage just as well without you as with you.” Beaufort’s pleasant smile should have made it hard to take offense, but Delanore seemed offended nonetheless. Beaufort nodded politely at Dane and Somner now, turning from Delanore. “Master Jefferson, Master Somner. How did you find Norring-on-Recca?”
“It was a pleasant stay, Your Highness,” Dane said blandly.
Beaufort’s eyes crinkled at the corners, but the expression in them was more bitter than amused.”And you, Master Somner?”
Somner’s mouth went dry and he had to lick his lips before he could answer, commenting, “The book market was quite excellent.”
Beaufort seemed more genuinely pleased about that. “Yes, they are. I’m rather proud of them—I had to beg my father for months so that he would help fund the merchants and draw them to us. We may have no mage universities at present, but eventually we will have scholars in plenty, as soon as affairs here settle a bit more.”
Delanore’s eyes went dark at that, filled with a mix of smug arrogance and rage. Somner could read the emotions, but he couldn’t even begin to divine what they meant. Maybe Dane would be able to. Still….
Interesting.
“I have to attend to my other guests, but please, stay until I can speak with you again. I would like to discuss a few more things with you to, if you don’t mind.” He nodded deeply to each of them and then gave Delanore a look. “Delanore, I am going to see Lady Lydia. She’s been asking for you and seemed somewhat concerned when you were not at the council meeting. Perhaps you should…?”
“Yes, of course,” Delanore said. Irritably, he bowed quickly to Dane. “My apologies. We’ll speak again soon.”
The two departed, fortunately not hearing Somner’s mage whisper, “Gods above and below, I hope not.”
Somner hoped so too.
The next morning, they left at dawn. They would meet midmorning the train that would enable them to return to Farthing, and before that would sell the horses back to the merchant, if she should still be there. Their trail was followed by a messenger, who caught up with them just outside of Terra’s city limits.
Due to circumstances of State and Station, we regret to inform you that you will not be offered an immediate position as a Royal Mage of Nothfeld. The Prince-Lord of our Honorable State hastens to express the breadth of his sadness and invites you to interview again at a later date. Written by Royal Scribe Haffyn, signed by His Highness’ own hand on this, the Eighth of the Resurrection Moon….
Dane’s surprise was on his face and in his bearing as he carefully tucked the letter into a pocket on his mage-coat.
“Interesting…” he said. “I wonder why he decided not to offer the position. I was not intending to accept it, but he was incredibly interested in you. I expected an offer.”
He sounded slightly offended; Somner hid a smile, but obviously not well, as Dane laughed. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter.”
They continued on.
The favors and spells that the horse merchant requested were fairly easy ones, the train left on time, and they were back in Farthing by mid-afternoon. Somner could not say that he would miss Norring-on-Recca at all.
