“Say it plainly,” I insisted, my voice calmer, closer to the real Emrys buried within. “First you want me to straighten out my brother so Darreth can have a golden mage king. Then you want me to breed a whole bloody herd of magical heirs to be split between Darreth’s succession and the Assembly’s machinations.”
Maeron paused. Then, without shame, he answered, “Yes.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t line a few women up for me to choose from.” A pulse of scorching heat shot through my veins. I couldn’t stop a sneer from appearing on my face. “Go on, bring them out.”
“Don’t be crude!” Maeron chastised me in a way that reminded me far too much of my father.
As if the chancellor were in any position to judge, considering he’d just asked me to sire bastards.
Gods help me, I’d obeyed the Assembly’s summons like a wayward dog hoping it might help my kingdom. At worst, I’d expected a knife at my throat, but neverthis. All they saw was the strength in my blood and what it might give them if passed on.
“I thought I was here because Darreth needs the support of our greatest ally.” I tried to keep the hurt out of my voice. “But I’m no more than a prized stallion with a crown.” A bitter laugh clawed its way up my throat. “And my brother? Nisien is on board with this?”
“He understands what must be done for the good of Darreth and all of magekind.”
“Of course he does.”
I already wanted to wring his neck.
Chapter 3
Isca
Once the guardsmen and the body were gone, the butcher’s wife across the walkway sent me a death glare, clutching her basket like she might need to run if I as much as blinked the wrong way. I couldn’t blame her, even if she was mistaken about me.
I understood, perhaps better than most, that our greatest fears stemmed from past traumas. Everyone in Caervorn had seen people burned, buried, or impaled by mages because power was the law of the land and they had it by virtue of birth. The rest of us learned early to keep our heads down.
My first lesson in fear had come when a boy my age, around seven, tried to run from a grand magus. I never saw his face, just the cloud of acrid smoke rising above the crowd and the smell of burning flesh.
People watched. Some even cheered. No one stopped it.
His scream didn’t end until long after the fire did.
I was twenty-four now, and the lessons in fear hadn’t ceased. So I ignored the butcher’s wife and tried to go on with my day. I knew better than to explain that my outburst had been an accident. People in the outer ring tolerated my magic—just as they tolerated the taxes and the closed fortress gates and the crumbling mural—but tolerance was not trust. That I might never get from them. They shunned me for my magic, just like the mages shunned me for having the wrong type of father.
Still reeling from the execution, I sat at my stall, numb, as the sun slowly fell in the sky. The only good thing was that I didn’t feel the pangs of hunger anymore. How could I after that? Still, the coins only a foot awaymocked me, promising full bellies for my family. But they were covered in blood and heavy with dark memories. I couldn’t stare at the pouch anymore.
Though my heart was still racing from the encounter, from how close I’d been to death in a red cloak, I began to work. Sorting through the least bruised meadowsweet stems, I tried to redo my display. I didn’t look up or join in the chatter surrounding me. Bursts of gossip about the executioner filled the air.
“Came through the east gate just last night…”
“…riding some foreign beast, big as a cart…”
“…cloak the color of blood, heard he was the worst of the lot…”
I kept my face blank as I listened.
It was best to stay away from any powerful mage, but this one had brought his destruction to my feet. I’d lived long enough between the mage and mundane worlds to know that the Mage Assembly’s actions always came at someone else’s expense.
Today, that expense was mine to bear, since, unsurprisingly, no one seemed to want to visit a stall that still had streaks of drying blood upon it. Though I yearned to scream about their perverted sense of justice, speaking my mind would be a death sentence. I had to swallow my rage, just as I swallowed everyone else’s cares like stale ale.
I was just about to pack up my things and head home early when the mood in the market shifted abruptly. Even the hum of gossip halted mid-breath. I didn’t need to look up to know what it meant. That kind of silence only followed a death, or men wearing deep purple cloaks.
Two Assembly enforcers strode into the market from the southern arch, their boots too new, too clean for the outer ring. Neither spoke as they walked. One was tall and rail-thin. The other was broader, younger, and wore his hair cropped in the Assembly’s sharp military style.
So they’d sent muscle and magic.Great.
Like a river disrupted by a falling boulder, the crowd parted around them, murmuring quietly and shifting nervously as they passed.
