“Your presence irritates her,” Xyrath said idly.
“Your Majesty, I fear my breathing irritates her.”
“Yes,” Xyrath said agreeably. “Still, she must be indulged during this time. Even in whims and sick fancies.” Xyrath paused. “You understand.” It wasn’t a question. Halithe seethed at the implied threat.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Ritathan said.
“Good, good,” Xyrath’s boots headed to the door. “You’ll let me know about the other thing, yes? If they advance?”
“Certainly,” Ritathan said. How could he be so calm?
The door opened and closed, but Halithe waited, her anger simmering.
“Come,” Ritathan said.
Halithe stepped out. The candle flame caught her eye. In her fury she looked within and saw its nature. With a clench of her fist, she imposed her will.
The flame rose high, shooting up to the ceiling. The candle melted down, and the flame died as it scorched the table.
“Ah,” Ritathan raised an eyebrow. “Your next lesson will be about control.”
Chapter Sixteen
The courtier greeted Forterran in the palace courtyard as the Mage Guildmaster struggled to heave his bulk out of his litter. He was not yet in his dotage, but he was no longer young, and he was prepared to use his age to his every advantage.
He’d managed to delay this meeting for weeks but it was clear that the King and Queen were losing patience.
“Guildmaster Forterran, be welcome.” The courtier bowed low. “I am instructed to bring you into the presence of their Majesties for a private audience.”
Private audience? That did not bode well. Forterran took a moment to take a breath and adjust his robes and chains. He knew full well that the royal summons had to be about Ritathan’s contract. And whatever else the rascal had done to irritate their recent majesties.
His gouty big toe throbbed with his heartbeat, purple and engorged. There was even a hint of black around the nail. He’d worn simple sandals, for ease, yet even the hem of his robes brushing his foot was enough to cause pain. The courtier glanced down and grimaced, hopefully in sympathy.
“My thanks,” Forterran nodded to the lad, gripping his cane tight. “Let us proceed, with as much haste as I can manage.”
The courtier bowed again. “Make way,” he called out, heading through the doors of the castle. “Make way for Guildmaster Forterran, Guildmaster of the Mages Guild.”
Forterran fixed his face into a pleasant, neutral expression. Having a caller was not an honor normally afforded him. Someone wanted the entire court to know of his presence. As if that was necessary. The gossips would have it about far faster than the crier. Still, he wouldn’t need to worry about anyone treading on his foot, since the lad was clearing a path through the crowd.
There was quite the crowd, which shouldn’t have surprised him. Regardless of the power, there were always those who sought favor. Yet as he walked, he sensed that the flavor of the corridors had changed. The bright white and blue of the airions was gone, replaced by red, gold, and black. Tapestries had been torn down and carvings obliterated.
There was no music, no dancing. No idle card games or quiet flirtations. Forterran didn’t need magic to sense the fear and uncertainty in the very air. He kept his expression neutral and nodded to those he knew as he followed his guide.
There was always a need to be wary; it had been so even in Kara and Xywellan’s time. Forterran had warned Ritathan about taking a royal contract. But Ritathan was never one to listen or turn from a challenge. The Guildmaster stifled a groan that had nothing to do with his big toe.
Under Forterran’s mastery, his Guild had remained neutral, and he hoped to keep it that way. But the path he walked was a wary one, like a steep track that dropped off on both sides. One misstep, one wrong word, and an ally became an enemy.
“Guildmaster,” the courtier broke through his thoughts. “Up here.”
“Stairs,” Forterran grumbled before he caught himself. He gave the lad a weak smile. “Lead on.”
As Guildmaster, his chains bound him to the Guild as a whole, which both restrained him and freed him in some senses. It was a simple matter to cast behind the courtier’s back and boost himself up the stairs, light as a feather. Simple too, to breathe and groan at the effort, enough to make the courtier glance back in alarm.
At the top, Forterran paused. “Let me catch my breath, lad.”
The corridor here was narrower, with no supplicants hanging about. Guards, of course, uniformed in gold and black. Loyal too, from the suspicious looks Forterran was getting. He made a show of adjusting his chains before nodding the courtier on. Chains offered reassurance and promised safety. Little did they know…and better they didn’t.
They stopped outside a door deep within the private chambers. The courtier knocked. A woman answered and the courtier called, “Guildmaster Forterran, for their Majesties.”
