“What happens to the mages that are brought here?” Martin asked Cere as they lounged on a bench. Butterflies rode gardenia-scented breezes, and fountains burbled in the background. In the lower city, the air grew cool, the meager plants turning brown. Here?
Eternal summer.
“Why, they’re punished, of course.” Cere leaned back, showing his lean muscles to full advantage. He never merely sat—he posed, artfully arranging himself on the bench.
Martin ignored the none-too-subtle advance from seasons of practice. “Why? What have they done wrong?”
Cere shifted his gaze, first right, then left, and lowered his voice. “It’s blasphemy to ask these questions.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was just… curious.”
Cere stretched his long legs out in front of him, scowl giving way to his customary grin. “That’s okay. You’re not from here, so you can’t know. Power belongs to the Lady. The mages steal it and use it for evil. They must be punished.”
Interesting. Martin’s parents hadn’t stolen anything. He certainly hadn’t. “What does the Lady do with the power?”
“Why, everything. Without her, the sun wouldn’t rise or set. Crops wouldn’t grow, or babes be born.”
What? “But hasn’t the Lady only existed without the Father for a few generations?”
“Blasphemy!” Cere shouted, then slapped a hand over his mouth. “That’s what some would have you believe, but she’s always been here. She merely chose to make E’Skaara her home a few generations ago. You have to admit, she picked a wonderful spot.”
“What about the Father and his teachings?”
Cere huffed. “He would condemn me for taking a man to my bed.”
“Doesn’t the Lady forbid that too?”
“She forbids mages from forming such bonds, but if pleasure is to be had with a man“—Cere rolled his shoulders in an elegant shrug— “then why not?”
Why not indeed. “Have you ever heard of creatures who roam the night, killing innocents?”
“Could never happen. The Lady protects the innocent.” Soft chiming sounded from the temple. Cere jumped from his bench. “I have lessons. Come visit me again?”
“Of course, whenever my rounds bring me this way.”
Cere darted off a few paces, stopped, and returned, rising up on his toes and brushing a kiss over Martin’s lips.
Martin stood in the garden, fingers against his tingling lips, long after Cere rounded the building and disappeared from sight.
What a long day. All Martin wanted to do was kick his boots off and relax in his favorite chair.
A fire blazed in the hearth of his rented rooms, and he held his hands before the heat. His home for the past three summers smelled of sweet herbs and held a bed, a desk and chair, and a trunk for his clothes in one room. Four comfortable chairs, a table, bookcases, and a refurbished settee occupied the other room. He’d built the bookcases himself with wood leftover from a renovated mansion. The wealthy threw away things of value as inconsequential.
Very few furnishings in his home had he purchased, save for his clothes and the candles. Even the books he forced himself to read had been salvaged and repaired. The more he knew of the world, the better. Many were religious tomes about the Father and the Mother. He’d found some on the Lady, all newer volumes. Know your enemy. Also, know your possible ally, though he’d never dealt much with the Father’s devout. Interesting how different some of the texts were from Cere’s beliefs.
At least Martin’s magery allowed him to pick up reading and writing easily, with help from Cere and Esmerla Enys. After all, she wouldn’t want her relative’s future mate to be illiterate, would she, should she and Commander Enys finally wear down Martin’s defenses?
Stone walls, stone floor. Martin’s abilities afforded him lodgings in the oldest reaches of the city, rife with residual magic practiced over the centuries.
Before mages were hunted down like vermin. But the mages had their purpose, even if the general population didn’t understand. Without them, the city might one day fall to ruin.
Several books he’d scrounged told of when ships traveled the seas by magic, not sails, and how mages actually owned shops based on their particular talents, like healing or divination.
Oddly, nowhere in the city thrummed with magical energy quite like the temple and surrounding hill. Why build your fortress among so much magic if you despised those who practiced?
Then again, Cere claimed all magic belonged to the Lady, making a hill filled with power ideal. Plus, it afforded an unparalleled view of the city. No matter how wealthy a person or grand a house, they’d never compare to the opulence of the Lady’s abode. Approaching visitors, either by land or sea, saw the temple before anything else.
Martin returned his book to the shelf and retired to his bedchamber. His gaze fell to the bed. An image came unbidden to mind: the tavernkeeper, naked and splayed on the mattress. Martin dreamed of the image often, to the point where he’d like to ask to see the man’s shoulder to ensure the scar was real and not a product of a dream.
