Maggie Furey - Aurian

Oh Gods. She splashed wine into a goblet, drank it off, and poured again. I’d give anything, she thought, if only this morning had never happened! “Xt last, she knew what had become of Anvar. Tori had simply claimed that he’d gone, and most people believed that he had run off in the aftermath of Ria’s accident, and left Nexis for good. Her parents, of course, had assumed that he was fleeing his responsibilities to his sweetheart and her unborn child. Sara too had preferred to think of his departure in that light—that way, she could accept Van-nor’s suit without any bothersome feelings of guilt— “At the wine again, stepmother?”

Sara spun round with a curse. Zanna! Vannor’s younger daughter stood in the doorway, glowering, as usual, through her unkempt fringe of thick brown hair that had defied the efforts of a battalion of maids to keep it tidy. Sara bit her lip in vexation. How had the bloody brat crept in so quietly!-

“What do you mean, again?” she mocked, trying to brazen it out. The girl detested her, as she very,well knew, and the feeling was mutual. The last thing Sara needed today was the little wretch stirring up more trouble for her with Vannor!

Antor, the merchant’s little son whose birth had cleared the way for Sara to marry Vannor, was no trouble. He was too small to really know who she was or care, and Sara simply left him to his nursemaids. Corielle, the older daughter, had been easily managed. She was of an age with Sara, and the two girls shared a similar golden beauty. She was also of an age to be extremely interested in men—and not just the scions of the rich merchant houses that her doting father had marked out as suitable suitors. A few occasions of careless chaperoning—of turning a blind eye to the odd love note, and secret tryst—and Sara had won her over. Not so with Zanna, however. Taking after her father in looks, the child was as plain as a pikestaff, but she was too clever by half, and far too knowing to be only fourteen. It simply wasn’t natural!

“Next time, you should tell Gelda to hide the bottle better when she brings it upstairs ...” Though Zanna spoke respectfully to her stepmother when Vannor was in earshot, her tone, in private, was pert and mocking.

Sara’s hands clenched tight around the fragile crystal of the goblet. Gods, how she’d like to strangle the little bitch! When she spoke, her voice was low, and shaking with fury, “Listen, brat—you mention a single word of this to your father, and I’ll make you sorry you were ever bbrnf Do you hear me?”

Zanna’s eyes, beneath that flopping curtain of hair that irritated Sara so, narrowed in calculation, Vannor’s blood ran true in her veins, all right! The minx was a merchant through and through!

“I might not,” Zanna said carelessly, “I’m sure that someone as clever as you can think of some way to make it worth my while!”

It was all too much. “Get out!” Sam shrieked. “Get out now—and send Gelda to clear up this mess!”

Zanna looked down at the shards of porcelain that littered the floor, and her expression changed from smugness to a stony hatred chat was shocking in one so young. “That was Mother’s favorite vase,” she said in a small, tight voice. “Gods, I hate you.”

It was the first time she had actually said the words aloud. Then she was gone, leaving a shaken Sara to pour herself another drink and wonder how, after her own failure to slam the door, the child could have managed it so effectively.

Anvar fought to stay conscious, out of fear of what the Archmage might do to him if he were asleep and helpless. The Lady tried to feed him broth, propping him with one arm while she held the cup of warm liquid to his lips with the other. He couldn’t swallow it. His head throbbed from Jard’s treacherous blow, and his body ached all over. It hurt to breathe. His stomach was knotted in trepidation. When he heard Miathan’s voice, talking to Forral in the outer room, he began to struggle violently, sending the cup flying and drenching both himself and the Mage.

Then the Archmage was in the room, towering over him, his eyes burning with rage. “You!” he snarled, reaching out to haul Anvar to his feet. Anvar cringed back, whimpering. “Miathan, no!” Aurian sounded shocked. “Aurian, don’t interfere,” Miathan said sharply. “The wretch has broken his bond, and must be punished.”

“Punished?” Aurian’s voice rose in disbelief. “He’s been punished enough! Have you seen what Janok did to him?”

“She’s right, Miathan,” Forral said. “This goes beyond the bounds of reason.”

“You mind your own business!” Miathan snapped. “It is my business.” Forral scowled. “It’s my duty to enforce the law in Nexis, and Magefolk or not, I won’t turn a blind eye to such brutality. Even a bondservant has some rights. How would you look if word of this got out?”

Anvar felt a surge of hope. They were defending him. They were both defending him, even the Mage!

Miathan seemed taken aback, but he recovered quickly. “My dear Forral, you misunderstand me,” he said. “Of course there must be no repetition of this unfortunate incident, and I assure you that I will look into the matter—in detail.” He frowned at Anvar as he spoke. “You should know, however, that this man is a troublemaker, and very dangerous.”

“He doesn’t look dangerous to me,” Forral said bluntly. “The poor beggar’s scared out of his wits. Surely you could pardon him this time, Archmage. He’s suffered enough.”

“Please, Miathan—for me?” Aurian added her own plea, looking trustingly at the Archmage. Had it not been for the desperate extremity in which he found himself, Anvar could have laughed at the trapped expression on Miathan’s face.

“Oh, very well,” the Archmage muttered at last. “I shall speak to Janok on my return.”

At the sound of the Head Cook’s name, Anvar moaned. Not the kitchens again! He couldn’t! Desperate, he caught hold of the Mage’s hand as she stood by his side, and levered his weak body down onto his knees. “Don’t let them send me back there,” he begged. “He’ll kill me. Please—”

“Anvar!” Miathan’s voice was like a whiplash. “How dare you! Leave the Lady Aurian alone!” He bore down on Anvar, who cowered away, burying his face in his hands.

“No!” Anvar shrieked. “Please! Don’t hurt me again!” He screamed again as Miathan’s spell took hold, its icy band of agony clamping tightly around his brow. Helpless, he fell twitching to the floor.

“Dear Gods!” Aurian exclaimed, kneeling beside him.

Suddenly the pain was gone. Anvar, able to breathe again, looked up and saw a clear message in Miathan’s glinting eyes. “If you tell, you’ll die! And he knew that Miathan had removed the pain before Aurian could investigate. “It’s all right,” he muttered helplessly. “I’m all right.”

Aurian frowned. “What the blazes was that? I don’t understand ...” She looked at the Archmage. “What did he mean, Miathan? You haven’t hurt him—have you?”

The Archmage laughed harshly. “Don’t be ridiculous! The man is clearly insane.”

“I don’t think so.” Slowly, Aurian shook her head. “No, he’s just terrified, I’m sure. It’s very strange, though. Where did he come from?”

“Really, Aurian, is all this fuss necessary?” Miathan said testily. “Let me send him back to the Academy, then perhaps we can enjoy the rest of the day.”

“Miathan, you can’t send him back to the kitchens,” Aurian pleaded. “Not after what he’s been through. Wait—I know!” Her face suddenly lit up. “You’ve been promising me my own servant for ages. Let me have him!”

“What!” Miathan thundered. “Certainly not! It’s absolutely out of the question!”