Patricia Briggs: Masques

With a half smile, Aralorn clarified, “I get paid for my work.”

“Sianim mercenary.”

She nodded. “Pardon me for asking, but how did you see past the illusion of the snowfalcon that the ae’Magi placed on the cage?”

“Is that what you’re disguised as?” His smile made him look even younger than he really was. “I wondered why no one said anything about the beautiful woman he had in the cage.”

Interesting. He saw through the ae’Magi’s illusion but not her altered shape. No one had ever called Aralorn beautiful. Not in those tones. Maybe it wasn’t only altruism on his part that had him offering to free her. That made sense, though; when she’d taken the likeness of the slave girl, magic had altered her—not just other people’s perceptions of her as the ae’Magi’s illusion did.

She felt eyes on her and glanced up under her lashes to see the ae’Magi not ten paces away, staring at Myr in fascination.

Myr might have been young and impetuous, but he wasn’t dumb. He caught the subtle tension of her body.

“Aren’t you a pretty thing,” he murmured softly, though a little louder than he’d been speaking before. “I wonder if you are trained to glove and jess?”

“Ah, I see you admire my falcon, Lord.” The deep, resonant voice of the ae’Magi could have belonged to a musician. Not only was the Archmage physically beautiful; he even sounded beautiful.

Myr straightened abruptly, as if taken by surprise, and turned to look at the ae’Magi, who strolled up to stand next to him in front of the ornate cage.

“She is extraordinary, isn’t she?” the ae’Magi continued. “I purchased her a month or more ago from a traveling merchant—she was captured somewhere in the Northlands, I believe . . . I thought she would go well with this room.” He waved a casual hand that managed to indicate the rest of the hall.

Aralorn had grown adept at reading the ae’Magi’s voice, and his tone was just a little too casual. She wondered if he’d also heard the stories of the odd talent said to crop up in the Rethian royal family.

Reth was a small country in size but rich in minerals and agriculture. It also had a well-trained army, left as the legacy of Myr’s grandfather. Its army had served to keep Reth independent every time the Anthran Alliance had periodically tried to swallow it over the past few centuries. Myr was a very new king, and certain conservative political factions would have been happier had he been the same kind of puppet as his father. But there were enough houses who would support him against all comers that Myr should be safe even from the Archmage. She didn’t know why she thought the ae’Magi might harm Myr. Maybe it was because part of her still believed she owed fealty to the royal house of Reth, and it made her overprotective. Maybe it was the way the ae’Magi reminded her of a cat watching a mouse hole.

The sweet interest in the ae’Magi’s face gave Aralorn cold chills. Be careful, she silently urged Myr.

Myr turned to the magician with a smile and more confidence than a boy his age should have had. “Yes, the ivory tinge is the same as the color in the marble here. It’s unusual to see a snowfalcon this far south; you must have paid a great deal for her.”

The two men talked at length about falconry, something that Aralorn happened to know interested neither of them. When they had exhausted the subject, the ae’Magi abruptly changed topics.

“My dear Myr,” said the ae’Magi, “please accept my condolences upon the untimely death of your parents. I had no opportunity to talk to you at the funeral. I sent a note, of course, but I wanted to speak to you face-to-face.”

Myr started to speak, but the ae’Magi laid a long-fingered hand on Myr’s shoulder, effectively forestalling what the younger man might have said.

“If you have need of anything, feel free to turn to me. I have connections and substantial power as the ae’Magi, and you may need what aid I can offer. It has never been easy to ascend the throne, especially now with the Uriah restless in the eastern forests. Not to mention that there are always opposing factions or”—he hesitated, waving his hand expressively—“other enemies.”

With professional interest, Aralorn heard the slight edge of guilt in his voice. It was masterfully done and reminded her that the former rulers of Reth had been killed after leaving one of the ae’Magi’s elaborate parties. No one had ever implied that the accident might have had more sinister causes. She wouldn’t have thought about it on her own—but, given what she now knew, Aralorn would have been astonished to discover the Archmage didn’t have something to do with the king’s death.

She wondered if Myr knew why the ae’Magi apparently had such interest in him. She could all but smell the wizard’s intent. She just couldn’t tell why he was so intent. Myr suspected something; his distrust was obvious from his little charade.

Myr bowed his head quickly to acknowledge the offer without accepting it. “I know my parents counted you their friend. I appreciate your offer.” He smiled apologetically. “I have enjoyed our conversation, but I must excuse myself. You see”—he leaned in closer, as if confessing an embarrassing secret—“I just bought a new stallion, and I’m not sure I trust him on the trails after dark.” His face lost its eagerness for a moment. “After what happened to my parents, sir, I feel a need to be overly cautious.”

Had that been a dig? Don’t bait him, she thought urgently. Don’t bait him.

The magician smiled understandingly. “I’ll summon your servants for you.”

Myr shook his head. “I left them outside with orders to meet me an hour before dark.”

“The gods follow you, then.” The Archmage paused. “I hope you know that your father was so proud of your courage and strength—you do credit to your lineage. I wish that my own son had been more like you.”

To Aralorn’s sensitive ears, the magician’s voice held just the right amount of pain. She wondered why she hadn’t noticed before she’d been assigned here that his emotions were always perfectly calculated.

“Lord Cain could not be termed a coward or weak, sir.” Myr’s voice held a matching amount of sympathy, as false as the ae’Magi’s. He should have just thanked him and left, gotten out of his sight and hoped the ae’Magi forgot all about Reth and its young king.

“No,” the ae’Magi agreed, “I think that it would have been better for all of us if he were a coward. He would have done less harm.”

The ae’Magi kept his dark magics secret, but his son had performed them in the broad light of day.

Aralorn had never met Cain: He’d disappeared before she’d become involved in her present occupation. She’d heard the rumors, though—they got worse with each telling. But Myr would have known him; the ae’Magi and his son had been frequent visitors to his grandfather’s court.

The stories put the ae’Magi in the role of a grieving father, forced to strip his son of magic and exile him. Aralorn suspected that the boy had died rather than been exiled. It would have been inconvenient if someone had questioned where the ae’Magi’s son had learned so much about forbidden magic. As he’d told her himself, the ae’Magi preferred to avoid controversy.

“Be that as it may”—with apparent effort the ae’Magi dismissed the thought of his son—“your servants will probably be awaiting you even now.”

“Yes, I should go. You may be sure I shall remember your gracious offer of assistance if ever I need help.” With that, Myr bowed once more and left.

Watching Myr’s broad back as he strode through the room, the ae’Magi smiled—the slight imperfection of one crooked eyetooth lending charm to the more perfect curve of his lips. “What a clever, clever child you have grown to be, Myr.” His voice purred with approval. “More like your grandfather every day.”