D’arvan, in the meantime, was being torn in two by the cruel turn events had taken. On the one hand he was anxious to obtain the release of Parric, Vannor, and the two Xandim, and go to the assistance of Aurian, who had a right to expect his aid. On the other, he was desperate to remain with Maya, especially now that she was expecting his child. She was the one with all the courage.—She insisted that Aurian needed him, that she herself would be fine during his absence, yet he dreaded leaving her behind, unable to escape with Hellorin’s sorcerous chain around her neck, and at the mercy of his father’s capricious whims. What would become of her if he perished at the hands of Eliseth? And if he should return—what then? He had given his word to his father that he would conquer and rule the city of Nexis, as Hellorin wanted.
“Are you just going to stand there all night?” Hellorin barked, dissolving D’arvan’s troubled reverie. “I thought you were in desperate haste to abandon us and return to your friend the Mage.”
D’arvan frowned at the rancor in his father’s tone. “I am also a Mage—or do you choose to forget that? And am I not proof that you don’t detest all Magefolk? I fail to understand why you, of all people, would persist in continuing this ancient enmity. None of the Mages living now had anything to do with the imprisonment of the Phaerie.” He met his father’s eyes, glad of a chance to revenge himself a little on the Forest Lord. “Or can it be, my Lord, that your grievance is not with all of the Magefolk, but only with Lady Eilin, Aurian’s mother?”
“Do not mention that woman’s name to me!”
“According to what I hear from Parric, she seems less than impressed with you, also,” D’arvan retorted dryly. “Now, my father,” he went on with a malicious smile. “Shall we resume our work with the Mortal?”
“Do as you please. You may report to me when—and if—you succeed.” Glowering thundrously, Hellorin stalked out, slamming the door behind him.
D’arvan stood a moment longer, relishing his small victory. He triumphed over his powerful father so seldom that these rare moments were worth savoring.—Maya emerged from the bedchamber, stretching and rubbing sleepy eyes. The changes the Phaerie healers had made in her body would balance themselves out as her pregnancy progressed, but for now their magical intervention had left her tired, and a little more fragile than her normal, robust self.
“What was wrong with Hellorin?” she asked. “Did I hear the sounds of a royal tantrum?”
The Mage shrugged. “I committed the heinous offense of mentioning the Lady Eilin. On that particular subject his temper is so short it’s almost nonexistent.”
“He only has himself to blame, as far as I can see.” Maya perched herself on the edge of the table, swinging her legs. She was dressed now in rich, silken Phaerie robes that had been altered by Mortal seamstresses to suit her smaller stature. The glowing, jeweled colors suited her dark, delicate beauty, but could not hide the glint of the abominable slave chain around her neck. In that moment, D’arvan was overcome by the depths of his love for her. He put his arms around, her, resting his cheek against her silken, scented hair.
“I’ll make this up to you,” he promised. “When I get you out of here and we return to Nexis, that accursed chain will come off, and you’ll be a Queen.”
“When we return to Nexis,” Maya answered soberly, “I’ll be a traitor.”
20
Flying Sorcery
The thin air held no sound save the whine of the wind and the reverberant thunder of Sunfeather’s immense red-gold wings. From this height, it seemed possible to see the entire world. . . . And one day, I shall rule it all, Eliseth thought. She reveled in the excitement of soaring so perilously high, with an abyss of empty air beneath her and the jagged rocks below, and luxuriated in the strength of Sunfeather’s strong arms around her, bearing her securely aloft. As a Weather-Mage, it gave her an overwhelming feeling of power to touch the winds, to flirt with the sunshine and penetrate the clouds from which she drew the essence of her magic. How the Magewoman wished her own race had been fortunate enough to possess the gift of flight! I could have achieved so much more, she thought. Still, at least she could borrow Sunfeather’s wings, and he was so besotted with her that he was always happy to oblige.
Today she needed the escape of flight more than ever, to clear her thoughts and help her gain perspective on the new challenges that awaited. The unheralded vision of Aurian had come as a shock indeed, for lately, Eliseth had been too involved in her own schemes to give much thought to her rival.—Indeed, Aurian had taken so long to return to the world that the Weather-Mage had almost ceased to count her as a threat—until now.
I was lucky to be warned in time, Eliseth thought, for I’m sure Aurian had no intention of exposing herself to me that way. It must have been an accident or carelessness on her part. The Magewoman frowned. But where in the name of perdition was she? What was that colorless, misty place? There was something weird and unnatural about her surroundings . . . she didn’t recognize them.—And it wasn’t a clear scrying, either—the vision seemed to be rippling, almost as though she looked up at the scene through water, but how could that be?
“Why so preoccupied today?” Sunfeather murmured in the Magewoman’s ear.—Eliseth was about to make him a short reply, but changed her mind. “It’s nothing to worry you. Will you take me back now, Sunfeather?”
“Surely there’s no hurry?” the Skyman breathed. His hands began to move across her body. “I had thought we might stay out here awhile.. ..”
Eliseth was tempted. It had not taken her long to discover the thrill of midair coupling with the winged man. Having tried it, she hadn’t been at all surprised to find that this was the way the Skyfolk usually mated. Today, unfortunately, there were other matters that must occupy her time. “No!” she told Sunfeather firmly. “That is—not today, my dear one. Take me back to Aerillia, please. I have work to do.”
Having been flown back to the temple of Yinze by an aggrieved and peevish Sunfeather, the Weather-Mage returned to her secret chambers in the catacombs beneath the building. She locked the door behind her and shed her furred cloak. The roams were spacious and equipped with every possible luxury—and it was just as well, the Magewoman thought, for she spent a considerable amount of her time in them, lurking like a spider on the periphery of her web. For though, in truth, Eliseth ruled Aerillia now, few of the Winged Folk were actually aware of her existence. Had they known, they would never have countenanced a Mage as their ruler.
Eliseth poured mulled wine from the pot that stood in a metal rack affixed to the top of the brazier, and sat down, pulling a furred blanket over her lap against the inevitable drafts. The damnable Winged Folk, she thought, never seemed to feel the cold at all, but sadly, she was far less impervious. Her chambers, with their curving walls, were in a hanging turret, one of several that thrust out from the mountainside below the level of the temple. The furnishings were a peculiar but comfortable blend of Aerillian and Nexian styles, for she had complained to Skua and Sunfeather until they had a proper couch made for her, in place of the spindly Skyfolk seats that she found so uncomfortable, and a proper bed in which she could stretch out. The bathing facilities, too, had been altered from the ice-cold cascade that flowed directly from peaktop cisterns. A bathtub had been fashioned and installed, though heating water on the brazier was such a long, agonizingly slow process that baths were a rare treat, and were shallow and tepid even at best.—The quarters were spartan by Eliseth’s standards, but she supposed that she could put up with them for a little while longer. Only a few months ago, this place had seemed a refuge of comfort and luxury after a long and grueling journey from the Xandim plains.