He had sent for a pitcher of water as soon as he was notified that Ysabeau had arrived at the city gates. As he reached for it, he realised his hands were shaking. He had to take five long, slow breaths to steady them. He poured in only enough to cover the bottom—perhaps one mouthful—and set the pitcher to one side. He was tempted to put in more, but he knew how dangerous this might be. Better to err on the side of caution. He could always drink more if needed.
He waited a moment longer, trying to fully appreciate what a monumental thing he was about to do. The world was about to change. He picked up the Cup in both hands, and after a brief hesitation, brought it to his lips.
The water was cool and fresh. Considering what other benefits it brought, he thought he would never again taste so wonderful a draught. He set the Cup down on his desk with as much reverence as he could, and waited. He had no idea how long it would take—he had found so little information on the Cup. He supposed that so monumental a change might take hours, or even days.
His initial impulse was to cure his hip, once and for all, but he knew that wasn’t how it worked—that needed not just potent magic, but a knowledge of anatomy. That would have to wait until he had time to make sure he could do it right.
He felt no different. How could he tell if it had worked? A test. That was what was needed. Just because he didn’t feel any different didn’t mean that it hadn’t worked. He focussed on creating a floating flame, a particularly good test of a mage’s ability. Strength was obvious both in the flame’s brightness, and in how long the light could be maintained. The room flashed with bright light. It faded quickly as Amaury’s concentration dissolved into giddy laughter. The flash had been larger and brighter than he had ever managed before by so many degrees of magnitude, the two results were barely comparable.
He tried again, to make sure it wasn’t just a fluke. Once more the room was filled with intense light. He held it for a little longer this time, but it was impossible to concentrate with the levels of elation he was feeling. The light faded and disappeared along with his focus.
Amaury slumped back in his chair, still chuckling. Usually his pathetic efforts exhausted him, but after this far more powerful demonstration, he felt no fatigue at all. There was another knock on his door. He considered telling whoever it was to go away, but he had requested regular updates on the sentiment in the city, which he could not afford to ignore.
“Come!” he said.
His secretary entered, bearing the expression he always did when the news was bad. “There’s been trouble in the city,” he said. “A mob attacked some of the Order on the street. Two people were killed.”
Amaury felt his light mood drain away. He cleared his throat. “Brethren or citizens.”
“Citizens, your Grace.”
Amaury nodded. “How has the news been greeted?”
“It’s still spreading, your Grace, but there are already some angry protests.”
“The brethren. Did they use magic?”
“No, your Grace. Steel.”
He nodded again. “Very well. Leave me be a moment. I’ll have instructions for you shortly.”
Amaury waited until his secretary was gone before letting out a sigh. Could he not have one day where everything went his way? He took a breath and tried to focus his mind, wanting to see his light show again. A kernel of light formed in the air in the centre of his office, but it grew no larger. He frowned and tried harder to focus, but nothing happened. He felt a flash of panic. What had gone wrong? He furrowed his brow and willed the tiny mote of light to get larger and brighter. Nothing happened. He slumped in his chair, exhausted now.
Grasping the flagon of water, he refilled the Cup, a little deeper this time. He poured it down his throat, ignoring the voice of concern that said he was being foolhardy. After a moment, he tried again, with all the concentrated determination he could muster. The room filled with a light so bright he had to shield his eyes. He let it go out, then allowed himself to relax. It still worked—it was simply that the effect hadn’t lasted very long. That didn’t tally with what the books had said. Amatus drank from the Cup, then had lifelong powers. Amaury had read nothing about him having to drink from it constantly. He must be using it wrong. But how? He had used the purest water, had drunk deeply. What more was needed?
He remembered the bad news his secretary had brought and chewed his lip for a moment. There was opportunity in everything, he thought. If there were attacks on members of the Order in the city, it might prove the perfect chance to rid himself of an increasingly nagging headache.
CHAPTER 34
Gill had spent the remainder of the previous day in bed. His encounter with Edine had shamed him, and he couldn’t bear it if anyone else were to see him in that state. He awoke that morning feeling better, but still burdened by what had happened. Had the remaining dragon wreaked more havoc while he was asleep? Still, what use would he have been? Hungover. No Cup. He wouldn’t have been able to stop an angry dormouse.
He sat on the corner of his pallet bed, wondering what to do. The Cup was gone, and with it any hope of being able to kill the last dragon. His old friend had been murdered. There was no rambling house in Villerauvais for him to hide in now, nor any fields of vines to keep him supplied with wine and brandy. A gutter in Mirabay was the best he could hope for if he turned his back on Venne, and it was more than he deserved. No, he thought, he had to continue.
Might there be enough of a leftover effect from his last dose from the Cup to get him through the last slaying? He had used it a number of times in a short period of time—perhaps the effect was cumulative? It wasn’t a risk he could take with Val, however. Telling the boy to leave wasn’t the solution. Thus far the lad had been painstakingly loyal and attentive, and there was no way Gill wanted to meet his end knowing he had dragged Val to the same fate.
Then he had it. Use Val’s loyalty to save him. Gill rustled up a pen and some parchment from his travelling bags, and started to write a note. The master at the Academy in Mirabay was an old friend of Gill’s. At least, they had been friends in the past, before Gill had been cast from society in disgrace. He still owed Gill a favour or two, and Gill hoped that, being an honourable man, he would honour them.
As a Banneret of the White, the highest level of graduate the Academy produced, Gill had the right to nominate a person for Academy admission each year. Getting Val in was the easy part, however. Meeting the standards required to stay was far harder. Val would need a year of good instruction and hard training before he would stand a chance. Most who went to the Academy had been training for years. Val was nearly too old to enjoy that luxury. If he wasn’t ready for admission in a year, perhaps a year and a half, his opportunity would pass.
Gill reckoned there was enough left in his family accounts at Laucelin’s bank in Mirabay to pay for a year’s upkeep, training, and other necessaries, as well as cover the boy’s fees for the duration of his time at the Academy. His letter outlined what he wanted for the lad, and how he thought it was best handled. He added a line of thanks, then folded, sealed, and addressed the note before going in search of Val.