“The Little Palace. You were there last night.”
Val nodded, finally placing him as one of the men gathered around the table. “I, yes. I needed a room for the night.” He’d slipped into his deeper than normal voice again.
“What brings you to my salon?”
“I’m looking for instruction.”
“Have you studied with anyone before?”
“A little,” Val said. “I squired for Guillot dal Villerauvais for a time.”
“Dal Villerauvais…” the man said, with a slight smile.
“You know him?”
“We met on a few occasions. But I forget my manners,” the man said. “Banneret of the White Hugo dal Ruisseau Noir, at your service.”
“Val, at yours. Just Val.”
“A pleasure, although I have to admit some surprise at your choice of sword.”
Val felt his hackles rise. “It’s far more useful than that stick you have when you’ve a dragon to face.”
Dal Ruisseau Noir’s eyes widened and he smiled. “You were with him when he faced the dragons?”
“Some of them,” Val said, with as much solemnity as he could muster. His indignation began to fade in the face of dal Ruisseau Noir’s curiosity.
“And you’ve come to the city to seek instruction? With what purpose?”
“Gill gave me his recommendation for the Academy,” Val said. “But I’ve still to—”
“Pass the entrance examinations,” dal Ruisseau Noir said, nodding. “Easier said than done. The next set of exams aren’t until the summer. Two terms away, so there is time. With hard work…”
“You’ll take me on?” Val said. Now that it seemed he might have found a willing instructor, he was starting to have doubts. Was dal Ruisseau Noir any good? Would he be able to help Val reach the standard in the time they had available? Why was his salon so quiet, when all the others were so busy? He supposed there was only one way to find out.
“There is the matter of payment,” dal Ruisseau Noir said.
Val shifted from one foot to the other, trying to work out what kind of deal he could offer. He had enough to pay for a few weeks, but not enough for two full terms of tuition.
Dal Ruisseau Noir smiled. “An impecunious student.” Arms akimbo, he looked about the studio. “As it happens, my apprentice has returned to his home in the country to get away from the current unrest in the city. How does this sound. Four hours’ tuition per day for four hours’ work?”
“What type of work?” Val said. He instantly regretted the question; he should have just taken the man up on the offer. He didn’t think it very likely he’d get another as good.
“Keeping the place clean, sharpening and oiling swords, fetching my lunch, delivering messages, all the things that I have neither the time for nor the interest in doing. Do we have a deal?”
Val nodded eagerly.
“Excellent. You can start with my lunch. The Wounded Lion is two streets over. You can’t miss it. A slice of pie and a flagon of small beer.”
He tossed Val a coin, which Val caught with as much ease as he could muster.
“Try not to let the pie go cold.”
CHAPTER 3
“The Duke of Trelain would like to see you, your Grace. The Dukes of Bonmille and Castelneuve also.”
Amaury smiled at his secretary. “Tell them I’ll make appointments with them all at my earliest convenience.”
Dealing with them would never be a convenience, but there was only so long he could put off the magnates of the realm. His only surprise was that just three dukes had asked to see him. The rest would likely follow in due course. Power, wealth, and position were up for grabs, and everyone would want their slice. The ones he gave a piece to would be his staunchest allies as long as he kept giving them what they wanted, while the rest would hate him for being shut out in the cold.
Despite Amaury’s best efforts, news of the king’s incapacity spread through the city quickly. At first he had been furious, determined to root out how word had slipped beyond the palace walls. However, it seemed as though it had been a stroke of good fortune. The unrest that had been simmering toward the boiling point since he’d announced the Order’s magical dabbling had calmed considerably. He wasn’t sure why, and wouldn’t have cared, were it not for the fact that it might be something he could manipulate and exploit going forward.
What mattered for the time being was that it had bought him breathing space. People weren’t thinking about the scourge of magic being within their city walls, they were thinking about their young king, who was said to be at death’s door. The truth was, Amaury wasn’t sure what the king’s condition was, and neither were his physicians. Amaury didn’t know exactly what he had done to the king, and doubted if he could repeat the act even if he wanted to. It had left him with an equal portion of opportunity and mess.
The opportunity was that he now had the potential freedom to direct the kingdom in keeping with her best interests, meaning he could integrate the Order into Mirabayan society, further invest in study and training, and make sure that Mirabaya was at the cutting edge of magical ability. If any of her neighbours sought to challenge her, they would need to think twice, and when it came to negotiation, they would have a strong bargaining chip to make sure the terms were always favourable.
Mirabay had been primed as the natural successor to the empire—home to the church, and a great centre of science and culture. Were it not for the piratical Ventish and Humberlanders, and the haughty Estranzans, that would have been the case. As it was, with her powerful trading fleets and enormous resultant wealth, even Amaury had to concede that Ostia held that mantle, and it seemed she had been dabbling in magic for some time. He only hoped he was not too late.
Still, Mirabay had advantages peculiar to her history. If his agents managed to find the Temple of the Enlightened, and with it a way to prolong or make permanent the effects of the Amatus Cup, there would be no stopping him. How to use it to the greatest advantage was a matter that often occupied his thoughts, but he rarely had more than a minute or two to devote any attention to it. The king’s ailment, and Amaury’s de facto appointment as regent, had changed everything.
The more he thought about it, the more liberated he felt. In the past, he had preferred to wield power from the shadows. He had seen too many assassination attempts, successful and otherwise, to desire a public mantle of leadership. He had been happy to use a proxy—the previous bishop, the former king once Amaury had ascended the episcopal throne—but now that he seriously thought through the possibilities, having found himself thrust into the open, he could feel the attraction. It was like having shackles removed, or being told that you can do whatever you choose.
Of course, he was not so great a fool as to think that there were no constraints whatsoever. There were the ever-present nobles who would whine and grate at any changes that took coin from their purses or restricted their privileges. Then there was the public. The citizens of Mirabay had an inconvenient but well-deserved reputation for agitation when they didn’t like something. One only had to open a history book to see evidence of the numerous riots and assassinations that had been carried out on waves of popular discontent. Finally, there were economics to consider. To achieve his aims, he needed coin, which meant taxes, which meant all of the above problems, if they were applied too heavily.
As he allowed his mind to drift down this avenue of thought, it felt as though the shackles were going back on. He tried to focus on the positives. To do otherwise would have meant admitting just how alone he was. Before, he had always had adversaries in the battle to win the king’s attention and favour. He had almost always prevailed, but sparring with his opponents allowed him to sharpen his thoughts and strategies. Now, all that was gone, leaving him with an empty sensation that bordered on nausea.