“It’s not a matter of leaving it,” Dakon said, shrugging. “Or of meeting appropriate women. While I have met women I would have liked to marry – and the feeling was reciprocated more than once – I have not yet met a woman who liked the idea enough to leave the city and her friends and family, and live in Mandryn. You haven’t discovered this for yourself, having married before you moved here. Young women of the country are desperate to move to the city, and those in the city are not keen to leave it. Your idea is hardly going to cause the distraction you hope for. They’re more likely to make a point of ignoring me.”
“Oh.” Narvelan looked disappointed. “Now that you mention it, Celia does often complain about how boring it is in the country.”
“I travel to the city every year to visit friends and deal with trade issues. There is no need for anyone to suspect another agenda.”
Narvelan nodded. “So, when do you think you’ll leave?”
“Not for a few weeks.” As the young magician opened his mouth to protest, Dakon raised a hand to stall him. “Something else happened this last week. I have a new apprentice.”
“Ah. An apprentice. I suppose I shall have to think about taking one on soon. Should I approach a likely family? Is that how you found yours?”
“No, this one is special. A natural.”
Understanding entered the magician’s gaze. “A natural! How exciting!”
“It certainly has been.”
Narvelan nodded. “You are stuck here. You can’t leave him behind untrained and taking him with you would be unfair on the people you stayed with. So, will I get to meet him?”
“You’ll get to meet her at dinner, if you are planning to stay.”
“Her?” Narvelan’s eyebrows rose. “Yes. My healer’s daughter.”
“Well then, I’m definitely going to stay for dinner.”
“Hopefully it will be her charming personality that provides the entertainment, not a stray bit of magic. I don’t mind having to repair and redecorate one of the seating rooms, but the dining room could be a touch expensive.”
Narvelan’s eyes widened. “Repair a seating room?”
“Yes. The signs of her first use of magic are rather hard to miss.”
“Can you show me, or has the work already been done?”
Dakon smiled. “Not completely. It’s still fairly impressive. I’ll show you later tonight.”
While most people say the law allows magicians to do whatever they like, the truth is we are still restricted in what we can do,” Lord Dakon said.
Tessia watched him pace the library, as he usually did when lecturing. Her lessons for the last few weeks had consisted of short attempts at control, much like her first lesson, and these longer ones in which he taught her about the laws of Kyralia, some history which she had already learned from her father but was interested to hear from the perspective of magicians, and how her learning would be structured over the years to come. He often diverged from the chosen subject, moving into Sachakan culture and politics, or telling her about trading his ley’s goods with other landowners in the country or the city, and the convoluted world of Kyralia’s most powerful families.
“The first restriction is that nothing we do harms Kyralia,” he continued. “Now, what is harmful and what is not can be subjective. Building a dam may solve water storage problems, but it also floods land above it and restricts how much water flows below it. A mine, kiln or forge upstream may bring prosperity there, but it may foul the water and poison fish, crops, livestock and people downstream.” Dakon stopped pacing to regard her.
“Ultimately the king decides what is classed as harmful. But before the matter can be brought to his attention, a long and formal process must be carried out and mediation between the complainant and the magician attempted. Without this process he would face an impossible number of cases to decide.” He grimaced. “I won’t go into detail on the process right now, or we’ll be stuck on the subject for the rest of the afternoon. Do you have any questions?”
Tessia was ready for the enquiry. If she didn’t ask questions, Dakon would lecture her on how necessary it was for her to do so. No question was too silly or irrelevant, he had assured her.
But Apprentice Jayan clearly didn’t agree. Whenever she had lessons with him in the afternoon to make up for being called out to help her father in the morning – fortunately only three times so far – she would return cheerful only to spend an uncomfortable afternoon conscious of Jayan’s half-hidden snickers, sighs and disdainful looks.
It made her reluctant to ask questions, and determined to only ask ones that didn’t sound foolish.
“The king is a magician,” she said. “Does he face the same restrictions? Who decides whether what he does is harmful or not?”
Dakon smiled. “He is, indeed, a magician and he does face the same restrictions. If he is ever accused of harming his kingdom, the lords of Kyralia must decide if the accusation is correct – and we must all agree, if action is to be taken.”
“What action would you take?”
“Whatever is appropriate for the crime, I imagine. There is no set action or punishment scribed in law.”
“The king isn’t a strong magician, is he?”
She heard a snort from where Jayan was sitting, but resisted turning to look at him.
“That is a rumour and is incorrect,” Dakon said. “A magician’s natural ability may be small or large, but that is irrelevant once higher magic is learned. Then his or her strength is based entirely on how much magic has been taken from apprentices. Of course, a magician may choose to not have an apprentice and to rely entirely on natural strength – not every magician has the time or inclination to teach. The king does not have time to train apprentices because his prime responsibility is the state of the country. He is allowed to receive magic given by other magicians – usually from a small group of loyal friends, sometimes as payment for a debt or favour.”
Tessia considered this quietly. Sometimes the city sounded like a completely different world rather than the capital of her country.
A soft cough from Jayan caught Dakon’s attention. He smiled crookedly. “I will tell you more another time. Now, I think we’ve covered enough law and history. It is time we tested your control again. No, stay where you are.”
She stopped, having half risen from her seat. “We’re not going out into the fields?”
He nodded. “You are past the most dangerous stage, I think. Can you recall using magic unintentionally at all in the last week?”
She thought back, then shook her head.
“Good. Now, let’s get into a more comfortable position.”
He took a seat beside her, and the two of them turned their chairs so they faced each other. She could see Jayan now, sitting in the corner of the room. He was watching them, his brow creased by a faint frown.
She held out her hands to Lord Dakon. As the magician took them in a light grip, she closed her eyes. Then she opened them again, looking at Jayan, and caught an undisguised curl to his lips – a sneer of disdain or displeasure that was quickly hidden. She felt a stab of dismay, followed by curiosity.
He really doesn’t like me, she thought. I wonder why.
Possible reasons ran through her mind, upsetting her ability to calm it and focus. Was it her humbler upbringing? Was it because she was a woman? Did she have some habit that disgusted or irritated him?
Or, she suddenly thought, was it resentment? Had he lost something when she had become Dakon’s apprentice? Status? No, her presence here wouldn’t prevent him from becoming a magician or endanger any connections or influence he or his family had.
Whatever it was, it must concern Dakon. The magician was the only person in Mandryn that Jayan might want something from. Then a solution finally dawned on Tessia. Dakon did not have children. She had assumed that if he never did, the ley would go to another relative, as had been the case for Narvelan’s predecessor, Lord Gempel. But maybe apprentices could inherit leys.