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45: Handbook...
🕑 Added 2023-06-11 05:42:28 +0000 UTCIn the looking glass Mydea found not her own visage, but that of her sister’s. “Chalsi, please tell me this wasn’t made possible by another favor from a friend,” she chided, hands on her hips.
Chalsi rolled her deep green eyes. “If you must know, this call was permitted by the hystors. We’ve just got word about Aspyr. Is he okay?”
It had been four days since Aspyr’s injury, and given how Aigis still lacked access to the mirrorplane, that was approximately how long it’d take for a winged rider in a hurry to reach the Thalassian Athenaeum. On flatland, a horse might have been able to keep pace, but a pegasus had the advantage of bypassing rocky and elevated terrain that its grounded cousins would struggle with. A messenger pigeon might have been faster, but Jorgan—her brother’s valet—wouldn’t have dared use one. Such methods could be intercepted, and their first instinct would be to keep the injury a secret.
Little did they know that Lord Pleonexia knew already; that their efforts were in vain. Still, Mydea could not blame them for being cautious. She would have done the same had she not known better.
“Sister? Mydea?” Chalsi asked, concern showing through her eyes. “Are you feeling alright?”
“I’m fine,” Mydea answered quickly.
“You just … had this blank look all of a sudden. Are you sure you’re well? Do you need to sit?” Chalsi’s eyes narrowed as she scrutinized Mydea’s face.
“No, no, I just was preoccupied with my thoughts. Aspyr is … not fine, exactly, but his life is in no immediate danger for now,” Mydea said. “He was nicked by a cursed weapon of some sort that’s preventing the medicians from healing his arm with the Touch of Water.”
Chalsi winced. “That’s a nasty curse. Do we have any clue what it is?”
“I don’t, and nothing’s been mentioned to me,” Mydea replied. “The pain is making it difficult for him to use a shield, and it’ll be weeks at least before he recovers use of that arm.”
“What about the raids?” Chalsi asked worriedly. “I can ask the hystors for a leave of absence—”
“No!” Mydea said, aghast. “You will stay where you are and complete your studies.”
“But—”
“No buts.” Mydea added steel to her voice. “You are not even of age, and still have years before you must undertake the trials. It is not your time to take up the mantle on our family’s behalf.” How could she allow her little sister to assume such a risk? She was a sweet girl, and wholly unsuited to wielding sword and sorcery on the killing fields.
“Do you mean to leave it to Dad then?” Chalsi asked. “You know as well as I do that the stoneborn will not follow him. There’s bad blood there.”
Mydea nodded. “I’m aware, dear sister. Which is why I will be returning to Aigis soon.”
Chalsi’s eyes nearly popped out of her skull. “You?!”
“I am of age unlike yourself,” Mydea reminded her, “and I have fought before.”
“But you’re in Aelisium. You’re a guest of the Empress and you’re to marry a prince. How can you just leave?”
Mydea sighed. I thought I’d banished such fanciful ideas from her mind last time we spoke? “Put such a thought out of your head. I was never going to marry any prince. As you said, I am a guest of the Empress, but not her prisoner. She will not hold me here against my will forever, and I have cause to return home sooner rather than later. I doubt anyone can begrudge me that.”
“Sister, think this through!” Chalsi cried out, nearly tearing up. “Are you really willing to throw away the chance of becoming a princess-consort just like that? It’s what every girl dreams of!”
Mydea closed her eyes. “I have not been a ‘girl’ for a very long time.” She exhaled and opened her eyes. “Besides, it wouldn’t be my choice to become a princess-consort. It’s exhausting enough keeping our family afloat. Becoming a member of the House Imperial would only exacerbate such tiring circumstances.”
“But you were born for it,” Chalsi said. “Where Aspyr used his swords to keep the wolves at bay, you used your words.”
“Because I had to,” Mydea snapped, exasperation leaking into her words. “Not because I wanted to.” Would anyone wish for such a life? To be isolated from your peers from the very first meeting for reasons beyond your control? To need to fend off their snide remarks day in and day out? To have to answer every trick and scheme and insult with one of your own?
“Oh,” Chalsi said, voice turning small. She had shrunk into herself, sensing the frustration Mydea had revealed.
“You are not to return home.”
“B-but I can help! Even if it’s not with the fighting, I am still a healer.”
“A healer in training.” Mydea paused for a moment to focus on her breathing. “I do not say this to be unkind to you, nor to make light of your abilities. I know that you want to help, but believe me when I say that staying in the athenaeum where you will be safe is the best way you can serve our family right now. We have healers and medicians in Aigis, and I will be returning home soon enough to take the situation in hand.”
Chalsi had no retort, but she could sense her sister hesitating still. “You trust me, don’t you?” Mydea asked.
“Of course I do.”
“Then trust me in this. If things become desperate, I will not keep you in the dark. I will even support your return home. But our hand is not forced yet.”
“You promise?”
Mydea offered her the kindest smile she could muster. “Have I ever lied to you before?”
“No,” Chalsi admitted grudgingly. “Deceit is for foes, not family. But how is Dad taking things?”
Mydea hesitated. “I don’t know actually. We’ve been writing to each other, but haven’t spoken face-to-face in a while.” She had been preoccupied since speaking with Prince Pythos three days prior. Most of her time was spent shut inside the Archive, consulting with the hystors. Before she departed the Imperial City, she was determined to figure out the secrets of her father’s journal and yield aid—any aid—to his research.
“I worry for him,” Chalsi said. “The letter that Jorgan sent me said he seemed … off, ever since Aspyr’s injury. He’s been looking at mirrors a lot lately?”
She heard Troia clear her throat, signaling that the hour had come.
“Put yourself at ease for now. I’ll reach out to you when I know more,” Mydea said. “I have to go speak with the Empress now, Chalsi. Stay out of trouble, and do not dare let your studies slack because of this.”
As she stepped away, Chalsi’s words kept circling in her mind like a fly that wouldn’t leave well enough alone. Father was looking at mirrors more now? That was unusual behavior. He’d never been particularly conscious about his appearance, so why would he start now?
“You will be late if you tarry for much longer, my lady,” Troia gently reminded her as she secured a pearl necklace around Mydea’s neck.
“It wouldn’t do to be late,” Mydea agreed. She stood and cast her idle thoughts aside.
Small wonder it had taken Aspyr over a month before being granted audience. Knowing her brother, he would not have had any allies to speak for him.
While they were stoneborn, and from a house of some prominence, that did not mean so much in the eyes of one who reigned over a thousand lords and ladies. The inheritance of Syngian’s heirs was vast. In the grand scheme of imperial politics, what was Aigis but a fief on the northern marches, a barrier against the Empire’s least dangerous neighbor? To the people of Aelisium the Tuskar were but a distant collection of scattered tribes; ones who posed no threat to the heart of imperial power.
She could not waste this opportunity after the Empress had finally granted her an audience, in no small part due to Lady Lara and Prince Pythos advocating for her at court.
A horseless, arcane carriage awaited her by the gates of the Seraglio, and as she peered out of its curtains, Mydea couldn’t help but notice that the Gatekeepers of Aelisium—the Golds—were out in force on this sunny day. She spotted dozens of bronze-clad gatekeepers armed with hardwood cudgels and round shields either lining the streets, or gathered into clusters at the major intersections. Their officers distinguished themselves with the golden star upon their breasts. The Golds were mostly drawn from the strawborn residents of Aelisium, yet even the least among them would pass for a well-to-do merchant in the Deeplands.
In contrast to the Golds, there were the Whites. The Starguard protected the Empress’ properties and person—from the vast palace complexes which housed the Empress’ guests, to the menacing Stormfall Tower that housed the Empress’ “guests”. Each man and woman was armored in good runesteel; on their left breast was the noble insignia of their house and on their right was the white star of their order.
Only the gods knew which held primacy in their hearts.
Having been in Aelisium for seven weeks and some days, Mydea was a familiar face to the Whites by now and she was ushered through the gates of the Imperial Court without much hassle.
The Imperial Court was not as crowded as during Prince Jaeson’s reception, but even then Mydea dared not call it spacious. Many petitioners, stoneborn and strawborn alike, had come, and it was a certainty that not all of them would be heard before the court adjourned. The High Consistory, the Empress’ most senior officials, was in full attendance today, six standing to either side of Her. To Her Highness’ right was the mailed fist; those steelborn charged with war and peace and law. On Her left was the velvet glove; ministers charged with public works, with the Imperial Household, and with how to pay for it all. Standing with them were the Lord Mayor Principal in spellwoven threads and the Archystor of Aelisium in naught but a sackcloth.
The entirety of the House Imperial was also present—Empress Alcymede’s three daughters and one son, her nephews Prince Jaeson and Prince Pelias, and all of Her Prince-Consorts. With the exception of the lords eminent and the other archystors, all the foremost men and women of the Empire were gathered in this very room.
Prince-Consort Pythos caught Mydea’s eye from among the throng, and he nodded to her. Mydea sighed in relief. His brother had approved of their proposal. It was not the end of their differences, but if the gods were kind, it might be the beginning of the end.
The morning was eaten up by a heated discussion regarding New Thrage—the Empire’s southern neighbor who’d always cast a greedy eye towards the Primemarch. Apparently, spies working for them had been discovered in Aelisium, but they’d evaded both the Whites and the Golds so far. Both the Grand Marshal of the Horse and Grand Captain of the Gatekeepers assured Her Highness that their arrest was only a matter of time.
That hardly seems fair, Mydea thought. It wasn’t as if there was anywhere the alleged spies could escape to, save falling to a grisly death.
From the High Aedile was an update on the planned expansion of the network of paved roads that crisscrossed the Empire like veins and arteries. The lords eminent could be heard through their courtly proxies, asking of the Empress everything. The archystor spoke of portents from the altar and of bookworms plaguing his counterpart in the Heartlands, the Archystor of the Basal Athenaeum. Under the right circumstances, a maw of bookworms could not only eat the words off a page, but devour knowledge itself from existence.
Throughout it all, Her Highness Alcymede maintained a stoic appearance, betraying none of her thoughts. Stoneborn nobility and skyborn royalty argued for and against every course of action, but when the Empress spoke, discussion ended. When the Empress spoke, a matter was decided.
It was nearly noon when the item of imperial importance concluded. An artisan and spellweaver by the name of Victor was honored by the Empress with a platinum star and patronage, earning in that instant a lifetime’s wage. He had succeeded where so many had failed—turning what was once a still sigil into a scene in motion. Talent was the difference between soil and sky.
Had Syngian been known to anyone before he uncovered the mysteries of magic? Was Mydea not the daughter of a soilborn prodigy herself?
So when the court applauded for Victor, she joined in, and she wished him well.
Prince Pelagaeus, the last living brother of Empress Alcymede, cleared his throat. It was clear at a glance where Prince Pelias got his sharp cheeks and handsome brow from. Prince Pelagaeus alone among the feuding imperial siblings had backed Empress Alcymede’s bid for the Starlight Crown nearly three decades prior, and for that service She had raised him to be Her Lord Chancellor of the Consistory. His opinions were second only to the Empress Herself.
“Let us hear the petition from Lady Mydea of House Kolchis,” Prince Pelagaeus announced. “Step forward and make your case, my lady.”
Mydea took a steadying breath as she complied, conscious that every eye in the room had fallen upon her. She wore a tea length bouffant gown made of white tulle, and so protocol dictated she curtsey instead of bow. “If it pleases Your Highness, this lowly one requests leave from Aelisium and Your gracious hospitality. My house and home of Kolchis are threatened by the Tuskar. To defend kin and kith, to defend the Empire, to defend the people—this is my solemn, threefold duty as a steelborn scion.” She curtsied again. “May Your Highness consider carefully.”
“Is Kolchis so bereft,” Princess Lille interjected before the Empress could assent, before it would be a crime to interrupt, “that it must take from Her Highness a daughter-in-law? You have a brother and a sister, do you not?” Her voice was laced with sweetness and schemes.
“My brother, Lord Aspyrtus, received a cursed wound while defending our lands. It prevents him from holding a shield, and I dare not ask him to risk his life needlessly. My sister is young, and not yet a sorcerer in her own right. It would not be proper for her to go in my place.”
“You have a father too, if I recall correctly,” Lille pointed out. “What of him? He is of age, and talented in battle too.”
Father was unsuited to lead, but Mydea would not disparage his name so openly. Her brows furrowed. Why was Princess Lille being so insistent about this? What did she gain from delaying her return home? Schemes were second nature to the skyborn, but they never acted thoughtlessly. “There are circumstances that prevent him from leading. I do not wish to bore Her Highness with the details.”
“Is that so?” Lille said. “Forgive me if it appears that you are too eager to leave, Lady Mydea.”
“What cause do you have to speak such words? Even the Order of the Stone Shield is moving in numbers to bolster the defense of Kolchis!” Prince-Consort Pythos retorted, anger seeping into his words. How many years had it been since a Pleonexia had expressed anger on behalf of a Kolchis? Yet, Kolchis was still vassal to them, and their pride would not accept others bullying their subordinates.
That was a right reserved only for themselves.
Lille clapped her hands ever so lightly. “What excellent news. I’m sure the valor of the Deeplands will prove itself true against the tribesmen. One more sword shan’t change much.”
“You are mistaken, Princess Lille,” Mydea said. “The Empress’ hospitality has been exceptional, but it is still the lands of Kolchis which are threatened, and so it is a Kolchis that must lead. This is the way of the steelborn.”
Lille smiled and in that instant Mydea realized she had fallen into a trap. “It is you who is mistaken. Have you forgotten why courtesy was extended to House Kolchis? You were not invited to the Imperial City to speak to the hystors or to see the splendor of the Empire.” She turned to face the Empress now. “You were invited here that you might be considered for my cousin’s hand in marriage. Yet, in the three days since Prince Jaeson’s arrival, you’ve not so much as glanced at him.”
The implications shook Mydea. She had known that she would never be Jaeson’s bride, and they’d spoken much while he still wore the face of his valet … but the rest of the court didn’t know that, or wouldn’t speak of it openly. To them, it must seem like she was avoiding Jaeson intentionally to avoid being selected.
To them, it must seem she thought herself too good for the Empress’ favored nephew, and that was an insult the Empress would keep in her heart longer than any breach of etiquette.
Out of the corner of her eye, Mydea spotted Prince Jaeson shooting his mouthy cousin an ugly look, but he kept his quiet. There’d be no help from that quarter. Was Lille doing this to weaken the Deeplands? Perhaps she wanted to drive a wedge between Kolchis and Pleonexia? She had Bloomling blood on her father’s side, and their original sin was finding cause to meddle in the affairs of others.
“One wonders why you have taken such an interest in this woman in particular?” Lady Lara spoke up. “There are many young ladies in the Seraglio, and not even I keep such a close eye on all of them.”
“My Imperial Mother has always longed to marry off my beloved cousin and see his line flourish,” Lille responded. “It is the duty of a daughter to share her mother’s concerns, and I spied great potential in Lady Mydea.”
“Your Excellency might have overlooked that before Prince Jaeson’s arrival, I spent many days speaking with his valet, Tomas. From those candid conversations, I gleaned that the prince might not find this lowly one suitable. I thought to withdraw gracefully, and spare all involved some face.”
That struck Lille silent for a moment, and Mydea relished what little victory that was. Had she thought that Mydea would cling to her pride, that she would not let it be trampled to avoid disaster? Vanity was the sin of the Vaynes’, not hers.
“That should be for my cousin to decide,” Lille retorted, but not quickly enough. The delivery made her sound desperate, and she knew it too. “It is said that love is the most powerful of spells known to man, for it can transform a person in so many ways; it can drive one to greater heights! Would it not be a tragedy if my beloved cousin missed out on his chance to find true love, if at the last step we stumbled? Surely it would do no great harm for Lady Mydea to stay just a few more days, so that she and he can be certain of their feelings and leave things without regrets.”
Lille bowed to Her Highness. “May Your Highness consider carefully.”
“May Your Highness consider carefully,” Mydea echoed.
The Empress did not speak for a whole minute, peering into their very souls with Her eyes of imperial silver. “There is merit to what both of you say. Let Lady Mydea remain a guest of ours a while longer, that all may move forward with certainty. But I am not unsympathetic to the plight of Kolchis. The Imperial City shall remain anchored in place, and in this way Lady Mydea will not lose more time traveling home, if she still wishes to after a sennight.” She turned to Lille. “I am sure the Everbloom can provide for the needs of My city.”
Lille looked triumphant, though that it would be the Everbloom bearing the cost of feeding Aelisium must surely have stung. Prince Pythos looked furious at the decision, but could not say anything against it. The other skyborn shared strange looks, unsure of what game Lille was playing, but did not care to involve themselves in it.
It was a mistake for the Empress to anger House Pleonexia for the sake of Her favored nephew’s marriage, but in the end, even the stoic Empress was not yet divinity. Affection was the weak underside to Her like it had been for so many of Her predecessors.
—Handbook—
With the afternoon came the conclusion of Vivyan’s wager with Miryam. Spectating games of Eminent Domain was not a hobby of Mydea’s, but after how Princess Lille had spoken at court, she’d be a fool not to come and at least feign interest.
Someone had decided to make a show of the event, even putting a mirror on the ceiling directly above the hexagonal board which then projected the board state to other, further mirrors situated around the ballroom. The magic behind it was a simplified mimicry of the mirrorverse; localized and lacking as a means of communication. The image was crystal clear, so it was competent work, even if not particularly inspired.
Not everyone can be a talent, Mydea thought as she joined Ladies Abygail and Talia by a bowl of polished obsidian, filled with water. Runes kept the water from rippling, and Mydea watched as Vivyan and Jaeson took turns placing down tiles.
“Are they playing with terrain?” Mydea asked.
Talia nodded. “Weather too, though I haven’t the faintest idea how that work,” she said in a smoky and slightly hoarse voice.
“The board they’re using is special,” Abygail explained, cooling herself with a rigid, circular silk fan depicting a herd of horned rams. She pointed to the edges of the board, where something was written, though Mydea could not make out the language. There was something strangely familiar about it however. “Look at the cursive script. There’s a spell there that’s tasked with randomizing the weather at play.”
“That answers how they’ve done it, but not how it plays,” Talia said.
Abygail shook her head. “I can’t help you there. I’ve never had much of a head for the game.”
“Likewise,” Mydea agreed. She didn’t care much for war, preferring to use her words instead of her swords. Jaeson had said that it was a game meant to simulate battle, and for that reason there were two ways to win: topple the crown, or seize the castle. Either would be the death of a kingdom.
The players finished laying out the landscape, and then placed a divider between them so that neither could see the other’s half of the board. It was said there were half a hundred ways one could play Eminent Domain, and this particular rule was the fog of war. Had they played without it, they would have placed their pieces on the board sequentially. Mydea had gained a passing familiarity with the basics of the game, in no small part due to having to sit through several of them while Vivyan trained against the old Tomas.
“Shall we wager, Lady Talia?” Abygail asked, a glint of mischief in her eye. “I’d ask you as well Lady Mydea, but what is it you like to say? ‘I do not gamble if I do not have to’?”
Am I becoming predictable? Mydea thought idly as Abygail and Talia hashed out terms. It was a foolish risk on Talia’s part. Custom dictated she must pin her hopes on Vivyan, but her odds of winning were slim. To bet against Vivyan would be to bet against the Deeplands, and Talia could not bear the consequences of that. An array of prizes were considered from favors to small fortunes, before they decided on some relatively modest possessions—the fan in Abygail’s hand and Talia’s favorite incense burner.
The stakes were appropriate for a friendly wager, especially when what was risked could be redeemed for some sum of money. Only the most vicious of victors would refuse redemption.
At last, the players placed down the last of their pieces and the divider was lifted. Prince Jaeson’s army was formed up in his usual style, the pattern of it rhyming with those formations he had used as Tomas. His pikes, slow and immobile, were placed as far forward as possible. It was a sensible choice given that they were the most numerous pieces by far, making up nine of the twenty and four pieces to a set. True to life, their commonness made their lives cheap, and they were oft used as shields. Luckily, the pikes in the game happened to be invulnerable to most forms of attack from the one hex they faced directly.
On one flank, Jaeson had massed his cavalry and ranged pieces—a pair of wings and slings and a triad of lances—to one side of the board, while keeping his other ranged units and his mage behind his pikes. It left his other flank dangerously exposed however, and with how close to the front he’d positioned both the crown and castle, the formation could not be described as anything other than a gamble.
That was a perilous habit of Jaeson’s, but great risks could reap great rewards. For having his crown and castle closer to the center, he had the privilege of moving first if he wished to. He went on the offensive immediately, sending a wing across a river first, and then a mountain on its second move. It entirely bypassed the valley choke that Vivyan’s pikes occupied, and threatened to rout her frontline.
Vivyan had complained about that piece plenty, calling its ability to move twice, unimpeded by terrain or other pieces, “silly”. Mydea cared not a whit if it was or wasn’t, but she found its strengths realistic.
“That’s a pegasus, isn’t it?” Abygail asked.
“Avid fans of the game call it a wing,” Mydea answered, “but it’s clear what it’s meant to represent.” What else could dominate the skies of any battlefield? The hystors of the athenaeum lectured about how the domestication of pegasi had altered their way of war. How many kings and queens and peoples had ignored the clouds above, to their own undoing? Some scholars even argued it had revolutionized warfare as much as Syngian’s magic had.
Mydea knew this better than anyone. The fate of her house had been tied to the pegasi since their earliest days, when Noeh the Knowing escaped to the Deeplands during the last hours of Old Ilyos on a pegasus. Kolchis had fed and bred the pegasi for generations, and her own Snowscorn could claim direct descent from the legendary Chrysaor.
It was that same flock that formed the bedrock of their power today, for even in the vastness of the Empire, there were only so many places suitable for raising foals. One required both plentiful grassland to feed them, and great heights from which they could practice flight.
Many houses had tried to find alternatives to pegasi; many had failed. Yet, if one did succeed, oh what reward it would yield! Not even the most potent signature spells could humble the house that mastered the skies!
“The game’s completely lost on me,” Talia said. “Who’s winning?”
“Prince Jaeson, I think?” Abygail sounded uncertain.
“I can’t tell either,” Mydea confessed. Few pieces had been traded thus far, but there was a great entanglement in the center. On the right flank where Jaeson’s incursion began, pieces danced back and forth to some unsung song of action and reaction. Each and every move from either side created threats she could perceive, and doubtless more that she couldn’t.
Abygail suddenly pointed with her fan towards the cursive script that lined the board, sections of it now glowing brightly. “The script is activating! It seems to be snow.”
Vivyan shivered, her penchant for sundresses faring poorly against the sudden drop in temperature. Tiny snowflakes fell from the ceiling onto their board, coating it in a fine layer of white.
“How did you know it would snow?” Mydea asked.
Abygail blinked. “The script tells you.”
Talia pointed at the cursive text that was both familiar and foreign. “You can read that?”
“I know it takes some getting used to, but it’s just the High Speech,” Abygail said. “The mystics across the Splendid Sea are fond of this style of calligraphy.”
Mydea squinted at the text.
“The words are flipped through the mirror,” Abygail continued, “but believe me, it’s the same language.”
“The letter that Jorgan sent me said he seemed … off, ever since Aspyr’s injury. He’s been looking at mirrors a lot lately?” Chalsi’s words came unbidden.
It couldn’t be… could it?
Hadn’t the hystor and diviner she’d consulted stated that Ro-on, deity of scripts and secrets and spoken words, claimed it was the Old Tongue?
“Please excuse me.” Mydea stood abruptly. “I have to go.”
Her companions shared a look. “Is everything alright?” Talia asked.
“Perfectly fine.” Mydea put on a reassuring smile. “I just realized I’ve forgotten something important in my room. I’ll be back soon.”
“Do hurry,” Abygail said. “The game doesn’t look close to over, but one never really knows with Eminent Domain.”
She nodded to them and walked away, resisting the urge to bolt into a dead sprint. As she neared the doors, Troia fell into step behind her without a word. Only when they had evaded any pairs of judging eyes did Mydea up her gait to the hurried half-run that was still appropriate for the inner sanctums of Aelisium. Thankfully, with all the attention on Jaeson and Vivyan, there weren’t many people stalking the halls of the Seraglio at this time of day.
Mydea barged into her room, ignoring her maids Khloe and Ida as they offered her a startled curtsey. She spotted Toia urging the pair away out of the corner of her eye. When the two of them were alone, Mydea walked over to her trunk and carefully lifted out the black journal of her father’s, bound in leather and linked by mimicry to its twin soul.
She flipped it open—and screamed.
Across its pages were a handful of wriggling, ugly worms that left the space behind them empty. She flung them away with several flicks, leaving them struggling on the floor. Then, with great vindictiveness, she smashed her heel into them one by one. Had the bookworms merely devoured the words of her father, or had they erased even his knowledge of them?
That was the insidious nature of bookworms—it could not be known without deep study, for you did not know what you did not know.
Her room was not the Archive, that bookworms would come hunting here on their own. They had been brought in on purpose.
“Subdue both of them,” Mydea ordered. Troia picked up a knife, and murmured an incantation under her breath. Both maids were spies, and it hardly mattered which one had done the deed for now. They had to be kept from escaping.
She studied the journal carefully. The bookworms could only have been placed recently, for many of the pages were still whole. The journals of her father were already an esoteric magic—twinned and bound to each other such that any writing that appeared on one would appear in the other as well. Did that mean, however, that if the bookworms ate through one journal, they would also eat through the other?
When the last line of lore in existence was devoured, the bookworms could reach deep into the minds of mages and snuff it out.
Mydea unclenched her fists, leaving deep nail marks in her palms. Debtors and death, one would always collect, she thought, breathing in deep. What was owed to her house would be paid in full.
Wordlessly, she sat down beside a mirror and placed the journal right next to it. Then, she looked at the mirror, and like Abygail had said, like she’d suspected, it was indeed a mirrored calligraphy. The words of Old Ilyos could be read through the reflecting glass. She read and read, flipping through the pages eagerly as she took in her father’s lifework.
It was a signature spell, as she’d long suspected. But she had not realized the heights of his ambitions.
The half-formed spell was for flight unaided, a spell that could subjugate even the skies.
