Opening gambit, p.4
Opening Gambit, page 4
The courtier leading the way bowed low and rapped his staff against the floor. Conversation fell to whispers.
“Your Majesties, may I present your newest mage, Lady Seraphina Winyard.” He swept to one side, revealing Sera behind him.
Remembering everything Abigail had taught her, and painfully aware of all the eyes boring into her, Sera executed the perfect deep curtsey and kept her gaze focused on the floor in front of her. She must be bidden to rise or commit a breach of etiquette. Silk rustled and a silver gown glided into view. A gloved finger was placed under her chin, and her face was raised to that of the queen.
“How extraordinary to finally set eyes upon our woman mage. You did not tell us, Lord Branvale, that she had grown into such a striking woman. Not pretty like so many ladies, but almost as though one senses the magic coursing under her skin, it demands your attention,” Queen Charlotte said.
Sera rose as the queen returned to her seat. She clasped her hands lightly before her and set her shoulders straight and her head high. The court scrutinised her every move and if she clutched at herself too tightly or curled her posture, they would read her uncertainty and pounce like hounds on a wounded fox.
She paused for only a moment before addressing the royal couple. “King George, Queen Charlotte, having reached the age of eighteen, I present myself to you as one of England’s mages. I stand before you to claim what is now due to me—a property and an allowance, in return for my devoted service to England.”
Silence fell across the throne room, apart from a few startled coughs. Lord Branvale stepped forward and cast her a withering look before he turned to the king. “She is not ready, Your Majesties. Her mind struggles to retain spells and her efforts are…lacklustre. I have the agreement of the Mage Council that she must remain under my tutelage for at least another ten years.”
Sera drew a quick breath and swallowed her anger. “With all due respect to my former guardian, he does not know what I am capable of now that I have reached the age of maturity for a mage.”
Branvale huffed a laugh. “She is a mere girl, and everyone knows a man must govern the weaker sex for their own good.”
“The Mage Act clearly states that all mages are entitled to accommodation and a stipend on attaining the age of eighteen. By what authority does Lord Branvale withhold what I am legally entitled to and extend his guardianship?” Sera’s anger turned cold in her veins. His arrogance would be his downfall. Only the two of them knew how he’d stifled her magic with the bracelet. She met Branvale’s gaze. No more would he pull her strings like a marionette.
He waved a hand and chuckled. “A mere oversight in the legislation. We cannot allow a feeble girl to fritter away the Crown’s limited resources, just because she can cast a few basic spells.”
“Feeble girl?” Seraphina breathed out the words while inside she screamed them. No more would she be underestimated and cast aside.
She clapped her hands together, and as she drew them apart, a blue sphere of sparks and bolts appeared. The sphere grew larger, swirling as lightning struck across its radius. When it reached half a yard in diameter, she threw it at Branvale. The ball knocked him off his feet, and he flew backward and upward in the air.
Lord Tomlin gasped and cast a red-tinged spell of his own at the sphere holding Branvale aloft. Red and blue clashed and swirled purple, but the other mage could not disable her spell.
“No! How is she doing this?” Her master crafted balls of grey light that plopped to the floor and dribbled along like heavy bowls thrown by a child.
Power surged through Sera, fed by years of anger, resentment, and despair. At last, Branvale danced to her command. What would she make her puppet do?
Hugh Miles stood against the wall, rather like a shark on the fringes of a school of fish. Courtiers and ambassadors swirled across the presence chamber, each more extravagantly dressed than the last. Women wore gaudy colours and bright florals, their powdered hair piled high atop their heads with an assortment of dead birds and tiny ships as further embellishment. Men strutted like peacocks with elaborate metallic embroidery on their jackets and waistcoats.
He glanced down at his own unadorned navy wool coat and grey waistcoat. The items were well tailored, subtle, and, oddly, fitted his broad frame. Exactly why he had borrowed them from the cadaver. The dead man had no more use for fine clothing, and Hugh was expected to stand before royalty. How was a former street rat supposed to afford court clothes?
His mentor, teacher, and one of the king’s physicians, Lord Viner, conversed with a group to one side. Heads nodded and wigs bobbed at the serious discussion.
A courtier led two women into the room, and the crowd parted around them. One captured his interest, and his heart thumped loud in his ears. She stood tall and slender, as though she, too, knew the gnawing pang of going days without food. Her dark brown hair was swept up off her nape in a simple style such as a country wife might adopt. Her gown was a bold deep green and white stripe in a sea of florals and filigrees.
She grasped the hand of her friend, they shared a nod, and the striking woman strode to end of the room behind the courtier. She dropped a curtsey that elicited murmurs of appreciation around him.
Conversation hushed. Hugh’s heart climbed up his gullet and wedged in his throat. An anatomical impossibility, but there it was. The blood pounded in his ears, and the minnows in the room faded into flashing shadows. He saw only the young woman.
Lady Seraphina Winyard, someone whispered in front of him. The name scratched at his memory. He didn’t follow the argument unfolding between the woman and a stuffy mage. Instead, he focused on the way her lips formed each word. The faint swallow between sentences. The blue vein stretching down one side of her neck. Long fingers laced over her stomach.
When she raised her hands and threw the blue orb at the object of her anger, Lord Branvale, Hugh’s brain kicked into action. Another mage to the side of the room rolled up his sleeves and threw spells to try to release the floating prisoner. The screams of women and shouts of men brought soldiers running through the doors. They encircled the woman with flintlock rifles aimed at her.
Whether or not the woman possessed magic, a ball in the back would stop her.
Hugh pushed through the people, made easier by his size and their panicked flight, to the back of the room. Electricity danced over Lady Winyard’s form. For once he was grateful for his size, because the only thing he could think to do was going to hurt.
He reached out and took hold of her left wrist, holding the lean bones firmly enough to tug at her attention, but not so tightly as to hurt her or leave a bruise. Touching the enraged magic wielder was like grasping lightning. The charge surged up his arm and through his torso. Then it shot upward and downward in one blast. At any moment, he thought smoke would fill his nostrils as his hair and stockings caught fire.
The soldiers paused, their rifles aimed at the woman, ready to riddle her body with holes.
Hugh shook his head. Wait, he willed them. They glanced among themselves, probably not sure what shooting a mage would do. Who wanted to fire the first shot, only to discover the ball ricocheted into them?
He gritted his teeth through the pain, and once he had control of it, Hugh asked in a soft tone, “I say, that’s a nasty scar. Have you put anything on it? You don’t want an infection getting under the skin.”
She paused and the electricity rolling up his arm diminished, but still he kept his gentle hold on her. Startling blue eyes turned to him, and any pain he felt vanished as his heart whooshed from his body.
Soft-spoken words came from beside Sera and warmth encircled her wrist.
“What?” An odd question had jolted her rage off track.
She glanced to the side, where a young man who must have been a pugilist, given the size of him, held her arm. His thumb rubbed the angry wound on her wrist. Shaped like a tree, lines radiated from a central trunk. The skin had closed over, but it had a bright red tone.
The sizzle of power continued to course through her limbs, but now she held it under tight control. Lord Branvale dropped to the ground, and Lord Tomlin rushed to his side to help him to his feet.
“I’m a surgeon. You don’t want to lose this arm to gangrene. I can dress it for you, if you have a moment.” Interest simmered in his brown eyes, along with a flash of concealed pain.
Only then did she realise he had taken hold of her while the spell coursed through her veins. She had hurt him. Excess power surged over his flesh and made the muscles in his arms twitch, but his hold on her remained gentle.
“I scratched it on a piece of metal,” she murmured. Anger drained from her under his gentle touch.
“This woman has proven herself hysterical and should be confined before she hurts someone.” Lord Branvale pointed at her from behind Lord Tomlin’s tall form.
Sera stiffened her shoulders and ground her teeth.
“Don’t give them more fodder for their delusions,” the young man murmured under his breath, so only her ears caught his words.
With his head bent, he appeared intent on the unusual injury to her wrist. He continued to stroke her arm with his thumb, and the rage dissipated under his caress. Only when she released a held breath and nodded did he let her go.
“I am sorry, Your Majesties. I did not mean to cause alarm. I only wished to demonstrate that my magic is more than equal to that of any other mage.” Sera dropped a curtsey to the royal couple while she cast a smile at the young man who had rescued her from her anger.
King George leapt to his feet and clapped. “Well done, Lady Winyard. You bested Branvale here.”
All the courtiers and nobles rushed to applaud her performance, and the tension drained from the room.
Branvale’s eyes threw daggers at her. “She is prone to fits of emotion and could hurt someone when she lashes out. Such an outcome is too dangerous to allow her to remain at liberty in London.”
Sera channelled her anger inward. All of London was safe from her fits of emotion, except for the man who had locked away her magic and treated her as one of the servants.
The crowd parted as the most stunning example of humanity Sera had ever seen stepped forward. Women and men alike sighed as he passed. Some reached out a hand to brush his clothing. His tall, muscular form, broad of shoulder and narrow of waist, was expertly displayed in his high-collared jacket. Well-turned calves were encased in cream silk stockings. His blond hair was like gold but among the strands were deep caramel tones, as though a master painter had highlighted them with a deft touch. Eyes the blue of a clear summer’s day regarded her, lush, dark red lips made for languid days of kissing pursed as he smiled at her.
Lord Arwyn Fitzfey, the king’s half-Fae bastard, bowed to the king and queen before speaking in lyrical tones. “This woman has committed no crime. We witnessed a young mage proving she is of age to take her place among the magical protectors of this country. You cannot lock away this woman for displaying the power you intend to use to benefit England. Lady Winyard should be given the opportunity to serve her country, and in turn, this country should bestow upon her what she is due by law.”
He smiled at Sera, and she nodded her thanks. A woman farther back in the crowd swooned and was caught by her companion. Sera stopped herself before she rolled her eyes. Yes, the king’s bastard possessed otherworldly beauty, but her mind recalled the gentle touch of the only man brave enough to approach her in the grip of rage. Where had the half-Fae been then? Safe somewhere behind all the soldiers.
Kitty stepped forward and curtseyed to the king and queen. “Your Majesties, I am Katherine Napier, friend to Lady Winyard. For centuries, a contract has existed between England and her mages. Our mages use their magic to protect these isles and serve its people. In return, England provides home and hearth for her mages. If England breaks her contract with Lady Winyard, then she is no longer beholden to this country and may take her person, and magic, elsewhere.”
Murmurs and a few snorts of indignation broke out around Sera. Under her lashes, she glanced at Kitty. Well played, she thought. Kitty and her father must have spent many a night poring over the Mage Act and its attendant legal cases to ensure Sera could claim the same entitlements as any male mage. Her friend’s words struck England at its weakest point—the fear the mage might leave to serve the French, or worse, those young upstarts, the Americans. That young nation had few mages and would welcome an English defector in its battle for freedom.
King George leaned forward on his throne, a sheen of sweat to his brow and a glint in his eyes. “Our mages serve England and no other!” he bellowed.
A secretary rushed forward, then stilled. He laced his fingers loosely before him and plastered a serene expression on his face. He appeared like an actor slipping into character, rehearsing his lines in his head before he spoke them aloud. “Of course England will meet its obligations to Lady Winyard, as she is expected to meet hers to us.” His dark eyes drilled into her, defying her to announce her intention to leave England for that uncivilised place…America.
Sera tilted her chin to the secretary in equal parts defiance and acceptance.
“Since it is settled that Lady Winyard will remain on English soil to use her considerable power as our king directs, she is due both a house and a stipend for her service to the Crown.” Kitty fixed the much taller secretary with a glare.
King George’s eyes wandered in two different directions at once before focusing on Sera and Kitty. A confused look crossed his brow. “What house?”
“That is the question, Your Majesty. What house has been made available for your newest mage?” Kitty refused to let the issue drop and pushed her advantage before anyone asked who she was to be questioning the king.
Another secretary hurried forward—Sera assumed an undersecretary to the current one, given how he bent his knees to ensure he was shorter than the other man. A hasty whispered conversation took place before the first secretary cleared his throat. “I believe a final decision has not yet been made, Sire. Although your secretaries have selected three possible locations for Miss—er, Lady Winyard.”
The king waved a hand. “Well, pick one for her. We cannot have one of our mages out in the street.”
Sera wondered how many weeks it would take for the secretaries to decide.
“Lady Winyard will keep us entertained while you finalise the details of her new home. You have an hour,” the king commanded.
The courtier’s eyes widened, then he bowed and shuffled backward the requisite three steps. His footsteps disappeared at speed along the hall, once out of royal view.
“You can entertain us, can’t you?” King George asked.
Sera stared at Kitty. Entertainments? she mouthed.
Kitty shrugged. Birds? she silently replied.
A brilliant suggestion. She would stick with what she knew her hands did best. Nature.
“Of course, Your Majesty.” Sera bowed her head and cupped her hands together. She considered what to conjure, then with an idea fixed in her mind, she breathed upon her hands. Red and yellow sparks shot from between her closed fingers as the spell grew and took shape. She peeked at it between her thumbs and, once satisfied, threw it into the air.
A brilliant copper and gold phoenix, no larger than a sparrow, flew around the king. Its long tail of curling feathers left a fiery trail behind it. The court gasped as the bird spun in slow circles.
Sera cast a similar spell and released the next bird, this one the colours of a peacock. Green and blue water spirals joined the flaming one, as together the birds performed an aerial ballet.
The rapt king clapped his hands. The phoenix alighted on his outstretched hand and the peacock balanced on the arm of the queen’s throne.
“How marvellous, Lady Winyard. No other mage has produced such delicate entertainment for us,” Queen Charlotte said with a pointed look at the petulant Lord Branvale.
Sera allowed herself a broad grin, directed at her former guardian. He narrowed his gaze and whispered under his breath. From between his lips shot tiny silver arrows, each no longer than two inches, and aimed directly at the hearts of her creations.
Five
Oh, no you don’t, Sera thought. Drawing her hands through the air, she captured Branvale’s arrows and worked a new casting over them. They dropped to the ground, points down, where they burrowed into the floor. Then, they sprouted back up tall as sunflowers, but with silver petals.
People gasped and clapped their hands. Arwyn picked a silver bloom and presented it to Kitty with a bow. “For advocating so fiercely on Lady Winyard’s behalf,” he murmured.
“Thank you, my lord.” Kitty took the flower and threaded it through her hair. She turned to Sera and flashed a huge grin for a mere second, before her normally composed expression dropped back over her features.
Sera cast around, searching for the young man who had taken her wrist. She found him standing against the wall, his arms crossed as he watched her.
“Who is that? The large man in dark blue and grey over there,” she whispered to Kitty as she crafted a green bird to add to the other two.
Her friend turned a slow circle, surveying the court without lingering too long on the subject of discussion. “I shall find out.”
With a smile, she stepped into the crowd and sought Lady Abigail. The two young women conducted a conversation while Sera crafted magical flowers and butterflies to amaze the royal couple. Kitty returned to Sera’s side, but before she could say anything, a secretary slid into the room and approached the king. He whispered in the monarch’s ear and then straightened.
“Good. A house has been decided upon for you, young woman.” King George waved his hand, as though that was the end of the matter. A butterfly perched on his finger when his hand remained outstretched.
