{"id":1261,"date":"2014-12-16T15:24:18","date_gmt":"2014-12-16T15:24:18","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/paulinemross.co.uk\/?p=1261"},"modified":"2014-12-16T15:50:05","modified_gmt":"2014-12-16T15:50:05","slug":"the-fire-mages-chapters-1-5","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/paulinemross.co.uk\/index.php\/2014\/12\/the-fire-mages-chapters-1-5\/","title":{"rendered":"‘The Fire Mages’: Chapters 1-5"},"content":{"rendered":"

1: Refusal<\/strong><\/p>\n

I was fourteen when the Kellon\u2019s Steward first came for me.<\/p>\n

Well, blow that. I had my life all planned out, and the Kellon had no part in it, I was sure of that. Still, the Steward was waiting for me, and the question had to be asked before it could be refused. Head high, I crossed the tiny hallway of the cottage, my boots clumping on the wooden floor, and strode into the parlour.<\/p>\n

\u201cAh!\u201d he said, smiling and looking me up and down before settling his gaze on my chest. \u201cYes, excellent! Do come in – er…?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKyra,\u201d Father said.<\/p>\n

\u201cKyra, yes, yes. Do sit down. Need a little chat with you, my dear.\u201d<\/p>\n

They were sitting around the hearth, the fire not yet lit despite the chill that heralded autumn. Three pairs of eyes turned towards me: my father smiling, the Steward appraising, Mother trying not to notice the tear in my trousers. She had one foot awkwardly placed to hide the black-edged hole where a log had spat at the rug. My parents sat on the battered settle to one side, Father round-faced and placid, Mother\u2019s pinched features watching me dourly. The parlour was supposed to be our best room, kept for entertaining, but we never had the money to furnish it properly. We so seldom had visitors that it had become Mother\u2019s sanctuary, the only valuable contents the books piled on every available surface.<\/p>\n

The Steward perched on the best chair next to the hearth, Mother\u2019s reading chair, the only good chair in the room. Even without the bulk of his cloak, he was a big man, the Steward, out of place in such a small room. Ours was one of the largest cottages in the village, but it must have seemed tiny to him, accustomed as he was to the spaciousness of the Kellon\u2019s hall. Or perhaps this task made him uncomfortable. He was good at his job, people agreed, managing the Kellon\u2019s business affairs, dealing with farmers and merchants and inn managers and the like. This sun\u2019s work was a little different.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe answer\u2019s no,\u201d I said. If I could get my answer out quickly, perhaps I could escape without an interminable discussion.<\/p>\n

His eyebrows shot up. \u201cYou know what this is about then?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can guess.\u201d I looked him straight in the face, and after a few moments he dragged his eyes upwards to meet mine.<\/p>\n

\u201cHmm.\u201d A quick glance across to my parents, then back to me. \u201cWon\u2019t you sit down?\u201d<\/p>\n

He patted the chair next to him, but I chose one nearer the door, as if I could be away sooner that way.<\/p>\n

\u201cKyla, I…\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKyra. My name\u2019s Kyra.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKyra… I\u2019m not sure… You\u2019re fourteen, is that right?\u201d I nodded. \u201cAnd you don\u2019t have… a sweetheart?\u201d A shake this time. \u201cWell, then, good, good.\u201d He shuffled uncomfortably, and his eyes slid to the door. My heart leapt. Perhaps he would go? Then he clearly made up his mind to plough onward. \u201cKyra, you\u2019re a sensible girl, I\u2019m sure. You understand that the Kellon is a very kind man. He wouldn\u2019t hurt you…\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, it\u2019s not that,\u201d I said. \u201cEveryone speaks well of him, the Kellon. He\u2019s a good man, I know that. But I have plans for my life, and being a drusse isn\u2019t part of it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not for long,\u201d he said, mildly reproachful. \u201cA ten-sun, no more than that. Not even half a moon. You can spare that, surely?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut if there\u2019s a child, it would be a great deal more than a ten-sun.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTrue, but think what a service you would be doing for the whole Kell. The entire realm would benefit from your generosity.\u201d<\/p>\n

That almost made me laugh! Our local Kellon had little influence on the rest of Bennamore.<\/p>\n

Perhaps he realised he was overstating the case, for he changed direction. \u201cYou would be well looked after. The Kellon is always most generous, most generous indeed. You would want for nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n

Except my freedom. Except the chance to live my own life, to chase my own dreams.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd think of your status!\u201d he went on. \u201cEven if there were no child, the increase is considerable. Well worth it to any woman, I should think. It would reflect well on your parents, your whole family.\u201d He looked at my determined face and sighed, shifting in the chair so that it creaked alarmingly. \u201cBut you have set yourself against the idea, I can see.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf I could take the herbs…\u201d I began.<\/p>\n

\u201cAh, but no. It may be that you don\u2019t fully appreciate the Kellon\u2019s position. Your village is a long way from the town, practically on the border, you know, and buried out here in the forest, you likely don\u2019t know much about the problems of nobility.\u201d<\/p>\n

Oh, yes, such terrible problems they have. How to spend the tax money they collect from hardworking folk. How to fill their idle hours. How to eat all the food we send them. I\u2019d like to have their problems.<\/p>\n

But I sat in silence and let him have his say; the restrictions of the Kellon\u2019s marriage contract, his sick wife, the delicate only child of the marriage, the drusse-born second heir, the not very promising children by former drusse, the possibilities for a drusse who produced an heir with greater potential. He droned on, and I nodded politely, barely listening. I got the point, he needed heirs, but I didn\u2019t want my life defined by my ability to breed children.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you can see what an opportunity this is, and you would suit him very well,\u201d the Steward rushed on. \u201cAdmirably, in fact…\u201d His eyes drifted down to my chest again, and then back upwards. \u201cAnd he doesn\u2019t mind red hair, you know. He likes his drusse a little different. I\u2019m sure you would enjoy being a lady for a ten-sun. I can\u2019t see…\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have a plan,\u201d I said loudly, looking him in the eye. \u201cI intend to be a law scribe.\u201d<\/p>\n

He almost laughed, but a glance at the grave faces of my parents convinced him not to, and he coughed instead. \u201cThat will be expensive for your family,\u201d he said solemnly. Meaning: how can a village rat like you possibly afford that?<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m saving up,\u201d I said. \u201cMother pays me to help with her pupils in the teaching room, and soon I\u2019ll be starting work at the inn, too. I can get enough to pay for the first two years, and then I\u2019ll get a patron for the rest.\u201d<\/p>\n

He looked at me doubtfully. \u201cWell. You have it all worked out, I see.\u201d He hoisted himself to his feet, and we rose in unison. \u201cPity. But there\u2019s no more to be said. Surprising, though,\u201d he said, half to himself. \u201cDon\u2019t often get an outright refusal. But there will be plenty of others more willing.\u201d Gallantly he added, \u201cI wish you luck with your endeavours, my dear.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMaster,\u201d my mother said. Even though he turned towards her, he was still creeping towards the door. \u201cMaster, we have not yet had the opportunity to discuss this together.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI won\u2019t change my mind,\u201d I said calmly. I wasn\u2019t angry with her, but I wanted this to be over and she was delaying it unnecessarily.<\/p>\n

\u201cPerhaps not,\u201d she said, \u201cbut you should consider it carefully, from all angles, before making a final decision.\u201d<\/p>\n

The Steward paused, hand on the doorknob. His eyes flicked, lizard-like, from mother to me and back again. \u201cThat is wise, perhaps. After all, you are… \u201c Again the eyes dropped briefly, before returning to my face. \u201cYou would suit the Kellon perfectly. I have some other business here. I can stay another night at the inn, and return tomorrow morning, perhaps?\u201d<\/p>\n

Mother smiled and nodded her assent.<\/p>\n

\u201cHere,\u201d he said, rummaging through the many pockets of his coat and pressing a crumpled paper into my hand. \u201cThese are the standard terms you\u2019d be offered. You can read, I assume? Well, tomorrow then.\u201d<\/p>\n

Finally the Steward left. Mother followed him into the hall to show him out, voices murmuring.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d have said your hair was strawberry blonde, myself, not red,\u201d Father whispered, making me smile.<\/p>\n

When Mother returned, she looked me up and down, her face expressionless. \u201cI have the children to attend to. We will discuss this further this evening.\u201d She swept out, and I followed her back to the teaching room.<\/p>\n

~~~~~<\/p>\n

It was not Mother\u2019s way to sulk, so her manner was perfectly affable to me all afternoon, and through evening board. She sat at the middle of the table, supervising the distribution of the pie so that the servants got their fair share and the two boys took no more than they were due, gently reminding the servants of the proper time to bring the side dishes through from the kitchen, all the while holding a detailed conversation with Father across the table regarding his taxes.<\/p>\n

Afterwards, she efficiently dispatched everyone to their evening chores and, with no more than a lift of one eyebrow to Father and myself, led us through to the parlour.<\/p>\n

She settled herself in her chair. \u201cNow, Kyra, let us talk sensibly. You are an adult now, there is no need to be coy. If the idea of sex bothers you…\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know he\u2019s not young, but he\u2019s well enough for his age and…\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not that at all, Mother. I don\u2019t want to risk having a child.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s nothing wrong with a woman having children,\u201d she said sharply.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, of course not, I didn\u2019t mean . . . In the future, maybe, but not yet. It would stop me going to the scribery. Did you read the terms? I\u2019d be tied for years. It\u2019s bad enough having to wait till I\u2019m sixteen. Most scribes start training at thirteen, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n

She sighed, for we\u2019d talked about this many times before. Her voice was pitying. \u201cChild, you do realise it\u2019s just a dream, don\u2019t you? You\u2019d have to save all that money, then pass an admission test. Even if you manage that, you\u2019d struggle to meet the standard. A village teaching room can\u2019t possibly prepare you for a scribery. You might manage one year and become a common scribe, and that would be useful to the village, but a law scribe? Five years? You\u2019re aiming for the sun.\u201d<\/p>\n

I let her run on. I\u2019d heard it all before.<\/p>\n

She sniffed. \u201cWhat sort of life is that for a village girl anyway, going off to Ardamurkan and mixing with the nobility and pretending to be so grand? That sort of ambition never ends well. The village is good enough for the rest of us. You\u2019d be able to take over the teaching room after me, you know; a reasonable income for life and a useful service for the village. What more could you want? Being the Kellon\u2019s drusse wouldn\u2019t affect that at all. I don\u2019t see why you have to be so inflexible.\u201d<\/p>\n

Poor Mother. She would never understand how constricting the village was to me, how much I longed to escape. It choked the life out of me. I didn\u2019t want to warm the Kellon\u2019s bed or provide him with a squalling brat who just might eventually be Kellon or Kellona after its father. Instead, I wanted to advise him on points of law, to prepare treaties and contracts, to scribe spellpages for him and call on the power of magic. I shivered with anticipation every time I thought of it. Maybe I\u2019d never be a law scribe – I wasn\u2019t stupid, I knew it was unlikely – but I desperately wanted to learn at least the basic spells. The very thought of it thrilled me, and there was no magic in the village.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf pregnancy is the only issue…\u201d Mother said, and paused. \u201cThe Kellon… it is very unlikely…. There are rumours….\u201d<\/p>\n

It was so unlike her to speak disjointedly that I was silent, waiting for her to compose herself. She fastidiously smoothed away an imaginary crease in her skirts, focused on her hands as if she didn\u2019t want to look me in the eye. \u201cThere are rumours he can\u2019t father a child.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut he already has several children!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, the two eldest, the Kellonor and Bai-Kellonor… well, they must be his, of course. But the drusse children… there are three of those, and all from the same village, did you know that? And quite recent. But… I heard that they arranged to be pregnant before they became drusse.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat! You mean – they cheated?\u201d<\/p>\n

She clucked impatiently. \u201cIs it cheating to give a great man exactly what he wants? And the women got what they wanted too – a secure home, a child…\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd no man underfoot,\u201d Father said, smiling.<\/p>\n

I was too shocked to get the joke. \u201cSo the Kellon raises three children that aren\u2019t his. Is that what he wants? And you surely aren\u2019t suggesting I get pregnant by someone else?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, of course not, Kyra. Really, you do take the wrong idea, sometimes. It means you don\u2019t have to worry about becoming pregnant, that\u2019s all. You could be his drusse, take the status marks and the money and the gowns, and still go off to the scribery at sixteen, if you insist on it. Don\u2019t you see?\u201d<\/p>\n

Was it possible? The money would be useful, and the gowns – I never wore gowns if I could help it, but then I\u2019d never had pretty ones. \u201cDo you know this? Can you guarantee it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKyra, you\u2019re not listening. I told you that I heard it said, that\u2019s all. But three of them, all from the same village, and none elsewhere. It can\u2019t be a coincidence, can it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAlmost anything can be a coincidence,\u201d I said sharply, and saw Father\u2019s eyes twinkling in appreciation. I\u2019d learned my letters in Mother\u2019s teaching room, but Father\u2019s patient explanations had taught me about numbers and the possibilities of events. \u201cBut this is just gossip. I can hardly depend on it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mother\u2019s face settled into its usual dour expression mingled with disappointment. She was often disappointed in me.<\/p>\n

~~~~~<\/p>\n

The Steward came again the next morning, and asked if I\u2019d reconsidered. In the politest way possible I told him no, as Mother struggled to hide her dissatisfaction.<\/p>\n

\u201cAh, well, never mind,\u201d the Steward said kindly. \u201cMaybe next year, eh?\u201d<\/p>\n

Mother\u2019s face lifted at once, and I almost groaned. A whole year of her not-quite-nagging was a dispiriting thought. She probably thought it would be a struggle to save up enough money, so I would have to give up my dream of becoming a scribe. Despite the temptation of silks and silver, though, I wouldn\u2019t change my mind. I had convinced myself of a different destiny and was prepared to do whatever it took to follow it. I was fourteen, and I knew everything and nothing.<\/p>\n

The Steward was out of the door and half way down the path before he turned. \u201cHa! Almost forgot. The list arrived for the mage healings at the gathering. Here – you will notify everyone, I take it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d Mother said, a hint of disdain in her voice, taking the folded paper from his hand. She knew her duty as the village teacher, one of the few who could read and write well. All official messages passed through her.<\/p>\n

She saw the Steward away with the proper politenesses, waiting until his horse was out of sight down the lane before closing the door. Only then did she unfold the paper with trembling fingers.<\/p>\n

Her face lit up. She looked so different when she smiled, almost pretty.<\/p>\n

\u201cTruly?\u201d Father asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cTruly. The little one has been chosen at last!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, that\u2019s good news,\u201d I said, brightly.<\/p>\n

At once the sour face was back. \u201cIt almost makes up for your stubbornness, Kyra. Run down the lane to tell your sister. And don\u2019t come back until evening board. You\u2019ve made my head ache, I swear.\u201d<\/p>\n

2: The Gathering<\/strong><\/p>\n

The harvest was late that year because of the incessant rain, so it was more than a moon before the gathering celebration. The market field was jammed with stalls and wagons and penned sheep, the walkways further crowded by jugglers and wandering musicians. Locals and visitors alike paraded in their finery. Mother insisted I wear skirts for the occasion and wrap my hair in the traditional intertwined scarves.<\/p>\n

The highway was lined three or four deep in honour of the Kellon\u2019s arrival, despite a misty rain. I was there with my whole family – Mother, Father, three sisters, two brothers, and my eldest sister\u2019s husband and children. The procession arrived an hour or two later than expected. A long train of horsemen in the local colours preceded several fine carriages, wagons of luggage and finally the open carts for the servants. The Kellon and most of his retainers would stay at the village guest house, with the overflow squeezed into the inn.<\/p>\n

The Kellon himself rode near the front, his armour loose enough to accommodate his belly. Guards surrounded him, and behind came several men in leather riding trousers and long coats, the full skirts trailing over their horses\u2019 rumps. I spotted the bulk of the Kellon\u2019s Steward, and one man was recognisable as a mage by the tattoo on his forehead. The others were indistinguishable older men with serious faces looking straight ahead, either uninterested in the village peasantry or with their thoughts fixed on weightier matters. Or perhaps focused on their stomachs, since they were late for the noon board.<\/p>\n

One man was different. He was younger than the others, only a few years older than me, and since he wore no riding scarf, his dark hair jumped out of the array of blond heads around him. Odder still, as he passed by, he turned towards me and stared directly into my eyes, as if, somehow, he knew me and had picked me out from the sea of identical women. Yet I had never seen him before.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, that was peculiar,\u201d said Alita, my next oldest sister. \u201cI\u2019ve not seen him here before. Why did he look at you in that way?\u201d<\/p>\n

I could only shrug. I shivered, suddenly chilled from standing so long in the drizzle.<\/p>\n

~~~~~<\/p>\n

Later in the afternoon, after a leisurely meal at the guest hall, the Kellon left his Steward and advisors to continue their tax gathering, and made his customary circuit of the market field. Two armed retainers walked in front and two behind, with a couple more on either side, so that the crowds parted and the great man strode at his ease in a bubble of clear air, unjostled by the masses. He had left off the pretend armour, and wore rich velvets and a woollen cloak lined with fur. On his arm was a young woman in a magnificent silk coat and skirts, her hair elaborately arrayed and decorated, jewels glimmering at her throat. She simpered at the gaping crowds as she passed by, a pretty little thing, soft and plump. She was thirteen years old, his drusse for the gatherings.<\/p>\n

I watched her go by, thankful beyond measure to be spared such an ordeal, but glad she was so obviously enjoying herself. I envied her the coat and gown, but not much else. My family studiously avoided my eye, too polite to point out that it could have been me on the Kellon\u2019s arm. All my mother said rather pointedly was, \u201cWhat a splendid gown!\u201d but my father\u2019s face was disapproving. \u201cSo young!\u201d he murmured. No one answered him, for it was an old argument. Thirteen was the legal age of adulthood in all respects, but many thought it a bad idea.<\/p>\n

The gathering festivities swirled about us, but none of us felt much like celebrating, not yet. We drifted around the field, unconsciously forming a protective circle around my oldest sister, Ginzia, and her family. By the middle of the afternoon, it was time. Ginzia picked up Cerila, her eldest child, and kissed her.<\/p>\n

\u201cOff you go, petal.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou come too.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, your father\u2019s going to take you to see the mage. I have to stay here with the baby. You can tell me all about it later.\u201d<\/p>\n

She set her daughter down and watched her limp off towards the guest house.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019ll be fine,\u201d Mother said bracingly. \u201cCerila\u2019s a sensible child, and it doesn\u2019t hurt, so they say.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt doesn\u2019t always work.\u201d Ginzia chewed her lower lip. \u201cIt may be too late. She should have been seen when she was a baby. The bones will be too set by now.\u201d<\/p>\n

Even Mother had no answer to that. The spellpage for correcting a club foot was well beyond our means. We\u2019d tried a couple of times with a spellpage for general good health, which was only a single silver. We\u2019d scraped together enough pieces to pay the travelling scribe to write it, burning it with full ritual, but to no effect. The only other chance was the annual gathering, when the Kellon graciously allowed his mage to heal three villagers of their ailments without paying the usual silver. Cerila\u2019s name had been put forward every year, but the list was long, and she was six years old now.<\/p>\n

Gradually, without thinking about it, we drifted towards the guest house, acquiring a small cloud of neighbours, friends and kin, like a snowball, and then stopped, waiting. Some chattered determinedly about the festivities, the preparations for the evening feast, the weather – anything but the magic going on inside. Most were silent.<\/p>\n

At last, Rolland was sighted, being ushered out of the door by the Kellon\u2019s guards. He was carrying Cerila – was that a bad sign or a good one? As he approached, I thought I saw the tiniest shake of his head. Bad sign, then.<\/p>\n

Cerila caught sight of her mother and Rolland set her down, dispelling the final shreds of hope. There was the awkward limp, no better than before. Ginzia gave a little sob, then forced a smile and held out a hand to her daughter.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow was it, petal?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was all warm and tingly, it felt nice, but it didn\u2019t work. Look!\u201d And she lifted one trouser to show us, beaming widely. \u201cThere! Zackly the same. So I\u2019m still me.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was a bitter blow. Everyone had hoped for a cure, but I suppose even mages had their limitations. Powerful as they were, and able to create spells purely through their minds without a written spellpage, there was only so much that magic could do. Perhaps when I was trained — ? But that was silly. What could even the best scribe do that a mage couldn\u2019t?<\/p>\n

~~~~~<\/p>\n

As the sun set, I made my way to the inn for my first evening\u2019s employment there. I had arranged with Tillon, the manager, that I would work in the kitchens, but he took one look at my formal skirts and smiled.<\/p>\n

\u201cOut front tonight, I think, missy. Bonnor will show you how things work. You stay with him, and you\u2019ll be all right.\u201d<\/p>\n

Bonnor was an old friend, a solid man four years older than me, with a head full of golden curls, a pretty face and a certain charm, the perfect combination for his present career as an inn companion. He helped to serve in the taproom, but also kept a room upstairs for when his other services were required. There were three women currently wearing the painted leather choker of companions, but Bonnor was the only man.<\/p>\n

As the stallholders packed their goods away for the evening, the taproom became full to capacity and drinkers spilled into the pavilion put up to cope with the gathering overflow. I was kept busy running backwards and forwards with Bonnor. I carried as many jugs of ale as I could lift and, as thirsty patrons waved me down, Bonnor collected their pieces and gave change. Then the evening board started and we raced about with bowls and platters and trays of food, the rich aroma from the stew and roast meat making my stomach grumble.<\/p>\n

As jug after jug of Tillon\u2019s good ale vanished into the patrons, the noise rose to deafening levels, with shrieks of laughter and bursts of clapping. As always at festivals, there were more of the strange blue lights appearing, flaring up around one head or another, then gone just as quickly. Drunkenness encouraged them, it seemed. I\u2019d never understood their purpose, but no one else ever mentioned them and looked at me as if I was insane when I asked about them. Something unmentionable, I guessed. I\u2019d learned long ago to say nothing. Tonight I was too busy to wonder about such mysteries.<\/p>\n

Halfway through the evening, Tillon called me over. \u201cMistress Tallyan is asking for Bonnor, so you can have a rest. Why don\u2019t you get yourself a platter? Take whatever you want. You can eat in the back room, no one will bother you there.\u201d<\/p>\n

He was wrong about that, however. The back room was kept as a private sitting room for wealthy guests, but tonight it was full of the Kellon\u2019s men – a few guards, and several in the fashionable town clothes of Ardamurkan.<\/p>\n

And the boy with dark hair.<\/p>\n

As soon as I walked in I saw him. He was sitting on the far side of the room at a table littered with discarded plates and bowls, the debris of an extensive meal. Why did he eat with these people and not at the Kellon\u2019s feast? What was his position in the household? Then I wondered crossly why I was interested anyway.<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t notice me at first, but after I sat down and began eating, I looked across and he was staring at me again, his dark eyes unblinking. His expression was odd – as if he was surprised, or shocked to see me. Yet how could that be? It was unsettling. I bent my head to my food, determined to pay no attention to him.<\/p>\n

When I had finished, I picked up my tray and stood. And there he was, standing in front of me, blocking my exit. I was not one to panic, but my heart thumped uncomfortably. What could he want of me? But he said nothing, almost as if he expected me to speak first.<\/p>\n

\u201cExcuse me, may I pass?\u201d I said politely, although if I had not been holding a heavy tray, my hands would have been shaking.<\/p>\n

A long pause. He continued to stare at me. At last, he spoke.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho are<\/em> you?\u201d His voice was low, melodious, but the question was so odd that I wasn\u2019t reassured.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m Kyra, if that means anything to you. And if you don\u2019t mind, sir, I have work to do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou work here?\u201d Another peculiar question, since I wore the same long apron as all the other inn workers.<\/p>\n

\u201cI do, and I\u2019ll be in trouble if I don\u2019t get back to the kitchen. If you wouldn\u2019t mind standing aside…?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh!\u201d He looked contrite. \u201cI\u2019m sorry. I hadn\u2019t realised… But do you ever get to Ardamurkan?\u201d<\/p>\n

What was the matter with him, asking all these silly questions?<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll be going there when I\u2019m sixteen, to the scribery.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAh, excellent! You will do well there.\u201d He smiled, and then remembered that he was holding me up. \u201cUm… Goodbye, Kyra.\u201d<\/p>\n

And finally he stood aside, with the tiniest bow, still smiling. I supposed he was not sound in his mind, and pitied him. Harmless, perhaps, but still I was very glad to escape from him.<\/p>\n

~~~~~<\/p>\n

Tillon set me to work in the kitchen until Bonnor returned, and then we delivered more food until evening board was over and I could leave. It was only a short distance to walk, but Bonnor was allowed to escort me home. I was exhausted and silent, but he kept up a patter of inconsequential nothings to entertain me.<\/p>\n

On the doorstep, he turned to me with his usual light smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, sweet child, when are you going to let me teach you the delights of the bedroom?\u201d<\/p>\n

I laughed. It was an old conversation, begun on my thirteenth naming sun and repeated many times since. \u201cNot yet, my friend, not yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour sister wasn\u2019t so shy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd look how that turned out. You broke her heart, Bonnor.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAh, poor Alita! But no one can know the joy of true happiness without the risk of misery. At least her heart was open to love, and not furled tight like yours, my sweet.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have my life planned out, and love isn\u2019t part of it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cVery good! So enjoy my friendship<\/em>, little one, and skip the heartbreak. I can show you bliss you can\u2019t even imagine.\u201d<\/p>\n

I smiled, but I wasn\u2019t tempted. One sun I would be a law scribe, perhaps, and mingle with the rulers of Bennamore, and I wasn\u2019t about to leave my heart in Durmaston village with this charming but feckless rogue. I put him out of my mind as soon as the door closed behind me.<\/p>\n

As I prepared for bed, and lay in the warm moonlight flooding through the window, it was not Bonnor\u2019s blond curls which filled my mind. Instead I found myself remembering the young man with dark hair and darker eyes, who stared at me as if he knew me.<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t even know his name.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

3: The Scribery<\/strong><\/p>\n

It took me a year longer than I expected to get to the scribery. I worked and saved and worked even more, spending nothing, but it still wasn\u2019t enough. In the end, my father insisted on making up the difference. I heard Mother arguing with him about it. Well, it was not really arguing, Mother never stooped to such a level. Merely, she laid out a whole series of reasons why I should stay until I had earned the money myself: it was indulging me, I would never learn to be independent, there were the other children to consider, the whole idea was nonsensical anyway.<\/p>\n

Father\u2019s replies sounded amused rather than angry. \u201cShe has wanted nothing else for years. You don\u2019t need her in the teaching room now you\u2019ve got Deckas to help you, and there\u2019s nothing else for her here.\u201d<\/p>\n

I could imagine the sour expression on Mother\u2019s face. \u201cYou spoil her, you know. You shouldn\u2019t encourage her in these fantasies. Law scribe, indeed! She should stay here where she belongs. But no, she has to aim for the moon. And if she fails, all that money will be wasted.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe so, but she won\u2019t know what she can do until she tries. So let\u2019s see how she gets on, eh?\u201d Mother was silent, not convinced, I was sure, but she had run out of arguments. \u201cBesides,\u201d Father added in a cheerful tone, \u201ceven if she only manages the first two years, she\u2019ll be a transaction scribe and make silvers by the handful and keep us in comfort in our old age.\u201d<\/p>\n

So, at the advanced age of seventeen, I went to Ardamurkan town to learn to be a scribe. Father made the journey with me. He wanted to buy some tools, he told me, even though he usually got what he needed from the tinker who came through the village several times a year. So I left Durmaston on a turnip wagon, too happy to feel the ignominy of it as we lurched through the forest. The sun sang to me, the birds hopped about the branches solely to entertain me, the leaves rustled above my head in sympathetic pleasure, the trees energised me and even the rain, when it came, was gentle and encouraging. Nothing dismayed me, for I was going to the scribery, as I had longed for ever since I was a child.<\/p>\n

The travelling scribe came through the village two or three times a year, and usually he set up his shop in the back room at the inn. But the year I was eight, there had been a fire, so he stayed with us instead and conducted his business in the teaching room. I was fascinated by the little piles of paper he set out on the desk – creamy white for personal messages, pale blue for business contracts, yellow for agreements between individuals. I would sit, mesmerised, as he inscribed each page with its flowing script.<\/p>\n

The spellpages were the best. For these, the paper was always the same, a pale muddy brown colour, like ordinary paper left too long in the sun, but it glowed with a pulsing energy. The scribe used blue ink for spells for wind or weather, green to encourage the crops to grow, red for a healing spell, whether human or animal. I stared, breathless with enchantment, as he drew the script on the page, watching the letters shimmer and dance, gradually settling into a pale silver sheen. The magic drew me to itself. I could almost taste it on my tongue and feel it crackle in the air.<\/p>\n

From that sun I wanted to be a scribe. I knew where my future lay, and even being a simple transaction scribe wasn\u2019t enough. I was determined to aim as high as I could, and become a law scribe.<\/p>\n

Now, at last, I was on my way. I would learn the secrets of scribing and I would have the power of magic in my hands. With the special paper, quill and ink, under my careful fingers the dancing letters would glow with energy and I would be able to heal people or ensure good crops or fertile marriages or safe journeys. What could be more wonderful? I\u2019d make silvers by the basketful and be somebody important. Perhaps even my mother would respect me.<\/p>\n

~~~~~<\/p>\n

After three suns of travel, we arrived at Ardamurkan an hour or two before sunset. The town was not at all what I\u2019d imagined. The noise and multitudes of people were as expected, but the walls which enclosed the town were low, not imposing at all. The first streets we saw, although wider than those in the village, were still too narrow for the press of people and wagons trying to pass through. Many buildings were only of wood or clay or brick, and few were above two storeys, every one a different style from its neighbours.<\/p>\n

The turnip wagon deposited us at a square near the gates, and we paid a couple of pieces for a man to carry our bags on a hand cart, while we walked alongside, boots clonking on the cobbles. The town sloped gently up the base of a range of low hills, so our way was all uphill. Gradually, as we ascended, the roads widened and the buildings became higher and grander and more solid. At last we could see the highest building of all, the many stone turrets and towers of the Kellon\u2019s hall, flags hanging limply in the still air.<\/p>\n

The scribery was in the very heart of the town, and here another surprise awaited us, for it was not a single building but a conglomeration of assorted sizes and shapes, no two alike. There was a wall surrounding the whole mismatched collection, the gates wide open at this hour. Several bored guards protected the entrance, with no hint of the magical power within.<\/p>\n

The buildings around the gates were open to the public: the scribing hall, the teaching hall, the guest hall. Away at the far side of the compound, enclosed by its own wall and a tiny garden, was the scribes\u2019 tower. This was the centre of spell-scribing, where I would train. Next to it, the grander walled garden around the mages\u2019 house.<\/p>\n

We stayed a couple of nights at the guest hall while I waited for my assessment, but I was too excited to notice anything around me. I was finally here! I could hardly believe it. I ate and slept and walked around the town with my father while he bought his tools and remembered none of it.<\/p>\n

My first task was to take a basic writing test which would admit me to the scribes\u2019 training scheme. At Mother\u2019s insistence, I was also to take a more advanced test. The certificate for that would allow me to have my own teaching room, if I wished it. Mother had no confidence in my ability to become a scribe, so I was to have a second career option. She had even given me the silver for it, a great concession, for whenever she had money to spare, she sent for new books.<\/p>\n

The tests took place in the teaching hall, a vast, echoing room filled with individual writing desks. Mine was scratched and worn, engraved with the names of bored students and stained with blotches of ink. The other candidates looked like town residents with their flounced shirts and long coats. In my patched trousers and tunic, handed down to me from Ginzia and Alita, I felt like a rustic interloper. What was I thinking, trying to be a scribe? I didn\u2019t belong here. It was stupid to try. I would fail the test, and have to crawl humiliatingly home to the village.<\/p>\n

As soon as I saw the test papers, I sighed in relief. Not too difficult at all. I answered everything, although I saw others struggling, chewing the end of the pen in frustrated thought, or dipping the nib repeatedly in the ink.<\/p>\n

I emerged waving the two certificates triumphantly at Father. \u201cThere! Mother should be pleased with me, anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPerhaps,\u201d he said. He leaned towards me, lowering his voice. \u201cBut don\u2019t gloat too much about it. You\u2019ve already gone further than she ever did.\u201d<\/p>\n

It took me a moment to work out what he meant. \u201cAre you saying – she doesn\u2019t have one of these?\u201d<\/p>\n

He shook his head. \u201cShe never had the money to come here and take the test. She doesn\u2019t need it, of course, so long as she only teaches in Durmaston. But you could go anywhere with that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf I had any desire to teach.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. If that.\u201d He winked at me and laughed.<\/p>\n

The following sun, I handed over all my accumulated coins, showed my certificate, and became a trainee scribe.<\/p>\n

Father\u2019s voice wavered a little as he said all the things that fathers say to daughters when they release them into the world. Work hard. Do your best. Don\u2019t be led astray. Save some money to get you home next summer. \u201cDon\u2019t forget us,\u201d he said, gazing into my eyes. \u201cDon\u2019t ever get so grand that you forget the people who love you best.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAs if I would!\u201d I said, but already I was anxious for him to go so that I could begin my new life.<\/p>\n

I was to share a room with two other girls. Lissa was quiet and tearful, and after a ten-sun she took her belongings and left without a word. Hestanora was friendly for the brief time it took her to discover my name.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, a village<\/em> girl! Well! They let anyone in, I suppose.\u201d<\/p>\n

After that she didn\u2019t talk to me at all if she could help it, which suited me just fine.<\/p>\n

~~~~~<\/p>\n

All through the autumn rains and the frosts of early winter, I diligently practised my scribing. We learned contract script first, the basic style used for personal and business messages. It was not unlike the usual style of writing non-scribes used, although more formalised and precise. We were told that this was the way everyone had written once, but in general use, the letter shapes had become sloppy and deformed, so now contract script was almost unintelligible for those not trained in it. Then we learned dot script, a quick way of writing used for taking dictation.<\/p>\n

Every morning was spent copying and repeating endlessly, until each letter was identical to every other instance. Our script had to be perfect. We sat in orderly rows at our desks in the teaching room, heads bent, while a master walked up and down with a pointer, inspecting our efforts, tapping the paper to emphasise every mistake. \u201cLonger. A wider down-stroke. No flourish there. You have blotted it – start again.\u201d I hated that pointer, and worked hard to avoid it. Before long, my efforts earned me an occasional grunt of approval.<\/p>\n

In the afternoons, I worked in the laundry to earn my keep, boiling great cauldrons of water to soak sheets and gowns and shirts, then rotating them to drain away the water, refilling, rinsing, rotating. Then every item had to be squeezed through rollers and hung to dry. Another group folded and pressed the dried garments, among them Hestanora. For all she considered herself too grand to associate with me, she was just as poor as I was.<\/p>\n

When the first shoots of spring appeared through the snow in the little garden, we were allowed into the scribes\u2019 tower, to begin learning spell script. The spellarium was a circular room high up in the tower, with desks around the outside in five groups, one for each year, and a large hearth in the middle which burned constantly.<\/p>\n

The excitement in the room was tangible, but the master was unsmiling. \u201cAll your efforts, whether good or bad, must be destroyed in the fire here. No spellpage leaves this room, ever. Once you begin practising with magically imbued paper, quill and ink, burning will release the magic to the air, without harm.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hestanora coughed, her way of attracting attention. \u201cIf you please, master, surely burning activates the magic?\u201d<\/p>\n

Some of the others tittered at her ignorance. I wondered why she hadn\u2019t read even the very basic books we\u2019d been set, which explained the principles of magic quite clearly.<\/p>\n

The master smiled benignly at her. \u201cAh, yes! That confuses many people, Hestanora. Just remember that you need three things to activate a spellpage: the proper scribing materials, a crucible to focus the magic and an invocation to the Gods. Without all three the spellpage cannot possibly be effective. And naturally the spell must be perfectly scribed. So let us focus on our scribing, eh? Open your books, everyone, to page seven, a spellpage for general well-being.\u201d<\/p>\n

We weren\u2019t yet allowed the proper paper, quill or ink, but the words were those of actual spells, copied from one of the spell books. To my delight, the letters shimmered and danced exactly as I remembered, even under my unskilled hands. Spellpages were written in contract script, but with extra flourishes and symbols attached to almost every letter. It was even more important to be accurate, since any mistake in a spell could have unintended consequences. Not everyone was able to achieve the required accuracy, and the more than forty pupils who had started the year alongside me were reduced to barely half that after only a few moons.<\/p>\n

I surprised myself by finding it easy. Even with simple contract script, once I knew the correct shapes I always copied them accurately. A couple of times I thought I\u2019d gone wrong, and once I was sure my hand had slipped and made a letter far too long, but when I looked again everything was correct. With spell script, though, it was even easier because the symbols stood out so clearly.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve made a mistake in that line,\u201d I whispered one sun to the boy sitting next to me.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat? I don\u2019t think so. It looks fine to me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, those two letters aren\u2019t right.\u201d<\/p>\n

He leaned closer to the page, staring long and hard at it. \u201cMoon Gods, I think you\u2019re right. I\u2019ve got them the wrong way round. Your eyes must be good, to spot that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s easy, they\u2019re not dancing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s obvious because they\u2019re not moving around. And they\u2019re not silvery. They\u2019re dark, so they must be wrong, see?\u201d<\/p>\n

He stared at me as if he thought me insane. \u201cWhat moonshit are you on about?\u201d<\/p>\n

I kept quiet about the dancing letters after that. I supposed his eyes were defective, if he couldn\u2019t see them, and I pitied him.<\/p>\n

~~~~~<\/p>\n

Summer brought a moon\u2019s leave, and so, wearing the single silver chain of a common scribe, I went home. This time the wagon was full of glassware, but still with a scent of turnip about it. It was strange to be back, with everything just as it was. The servants with their little patter of grumbles. Another new baby for my oldest sister Ginzia. My father always about to be late with an order and just managing in time. Mother effortlessly spinning the threads of household life into orderly webs. Deckas and Deyria a year older and taller, but just as easy-going.<\/p>\n

And yet it was utterly different. I was not given to introspection, but even I could see that it was not my family who had changed. I was detached, part of the family and yet apart at the same time. I felt dislocated and couldn\u2019t wait to leave.<\/p>\n

The matter of the Kellon\u2019s drusse was still under discussion, I found. The Kellon\u2019s Steward had called again when I was fifteen, more persistent, less willing to accept a refusal. The previous year\u2019s drusse had not been a great success, it appeared. \u201cNothing under her cap at all,\u201d the Steward had said, shaking his head sorrowfully. \u201cThe Kellon would very much like a drusse who can string together a coherent sentence. Now you, my dear, you would be perfect.\u201d<\/p>\n

He had gone away disappointed again, and the following year Deyria, my youngest sister, turned thirteen, suitable by age and body shape for the role. To my relief the focus had switched to her. She had laughed about it, not even bothering to dream up an excuse. \u201cI don\u2019t fancy the idea,\u201d was all she said, to Mother\u2019s despair. But, on my return from the scribery, she was fifteen, and I found that the scheme was under serious consideration.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat changed your mind?\u201d I asked her, as we sat in her room one evening.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I met him! Last gathering, I was working at the guest house with the laundry and so on, and I wouldn\u2019t normally have had any cause to cross his path. But then there was a crisis, I was sent upstairs with some linens, and there he was, and he noticed me! After that, he asked for me specially, and I saw him every sun.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut he had a drusse, didn\u2019t he?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh yes, but he didn\u2019t seem to spend much time with her. Well, the nights, I suppose. But I used to go in every morning, tidying his rooms, supposedly, but actually just talking to him. I think he\u2019s lonely, you know. His wife\u2019s not much company. She\u2019s quite ill. But of course, you\u2019ll know all about it. People must have talked about her at Ardamurkan. You probably know more than me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I never heard anyone talking about the Kellon\u2019s family.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo? Not even in the taverns and shops?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI hardly ever went outside the scribery.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, isn\u2019t that just like you, Kyra! You spend a whole year in town, and you barely stir from the scribery. Anyway, he likes me, and he\u2019s asked me to be his drusse this year.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWill you do it? Mother would be thrilled.\u201d<\/p>\n

She gurgled with laughter. \u201cI know! She\u2019s trying so hard not to get too excited about it. I wouldn\u2019t mind – I mean, he\u2019s nice, much nicer than I expected, and not at all as decrepit as I\u2019d thought.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd him almost fifty, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

Deyria missed the sarcastic tone. \u201cWell, exactly! But he\u2019s quite fit for his age. And I\u2019d like to please Mother – it would be good for the whole family. But…\u201d Her face clouded. \u201cHe won\u2019t allow me to take the herbs, and – Kyra, you understand, don\u2019t you? About not wanting a child yet. And Ginzia – she had such a bad time of it with this last baby. She almost died.\u201d Her voice dropped to a whisper. \u201cIt was terrible. And although she survived, she looks so old and grey and worn out. It\u2019s awful. I don\u2019t want that, not yet, not until I\u2019ve lived a bit, you know?\u201d<\/p>\n

I nodded. I did know. I understood completely.<\/p>\n

\u201cMother thinks a child is unlikely, did she tell you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, but – I still don\u2019t want to risk it. But I would <\/em>like to be drusse. Because, you know, his wife is sick and she might die.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh. And you think – ? But the Asha-Kellon has been sickly for many years.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut she\u2019s much worse now. Lethon says she can\u2019t last much longer, and it would be a blessing for her. And then… if we get along… Kyra, I should so like to be Asha-Kellon and live at Ardamurkan and meet all those interesting people.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can hardly think of anything more dreadful,\u201d I said, appalled.<\/p>\n

She laughed again. \u201cOh, sister, you\u2019ve always had your nose in a book, so you\u2019ve never noticed that people are endlessly fascinating. I would love to be part of his life in that way. It would be so much fun.\u201d<\/p>\n

Fun! I couldn\u2019t think of anything more hideous. I said nothing, but Deyria rattled on, oblivious.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can help, though. You can write spells now, can\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, no. Only the script.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat would do. I\u2019ve found a spell to prevent pregnancy, and if you were to write it out…\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDeyria, I\u2019m not allowed to! Even if I had the proper paper and ink, it\u2019s absolutely forbidden. I\u2019d be thrown out of the scribery. Besides, I\u2019ve never written a true spellpage.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, it doesn\u2019t need to be real,\u201d she said airily, \u201cbut everyone knows that writing out the spell and then burning it in a crucible – well, it isn\u2019t guaranteed<\/em> to work, like the real thing, but it increases the chances.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEven a true spellpage isn\u2019t guaranteed to work,\u201d I said acidly. \u201cThis is just superstition, Deyria. Without the proper paper, ink and quill, it can\u2019t possibly have any effect. There\u2019s no magic in the words themselves, the power is all in the paper and ink. It\u2019s a waste of time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut it would make me feel better about all this,\u201d she said softly.<\/p>\n

It was quite illogical, but many people believed such things and paid pieces to have someone write out a spell when they couldn\u2019t afford the silver for a true spellpage. It would do no harm, I reasoned, and perhaps it would bring her some comfort, even if it couldn\u2019t possibly prevent her getting pregnant. It was clear that she was as good as committed to the Kellon already – she even called him by his given name.<\/p>\n

So, despite my misgivings, I wrote out the spell on Mother\u2019s regular paper, and watched the letters jump and shimmer as they settled onto the page. Then I gave it to Deyria, and her face lit up with pleasure. She hugged me and thanked me over and over.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll go to Ginzia\u2019s house tonight. She won\u2019t mind us using her crucible.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot me, no. I\u2019m a scribe, Deyria, I don\u2019t like to watch ordinary pages burned in the crucible. It seems wrong somehow. The crucible is only for true spellpages.\u201d<\/p>\n

So she went alone and came back smiling. But that night, I dreamt of flames and ash.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

4: The Mirror Room<\/strong><\/p>\n

I\u2019d expected my second year at the scribery to be much the same as the first, but I couldn\u2019t have been more wrong. For one thing, I found myself with friends for the first time since leaving the village. Hestanora and I acquired a new room-mate, Lora, the daughter of a lamp maker in town. She was starting her first year, and was as serious about her scribing as I was, but everything else was a source of endless entertainment for her. She dragged me away from my constant studying and took me exploring around the town, into shops, taverns and board houses, to meet her vast array of friends and relations, and convincing me there were points of interest even outside the scribery.<\/p>\n

My other friend was Manistairn, or Mani, as he liked to be called. He was the son of a servant at the Kellon\u2019s hall – something quite high powered, I was given to understand. His first year friends had left, so he attached himself to me instead. He was open about his reasons. \u201cYou\u2019re the best in our year, so you can help me, can\u2019t you?\u201d I didn\u2019t mind. It was rather nice to be deferred to and asked for advice.<\/p>\n

The two of them became my constant companions. Lora was pretty and bubbly, and Mani had a self-confident charm, so they floated through the suns in a haze of good humour, surrounded by smiling faces. I envied them their easy ways, but I was usually the silent member of the party. Growing up in a village, what could I possibly have to say that would interest anyone?<\/p>\n

Hestanora had lost the two friends she\u2019d made the previous year, and I think she was a little lonely without them. She wandered about by herself, head down, lost in thought. Not lonely enough to socialise with the likes of me, though.<\/p>\n

I no longer had to work in the laundry for my keep. My chore this year was in the mirror room, buried deep under the Scribes\u2019 Tower in a windowless basement room, with armed guards at all times. They weren\u2019t lounging against the door posts, either, or constantly chatting together, like those at the entrance gates. Guarding the mirror room was a serious business, and they kept records of everyone who went in and out. When I first went there, I had to be introduced to them by the master scribe in charge, and an impression was made of my hand pressed into wet plaster. Every time I went there after that, I had to rest my hand in the solidified impression.<\/p>\n

The mirror room was where messages were sent and received from the scriberies in the other towns, including the capital, Kingswell, through a spell-enhanced system of writing mirrors. On one side of the room, a line of mirrors hung on the wall, one for each location, with a few spares, each with a table set in front. When a message arrived, the letters would appear on the mirror as they were scribed at the other end, and my job was to copy them down before they faded away. On the other side of the room were mirrors laid almost flat, so scribes could write outgoing messages on them.<\/p>\n

I loved the mirror room. All the mirrors pulsed with spell energy, almost humming with it, and I could feel the magic cocooning me, wrapping me in a warm, energising embrace. Even the air crackled with power. I never tired of it. It operated for two or three hours each sun, but it was never long enough for me.<\/p>\n

One of the mirrors was malfunctioning, so messages to Callamorn had to be sent through Kingswell. When I was near it, I could feel its energy spluttering, fizzing like the others one moment, then fading to quietness. When I touched it, I could hear it better, and almost feel it trying to work, but the master scribe in charge got nervous if I went too near.<\/p>\n

To be honest, they were nervous about me being there at all.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou must understand that nothing you see or hear is to be repeated,\u201d the master scribe told me. She had a brusque voice at the best of times, but now she was almost shouting. \u201cNothing at all! It is imperative – everything that passes through the mirror room is confidential.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course.\u201d My surprise at her vehemence must have been written all over my face.<\/p>\n

She softened slightly. \u201cWell, I\u2019m sure you will be discreet.\u201c She scratched her nose thoughtfully. \u201cSome scribes will comment on your appointment, of course. It\u2019s not usual for a common scribe, not at all usual. But take no notice. You are an excellent copyist, quite the best of your year, very accurate, and you\u2019re that little bit older – more mature, shall we say. And – well, it\u2019s not as if you know any of these people, is it?\u201d She tittered, embarrassed.<\/p>\n

I had no idea what she meant, but I soon found out. Most of the messages were very dull, the business of the realm broken down into tediously small pieces. Grain stored or distributed, taxes collected, cattle slaughtered, businesses bought and sold, licences issued, justice imparted. Weather reports, floods, snows, droughts, irrigation channels cleared. Births, deaths, marriages, drusse contracts, outbreaks of fever. Bridges collapsed, sewers blocked, wagons broken, roads to be mended, fallen trees shifted. All of it passed through my ink-stained fingers, as I feverishly transcribed before the original words vanished.<\/p>\n

But some messages were more personal, almost intimate. The secrets of the rulers were also written in the mirrors, all their little family worries, triumphs and disasters. A Kellon\u2019s child had fallen from a tree. A cousin of the Drashon drowned when his ship sank. A new wing on a Kellona\u2019s hall to accommodate her growing family. And our own Kellon\u2019s younger brother was in trouble. Several messages flew back and forth, and even the Drashon sent his opinion.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan you not persuade Neesion to keep his trousers on, Lethon? It is not as if he has no other outlet. You would think a wife and three drusse would be ample for his needs, and if even that should prove insufficient to satisfy him, I am sure Ardamurkan can supply an acceptable array of companions. A lot cheaper than paying for another drusse, too. I suppose we shall have to do it, assuming we can prevail on Council to agree. I really shall send him to a border post on the eastern plains if he cannot behave better in future.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

My sister was mentioned too. Not by name, but there were references to the \u201cnext drusse\u201d, sometimes mixed in with discussion of the heir question, although I didn\u2019t understand much of that. The Kellonor, the Kellon\u2019s designated heir, was his daughter, and all I knew of her was that she was sickly like her mother. Then the Bai-Kellonor, the second heir, was the son of a drusse from long ago. There was also the younger brother, with his trouser difficulties. I knew he had three children from his various gathering drusse, all from the same village, but they were never mentioned. In one message, the Kellon seemed to be proposing to take a more permanent drusse, so perhaps he still hoped for more children. Would that be Deyria? It was hard to grasp the subtleties of the conversation when the messages flew in and out so fast.<\/p>\n

There were other distractions in the mirror room, too, for various members of the Kellon\u2019s retinue came and went, bringing messages to be sent, or waiting for replies. Sometimes there was no one there but scribes, while at other times there was a noisy cluster of retainers hanging about, disturbingly loud, quite unconcerned with the disruption they may be causing us as we struggled to capture each message before it vanished.<\/p>\n

One afternoon, I had just finished transcribing three messages in succession from Shandyria, and my fingers were beginning to cramp. I was grateful when another scribe waved me aside and took my place in front of the mirror for the next message. I was walking around and stretching my aching hands when I looked across the room and there was the strange boy with dark hair I\u2019d seen at the inn. He was staring at me, that odd smile on his face.<\/p>\n

I jumped, hand to throat, frozen. I may have made a little sound, a gasp. It was stupid, of course, because I knew he was part of the Kellon\u2019s retinue, so it shouldn\u2019t have been a surprise to see him there. It was perfectly natural. Even though I hadn\u2019t seen him at the village since that time so long ago, I\u2019d always known I might bump into him again at Ardamurkan. After a moment, I recovered my composure and turned away.<\/p>\n

He followed me, crossing the room to talk to me. He leaned close, half whispering, as if sharing a secret.<\/p>\n

\u201cHello, Kyra. So how are you enjoying the scribery?\u201d<\/p>\n

He remembered my name. After almost four years, he recalled that fleeting exchange in the back room at the inn. My mouth flapped open, too astonished to speak.<\/p>\n

He laughed, not at all discomfited. \u201cYou\u2019re doing well, I hear. I thought you would, with your talents.\u201d<\/p>\n

My head whirled. How could he know what talent I might have for scribing? And what had he heard of me? It was impossible to make any sense of his words.<\/p>\n

Before I could get my thoughts in order, a man called from beside the Kingswell mirror. \u201cIt\u2019s finished, Drei!\u201d He waved a paper aloft. \u201cCome on, let\u2019s get it back to the Kellon.\u201d<\/p>\n

Drei. Had I heard the name before? It sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn\u2019t think straight. He nodded to his friend, grinned at me, and was gone.<\/p>\n

I was unsettled by him, even though he appeared to be open and friendly towards me. There was something out of kilter about him, like a patterned rug with a single thread in the wrong colour, superficially perfect but disturbing to the eye in some unfathomable way. Yet I was drawn to him, too, and that was even harder to understand.<\/p>\n

~~~~~<\/p>\n

I tried to put him out of my mind. I had much to enjoy, with my new friends and the excursions they planned. I loved seeing the town and finding parts of it I never knew existed, like the tiny streets filled with craft houses. The artisans made and sold their goods on the ground floor, and the family lived on the floors above. We wandered from one to another, admiring the fine work and chatting to the workers, although we couldn\u2019t afford to buy anything. There were cake houses, too, where we could sit over a pot of a hot fruity drink and make a single sweet pastry last for hours. There were squares and walkways away from the traffic where, on fine suns, people sat outside playing complicated games with carved wooden pieces. With so much to absorb me, I rarely thought about the dark haired boy.<\/p>\n

At the scribery, I finally began to create spellpages. We were given the proper paper and ink, and taught to make and use the special quills. I loved the way the paper glowed, and the quills thrummed with power and infected me with their energy. I almost shook with excitement whenever I touched one. Yet the letters and symbols flowed smoothly as I wrote, a calm stream despite my shivers.<\/p>\n

After each page was completed, the master on duty would tear it into pieces and then burn it in the spellarium hearth, releasing the magic harmlessly. Sometimes they blackened and curled like any other paper, but some pages flared into brilliance momentarily before dying to ash. Even though they could never take effect, we only practised benevolent general spells, for good weather or freedom from fever, and we never added the name of a recipient.<\/p>\n

We were allowed to practise as much as we liked with ordinary paper, without any restrictions, so I amused myself with scribing magnanimous spells for Durmaston and all my friends and kin. If they had been real, everyone in the village would have been happy and healthy, with perfect weather and productive crops and beasts. It was a shame to toss them onto the hearth afterwards. If only it were possible to use magic in that free way, without the need to charge silver for it. But that was the law; there wasn\u2019t enough magic in the world for everyone to have whatever they wanted, so it had to be restricted.<\/p>\n

One sun, two of the masters were whispering together while we worked. Some of the other scribes stopped work to watch what was going on, speculating behind their hands, heads leaning together. I was absorbed by a complicated spell to improve eyesight, far more interesting, so I took little notice. After a while, they snaked their way through the desks until they were beside me.<\/p>\n

\u201cKyra,\u201d the master in charge said.<\/p>\n

I lifted my head. \u201cYes, Master?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKyra, would you like to attempt a true spellpage? One to be burned in the crucible?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d like that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou think you can manage it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI believe so, Master.\u201d<\/p>\n

A glimmer of approval in her eyes. A little louder, so the rest of my year could hear, she said, \u201cYou will all try this over the coming suns, as the need arises. Come, Kyra, leave what you are doing. This must be done at the proper desk.\u201d<\/p>\n

A few desks were set apart where true spellpages were scribed, beside the spellarium crucible. I should have been nervous as I walked across the room with everyone\u2019s eyes on me, but I wasn\u2019t. At last, my first true spellpage.<\/p>\n

At the desk, I stopped. There was no paper, ink or quill laid out, and I had no idea which spell I was to scribe. The other master looked at me under bristling eyebrows. Was that scepticism in his eyes? He had never taught me, so he had no reason to trust my competence.<\/p>\n

\u201cOne of the Kellon\u2019s personal scribes has a virulent rash, with a fever. What would you scribe to help?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA general spell for good health, with a variance for fever reduction and a secondary variance for deep sleep, directed by name, Master.\u201d<\/p>\n

His brows rose a fraction. \u201cSleep, eh? You would not scribe anything for the rash?\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked him in the eye, sure of my answer. \u201cAccording to Mornisson\u2019s Theory, sleep is more beneficial in such cases. Variances for clear skin tend not to be fully effective. Also, we have not been taught the procedures for tertiary variances yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

He grunted and handed me a paper. \u201cVery well. This is the scribe\u2019s name. You may proceed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMay I ask — ? The scribe\u2019s age? Usual state of wellbeing? Man or woman?\u201d<\/p>\n

Now there was definite approval in his eyes. \u201cWoman, almost thirty, rather thin but generally healthy. Prone to winter chills.\u201d<\/p>\n

Such things were not, strictly speaking, part of the spell, but could be subtly used to increase its effectiveness by emphasising specific symbols more than others or making fine adjustments in the height of a letter or the pressure of the quill stroke. We had been taught about this in broad terms, but I had looked up references and practised how to apply the more usual effects.<\/p>\n

I went to the shelves where the supplies were kept and selected a sheet of paper, a bottle of red ink and a fresh quill, which vibrated very gently in my hand. A few strokes with the knife shaped it to my liking. Then I sat down and began to write. The masters stood each side of me, watching every movement of the quill. I should have been nervous with all this scrutiny, but the magic thrumming through my hands, from ink and quill to paper, infected me with confidence. I knew it would be all right.<\/p>\n

When I finished they pored over the paper as if it held the secrets of the seven moons.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell done, Kyra,\u201d the master in charge said, relief in her eyes, for my capability reflected well on her teaching. \u201cLet us see if it works, shall we?\u201d<\/p>\n

We seldom saw a true spellpage burned in the spellarium, so all the scribes gathered round the crucible to watch. At the village, only three families could afford a crucible, and only the smallest type. This one was larger than any I\u2019d seen elsewhere, an open metal bowl at least two handspans across, raised on a matching metal stand. The outside was engraved with spell symbols, while the inside was blackened with use.<\/p>\n

The master placed the spellpage in the crucible, recited the words –\u201cBy the sun, bring light and fire and colour; by the moon, enable the darkness\u201d<\/em> – and lit it with a shard from the fire. At once it flared to a brilliant burst of searing colours, dazzling my eyes. By the time I had blinked it was gone, no more than smouldering ash.<\/p>\n

~~~~~<\/p>\n

Over evening board that night, Mani said, \u201cI\u2019m so <\/em>glad it was you and not me.\u201d He shone his generous smile at me. \u201cThe first of us to scribe a true spellpage! And everyone watching, too. I\u2019d have been terrified. Yet you seemed so calm.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIsn\u2019t she always calm?\u201d Lora reached across to squeeze my hand. Her scarves were beaded in the Ardamurkan fashion, and the movement set them glittering. \u201cI\u2019ve never seen Kyra ruffled by anything.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s true. But this was beyond anything. You\u2019d have been amazed, Lora. She just sat down and scribed without any hesitation, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo it is. It\u2019s what we\u2019ve trained to do, after all. What\u2019s so terrifying in that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s one thing to practise, it\u2019s something else to do it for real. You don\u2019t know whether you can until you try.\u201d<\/p>\n

Yet somehow I knew that I could. Coming to the scribery felt like coming home, finding my place in the world, the one place I truly belonged. Everything I did there, the scribing, the books, the spells, the rules of business and the law, even mingling with the Kellon\u2019s people – all of it felt natural and easy to me. I hadn\u2019t been terrified because it hadn\u2019t occurred to me that I could fail. Perhaps it was arrogance or hubris, but I truly felt I was born to be a scribe.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

5: Pain<\/strong><\/p>\n

Before the first snows arrived, I had an unexpected visitor. After my shift at the mirror room one cold sun, I made my way back to my lodgings, well-wrapped against the bitter wind. Inside the entrance door was a large hall, with benches along either side. As soon as I walked through the door, bringing a whirl of frigid air with me, a figure bundled in a fashionable woollen coat, large hat and voluminous scarf jumped up from a bench and rushed over to me, arms out.<\/p>\n

\u201cKyra? Surprise!\u201d It was indeed, for I had no idea who it was. \u201cI\u2019ll bet you didn\u2019t expect to see me here!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cErm…\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCome now, sweet child, have you forgotten me already? I\u2019m mortified.\u201d<\/p>\n

He unwound the scarf and swept the hat off his head with a dramatic flourish, revealing blond curls.<\/p>\n

\u201cBonnor? Gracious Moon Gods, what are you doing here?\u201d<\/p>\n

He enveloped me in an enthusiastic, woolly hug, squashing my nose into his coat so that I could hardly breathe. \u201cBenissar – Mistress Tallyan, that is – is here for some family affair, and she brought me along. Isn\u2019t that delightful of her?\u201d He gurgled with pleasure. \u201cSo I get new clothes, thanks to her generosity, and you get messages from everyone in your family. Look!\u201d<\/p>\n

He produced a big bundle of papers, all shapes and sizes, tied up with string.<\/p>\n

\u201cWonderful,\u201d I said sourly. \u201cNaturally they\u2019d never pay good coin to write to me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s expensive to send by the official messengers, and the wagons are uncertain.\u201d He touched my cheek with one gloved finger. \u201cIt doesn\u2019t mean you\u2019re forgotten, little one.\u201d<\/p>\n

Not forgotten, perhaps, but certainly I had slipped out of their minds since I left. But then they had slipped out of my mind, too. We had all moved on.<\/p>\n

~~~~~<\/p>\n

Mistress Tallyan generously treated me and both my friends to a meal at a very expensive board house. She teased us mercilessly – \u201cTwo girls and one boy, how interesting!\u201d – and pumped us for information about the town nobility. She was from Ardamurkan originally but not very high status, so she was sure we would know more of the town\u2019s scandals. Lora and Mani kept her supplied with a steady stream of trivial gossip throughout the meal, while I, who knew all the juiciest snippets from the mirrors, said nothing. It was a struggle not to smirk with glee at my superior knowledge.<\/p>\n

At the end of the meal, Mistress Tallyan turned to me thoughtfully.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, Kyra, your sister is well settled with the Kellon, it seems. She turned her ten-sun into a long-term arrangement rather masterfully, I think. There will be another baby for the Kellon soon, I suppose?\u201d She tipped her head on one side, lifting an eyebrow inquisitively.<\/p>\n

\u201cI have no information about that.\u201d I could guess, though. The lack of news told its own story.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat, nothing in that huge bundle of messages?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere was no mention of a baby. But I haven\u2019t heard from Deyria herself. She\u2019s at Hedmandra now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAh, true enough. He\u2019s not allowed to settle her here, given the terms of the marriage contract. But still – she\u2019ll be very well placed when…\u201d She looked at me for a long moment, then turned back to her wine. \u201cBut I daresay no one talks of it.\u201d<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t reply. I couldn\u2019t talk about it either, but I knew what she meant. If the Asha-Kellon died, then the Kellon\u2019s drusse, one he clearly held in affection, would be the obvious candidate as the next wife. I had heard the prospect openly discussed in tavern and board house. Yet Deyria was only a village girl, and I didn\u2019t think it likely.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know why he wants so many babies anyway,\u201d Lora said, with a toss of her head that set her beads shivering. \u201cHe already has his heir and his second heir, and isn\u2019t there a brother? And cousins, and such like. And some of his previous drusse have children. But everyone knows he won\u2019t let his drusse take the herbs. It\u2019s positively feudal.\u201d<\/p>\n

I laughed at her outrage, but Mistress Tallyan was rather shocked. \u201cOh, no, dear. Under normal<\/em> circumstances, that might be sufficient, even for a Kellon, but here the situation is rather tricky. You see, the Lady Cerandina – his wife, you know – is related to the Drashon himself, so the marriage contract is very restrictive. Children of the marriage are given priority, but the eldest child, the Lady Bellastria – well, it was a difficult birth, the Lady Cerandina nearly died. The daughter herself was born deformed. She\u2019s weak still, they say, although no one knows. She\u2019s seldom seen in public. And then — Ooh, sweets! How delicious they look!\u201d<\/p>\n

The servers placed several dishes of iced and decorated confections on the table, and Mistress Tallyan had to sample them all. She was generously proportioned, and it wasn\u2019t hard to see why.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnyway, where was I? Oh yes, the Lady Bellastria. Well, while his wife recovered from the birth, the Kellon took a drusse and had a son, but, would you believe it, he<\/em>\u2019s<\/em> not right, either. Very strange boy, Axandrei. A real fire-raiser for a while. He wanted to be a scribe at one time, I believe, until they talked him out of it. He\u2019s settled a bit now – not so many scandals, but still… So you see, the Kellon needs a normal<\/em> child as heir, but it has to be through a wife. Mark my words,\u201d and she waggled sugary fingers at us, \u201cas soon as poor Lady Cerandina is aflame, he\u2019ll marry whichever of his drusse has the most likely child. So dear Deyria had better get on with it.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a lot here to think about. I recalled hearing odd pieces of discussion at home about the Kellon\u2019s family, Mother talking with a neighbour, or the servants gossiping. It had never seemed very interesting to me, so I hadn\u2019t taken much notice. Even when Deyria had mentioned the Kellon, I hadn\u2019t thought much of it. But finally I understood: she truly could be the next Asha-Kellon. I smiled at the thought of my wild little sister becoming a great lady.<\/p>\n

~~~~~<\/p>\n

After Mistress Tallyan opened my eyes to the possibilities for Deyria, I started to pay more attention to the mirror messages relating to the Kellon. Immediately it was obvious that the Asha-Kellon\u2019s illness was now very grave. All through the snows, messages flew about her health. She had deteriorated; the worst was feared. She had rallied a little; everyone was more hopeful. A heartfelt plea from the Kellon for the Drashon\u2019s most experienced mage. Two were sent from Kingswell at once. A sad report that they had been unable to help. And the repeated and increasingly frantic requests for a stronger medication, something – anything – to alleviate the terrible unremitting pain.<\/p>\n

The Kellon came himself one sun. He strode into the mirror room, his minions straggling along behind him like so many chicks following a mother hen. He had an urgent message to send to the Drashon regarding a new kind of pain remedy he had heard about, some tropical juice from the northern coast. He thought that the herbalists at Kingswell might be able to find some. While that message was being sent, he stomped about, berating the master in charge for the inadequacies of the scribery.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you not have spells for my good lady? What are you here for, if not to alleviate suffering?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe have tried everything – we continue to try, Lord, but…\u201d the master said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, try harder. This pain – it is inhuman, no one should have to suffer so. Yet they tell me she could live on like this for years. If it were my horse, my stable master would put the poor creature down, but my wife, who has done nothing to deserve it, must endure this misery. And I must watch, helpless. I had rather she were dead<\/em> than go through such agony sun after sun. You could do that<\/em>, I suppose? A death spell?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course, but…\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know, I know, you cannot use them.\u201d<\/p>\n

The master\u2019s face betrayed little emotion – perhaps he was used to such outbursts – but I was shocked at the talk of death spells. There were such things, of course, and very useful they were for summer infestations of snakes or horned beetles. But against people? Magic was so hedged about with constraints that harmful spells were difficult to accomplish and rarely successful. Even if the lady were to commission the spellpage and burn it herself, it would still be for the Moon Gods to decide the outcome. It was a sign of the Kellon\u2019s desperation that he even thought of such a thing.<\/p>\n

He sighed, and ran a hand through his greying hair. \u201cThere must be something<\/em> you can do.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was heart-wrenching to listen to his pleading. He cared deeply for his wife, that much was clear. I was surprised by that, knowing of his liking for other women – my sister amongst them. I\u2019d imagined that his wife was unimportant to him, just a familiar part of his life without much meaning. I was wrong.<\/p>\n

People talked of it as a political marriage, undertaken to please the Drashon. There were rumours of disagreements, of factions at the hall. Some said that the Asha-Kellon thought herself too grand for Ardamurkan and kept her husband in submission, bound by her whims. Others said she was a gentle soul, with much to put up with from her husband. Sometimes, it was said, there would be arguments, shouting even, until one or the other stormed out.<\/p>\n

It was hard to separate truth from exaggeration or outright fantasy. Perhaps these great people were always quarrelsome, or perhaps the little people liked to magnify every minor difference of opinion. Maybe what seemed like a tempestuous relationship was no more fractured than the candle maker and her husband at Durmaston, who regularly had the most dreadful fights but were unquestionably devoted to each other. I supposed after so many years together, the Kellon had grown fond of the Asha-Kellon and she of him, despite their differences.<\/p>\n

Whatever the case, their situation now was appalling. I ached to help them, but what could I do? The best mages in the land, the most powerful spells, the strongest remedies had been tried and all found wanting. No magic was ever guaranteed to work, for there were always the final arbiters, the Moon Gods themselves. If they decreed a thing, the will of men could not counter it. Although why the Moon Gods would wish the Lady Cerandina to suffer so much was beyond my understanding.<\/p>\n

What could I possibly hope to do? I looked through all the spell books I could find, searching for something different, something which perhaps had been overlooked and not previously tried. I was not alone in this. All the training scribes had been set this task, and everyone, masters and pupils alike, spent more time than usual in the library. But whenever we thought we\u2019d found something, the masters would shake their heads. It was ineffective for some reason, was too dangerous or, more usually, it had already been attempted.<\/p>\n

~~~~~<\/p>\n

One evening I was reading a spell book in my room. The moon was at its brightest, so I needed no lamp or candle. It was a book of remedies for illnesses, starting with simple fevers and rashes, and continuing through more serious disorders, with a long section at the back on chronic diseases. I was looking for something akin to the Lady Cerandina\u2019s case, but none seemed quite the same, with its relentless deep-seated pain. Then, on the very last page of the book, I found a spell entitled \u201cThe Ultimate Remedy\u201d<\/em>. A death spell, and one designed specifically for those at the end of a long illness. It invoked a deep, peaceful sleep and then a quiet death. A spell for those beyond hope, an easeful end when life was intolerable.<\/p>\n

I stared at it for some time. It was an elegant spell, which is a hard thing to describe to anyone not a scribe. It was filled with gentle compassion, with flourishes that acknowledged a life well-lived yet now drawing to a close. The decorative swirls were lovingly drawn and every symbol perfect. It was beautiful. I ran my hands gently over the page, tracing the shapes with my fingers and shivering at the power in the spell.<\/p>\n

I wanted to scribe it. We had not been taught any death spells, for they were fourth year work at least. I had never even seen one before, since as a rule they were kept locked away in the library. This one had slipped through as the rest of the book was all healing spells. But it was mesmerising, and I wanted to try it for myself, to see if I could copy those graceful pen strokes and unique flourishes.<\/p>\n

I rushed across to my desk and pulled out paper and pen. True death spells would be scribed in black ink, but I had none, so I used red instead, the colour of health, illogical as that was. It didn\u2019t matter, though, for none of my materials were magically empowered, so there could be no harmful effects.<\/p>\n

I copied the spell neatly in my best script, and to be honest I was pleased with it. The letters danced and glimmered and shone for me, as always. As an afterthought, I put the Lady Cerandina\u2019s name on it, for that was also good practice, and I\u2019d rarely directed a spellpage at anyone of noble status before.<\/p>\n

For a while I admired my handiwork, checking for flaws and finding none. Sadly, my beautiful death spell had to be destroyed. I couldn\u2019t admit to scribing such a thing, so before I went to bed I laid it gently on the embers in the hearth. It flamed in a hundred vivid colours for an instant before turning to ash. Afterwards, with death on my mind, I dreamt of a great burning.<\/p>\n

That night the Lady Cerandina fell into a deep untroubled sleep, and three suns later she died.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

1: Refusal I was fourteen when the Kellon\u2019s Steward first came for me. Well, blow that. I had my life all planned out, and the Kellon had no part in it, I was sure of that. Still, the Steward was waiting for me, and the question had to be asked before it could be refused. Head high, I crossed the tiny hallway of the cottage, my boots clumping on the wooden floor, and strode into the parlour.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[15],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/paulinemross.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1261"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/paulinemross.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/paulinemross.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paulinemross.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paulinemross.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1261"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/paulinemross.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1261\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1265,"href":"https:\/\/paulinemross.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1261\/revisions\/1265"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/paulinemross.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1261"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paulinemross.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1261"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paulinemross.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1261"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}