Chapter Thirteen
It took them the rest of the day to get to the Lyceum.
In years past, whenever Aelys returned to the Lyceum, she did so via the same imperial highway they’d been traveling with Nerda’s caravan. Instead of ox-drawn wagons, she’d ridden in a smart coach drawn by matched horses belonging to her family, but she was well familiar with the route. It was, in fact, the same route she’d taken when she fled the Lyceum after her graduation and the disastrous selection ceremony. When they’d headed out from Mageford, Aelys had entertained the notion of looking for the site of the inn where she’d first met Romik, Daen, and Vil…but Mell’s fever had consumed her attention for almost the entirety of the trip, and she’d forgotten all about it until the sun set and the Mother rose on the four of them hiking cross-country through farmers’ fields.
“You’re sure you know where you’re going?” Daen asked Vil, a cutting edge of doubt shading his words.
“Positive. Don’t you see it?”
“See what?”
“The Lyceum.” Vil gestured ahead of them, where the Mother’s bulk sat disproportionately heavy and round on the eastern horizon. As she rose, the Mother illuminated the glossy tops of distant ocean swells rolling in to the beach that lay nearly a furlong ahead of them and nearly a hundred lengths below.
“Vil, it’s fucking dark. I don’t see shit but the moon,” Daen grumbled.
“Next to the moon, you blind night flyer.”
“The cliff? Oh—” Daen cut himself off as one of the windows in the “cliff” blazed to life, revealing that it wasn’t a part of the cliff at all. Rather, it was a soaring stone tower, flanked by an impressively tall curtain wall that extended west and south from this corner. Aelys felt a moment’s disorientation as the world skewed about inside her mind, and she realized that she knew exactly where they were.
“You’ve brought us around the rear,” she said. “But why? The Lyceum’s entrance is on the opposite side.”
“The Lyceum’s main entrance is on the opposite side,” Vil said without looking back at her. “But given what you’ve told us about your aunt’s—”
“Aerivinne’s,” Aelys corrected him quickly.
“Aerivinne’s connection with the place,” Vil amended without so much as a twitch, “it seemed prudent to attempt to find another avenue of entry. One less likely to be noticed and remarked upon.”
“But there isn’t another…unless you mean the kitchens?”
That made him look back at her, his pale face flashing into a brief grin before returning to their path. “I do mean the kitchens. I’ve an acquaintance who works there.”
“But how would you…of course! You were in Cievers for many years, weren’t you?”
“A few years, yes. I’m not so old as all that, Bella.”
Dismay washed through Aelys. “Oh, no! Of course not! I didn’t mean to suggest—”
“Relax, Bella,” Romik said, his voice soft beside her. “Vil’s jerking your bridle.”
“Oh,” Aelys said. “Right.” She pressed her lips together to keep from uttering an apology and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other in the uncertain light. As they drew nearer to the Lyceum’s looming outer walls, a black, sinking pit opened and grew inside the lower part of her chest, just above her belly.
You’re a graduated Bellatrix, she reminded herself. You don’t have anything to prove to anyone, and no one there can do anything to you. Not even Aerivinne, if it were to come to that. But it won’t. It’s unlikely she’s here. She hasn’t been here in years, despite her role as Sanva. And this is likely the last place she’d look for us. If she’s looking for us…
Aelys turned that last thought over in her mind. Could Aerivinne be behind this Gadren person who seemed so ruthlessly bound to find her? It was certainly possible that Aerivinne would be determined to drag Aelys back to Brionne…although it was equally possible that she would be determined never to set eyes on her onetime niece again. Especially since Lysaera had disowned Aelys and cast her out of the family. As things stood now, even if Aelys was to marry and bear children, they would not be of the Brionne line.
But Aerivinne never takes Lysaera’s actions seriously. I’m certain she knows of some legal loophole that can undo the disinheritance decree my former mother made. If she ever bothered to formally enter it into legal record, that is. Which is another big “if” where Lysaera is concerned…so yes, maybe this Gadren is someone Aerivinne hired…
No. Wait. That can’t be correct. Gadren had a price on my head before I ever confronted Aerivinne at Brionne. He was paying the bandits in the ruined stronghold we escaped in the forest together on our way home—or to Brionne, rather. I don’t really know where home is…
Aelys tilted her head back and stared up at the expanse of stone that stretched skyward, blocking out the stars that twinkled to life in the deep blue dome of the sky. The ground beneath their boots firmed, transitioned from summer-soft fields to a hard-packed dirt road, though one much narrower than the imperial highway of before.
Breathe. Aelys focused her eyes on the back of Vil’s hood as she inhaled, held her breath, and then let it slowly trickle from her lips. Romik said this is how new recruits are taught to calm themselves before battle. Let’s hope that’s not what we’re walking into, but best to be prepared.
Someone caught her fingers, wound her hand through a much larger one, and Aelys looked up to see Romik beside her, his tiny smile barely visible in the rising Motherlight. He gave her a single, sharp nod, and squeezed her hand before letting go.
I guess that means I’m doing it right, Aelys thought with a tiny smile of her own, and continued to breathe with that same calming rhythm as they drew closer and closer to the postern gate in the Lyceum’s curtain wall.
The gate itself sat tucked into the shallow curve where the curtain wall met the base of the tower that soared above them. Aelys recognized it as the tower that housed the Ageon candidates. She couldn’t see it from their present angle, but there was an interior corridor that connected it to another tower—its twin, really—that had once been her home. That corridor was part of the innermost walls that formed the Lyceum’s multiple central baileys.
An odd design, to be sure, but it makes sense when you remember that the Lyceum Belli has a bitter and war-torn past. Today, the Lyceum is a bastion of learning and knowledge, but in the past, it was truly a defensive fortification designed to be incredibly difficult to take, whether by means martial or magical.
These architectural distractions got Aelys as far as the gate itself. However, by the time Vil removed one of his lesser daggers and used the hilt to pound on the heavy wooden door, her anxiety had slammed back into place, shortening her breath and tightening the muscles in her face, chest, and shoulders.
Vil waited a few moments before repeating the series of pounding knocks. This time, when he finished, a heavy thunk echoed in response, followed by a faint creaking as the door swung slowly outward.
A man in leather armor stood inside, his spear leveled directly at Vil’s gut.
“If you’re lost, Cievers is another two miles to the south,” he said, his voice gruff. “Follow the curtain wall around to the front entrance. You’ll find a road that will take you into the city.”
“We’re not heading to Cievers,” Vil said, holding his hands out to the side, palms open. The dagger lay flat in his left hand. “I’m looking for Besta.”
The man didn’t move. Vil shifted with exaggerated slowness and sheathed his dagger, and then pulled a small pouch off his belt. He opened this up and removed a silver Imperial, which he laid on the flat of the guard’s bladed spear with a gentle click.
“Wait here,” the guard growled, and stepped back, letting the door clang shut. A breeze rose, whipping tendrils of Aelys’s hair loose from her braid and tossing them in her face. Somewhere nearby, a night raptor let out its strange, hooting call.
“Well,” Romik said. “Let’s hope this ‘Besta’ is inclined to see us, hey? You said she’s a friend of yours, Vil?”
“Acquaintance,” Vil corrected. “And she’ll see us. She owes me.”
“Owes you what?” Daen asked.
“A favor.”
“For what?”
“For something that’s her concern and none of ours,” Vil said, darting a dark look over his shoulder at Daen. The ex-Forester laughed lightly, the sound of it shivering up Aelys’s spine.
I haven’t heard him laugh like that since…since before Brionne. Since we were in the ancient mage’s underground study. I’d forgotten how much I liked his laugh.
Before anyone could say anything else, the postern door creaked open again, and this time a woman stood there with her muscular arms crossed over a thick waist, her graying hair braided tightly back from her face, and a thunderous frown creasing her features.
“Well. It is you. I thought you were dead.”
“You were misinformed,” Vil said. “I’m here to collect on the mark you owe.”
Besta’s frown morphed into a sneer. “Is that right? You’re going to shake me down for all I have right here? Suppose I just don’t let you in, hmm? Word is, you’re not in the same position you used to occupy amongst those in the know.”
“Trust your life to rumor often, Besta?” Vil asked, his voice getting silkier with every word.
Besta snorted. “I’ve got a good position here as undercook, and I’ll not risk it by giving you what’s not mine. I can offer food what’s left over from the students’ meal, but no more than that.”
“I don’t want food, Besta. Or money. I just need you to deliver a message for me. Quickly and discreetly.”
Besta’s eyes narrowed. “What message?”
“This one,” Vil reached inside his cloak and withdrew a small, folded missive addressed to Sanva Erisa in Sabetha’s handwriting. “See that it gets into her hands and no others, then return with her reply.”
Besta took the message, and turned it over in her thick, sausage-like fingers before looking up again. Aelys saw something like doubt or worry flicker through her fierce expression before she nodded and tucked the missive into the front pocket of her wide, white apron.
“Fine,” she said. “Wait here.”
Once more, the door clanged shut, and once more, Aelys shivered in the chill night air. “Was that Sabetha’s message?” she asked quietly. Vil turned to look at Aelys, then whipped his cloak off to wrap it around her shoulders.
Aelys couldn’t help it; she gasped. Other than to sleep, Vil never parted with his cloak. “Vil,” she protested. “Your cloak, won’t you need it?”
“Not if you’re cold,” he said, and she caught him flicking a glance at Romik and Daen before returning his attention to her.
“But, if she sees you…or someone inside sees you. I thought you didn’t want to be recognized.”
“I don’t,” Vil said. “But we could be out here a while. You can give it back when the door starts to open—”
“Red Lady’s blade. Fine! Take mine,” Romik grumbled. “Vil, we all know you won’t be happy without being able to hide in your hood. Aelys can use my cloak. It’s bigger anyway.” He reached up and unfastened the cloak, then held it out to Aelys.
“I—I’m really fine,” she said. “You don’t need—”
“You’re shivering,” Vil said, his voice hard as iron. “And it’s windy.”
“Just humor them, Bella,” Daen said, his voice empty of the humor from earlier. “They won’t let it go until you do.”
Aelys swallowed the rest of her protest before nodding. With shaking fingers, she pulled Vil’s cloak off and handed it back to him, then took Romik’s and settled it over her own travel-stained one.
Vil swirled his cloak back into place and pulled his hood up in one smooth motion, and they all turned to face the door as another soft creaking announced that Besta had returned.
“I’m to let you up to see her,” she said, and this time, her voice sounded less hostile and more worried. “All of you. But…Sanva Erisa’s a good woman. If you harm her—”
“Sanva Erisa is an adult and a Sanva of the Lyceum,” Vil cut her off. “She can no doubt handle her own affairs. I assume she advised discretion? Let us go, then. Quickly.”
Besta shut her mouth with a snap and turned, beckoning them onward with one meaty hand as she led them through a short passageway and into what Aelys recognized as the slaughter yard for the kitchens.
Fortunately for their senses of smell, they didn’t linger long in that space, as Besta led them quickly through another heavy wooden door and into the long stone building that comprised the Lyceum’s kitchens.
At this time of night, the evening meal hours for students and Sanvari had passed, and the communal-style dishes had long since been cleared. As they wound through the maze of broad wooden worktables and open shelves of crockery, dishes, pots, pans, and utensils, Aelys could make out snatches of low, convivial conversation over by the lit hearth on the far end of the building. But otherwise, the place appeared deserted.
Besta led them to a door about halfway down the building before stopping. She looked troubled, but resolute as she turned to face them.
“Sanva Erisa says that you’re trustworthy,” she said in a low tone. “But that just means she don’t know who you are, Villain. Still, she said you’re to go up alone, and I’m to forget I ever saw any of you.”
“You do that, and we’re square, Besta,” Vil said. “We’re not here to hurt the Sanva, or anyone, really.”
“Hmmph. Well, I hope I never see you again.”
“For your sake, I hope so, too. Which way?”
“Sanva said the girl with you would know. I guess if you get lost, when you shouldn’t be here at all, then that’s your own problem, isn’t it?” Besta gave Vil a savage grin, then turned and stomped back the way they’d come. Vil looked over at Aelys with an upraised eyebrow.
“It’s all right,” she said softly. “I think I can find it.” Without waiting for more conversation, Aelys squeezed past Vil and eased the heavy wooden door open. A quick glance told her that the skinny yard between the kitchen building and one of the massive inner walls was empty, and so she slipped out into the moonlight and dashed to the nearest doorway.
Over her years of doing chores at the Lyceum, Aelys had learned a lot about the fortress’s secrets. In addition to the warren of public corridors, intersecting baileys, and multilevel walkways, there were miles of servants’ passages hidden in the walls and behind the rich hangings and statuary that decorated the storied school. It didn’t take Aelys long to lead her men to one of these: a narrow stairwell that spiraled steeply up along the outer wall of the mages’ tower. It was cold and dank, and the steps were slick enough to make Romik curse as he fought not to lose his footing, but it was far more discreet than the wide wooden staircase at the center of the tower she’d used as a student.
Unlike the mage students, most of the Sanvari didn’t actually live in the mages’ tower. They had larger, more luxurious apartments connected to their offices and classrooms in the large, wide building that jutted out to the west of the tower.
About two-thirds of the way up the tower, Aelys paused in her climb and turned to a narrow door set into the western wall. She tried the handle as the men joined her one by one, but it was locked.
“Blast,” Aelys muttered under her breath. “I didn’t think about this. This door is open during the day so the servants can go back and forth, but they must lock it at night. Likely to keep mage students from attempting to prank their instructors.”
“I can open it.” Vil moved forward to kneel before the door.
“No, wait,” Aelys said, as her intuition nudged at her. “Hold on.”
She laid one hand on the door’s surface and closed her eyes, focusing on the feel of the ambient energy that surrounded them. With so many mages housed nearby, the flow was predictably turbulent…so much so that Aelys almost missed the hard knot of power buried deep in the lock.
“Ah,” she said on a long, satisfied exhale. “There it is. Of course. Hang on…”
She opened her eyes and sent a needle-thin pulse of power into that knot, exploring the way the energy wound around the mechanical tumblers and grooves of the lock. It’s part of the lock itself, she realized. This must have been made by an artificer ages ago. I’ve never heard of someone building something like this today.
“This is fascinating,” she murmured without thinking. “The lock is magically enhanced against picking. If one attempts to open it without the proper enchanted key, it will trigger the magic and something unpleasant will happen.”
“Unpleasant?” Vil asked quietly. “Dangerous?”
Aelys wrinkled her nose. “Probably not. Painful, maybe. Embarrassing, certainly. But by and large the Sanvari don’t want to hurt us with their consequences. Anyway, give me just a second. I’m going to weave my power through what’s there and sort of…insulate the tumblers…there, Vil. Go ahead.”
Without hesitation, Vil slipped his picks into the lock and got to work. Within seconds, the heavy latch thunked open, and he tucked his picks back inside his cloak.
“Go on through,” Aelys said. “Be quiet. I’ll close the door and latch it from the other side, just to make sure the magic is reset properly.”
Vil led the way, silent as ever. Romik and Daen followed, both nearly as quiet, both giving her a glance that held something she couldn’t name. Something like pride? Or respect? Affection?
Not the time to worry about it now, girl, she told herself as she took hold of the door. She slipped through and pulled it shut, then turned the physical lock before relaxing the web of power she’d threaded through the lock’s extant magic. She felt the subtle shift of energy as the web returned to its normal place and stepped away from the door with a smile.
“There,” she said, pride surging through her. “I did it!”
“So you did, Bellatrix Aelys,” Sanva Erisa said from behind them. The men spun, hands going to their weapons, but Aelys recognized Erisa’s sharp gaze and sandy hair in the flickering light from the sconces high on the wall.
“Sanva Erisa,” Aelys said, her hands reflexively clasping at her waist and her chin inching down toward her chest before Erisa’s snort cut through the air.
“You’re not a student anymore, Aelys,” Erisa said. “This way please, all of you.”
She turned, waving a hand to indicate that they should follow her, and started down the stairwell at the far end of the hallway. Aelys took a deep breath, willed her hands to relax by her sides, and smiled at her men.
“It’s all right,” she said. “This is why we’re here. We can trust her.”
“I trust her as much as I trust anyone who isn’t us,” Romik growled lowly. Aelys cut her eyes up to him in inquiry.
“And how much is that?” she asked.
“About as much as Daen or Vil does…which is to say not at all. We’ll go, but stay alert, Bella.”
Aelys nodded and straightened her spine as she walked between the men to the end of the hallway, then started down.
Erisa waited for her on the first landing, where she opened a door and led them through another short hallway before ushering them in to a room Aelys knew better than she knew her old bedroom back at Brionne.
The Herbalism classroom.
Two huge hearths dominated the back wall, flanking a large, arched window through which the Motherlight spilled, illuminating the wide, polished stone of the floor. A score of student worktables marched in two orderly rows down the echoing length of the room. The worktables were scrupulously clean, with six stools stacked atop each one. On the long walls to either side of the room, tall shelves held a dizzying array of jars, vases, boxes and vials, all neatly labeled and waiting for the students to arrive and experiment with the contents therein.
Aelys took a deep breath, smiling softly at the faintly spicy aroma that filled her nose, settling deep in her lungs and making her feel—well, more at home than she’d felt anywhere else for a very long time.
“You men can wait here,” Erisa said, her tone firm as she strode between the rows of tables toward a door in the far corner of the room, next to one of the massive hearths. “Aelys and I will speak privately in my study.”
“We go where she goes—” Romik started, but Aelys laid her hand lightly on his shoulder.
“No,” she said softly, coming to a stop. “It’s all right, Romik.”
“We’re here to protect you.”
“And you are. But the Sanva and I must speak frankly.” Aelys looked up, meeting his furious brown eyes with a plea in hers. He snapped his mouth closed, a muscle in his cheek jumping as he ground his teeth together, but finally, he nodded and turned away.
“Wait,” she said softly, reaching up to unfasten his cloak. She fumbled her fingers on the clasp, and then turned to Vil, who stood next to her, his face shrouded in the depths of his hood. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Daen shift his weight from one foot to the other.
“Help me with this?” she asked. Vil lifted his head, his shadowed eyes narrowing, but he stepped forward and reached for the clasp she intentionally hadn’t opened.
“Cut me,” she breathed, pulling up her left sleeve. “Quickly.”
“It’s caught,” he said, his voice low, but pitched to carry as he performed a bit of deft sleight of hand and drew Profane. Then, under the guise of forcing the clasp open, he sliced a thin red line on the underside of her forearm.
She hissed between her teeth at the acid sear from his blade, then yanked her sleeve back down into place. Then, before she could think better of it, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek as he made Profane disappear. She twisted the catch on Romik’s cloak and let it fall.
“Thank you,” she whispered against the rough stubble that coated Vil’s jaw. He didn’t move, other than to catch the folds of fabric as they slithered down off her shoulders. She stepped back, feeling the weight of his shadowed gaze—as well as those of Daen, Romik, and Sanva Erisa—on her face.
With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and turned to follow her old teacher into the study.